Raising Hell (3 page)

The demon Belial presenting his credentials to Solomon. From Jacobus de Teramo’s
Das Buch Belial,
printed at Augsburg, 1473.
*

In the
Lesser Key,
which was often thought even more useful, Solomon left off with the general advice and really got down to brass tacks. In the first section, entitled “Goetia” ("magical arts"), he described just how to conjure up seventy-two chief demons and their respective ministers. In the second, “Theurgia Goetia,” he discussed spirits and their main characteristics. In the third, the “Pauline Art,” he ran through the angels of the hours and the days, and the signs of the zodiac; and in the fourth, the “Almadel,” he described the angels who presided over the altitudes, as the compass directions, north, south, east, and west, were then called.

According to legend, both of these Keys were buried under
Solomon’s throne, where they would have stayed forever if it hadn’t been for the intervention of some troublemaking demons. After Solomon died, the demons whispered where the books were hidden to a few of the king’s courtiers, who promptly dug them up and unleashed all kinds of trouble on the world.

In addition to the two Keys of Solomon, there were other grimoires, which were also considered hallmarks of the occult trade. They shared a great deal of common advice on the proper ways to invoke the infernal powers (for the space of an entire quarter of the moon, the sorcerer was advised to keep his thoughts centered on the task before him, to eat no more than two meals a day, to sleep little, change his clothes as infrequently as possible, etc.), along with words of wisdom on how to thwart the demons’ own evil intentions.

In one such book, the
Grimoire of Honorius,
a veritable catalog of the fallen angels was offered, along with advice on how to raise them. Credited to Pope Honorius III, who succeeded Innocent III in 1216, it pretended to carry the imprimatur of the papacy and was first published in Rome in 1629. Heavily freighted with Christian formulas and benedictions, it not only instructed priests in the arts of demonology but virtually ordered them to learn how to conjure and control demons, as part of their job. The brief introduction reads surprisingly like a modern-day sales pitch: “But until the time of this Constitution,” it says in part, “only the Ruling Pontificate has possessed the virtue and the power to command the spirits and invoking them. Now his Holiness, Honorius III, having become mellowed by his pastoral duties, has kindly decided to transmit the methods and ability of invoking and controlling spirits, to his brothers in Jesus Christ, the revered ones.”

What followed the introduction claimed to be a papal bull, or edict, from Honorius himself, addressed to all the brethren of the Holy Roman Church. “In the times when Jesus, the Son of God, the Saviour, of the tribe of David, lived on this earth: we see what power he exercised over Demons. This power he
passed on and communicated to Saint Peter with these words: ‘Upon this Rock I shall build my Church, and the Gates of Hell shall not succeed against it.’ “

The bull goes on to explain that although this power over infernal spirits had indeed resided only in the pope until that time, Honorius now felt every priest and deacon, abbott and archbishop, ought to know how to perform such feats: “We feel that while exorcising those who are possessed, they [the clergy] might become overcome at the frightful appearances of the rebellious Angels who were thrown into the Pit for their sins, for they may not be well enough versed in the things which they should know and use; and we desire that those who have been redeemed by the Blood of Jesus Christ should not be tortured by sorcery or possessed by a demon, and so we have added to this Bull the unchangeable manner whereby they may be invoked.” That said, the book conferred upon its readers not only the powers of demonic invocation but a sort of papal permit for doing so.

The
Grimorium Verum,
or
True Grimoire,
which was printed in 1517, claimed to be a translation from the Hebrew and borrowed heavily from both of the Keys of Solomon. Its publisher was listed as “Alibeck the Egyptian” and its place of origin was given as Memphis (as in Egypt, of course). It was divided up into three sections, but the organization wasn’t very strict. Overall, the book was a nuts-and-bolts outline for the invocation of demons: “In the first part,” states the grimoire itself, “is contained various dispositions of characters, by which powers the spirits or—rather—the devils are invoked, to make them come when you will, each according to his power, and to bring whatever is asked: and that without any discomfort, providing also that they are on their part content; for this sort of creature does not give anything for nothing.”

There were two kinds of pacts, the grimoire explained, “the tacit and the apparent,” and only by reading the book would you know one from the other. “It is when you make a pact with a spirit, and have to give the spirit something which belongs to you, that you have to be on your guard.”

As for the spirits themselves, there were many you could call upon, but three who were referred to as the superiors. They were Lucifer, who directly lorded it over Europe and Asia, Beelzebub, who resided in Africa, and Astaroth, who lived in the New World of America.

In appearance, these spirits were quite malleable. Because, as this grimoire contended, they didn’t really exist in a corporeal form of their own, they had to find a body to inhabit, “and one suited to their (intended) manifestation and appearance.” Lucifer, the great deceiver, often chose to appear as a handsome young boy, with “nothing monstrous about him.” But if he got angry—not an uncommon occurrence—he turned bright red.

Beelzebub, on the other hand, opted for a more conventionally frightening look, appearing sometimes as a gargantuan cow or as a male goat with a long tail. When he got angry, he had a tendency to vomit flames.

Astaroth appeared as a human being, cloaked in black. Once a seraph in Heaven, Astaroth had fallen with Lucifer and been made a great duke of the infernal regions.

