the most holy truths, it lent credence to the
most fantastic chimeras. For priests it substituted sorcerers; for
Christian ceremonies, the rites of freemasonry. The time was coming
when, because it had rejected the Sacred Heart of Jesus, it was going
to bow before the sacred heart of Marat. The adepts of Mesmer and of
De Puysegur, the seekers after the philosopher's stone, the Nicolaites
of Berlin, the illuminati of Bavaria, enlarged the boundaries of human
credulity, and the men who succumbed in the most naive and foolish
manner to these wretched weaknesses of mind, were precisely the
haughtiest philosophers, those who had prided themselves the most on
their distinction as free-thinkers. Such a one was Gustavus III.

This Voltairean Prince, who had held the Christian verities so cheap,
was superstitious even to puerility. He did not believe in the
Gospels, but he believed in books of magic. In a corner of his palace
he had arranged a cupboard with a censer and a pair of candlesticks,
before which he performed cabalistic operations in nothing but his
shirt. Throughout his entire reign he consulted a fortune-teller named
Madame Arfwedsson, who read the future for him in coffee-grounds.
Around his neck {35} he wore a gold box containing a sachet in which
there was a powder that, according to his belief, would drive away evil
spirits. All this apparatus of incantation and sorcery was one of the
causes of Gustavus's fall. It multiplied the snares around the
unfortunate monarch, and served to mask his enemies. Prophecies
announced his approaching end, and conspirators took care to fulfil the
prophecies.

The Duke of Sudermania, the King's brother, without being an accomplice
in the project of crime, encouraged underhand practices. Sectarians
approached Gustavus to reproach him for his luxury, his prodigalities,
his entertainments, or addressed him anonymous warnings which, in
Biblical language, declared him accursed and rejected by the Lord.
Their insolence knew no bounds. Madame Arfwedsson had counselled the
King to beware if he should meet a man dressed in red. Count de
Ribbing, one of the future conspirators, having heard of this, ordered
a red costume out of bravado, and presented himself in it before his
sovereign, whom such an apparition caused to reflect if not to tremble.

Gustavus, like Caesar, was to see his Ides of March. It had been
predicted to him that the month of March would be fatal to him.