was, for obvious reasons, a more dangerous matter than magical matchmaking. If you tried it, and were found out, the penalty could be your own life. As a result, the death spells were often reserved for very high-stakes games—most notably, royal thrones and titles. If you were a king or queen, chances are there was some malcontent in your kingdom casting a death spell your way.
In 1574, Cosmo Ruggieri, a Florentine astrologer at theFrench court of Charles IX, was accused of having created a waxen image of the king and then beating it on the head. He then made the mistake of asking around if the king was having any pains in his head of late—and was quickly placed under arrest. (It didn’t help that the king died that same year.)
In 1333, Robert III of Artois was banished from France by Philippe VI for forging land deeds to support his claim to the title of count; in revenge, Robert tried to cast a death spell on the French king, but his plot was revealed to the king by Robert’s priestly confessor.
And around 1560, the Privy Council of England was thrown into a panic when a waxen image of Queen Elizabeth, with a long needle stuck through its heart, was discovered in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Her advisers quickly called in Dr. John Dee for an immediate consultation with the young queen, who was dreadfully worried. Dee met with her in her private garden in Richmond, explained the mechanics of the death spell, and reassured her that it could be counteracted. As she reigned until 1603, he clearly did a good job of it.
Although there were plenty of methods for casting the death spell, the waxen image was one of the oldest and most popular. A little wax doll was made, representing the person on whom you wished to inflict the harm, which was then pierced with needles to inflict, by magical transmission, actual physical damage or death. If possible, it was a good idea to dress the figure up in the style of the intended victim; in a French engraving, Robert of Artois has dressed his figure of the king in the appropriate court costume.
An alternative to the waxen doll was an actual human heart. With the right incantations said over it, this inert heart could serve as an occult substitute for the one still beating in the victim’s chest. Again, a needle or two in the right place, according to the lore, could dispatch your foe.
For skilled sorcerers who wanted to enlist a demon to do their dirty work, there was a specific ritual to perform, known as the Ceremony of Mars. Mars, it will be recalled, was the god of violence and war; the planet named after him is called thered planet. To start the ceremony, the sorcerer draped the whole room in red and put on red robes to match; on his finger he wore a gleaming ruby. The instruments he used were made of iron, the wand he wielded was an unsheathed sword. Conjuring Asmodeus, “the arch-devil of the Fifth Infernal Habitation,” the sorcerer offered himself as a conduit for the malignant force of the demon, which he would then direct on toward the intended victim.
To make sure of his aim, however, the magician needed some link with the victim—some of his nail parings, an article of his clothing, the pipe he smoked. If he couldn’t lay his hands on any such item, he could resort to two alternatives. One method was to channel his lethal thoughts toward an object he’d left in the victim’s house or buried in a spot where he knew the victim would be stepping over it; the other was to make his own artificial connection to the victim by formally identifying something with him, before inflicting harm on it. Usually, this sad duty fell to an animal, which would be baptized with the victim’s name, then tortured or slain.
If a sorcerer had sufficient powers of imagination, he could even conjure up an elemental spirit of his own, to go forth and do his bidding. Elementals were minor spirits of fire, earth, air, and water, thought to exist invisibly all around us. By creating one of his
In 1574, Cosmo Ruggieri, a Florentine astrologer at theFrench court of Charles IX, was accused of having created a waxen image of the king and then beating it on the head. He then made the mistake of asking around if the king was having any pains in his head of late—and was quickly placed under arrest. (It didn’t help that the king died that same year.)
In 1333, Robert III of Artois was banished from France by Philippe VI for forging land deeds to support his claim to the title of count; in revenge, Robert tried to cast a death spell on the French king, but his plot was revealed to the king by Robert’s priestly confessor.
And around 1560, the Privy Council of England was thrown into a panic when a waxen image of Queen Elizabeth, with a long needle stuck through its heart, was discovered in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Her advisers quickly called in Dr. John Dee for an immediate consultation with the young queen, who was dreadfully worried. Dee met with her in her private garden in Richmond, explained the mechanics of the death spell, and reassured her that it could be counteracted. As she reigned until 1603, he clearly did a good job of it.
Although there were plenty of methods for casting the death spell, the waxen image was one of the oldest and most popular. A little wax doll was made, representing the person on whom you wished to inflict the harm, which was then pierced with needles to inflict, by magical transmission, actual physical damage or death. If possible, it was a good idea to dress the figure up in the style of the intended victim; in a French engraving, Robert of Artois has dressed his figure of the king in the appropriate court costume.
An alternative to the waxen doll was an actual human heart. With the right incantations said over it, this inert heart could serve as an occult substitute for the one still beating in the victim’s chest. Again, a needle or two in the right place, according to the lore, could dispatch your foe.
For skilled sorcerers who wanted to enlist a demon to do their dirty work, there was a specific ritual to perform, known as the Ceremony of Mars. Mars, it will be recalled, was the god of violence and war; the planet named after him is called thered planet. To start the ceremony, the sorcerer draped the whole room in red and put on red robes to match; on his finger he wore a gleaming ruby. The instruments he used were made of iron, the wand he wielded was an unsheathed sword. Conjuring Asmodeus, “the arch-devil of the Fifth Infernal Habitation,” the sorcerer offered himself as a conduit for the malignant force of the demon, which he would then direct on toward the intended victim.
To make sure of his aim, however, the magician needed some link with the victim—some of his nail parings, an article of his clothing, the pipe he smoked. If he couldn’t lay his hands on any such item, he could resort to two alternatives. One method was to channel his lethal thoughts toward an object he’d left in the victim’s house or buried in a spot where he knew the victim would be stepping over it; the other was to make his own artificial connection to the victim by formally identifying something with him, before inflicting harm on it. Usually, this sad duty fell to an animal, which would be baptized with the victim’s name, then tortured or slain.
If a sorcerer had sufficient powers of imagination, he could even conjure up an elemental spirit of his own, to go forth and do his bidding. Elementals were minor spirits of fire, earth, air, and water, thought to exist invisibly all around us. By creating one of his
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