bewitched; they felt, like all hysteric subjects, a sense of suffocation
in the throat. They went into fits repeatedly; and one of them, who had
swallowed needles, evacuated them at abscesses, which formed in different
parts of the body. The cry of sorcery was raised, and a young woman, named
Maria Renata Sänger, was arrested on the charge of having leagued with the
devil, to bewitch five of the young ladies. It was sworn on the trial that
Maria had been frequently seen to clamber over the convent walls in the
shape of a pig--that, proceeding to the cellar, she used to drink the best
wine till she was intoxicated; and then start suddenly up in her own form.
Other girls asserted that she used to prowl about the roof like a cat, and
often penetrate into their chamber, and frighten them by her dreadful
howlings. It was also said that she had been seen in the shape of a hare,
milking the cows dry in the meadows belonging to the convent; that she
used to perform as an actress on the boards of Drury Lane theatre in
London, and, on the very same night, return upon a broomstick to Würzburg,
and afflict the young ladies with pains in all their limbs. Upon this
evidence she was condemned, and burned alive in the market-place of
Würzburg.
Here ends this frightful catalogue of murder and superstition. Since that
day, the belief in witchcraft has fled from the populous abodes of men,
and taken refuge in remote villages and districts too wild, rugged, and
inhospitable to afford a resting-place for the foot of civilisation. Rude
fishers and uneducated labourers still attribute every phenomenon of
nature which they cannot account for, to the devil and witches. Catalepsy,
that wondrous disease, is still thought by ignorant gossips to be the work
of Satan; and hypochondriacs, uninformed by science of the nature of their
malady, devoutly believe in the reality of their visions. The reader would
hardly credit the extent of the delusion upon this subject in the very
heart of England at this day. Many an old woman leads a life of misery
from the unfeeling insults of her neighbours, who raise the scornful
finger and hooting voice at her, because in her decrepitude she is ugly,
spiteful, perhaps insane, and realises in her personal appearance the
description preserved by tradition of the witches of yore. Even in the
neighbourhood of great towns the taint remains of this once widely-spread
contagion. If no victims fall beneath it, the enlightenment of the law is
all that prevents a recurrence of scenes as horrid as those of the
seventeenth century. Hundreds upon hundreds of witnesses could be found to
swear to absurdities as great as those asserted by the infamous Matthew
Hopkins.
In the _Annual Register_ for 1760, an instance of the belief in witchcraft
is related, which shews how superstition lingers. A dispute arose in the
little village of Glen, in Leicestershire, between two old women, each of
whom vehemently accused the other of witchcraft. The quarrel at last ran
so high that a challenge ensued, and they both agreed to be tried by the
ordeal of swimming. They accordingly stripped to their shifts--procured
some men, who tied their thumbs and great toes together, cross-wise, and
then, with a cart-rope about their middle, suffered themselves to be
thrown into a pool of water. One of them sank immediately, but the other
continued struggling a short time upon the surface of the water, which the
mob deeming an infallible sign of her guilt, pulled her out, and insisted
that she should immediately impeach all her accomplices in the craft. She
accordingly told them that, in the neighbouring village of Burton, there
were several old women as "much witches as she was." Happily for her, this
negative information was deemed sufficient, and a student in astrology, or
"white-witch," coming up at the time, the mob, by his direction, proceeded
forthwith to Burton in search of all the delinquents. After a little
consultation on their arrival, they went to the old woman's house on whom
they had fixed the strongest suspicion. The poor old creature on their
approach locked the outer door, and from the window of an upstairs room
asked what they wanted. They informed her that she was charged with being
guilty of witchcraft, and that they were come to duck her; remonstrating
with her at the same time upon the necessity of submission to the ordeal,
that, if she were innocent, all the world might know it. Upon her
persisting in a positive refusal to come down, they broke open the door
and carried her out by force, to a deep gravel-pit full of water. They
tied her thumbs and toes together and threw her into the water, where they
kept her for several minutes, drawing her out and in two or three times by
the rope round her middle. Not being able to satisfy themselves whether
she were a witch or no, they at last let her go, or, more properly
speaking, they left her on the bank to walk home by herself, if she ever
recovered. Next day, they tried the same experiment upon another woman,
and afterwards upon a third; but, fortunately, neither of the victims lost
her life from this brutality. Many of the ringleaders in the outrage were
apprehended during the week, and tried before the justices at
quarter-sessions. Two of them were sentenced to stand in the pillory and
to be imprisoned for a month; and as many as twenty more were fined in
small sums for the assault, and bound over to keep the peace for a
twelvemonth.
"So late as the year 1785," says Arnot, in his collection and abridgment
of _Criminal Trials in Scotland_, "it was the custom among the sect of
Seceders to read from the pulpit an annual confession of sins, national
and personal; amongst the former of which was particularly mentioned the
'Repeal by parliament of the penal statute against witches, contrary to
the express laws of God.'"
