The income I should have had from Vienna was engulfed by law-suits, attorneys, and the journeys I undertook; having been thrice cited to appear, in person, before the Hofkriegsrath. No hope remained. I was described as a dangerous malcontent, who had deserted his native land. I nevertheless remained an honest man; one who could provide for his necessities without the favour of courts; one whose acquaintance was esteemed. In Vienna alone was I unsought, unemployed, and obscure.
One day an accident happened which made me renowned as a magician, as one who had power over fogs and clouds.
I had a quarrel with the Palatine President, Baron Blankart, concerning a hunting district. I wrote to him that he should repair to the spot in dispute, whither I would attend with sword and pistol, hoping he would there give me satisfaction for the affront I had received. Thither I went, with two huntsmen and two friends, but instead of the baron I found two hundred armed peasants assembled.
I sent one of my huntsmen to the army of the enemy, informing them that, if they did not retreat, I should fire. The day was fine, but a thick and impenetrable fog arose. My huntsman returned, with intelligence that, having delivered his message just as the fog came on, these heroes had all run away with fright.
I advanced, fired my piece, as did my followers, and marched to the mansion of my adversary, where my hunting-horn was blown in triumph in his courtyard. The runaway peasants fired, but the fog prevented their taking aim.
I returned home, where many false reports had preceded me. My wife expected I should be brought home dead; however, not the least mischief had happened.
It soon was propagated through the country that I had raised a fog to render myself invisible, and that the truth of this could be justified by two hundred witnesses. All the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle, Juliers, and Cologne, preached concerning me, reviled me, and warned the people to beware of the arch-magician and Lutheran, Trenck.
On a future occasion, this belief I turned to merriment. I went to hunt the wolf in the forests of Montjoie, and invited the townsmen to the chase. Towards evening I, and some forty of my followers, retired to rest in the charcoal huts, provided with wine and brandy. “My lads,” said I, “it is necessary you should discharge your pieces, and load them anew; that to-morrow no wolf may escape, and that none of you excuse yourselves on your pieces missing fire.” The guns were reloaded, and placed in a separate chamber. While they were merry-making, my huntsman drew the balls, and charged the pieces with powder, several of which he loaded with double charges. Some of their notched balls I put into my pocket.
In the morning away went I and my fellows to the chase. Their conversation turned on my necromancy, and the manner in which I could envelope myself in a cloud, or make myself bullet-proof. “What is that you are talking about?” said I.—“Some of these unbelieving folks,” answered my huntsman, “affirm your honour is unable to ward off balls.”—“Well, then,” said I, “fire away, and try.” My huntsman fired. I pretended to parry with my hand, and called, “Let any man that is so inclined fire, but only one at a time.” Accordingly they began, and, pretending to twist and turn about, I suffered them all to discharge their pieces. My people had carefully noticed that no man had reloaded his gun. Some of them received such blows from the guns that were doubly charged that they fell, terrified at the powers of magic. I advanced, holding in my hand some of the marked balls. “Let every one choose his own,” called I. All stood motionless, and many of them slunk home with their guns on their shoulders; some remained, and our sport was excellent.
On Sunday the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle again began to preach. My black art became the theme of the whole country, and to this day many of the people make oath that they fired upon me, and that, after catching them, I returned the balls.