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Yet even when the demons’ prophets are instructed by the demons, they foretell the truth, sometimes by virtue of their own nature, the author of which is the Holy Ghost, and sometimes by revelation of the good spirits, as Augustine declares: so that even then this truth which the demons proclaim is from the Holy Ghost.
— Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, SS Q172 A6, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province.

It is well known by those of experience that a demon, if confronted by an exorcist, will reveal the sins of those in its company. Oftentimes the demon lies, according to its nature, but just as often it speaks the truth, so long as that truth serves its purpose. Our tale begins at an exorcism I attended when I was still a youth.

It was the first week of Advent in the year 1592 when a certain beggar of unfriendly countenance was seen haunting the salt well of Rubicolo, east of Castle Gallinella. This wretched soul shouted blasphemies and other foul words wherever he went, and so the wise folk in our parts became certain that he was possessed by a demon.

I myself had newly returned from university life. As a seminarian I had been fascinated by the study of angels, demons, and other spirits. When I first arrived in Parma I asked if there was an exorcist in these parts, and was told Don Lamberti of Contignaco knew some things. Eager to learn, I petitioned my bishop that I might be stationed with him at San Giovanni Battista parish. This situation was suitable for my ambitions, as the church served the estate of the wealthy Pallavicino family of Corticelle.

So it was that by the day in question, the combined reputation of Don Lamberti and myself had made San Giovanni Battista a sanctuary from the Devil. Fearing the demoniac of Salso would steal their chickens—or worse, give their settlement a bad name—the folk of those parts came to our rectory straightaway. We determined this matter was serious and merited our full attention, and so we petitioned the Marquis Rolando Pallavicino, lord of Contignaco and the fief of Corticelle, to lend us men. The Marquis was a robust man of action, and he vowed to go himself with his retinue, to detain the vagrant and drag him to the steps of the church.

Words cannot describe the misery of this devilish creature when he was brought before us. He was barefoot, draped in ragged clothes, with bits of twig and feather in his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and deeply set, his beard long and matted, and his tongue spilled forth such barbarous words that I half expected the Mouth of Hell to open beneath his feet, so the Furies might drag him into the Inferno and drop him at the gates of Dis.

Myself and Don Lamberti had the men haul the unfortunate wretch into the crypt, where we lit ample candles and spread him before the altar. Investigating the seriousness of the possession, Lamberti went upstairs and returned with a pyx containing the Eucharistic bread. The demoniac evidenced the violence of his affliction by spitting on my venerable companion’s alb and cursing the Blessed Virgin Mary and all Christian saints. Still, he did not appear overly strong even when in a frenzy, and so the Marquis dismissed all his men excepting himself and his attaché, a cousin from the Pallavicino branch of Tabiano.

Thus it was that as night fell only myself, Don Lamberti, Marquis Rolando, and the young Tabiano remained in the crypt.

“Stay yourselves,” said Lamberti. “We enter now into spiritual battle with the Prince of Lies.”

These martial words roused the Marquis. He eagerly pressed down the wretch so we might make him drink holy water from the Brugnola—for our sacred stream would weaken the power of the afflicting spirit. The vagrant contorted as if the water caused him great pain, and when we made suffumigations around him with frankincense and agarwood, he grew nearly limp in the arms of the Marquis.

We called upon St. John the Baptist, namesake of our church, St. Vitale and the Virgin Mary; also the good soul of Orlando dè Medici, a hermit in these parts who the locals venerate as a holy man; upon all the angels and archangels; and finally upon the intercession of King Solomon, who was by no means without sin, but certainly wise in the ways of demons. We also made our confessions, according to the advice of Solomon*That is, according to the fourth chapter of the Clavicula Salomonis or Key of Solomon, an Italian grimoire from the 14th or 15th century. It is one of many such books on magic attributed to King Solomon., and afterward I cried out in a loud voice:

“O Lord, be for us a strong tower of refuge, from the attacks of the Evil Spirits!*“Dominus Deus esto mihi turris fortitudinis a facis inimicorum spirituum malignantium,” in Zecorbeni seu Clavicula Salomonis Regis ex hebraica latinitati donata, sacris pentaculis insignita suoque candori restituta opera Abrahami Colorni, Warburg Institute, Innes Collection MS FBH 80, London, 18th century, 301 pp. See also “Key of Solomon,” The Esoteric Archives, http://esotericarchives.com/solomon/ksol.htm . Behold the signatures and names of the Creator—”

JEHOVAH, ADONAI, EHEIEH, AGLA.

I turned to the four quarters, invoking the Holy Cross and many divine names. At each name—YAH, EL, SABAOTH, ADONAI, HAZOR, ELOHA, SHADDAI EL CHAI (which I write here, dear reader, for your protection as well, praying that they might gird your spirit and ring about you on every side)—the demoniac let forth a wail like a woman in grief and the candles about us flickered as if of a single mind.

Then Don Lamberti strode forward brave and steadfast, and bound his stole around the wretch’s neck with three knots. Behind him I brandished the Cross of our Lord and bade him look upon it. He grasped the knotted stole in one hand and thundered forth the first words of exorcism:

“O all you abominables, rebels against God! I conjure, adjure, call, constrict, evoke, contend, and contest you spirits wherever you dwell in this man, by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. As the holy ones of God bind the demons in chains, so I bind you by this stole. * Adapted from the Flagellum Daemonum of Girolamo Menghi, in Taumaturgo, Agostino. Medieval Rituals of Catholic Exorcism. THAVMA Publications, 2021. pp. 149-50,54. I bind you, and I conjure you by the Holy Names of HELOY, JEHOVAH, CHRISTUS, and PARACLETUS. Obey me, by IAH SABAOT, ABBA, ADONAI, ELOH, SHALOM, EMET, SCHECHINAH. I conjure you, I adjure you, I evoke you, and your over-reigning spirits!”

