“My dear Countess,” said the Cardinal, “the magnetic séances of Mesmer are not to be compared with the magic of my friend the Count de Cagliostro. He is a genuine Rosicrucian, who holds communion with the elemental spirits. He is able to pierce the veil of the future by his necromantic power. Permit me to introduce him to you.” The curiosity of the Countess was excited, and she consented to receive the illustrious sorcerer at her home. The next day the Cardinal came, accompanied by Cagliostro. The magician was magnificently dressed, but not altogether in good taste. Diamonds sparkled on his breast and upon his fingers. The {53} knob of his walking-stick was incrusted with precious stones. Madame du Barry, however, was much struck with the power of his bold, gleaming eyes. She realized that he was no ordinary charlatan. After discussing the question of sorcery, Cagliostro took from the breast pocket of his coat a leather case which he handed to the Countess, saying that it contained a magic mirror wherein she might read the events of the past and future. “If the vision be not to your liking,” he remarked, impressively, “do not blame me. You use the mirror at your own risk.” She opened the case and saw a “metallic glass in an ebony frame, ornamented with a variety of magical characters in gold and silver.” Cagliostro recited some cabalistic words, and bade her gaze intently into the glass. She did so, and in a few minutes was overcome with fright and fainted away. Such is the story as related by Du Barry in her memoirs, which have been recently edited by Prof. Leon Vallée, librarian of the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. She gives us no clew as to the vision witnessed by her in the magic glass. She says she afterwards refused to receive Cagliostro under any circumstances. What are we to believe concerning this remarkable story? We might possibly conjecture that she saw in the mirror a phantasmagoria of the guillotine, and beheld her blonde head “sneeze into the basket,” and held up to public execration. Coming events cast their shadows before. But all this is mere fancy, “midsummer madness,” as the Bard of Avon has it. God alone knows the future. Wisely has it been veiled to us. Possibly Madame la Comtesse from her subliminal consciousness conjured up an hallucination of the loathsome death by smallpox of her royal lover, at whose corpse even the “night men” of Versailles recoiled with horror. Telepathy from Cagliostro may have played a part in inducing the vision. Ah, who knows! We leave the problem to the psychologists for solution. {54} III.