VII: I read these grimoires so you don't have to.
The darkest secret of the darkest grimoires is "eh, they're kind of whatever"
My dear witch,
Like most people I keep an extensive catalogue in my head of everything mean that everyone has ever said to me. This is not a slick, cool, or aloof quality of mine. It’s just true.
You would think that people would steer clear of being mean to a witch - I guess some people like negative attention, even in the form of a hex. Of course, I wouldn’t hex someone just because they’ve called me “astronomically pretentious” or for the claim that “[you] try to present yourself to know more than you do, and - again, presumably - try to ascribe more historical weight and authority to yourself”. Hexes should be reserved for only the most egregious cases - like when someone disagrees with me about poetry from the early middle ages. But the mean things - or is it fair criticism? - roll around in my head and click together like marbles forever.
“You just made a list with some wiccan woo, and then a bunch of historical books pretty much no lay person has access to in the form you described…”
Shoving your nose into some dusty book sometimes seems like the witchiest thing one can do. (I am allergic to dust though, and grass, and trees, and most nature-y witchy things. I’ve even sensitive to smoke; I’ve never cleansed anything with burning sage.) I’ve read a lot of books, but the further we get from the end of the 20th century, the fewer physical books I’ve acquired.
“The cheapest I can find it is $80, which isn’t that bad.” I said recently, with my usual lack of self-awareness. “But still - I do want to read it, I don’t know if I have $80 worth of want. It seems to have good resale value but… buying rare books seems like a slippery slope. It’s lifestyle creep, I think.”
The book in question was The Magic of My Youth, the out-of-print memoir by Arthur Calder-Marshall - author, screenwriter, and some-time occultist. While not a dusty, leather-bound, handwritten tome, it was proving incredibly difficult to locate a reasonably priced copy. In fact, the dusty, leather-bound, handwritten tomes are usually easier to find - many grimoires are available for free as scanned facsimiles online. Books from the 20th century - still under copyright - prove much more elusive.
A Casually Pretentious and Also Extremely Serious Guide to the Most Popular Grimoires of the Bibliothèque bleue
Does anyone actually read these? We just look at the pictures, right?
Grand Albert
The first book of Les admirables secrets d'Albert le Grand, attributed to Albertus Magnus, goes straight for the most arcane knowledge in Book One: the Secrets of Women. As a woman, I’m quite happy to publish the secret to what women really want: it’s swords. Women want swords. Now you know.
Chapter one of book one is titled, “Embodiment, and in what way man is begotten. How do I do the conception; What is menstruation & sperm, & c.” Occult mysteries indeed.
This grimoire also serves as a compendium of correspondences for animals, gems, and herbs. If you happen to have a diamond that you need to dissolve, Le Grand Albert recommends goat blood as the only substance capable of doing the job. (Also if you happen to have a diamond you need to dissolve, please write to me and explain yourself.)
Petit Albert
Despite being the little brother, Le Petit Albert is the more notorious of the two. The books actually have nothing to do with each other - this one is attributed to Albertus Parvus Lucius. Petit Albert had stint as a contraband item in Spain due to its reputation - equal parts allure and terror. To the modern reader, one of the more salacious aspects of the book is the rather tired misogyny - this one contains spells for determining if one’s daughter has been “corrupted and begotten”, as well as spells for controlling one’s “suspicious” wife.
This book has some very practical purposes - it is particularly useful for sitting on a bookshelf so your occultist friends know how diabolical and cultured (get a copy in French) you are.
A review on Amazon reads, “Far too many powdered wild animal penises for modern use,” which seems like all you need to know, really.
Grand Grimoire (Dragon Rouge)
If you want to make a deal with the devil, this is the book (Le Dragon Rouge is a version of Grand Grimoire). This one gives very specific instructions for summoning Lucifer - for all of your eternal youth, endless riches, or creative genius needs.
For endless riches without a deal with the devil (hiring a lawyer to look over your contract with Lucifer is not going to be cheap), the Grand Grimoire offers this spell:
To win any time one plays the lottery.
Lying down, recite three times the following prayer, after what to you will put it under your pillow, written on virgin parchment, on which you will have a mass of the Holy Spirit said, and during sleep the genius of your planet will come and tell you the hour that you must get your ticket.
Domine Jesu Christe, qui dixisti ego sum via, veritas et vita, ecce enim veritatem dilexisti, incerta et occulta sapientiæ tuæ manifestasti mihi, adhuc quæ reveles in hac nocte sicut ita revelatum fuit parvulis solis, incognita et ventura unaque alia me doceas, ut possim omnia cognoscere, si et si sit; ita monstra mihi montem ornatum omni nivo bono, pulchrum et gratum pomarium, aut quandam rem gratam, sin autem ministra mihi ignem ardentem, vel aquarum currentem vel aliam quamcumque rem quæ Domino placeat, et vel Angeli Ariel, Rubiel et Barachiel sitis mihi multúm amatores et factores ad opus istud obtinendum quod cupio scire, videre cognoscere et prævidere per illum Deum qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et sæculum per ignem. Amen. Vous direz trois Pater et trois Ave, Maria pour les ames du purgatoire.
La poule noire
This one is also called The Black Pullet, or “la poule aux œufs d’or” (the hen that lays golden eggs), and gives instructions to acquire such a hen. It is a particularly shining example of the old chicken-and-egg conundrum because the creation of this black hen requires a golden egg in the first place. Just kidding, it also gives a… vaguely more accessible path:
Take an egg which you will expose at noon to the gleams of the sun, observing that it has not the least stain. Then you choose a hen as black as possible; if it has any feathers of another colour, you will pull them out. You will cover its head with a hood of black material in such a manner that it can-not distinguish anything. You will allow it the use of it's beak. Enclose it in a box lined also with black material, big enough to contain it, and place that in a room where daylight cannot penetrate. Be careful to bring it food only at night. When all these indispensible precautions have been taken, you will give it the egg to sit on, taking care that it is not disturbed by any noise. It all depends on the blackness of this hen, its imagination will be impressed with it, and at the proper time you will see hatched a hen which is completely black.
The words of the 1974 Parliament song “The Goose” seem somehow vaguely appropriate because it is stuck in my head now:
Oh, you don't lay no golden egg
But you're a golden goose to me.
Yours,
GB
