An appointment was made for the next day in a meadow beyond the town, and the interview ended without another word.
This version of the story is more romantic than probable, and we owe it to the vivacity of a Frenchman’s imagination, which is never more brilliant than when employed in the perversion or embellishment of history. According to the more sober Aventures de Cagliostro, Marano had for some time been acquainted with the youthful charlatan, who sought him one day at his own residence, and said to him: “You are aware of my communications with the supernal spirits; you are aware of the illimitable potency of the incantations to which I devote myself. Listen! In an olive field, at no great distance from Palermo, there is a buried treasure according to my certain knowledge, and by the help of a ceremonial evocation I can discover the precise spot where the spade of the seeker should be driven in. The operation, however, requires some expensive preliminaries; sixty ounces of gold are absolutely needed. Will you place them at my disposal?”
Marano declaimed against the preposterous extravagance of the demand, maintaining that the herbs and drugs utilised in alchemical experiments were exceedingly moderate in their price.
“’Tis well,” said Balsamo, coldly. “The matter is soon settled; I shall enjoy the vast treasure alone. A blessing when shared is but half a blessing for those who participate in it.”
On the morrow, however, Marano sought out the enchanter, having been agonised by the gold fever the whole night.
“I am furnished with the sum you require,” he said. “But I pray you to bargain a little with the spirits, and endeavour to beat them down.”
“Do you take them for sordid speculators?” cried the magician, indignant. “The devil is no Jew, though he abode full long in Judea. He is a magnificent seigneur, living generously in every country of the world. Treat him with respect, he returns a hundredfold. I shall find elsewhere the sixty ounces of gold, and can afford to dispense with your assistance.”
“It is here,” said Marano, drawing quickly a leather bag from his pocket, and the arrangements were soon made.
At moonlight they repaired to the olive field, where Balsamo had secretly made preparations for the approaching evocation. The incantatory preliminaries were sufficiently protracted, and Marano panted with terror under the influence of the magical charms, till it seemed to him that the very earth shivered beneath his feet and phantoms issued from the ground. Marano fell prostrate on his face, an action apparently foreseen, for there and then the wretched goldsmith was belaboured unmercifully with sticks by the infernal spirits, who left him at length for dead, taking flight in the company of the enchanter, and fortified by the possession of the sixty ounces of gold. On the morrow, the goldsmith, fortunately discovered by muleteers, was carried disconsolately home, and forthwith denounced Balsamo to the law. The adventure spread everywhere, but the magician had sailed for Messina.
These are the facts of the case, but the mendacious chronicle of Louis Figuier, alchemical critic and universal manufacturer of light scientific literature, offers us a far more ornate and attractive version. There the adept and his miserable dupe repair to a place appointed at six o’clock in the morning, Balsamo in dignified silence motioning the goldsmith to follow him, and proceeding with a pre-occupied aspect along the road to the chapel of Saint Rosalia for the space of a whole hour. They stopped at length in the middle of a wild meadow, and in front of a grotto, before which Balsamo extended his hand, and solemnly declared that a treasure was buried within it which he himself was forbidden to touch, which was guarded by devils of hell, which devils might, however, be bound for a brief period by the angels who commonly responded to his potent magical call.