He conjured by these and other names besides, and the effect was felt soon after, for the room became unaccountably dark, and the smell of ox blood and sulfur drowned out the scent of incense.

Now the energumen’s strength did not abate but grew, so that Rolando and the boy were hard pressed to keep him to the floor. I took a bag of salt and went to pour a cruciform on the stones while Lamberti abjured the demon to reveal his name. An aroma came over us, like crushed mint used to cover the stench of a worm-eaten corpse. A guttural laugh echoed through the crypt, even though Lamberti’s hand was heavy on the cretin’s neck. I understood from my own experiments that an even greater demon had entered into him.

“We have conjured thee,” I tried again, “and demand thee obey our every command by the power of the Most Holy Trinity. What is thy name, demon, and who rules thee in the domain of Satan?”

“Remove the hand of this charlatan from our neck,” said the demons in a hoarse voice—for there were more than one within him—“and we will give answer.”

Lamberti released the stole and took a step back.

“A name,” I repeated. “Who was it that first possessed this man?”

“Some spirit of the land was familiar to this wretch, and his name is BALERUS, though he is insignificant to us, and now many more have entered.”

“And what caused more to enter?”

“The occasion of this exorcism, for Hell desired to join the fun.”

I was angry and ashamed that, if the demon’s words were true, our intervention upon the man had occasioned an even greater possession. I commanded and fiercely conjured that the newly arrived demons state their names and offices.

“SABNAC is our name; we are a Marquis of Hell, and we come at the command of ASMODEUS, the servant of Lucifer, foe to Womankind, and King of Demons. At our command fifty legions will descend upon this place. With us also preside VINÈ, Earl of thirty-six legions, and ORNIAS, servant of all the lieges of Hell, who speaks for his lords with speech of the mortal tongue. We are the strength of many lions, the raising of citadels, and the plague of covetousness which leads to ruin.”

The Marquis Rolando was no doubt displeased to share rank and title with a demon, and so declared with a forced scoff:

“You are neither Kings nor Marquises, abominable devils. There is but one kingdom, that of Christ and His Church.”

The demoniac looked up at Rolando Pallavicino and sounded a dry, humorless laugh. “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.” Seven times the laugh echoed. The demoniac gazed upon Rolando with unholy contempt:

“Is that whence your power comes, then? Is it for Christ’s kingdom that you rape and murder?”

“We are good Christians,” I proclaimed, brandishing my cross. “We are rescued by Holy Baptism. I adjure you to speak the truth, and to treat us with the respect owed to Christian souls, lest we thrust you down into the lake of fire and sulphur.* Another line adapted from Flagellum Daemonum, in Taumaturgo p.149. Lord Rolando is ruler of this land, a patron of the Holy Church, and a good man.”

Then the demon laughed as I’ve never seen a demon laugh in all my years—he cackled as the uncouth do at a rude joke, and kept at it so long that tears streamed down the possessed man’s face. The water from his eyes was red with blood.

“This is no good man,” said the demons. “This is a murderer, a tyrant, a fornicator and a faithless beast. The valley of Corticelle was once a holy place, but this fiend has made it the threshold of hell by his sins.”

Rolando gave an indignant cry and struck the man across the face with all his might. The demoniac yanked his arm away and began to scramble free. Rolando leaped upon him and pinned him down with the full weight of his girth and armor.

“You are a liar,” he yelled. His face was choleric and deadly.

The demoniac’s face turned slowly over his shoulder from where he lay pinned, and he looked past his oppressor toward me. It seemed he stared into my soul.

“You abjured us to speak the truth,” the demons said simply.

“Truth in holy charity,” I rejoined. “By Christ’s name, you must give us the respect owed to us. So I command and conjure you.”

“Very well—” The demons’ voices all rolled out like streams of oil, one over the other. “We will speak the truth and give you your due. Of those present here, only this body we possess was halfway goodly, though its soul had no walls or towers to defend it. You, sir,” they said, speaking to me, “are a sorcerer of the foulest kind. Your archpriest here steals from the alms every Sunday, and drinks often of the sacramental wine. This boy on my side is a thief and has deflowered three women without recompense. And the so-called Marquis of Corticelle is a villain worse than Judas Iscariot.”

“Burn in hell,” growled the Marquis, and the vagrant’s head swiveled once more, this time to smile wickedly up at him.

“Your soul is not hidden from us,” they rasped. “You are an incestuous beast and no hellfire is worthy of your abominable sin. We see how you look upon your first born. We see your designs for her, wretched one. You are a wolf with a rapacious heart.”

Rolando then pounded upon the demoniac so that neither myself nor the others could tear him off. His eyes had gone blacker than the possessed; and he beat at the man’s face and slammed it into the stone over and over until blood pooled on the crypt floor.

The vagrant lay dead, slain by the Marquis. There was no sign of the demons, neither that they had remained nor that they had departed.

Rolando lifted himself off the body with a sigh, paid us each a handful of ducats, and told us in no uncertain terms that what had happened that night would never be spoken of. He reminded us of his titles, his connections, his henchmen, and his dungeon. Then he departed.

We purified the space by lustral water, salt, fire, and blessed incense, but there was no sign as to where the demons had removed to.

After that time, though I suspected dishonesty on the demon’s part, I took it upon myself to learn more about the Marquis’ oldest daughter. Her name was Angelica. I inquired after her health from the locals, and in some ways looked out for her welfare from afar. I learned that she was a melancholy child taken to wanderings in the wilderness. I also heard rumors which suggested the Marquis was not a kind father in anyone’s estimation. At least the former serving folk, who on more than one occasion left the fief in fear, had no problem calling their previous master a true devil of hell.