sudden, there was a loud clattering noise outside the window, and the gallery shook as if struck by an earthquake. Then there came a squeaking sound, like wet fingers sliding on glass. Though the onlookers quailed, Schropfer seemed pleased, claiming that these were the signs that the guardian spirits had entered the room.
But as expected, the good spirits were quickly followed by their evil brethren, and the noise they made was an infernal howling. While the prince and his friends flattened themselves against the walls in terror, Schropfer held up a crucifix and demanded the spirits’ obedience. The doors to the gallery flew open, and according to the account left by the spectator who’d refused the punch (and which was later recorded in N. W. Wraxall’s Memoirs of the Courts of Berlin, Dresden, Warsaw, and Vienna in the Years 1777, 1778, and 1779 ): "something that resembled a black ball or globe rolled into the room. It was invested with smoke or cloud, in the midst of which appeared to be a human face, like the Countenance of the Chevalier de Saxe. . . . From this form issued a loud and angry voice, which exclaimed in German, ‘Charles, what wouldst thou with me? Why dost thou disturb me?’ “
Charles, who’d been waiting for this moment, desperate to ask his dear departed uncle if there was indeed a treasure hidden in his palace, now found himself speechless with terror. So were all his friends. While the black globe gasped and groaned and rolled back and forth the length of the gallery, the prince and his friends cringed and cowered. They begged the Lord’s forgiveness and pleaded with Schropfer to dismiss the spirit forthwith.
Schropfer, apparently, was only too willing. But even his best incantations were proving futile; he prayed, he exorcised, he waved his crucifix and called upon the power of Christ. It was only after a full hour had passed (or so the witnesses claimed) that the smoky black phantom rolled back out the door.
The necromancer, the prince, his cohorts, all nearly fainted with relief—when suddenly the door burst open again, and the phantom appeared once more! Schropfer rallied, and barely managed to exorcise it again—this time, it seemed, for good. When all had gathered their wits, they silently disbanded, afraid to speak of it even among themselves. According to Wraxall’s account, the witnesses long continued to “dread and deprecate a renewal of the images . . . and a lady earnestly besought ofme, not to press her husband on a subject, of which he could never think or converse without passing a sleepless night.”
Even the magician himself may have been haunted by the awful events of that night. Schropfer, afraid that the elector of Saxony would punish him for practicing necromancy, returned to Leipzig, where he continued to perform his magical feats. But he became increasingly depressed and troubled, burdened by his own reputation and by the hellish sights he had conjured up in the course of his career.
In the summer of 1774, while promising to show them something more marvelous than they had ever seen, Schropfer led three gentlemen beyond the city gates of Leipzig and into the wood of Rosendaal. It was a warm night, about three or four in the morning. He stopped in a quiet grove and told his companions to wait on one side of the clearing while he made the necessary invocations on the other. They did so, until they heard a pistol shot a few minutes later. They ran to the other side of the grove and found Schropfer lying there, fatally wounded by his own hand. Though none could ever say for sure, it was generally acknowledged that the demons, with whom he’d had so many encounters, had finally driven him to madness and, ultimately, suicide.
THE MONKS OF MEDMENHAM
Though they liked to call themselves monks, they were anything but. They were, in fact, a dozen dissolute English gentlemen who formed one of the most notorious “Hell-Fire Clubs” of the eighteenth century.
These
But as expected, the good spirits were quickly followed by their evil brethren, and the noise they made was an infernal howling. While the prince and his friends flattened themselves against the walls in terror, Schropfer held up a crucifix and demanded the spirits’ obedience. The doors to the gallery flew open, and according to the account left by the spectator who’d refused the punch (and which was later recorded in N. W. Wraxall’s Memoirs of the Courts of Berlin, Dresden, Warsaw, and Vienna in the Years 1777, 1778, and 1779 ): "something that resembled a black ball or globe rolled into the room. It was invested with smoke or cloud, in the midst of which appeared to be a human face, like the Countenance of the Chevalier de Saxe. . . . From this form issued a loud and angry voice, which exclaimed in German, ‘Charles, what wouldst thou with me? Why dost thou disturb me?’ “
Charles, who’d been waiting for this moment, desperate to ask his dear departed uncle if there was indeed a treasure hidden in his palace, now found himself speechless with terror. So were all his friends. While the black globe gasped and groaned and rolled back and forth the length of the gallery, the prince and his friends cringed and cowered. They begged the Lord’s forgiveness and pleaded with Schropfer to dismiss the spirit forthwith.
Schropfer, apparently, was only too willing. But even his best incantations were proving futile; he prayed, he exorcised, he waved his crucifix and called upon the power of Christ. It was only after a full hour had passed (or so the witnesses claimed) that the smoky black phantom rolled back out the door.
The necromancer, the prince, his cohorts, all nearly fainted with relief—when suddenly the door burst open again, and the phantom appeared once more! Schropfer rallied, and barely managed to exorcise it again—this time, it seemed, for good. When all had gathered their wits, they silently disbanded, afraid to speak of it even among themselves. According to Wraxall’s account, the witnesses long continued to “dread and deprecate a renewal of the images . . . and a lady earnestly besought ofme, not to press her husband on a subject, of which he could never think or converse without passing a sleepless night.”
Even the magician himself may have been haunted by the awful events of that night. Schropfer, afraid that the elector of Saxony would punish him for practicing necromancy, returned to Leipzig, where he continued to perform his magical feats. But he became increasingly depressed and troubled, burdened by his own reputation and by the hellish sights he had conjured up in the course of his career.
In the summer of 1774, while promising to show them something more marvelous than they had ever seen, Schropfer led three gentlemen beyond the city gates of Leipzig and into the wood of Rosendaal. It was a warm night, about three or four in the morning. He stopped in a quiet grove and told his companions to wait on one side of the clearing while he made the necessary invocations on the other. They did so, until they heard a pistol shot a few minutes later. They ran to the other side of the grove and found Schropfer lying there, fatally wounded by his own hand. Though none could ever say for sure, it was generally acknowledged that the demons, with whom he’d had so many encounters, had finally driven him to madness and, ultimately, suicide.
THE MONKS OF MEDMENHAM
Though they liked to call themselves monks, they were anything but. They were, in fact, a dozen dissolute English gentlemen who formed one of the most notorious “Hell-Fire Clubs” of the eighteenth century.
These
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