praying for three days. Then, when he was ready, he took off his shoes, dropped to his knees (while ordering anyone else present to do the same), and placed two fingers on the Gospel of Matthew. The room, which he had specifically outfitted for these rituals, had a black carpet and a black altar, on top of which he placed two candles and a skull.
After lighting the incense, he drew a magic circle around the altar, warned everyone to stay inside its boundaries, and began the invocations. The first spirits he conjured were always good and benevolent ones; Schropfer said he needed them for their help and for the protection they could provide against the evil spirits to follow. If all went as planned, the evil ones did indeed come next, their entry marked by the dousing of all the lights, a rumbling in the floor and walls of the room, and noises of violence and rage. The spirits appeared, in the smoke from the incense, and grudgingly snarled out answers to the questions the necromancer put to them, before vanishing again into the mist and shadow. One more fitful rattling of the walls, and peace would return to the house.
But for all his success and generally polite demeanor, one day Schropfer apparently said something unflattering about Prince Charles of Saxony, and word of it got back to him. The prince dispatched one of his officers to teach the upstart magician a lesson. The officer was doing just that, whipping and pummeling him, when Schropfer broke loose for a moment, threw himself on his knees in the corner, and called up his infernal allies. They came to his aid so quickly that the officer had to run for his life.
But then so did Schropfer. Fearing the prince would send soldiers after him again, he fled to Dresden, where he passed himself off as a French army colonel. But the masquerade didn’t last long—soon his new hometown knew that they had the celebrated magician, who had done such wonders in Leipzig, living among them. And Prince Charles began to hear stories of the magician’s latest, and most miraculous, feats.
Finally, the prince couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to seethese marvels for himself. He issued a public apology to Schropfer and invited him to return—which Schropfer did. But no matter how many tricks and conjurations the magician performed for him, Charles was really interested in seeing only one thing—an evocation of the dead.
He even had a perfect candidate in mind—his late uncle, the chevalier of Saxony. For one thing, the chevalier had died only recently—which, in theory, made raising his spirit somewhat easier—and for another, he’d bequeathed to his nephew the palace in Dresden where he’d died. Somewhere in this palace, rumor had it, vast treasures were hidden away. Charles hoped that his uncle’s ghost might show him where they were.
Schropfer agreed to do it, but the plan had to proceed in secrecy; the elector of Saxony, under whose jurisdiction the Dresden palace fell, was an ardent opponent of magic. On the appointed night, the prince and seventeen of his most trusted friends stole into the gallery of the palace, locked all the doors and windows, and prepared to witness the invocation of the spirit. Schropfer urged them all to drink a glass of his punch first, to fortify themselves against the horrors to come, and most of them did. But one, who later provided the eyewitness account of what happened that night, wanted to be absolutely sure his senses were unclouded: “I am come here to be present at raising an apparition. Either I will see all or nothing. My resolution is taken, and no inducement can make me allow anything to pass my lips.”
Schropfer, unperturbed by this refusal, retired to a corner of the room, where he began the ceremony. First, he recited a lengthy prayer, calling upon the Holy Trinity and petitioning the Lord to protect him against the demons he would soon be raising. His shoulders heaved with emotion, his body twisted as if in agony. All of a
After lighting the incense, he drew a magic circle around the altar, warned everyone to stay inside its boundaries, and began the invocations. The first spirits he conjured were always good and benevolent ones; Schropfer said he needed them for their help and for the protection they could provide against the evil spirits to follow. If all went as planned, the evil ones did indeed come next, their entry marked by the dousing of all the lights, a rumbling in the floor and walls of the room, and noises of violence and rage. The spirits appeared, in the smoke from the incense, and grudgingly snarled out answers to the questions the necromancer put to them, before vanishing again into the mist and shadow. One more fitful rattling of the walls, and peace would return to the house.
But for all his success and generally polite demeanor, one day Schropfer apparently said something unflattering about Prince Charles of Saxony, and word of it got back to him. The prince dispatched one of his officers to teach the upstart magician a lesson. The officer was doing just that, whipping and pummeling him, when Schropfer broke loose for a moment, threw himself on his knees in the corner, and called up his infernal allies. They came to his aid so quickly that the officer had to run for his life.
But then so did Schropfer. Fearing the prince would send soldiers after him again, he fled to Dresden, where he passed himself off as a French army colonel. But the masquerade didn’t last long—soon his new hometown knew that they had the celebrated magician, who had done such wonders in Leipzig, living among them. And Prince Charles began to hear stories of the magician’s latest, and most miraculous, feats.
Finally, the prince couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to seethese marvels for himself. He issued a public apology to Schropfer and invited him to return—which Schropfer did. But no matter how many tricks and conjurations the magician performed for him, Charles was really interested in seeing only one thing—an evocation of the dead.
He even had a perfect candidate in mind—his late uncle, the chevalier of Saxony. For one thing, the chevalier had died only recently—which, in theory, made raising his spirit somewhat easier—and for another, he’d bequeathed to his nephew the palace in Dresden where he’d died. Somewhere in this palace, rumor had it, vast treasures were hidden away. Charles hoped that his uncle’s ghost might show him where they were.
Schropfer agreed to do it, but the plan had to proceed in secrecy; the elector of Saxony, under whose jurisdiction the Dresden palace fell, was an ardent opponent of magic. On the appointed night, the prince and seventeen of his most trusted friends stole into the gallery of the palace, locked all the doors and windows, and prepared to witness the invocation of the spirit. Schropfer urged them all to drink a glass of his punch first, to fortify themselves against the horrors to come, and most of them did. But one, who later provided the eyewitness account of what happened that night, wanted to be absolutely sure his senses were unclouded: “I am come here to be present at raising an apparition. Either I will see all or nothing. My resolution is taken, and no inducement can make me allow anything to pass my lips.”
Schropfer, unperturbed by this refusal, retired to a corner of the room, where he began the ceremony. First, he recited a lengthy prayer, calling upon the Holy Trinity and petitioning the Lord to protect him against the demons he would soon be raising. His shoulders heaved with emotion, his body twisted as if in agony. All of a
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