Each of these three had a couple of lieutenants they could dispatch to do their dirty work; in addition there were dozens of freelance demons that the well-versed sorcerer could call upon for specific tasks. Although their names and powers differed according to the particular manual being used, in the
Grimorium Verum
eighteen of these demons were listed, along with their specialities:

Clauneck
can bestow riches upon you and uncover buried treasure.

Muisin
can sway the minds of great lords and offer strategic and political advice.

Bechaud
has power over many natural forces, including rain and hail, thunder and lightning.

Frimost
can control the bodies and minds of women and girls.

Klepoth
can provide you with insightful visions and dreams.

Khil
can create earthquakes on demand.

Mersilde
can magically transport you anywhere, instantaneously.

Clisthert
can turn the day into night, or the night into day, whenever you feel the need for a sudden change.

Sirchade
can introduce you to any one of a huge assortment of animals, both real and supernatural.

Hicpacth
can deliver to you anyone you want to see, from whatever distance, in the batting of an eye.

Humots
can provide you with any book you want.

Segal
can make all kinds of prodigies appear.

Frucissiere
can bring the dead back to life.

Guland
can inflict any kind of disease.

Surgat
can unlock anything.

Morail
can bestow invisibility on anyone or any object.

Frutimiere
can serve up any feast you desire.

Huictiigaras
can put you to sleep or create insomnia.

In the third part of the
Grimorium Verum,
all of the invocations and rituals that the magician had to go through, step by
step, were described. If he actually expected to raise a spirit and get it to do his bidding, he had to follow the instructions to the letter—which wasn’t at all easy. The instructions were convoluted, time-consuming, and often nearly imcomprehensible. But even so, the
Grimorium Verum
was considered far more precise and authoritative than most of the other manuals of black magic.

To begin with, the sorcerer had to purify himself. The “Ablution of the Sorcerer,” as it was called in the
Grimorium Verum,
began with these words: “Lord God Adonay, who hast made man in Thine own image and resemblance out of nothing! I, poor sinner that I am, beg Thee to deign to bless and sanctify this water, so that it may be healthy for my body and my soul, and that all foolishness should depart from it.” With the blessed water, the sorcerer was to wash his face and hands, and only then could he go about preparing the instruments he’d need to perform his magic.

There were lots of instruments.

First, there was the knife or lancet, which had to be made “on the day and hour of Jupiter with the Moon crescent” (or, in other words, it had to be new); the magician then had to recite a lengthy conjuration over it, followed by the Seven Psalms.

Then there was what was known as the sacrificial knife, “strong enough to cut the neck of a kid with one blow,” which also had to be new, and had to have a wooden handle made at the same time as the steel. Four magical characters were to be engraved on the handle.

Once you had the knife, it was necessary to cleanse it in the blessed water and fumigate it over a coal fire. Aromatic branches and perfumes—aloe and incense and mace—were to be added to the blaze so that the knife was made fragrant, too. Again, there were prayers to be recited over the blade.

A virgin parchment was also indispensable; most of the time it was made from the skin of a goat, lamb, or other unfortunate virgin animal. The creature was laid on a flat surface before having its throat cut “with a single stroke ... do not take two strokes, but see that he dies at the first.” After the animal was skinned, “take well-ground salt, and strew this upon the skin,
which has been stretched, and let the salt cover the skin well.” Needless to say, the salt, too, had to have an extensive benediction performed over it first.

When the skin was dried, blessed, and fumigated, it was ready for use—provided none of these preparations had been observed “by any women, and more especially during certain times of theirs, otherwise it will lose its powers.” The parchment was used for the writing of spells and for the holy names of power that would keep the sorcerer safe from the demons he’d summoned.

The quill pen, the inkhorn, and the ink itself all had to be newly made, too, then “asperged” (cleansed) and fumigated.

As for the baton, or magic wand, it had to be cut from a hazel tree, on a Wednesday, during a crescent moon, and engraved with the seal of the demon Frimost. Then a second wand had to be made, also of hazel wood, only this one was to be engraved with the seal of Klepoth. The wand was presumably so important, it was essential to have a spare on hand.

“All this [and much more] having been done correctly,” advised the
Grimorium Verum,
"all that remains is to follow your invocations and draw your characters. . . .” It was time to pick your demon and tell him what to do.

CONJURATIONS FROM THE TRUE GRIMOIRE

The
Grimorium Verum,
or
True Grimoire,
was filled with spells and incantations, all designed to accomplish a specific aim.

For instance, there was the formula for making yourself invisible. First, you had to collect seven black beans—and the head of a dead man. You put one of the beans in the dead man’s mouth, two in his eyes, two in his nostrils, and two in his ears. Then you made upon his head the figure of the demon known as Morail. (Each demon had a figure, an ideogram, as it were, and all of these were provided in the grimoire.)

Next, you buried the head faceup and for eight days watered it every morning, before the sun rose, with a very good brandy.
On the eighth day, the spirit would appear and ask, “What wilt thou?”

“I am watering my plant,” you were supposed to reply. To which the spirit would answer, “Give me the bottle, I desire to water it myself.”

At this juncture it was important not to hand over the brandy bottle, but to say no to the demon—even after he’d repeated his request. The next time he reached out his hand, he’d show you the same figure you’d drawn on the head—that’s when you’d know you had the right demon. (There was always a danger that another demon might show up and try some mischief.) Once you’d determined that you had the one you wanted—Morail—you could give him the bottle, which he’d use to water the head, before taking his leave.