[Illustration: LADY HATTON'S HOUSE, CROSS STREET, HATTON GARDEN.]
Many houses are still to be found in England with the horse-shoe (the
grand preservative against witchcraft) nailed against the threshold. If
any over-wise philosopher should attempt to remove them, the chances are
that he would have more broken bones than thanks for his interference. Let
any man walk into Cross Street, Hatton Garden, and from thence into
Bleeding-heart Yard, and learn the tales still told and believed of one
house in that neighbourhood, and he will ask himself in astonishment if
such things can be in the nineteenth century. The witchcraft of Lady
Hatton, the wife of the famous Sir Christopher, so renowned for his
elegant dancing in the days of Elizabeth, is as devoutly believed as the
Gospels. The room is to be seen where the devil seized her after the
expiration of the contract he had made with her, and bore her away bodily
to the pit of Tophet: the pump against which he dashed her is still
pointed out, and the spot where her heart was found, after he had torn it
out of her bosom with his iron claws, has received the name of
Bleeding-heart Yard, in confirmation of the story. Whether the horse-shoe
still remains upon the door of the haunted house, to keep away other
witches, is uncertain. A former inmate relates that, "about twenty years
ago, more than one old woman begged for admittance repeatedly, to satisfy
themselves that it was in its proper place. One poor creature, apparently
insane, and clothed in rags, came to the door with a tremendous
double-knock, as loud as that of a fashionable footman, and walked
straight along the passage to the horse-shoe. Great was the wonderment of
the inmates, especially when the woman spat upon the horse-shoe, and
expressed her sorrow that she could do no harm while it remained there.
After spitting upon, and kicking it again and again, she coolly turned
round and left the house, without saying a word to any body. This poor
creature perhaps intended a joke, but the probability is that she imagined
herself a witch. In Saffron Hill, where she resided, her ignorant
neighbours gave her that character, and looked upon her with no little
fear and aversion."
More than one example of the popular belief in witchcraft occurred in the
neighbourhood of Hastings so lately as the year 1830. An aged woman, who
resided in the Rope-walk of that town, was so repulsive in her appearance,
that she was invariably accused of being a witch by all the ignorant
people who knew her. She was bent completely double; and though very old,
her eye was unusually bright and malignant. She wore a red cloak, and
supported herself on a crutch: she was, to all outward appearance, the
very _beau ideal_ of a witch. So dear is power to the human heart, that
this old woman actually encouraged the popular superstition; she took no
pains to remove the ill impression, but seemed to delight that she, old
and miserable as she was, could keep in awe so many happier and stronger
fellow-creatures. Timid girls crouched with fear when they met her, and
many would go a mile out of their way to avoid her. Like the witches of
the olden time, she was not sparing of her curses against those who
offended her. The child of a woman who resided within two doors of her was
afflicted with lameness, and the mother constantly asserted that the old
woman had bewitched her. All the neighbours credited the tale. It was
believed, too, that she could assume the form of a cat. Many a harmless
puss has been hunted almost to the death by mobs of men and boys, upon the
supposition that the animal would start up before them in the true shape
of Mother ----.
In the same town there resided a fisherman, who was the object of
unceasing persecution, because it was said that he had sold himself to the
devil. It was currently reported that he could creep through a keyhole,
and that he had made a witch of his daughter, in order that he might have
the more power over his fellows. It was also believed that he could sit on
the points of pins and needles and feel no pain. His brother fishermen put
him to this test whenever they had an opportunity. In the alehouses which
he frequented, they often placed long needles in the cushions of the
chairs in such a manner that he could not fail to pierce himself when he
sat down. The result of these experiments tended to confirm their faith in
his supernatural powers. It was asserted that he never flinched. Such was
the popular feeling in the fashionable town of Hastings a few years ago;
very probably it is the same now.
In the north of England, the superstition lingers to an almost
inconceivable extent. Lancashire abounds with witch-doctors, a set of
quacks who pretend to cure diseases inflicted by the devil. The practices
of these worthies may be judged of by the following case, reported in the
_Hertford Reformer_ of the 23d of June 1838. The witch-doctor alluded to
is better known by the name of the _cunning man_, and has a large practice
in the counties of Lincoln and Nottingham. According to the writer in the
_Reformer_, the dupe, whose name is not mentioned, had been for about two
years afflicted with a painful abscess, and had been prescribed for
without relief by more than one medical gentleman. He was urged by some of
his friends, not only in his own village but in neighbouring ones, to
consult the witch-doctor, as they were convinced he was under some evil
influence. He agreed, and sent his wife to the _cunning man_, who lived in
New St. Swithin's, in Lincoln. She was informed by this ignorant impostor
that her husband's disorder was an infliction of the devil, occasioned by
his next-door neighbours, who had made use of certain charms for that
purpose. From the description he gave of the process, it appears to be the
same as that employed by Dr. Fian and Gellie Duncan to work woe upon King
James. He stated that the neighbours, instigated by a witch, whom he
pointed out, took some wax and moulded it before the fire into the form of
her husband, as near as they could represent him; they then pierced the
image with pins on all sides, repeated the Lord's Prayer backwards, and
offered prayers to the devil that he would fix his stings into the person
whom that figure represented, in like manner as they pierced _it_ with
pins. To counteract the effects of this diabolical process, the
witch-doctor prescribed a certain medicine, and a charm to be worn next
the body, on that part where the disease principally lay. The patient was
to repeat the 109th and 119th Psalms every day, or the cure would not be
effectual. The fee which he claimed for this advice was a guinea.
