“And I,” exclaimed a sixth, “am Charles the fifth, whose bones my son exhumed, and burnt.”
In like manner appeared many of the illustrious dead, now confounded with all kinds of people. When they had spoken, they formed a great circle, in the midst of which I perceived a large bottle, from whence issued a voice, that said, “I am that famous necromancer, the great magician of Europe. I caused myself to be cut in pieces by one of my servants, and shut up in this vessel, expecting my members would re-unite, and my body be renewed in its pristine youth; I know not whether the secret was false, or if he neglected to follow strictly my orders; but after boiling a long time, I formed only a gross, misshapen, and lifeless mass.”
“You then were of opinion,” said death, “that the soul was but a subtle fire; a flame that could animate your body, and repair itself!”
“Yes,” answered the necromancer.
“Close the vessel again,” said Death.
When all the by-standers had been heard, they were required to put their names upon a great book; and while they were writing, I saw the bottle move towards me. The necromancer within immediately commenced a conversation with me; inquiring, “who reigns in Spain? Does Venice yet exist? What is the news in France? Are the Calvinists constantly triumphant?”
I answered him, “Philip IV. reigns in Spain; Venice is still beautiful, rich, and powerful: the Calvinists and their king are always invincible.”
He then besought me to break the bottle. As I hesitated, not being without certain qualms of fear, it swelled, and burst of itself. I then saw what it had contained expand into a human form, and rising up, resumed the discourse in this manner:—
“As it is impossible for me to return again into the world, place us henceforth among the dead magicians.”
In the place of the bottle, there appeared an old man with a great head and a long beard: he was of a grave mein, and held a globe in his hand.