Today I would like to share one of my absolute favorite stories about the Devil.

This tale first appeared in The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours. I read about it in the very entertaining book Eros and Evil by R.E.L. Masters.

I’ll recount it with a bit of dramatic license. You can read a somewhat more straightforward account here.

Eparchius, Bishop of Clermont, was an insomniac. When sleep refused to come, he would often go to his Cathedral in the middle of the night to pray.

One night, Eparchius entered the Cathedral to find it full of demons. I like to imagine it as a blasphemous party in full swing– demons defecating on the consecrated wafers, swigging from the holy wine, copulating on the altar and between the pews, swinging from the chandeliers, urinating in the holy font while other tiny imps gleefully swam around in it.

Presiding over this orgy of sacrilege was Satan himself, enthroned on the bishop’s chair– in full drag, wearing a woman’s dress and plenty of make-up. I imagine him looking a bit like the Medieval french equivalent of this:

I imagine Lucifer smirking at Eparchius as a demon crawled out from under his skirts, wiping its mouth. Perhaps Lucifer, unchagrined, bid the bishop a polite welcome and offered him some of his own holy wine.

“You infamous whore!” Eparchius bellowed in indignation.

I picture Lucifer simpering with painted lips at the outraged bishop.

“A whore, eh?” he responded. “Since you are so concerned about whores, Eparchius, and since you know so much about them, you shall have whores aplenty, more than you can handle.”

With that, Satan and his infernal crew vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving Eparchius with a raging boner that would remain nearly perpetual for the rest of his life.

I want Lucifer of Clermont on a fucking prayer candle. I want icons of him. I cannot imagine a more perfect patron of blasphemy, hedonism, and gender-bending… nor a fiercer adversary of slut-shaming and sexual repression.

Hail Lucifer of Clermont! Bless us every day with your fierce fabulosity. Fill us with gleeful lust and grant us the fulfillment of our fleshly desires. Glory to thee in thy frock and thy rouge! Nema.