So efficacious is faith in the cure of any malady, that the patient
actually felt much better after a three weeks' course of this
prescription. The notable charm which the quack had given was afterwards
opened, and found to be a piece of parchment covered with some cabalistic
characters and signs of the planets.
The next-door neighbours were in great alarm that the witch-doctor would,
on the solicitation of the recovering patient, employ some means to punish
them for their pretended witchcraft. To escape the infliction, they feed
another cunning man, in Nottinghamshire, who told them of a similar charm,
which would preserve them from all the malice of their enemies. The writer
concludes by saying, that "the doctor, not long after he had been thus
consulted, wrote to say, that he had discovered that his patient was not
afflicted by Satan, as he had imagined, but by God, and would continue
more or less in the same state till his life's end."
An impostor carried on a similar trade in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge
Wells about the year 1830. He had been in practice for several years, and
charged enormous fees for his advice. This fellow pretended to be the
seventh son of a seventh son, and to be endowed in consequence with
miraculous powers for the cure of all diseases, but especially of those
resulting from witchcraft. It was not only the poor who employed him, but
ladies who rode in their carriages. He was often sent for from a distance
of sixty or seventy miles by these people, who paid all his expenses to
and fro, besides rewarding him handsomely. He was about eighty years of
age, and his extremely venerable appearance aided his imposition in no
slight degree. His name was Okey or Oakley.
In France, the superstition at this day is even more prevalent than it is
in England. Garinet, in his history of Magic and Sorcery in that country,
cites upwards of twenty instances which occurred between the years 1805
and 1818. In the latter year no less than three tribunals were occupied
with trials originating in this humiliating belief: we shall cite only one
of them. Julian Desbourdes, aged fifty-three, a mason, and inhabitant of
the village of Thilouze, near Bourdeaux, was taken suddenly ill, in the
month of January 1818. As he did not know how to account for his malady,
he suspected at last that he was bewitched. He communicated this suspicion
to his son-in-law Bridier, and they both went to consult a sort of idiot,
named Baudouin, who passed for a conjuror or _white-witch_. This man told
them that Desbourdes was certainly bewitched, and offered to accompany
them to the house of an old man named Renard, who, he said, was
undoubtedly the criminal. On the night of the 23d of January all three
proceeded stealthily to the dwelling of Renard, and accused him of
afflicting persons with diseases by the aid of the devil. Desbourdes fell
on his knees and earnestly entreated to be restored to his former health,
promising that he would take no measures against him for the evil he had
done. The old man denied in the strongest terms that he was a wizard; and
when Desbourdes still pressed him to remove the spell from him, he said he
knew nothing about the spell, and refused to remove it. The idiot
Baudouin, the _white-witch_, now interfered, and told his companions that
no relief for the malady could ever be procured until the old man
confessed his guilt. To force him to confession they lighted some sticks
of sulphur which they had brought with them for the purpose, and placed
them under the old man's nose. In a few moments he fell down suffocated
and apparently lifeless. They were all greatly alarmed; and thinking that
they had killed the man, they carried him out and threw him into a
neighbouring pond, hoping to make it appear that he had fallen in
accidentally. The pond, however, was not very deep, and the coolness of
the water reviving the old man, he opened his eyes and sat up. Desbourdes
and Bridier, who were still waiting on the bank, were now more alarmed
than before, lest he should recover and inform against them. They
therefore waded into the pond, seized their victim by the hair of the
head, beat him severely, and then held him under water till he was
drowned.
They were all three apprehended on the charge of murder a few days
afterwards. Desbourdes and Bridier were found guilty of aggravated
manslaughter only, and sentenced to be burnt on the back, and to work in
the galleys for life. The _white-witch_ Baudouin was acquitted on the
ground of insanity.
M. Garinet further informs us that France, at the time he wrote (1818),
was overrun by a race of fellows who made a trade of casting out devils
and finding out witches. He adds also, that many of the priests in the
rural districts encouraged the superstition of their parishioners by
resorting frequently to exorcisms whenever any foolish persons took it
into their heads that a spell had been thrown over them. He recommended,
as a remedy for the evil, that all these exorcists, whether lay or
clerical, should be sent to the galleys, and felt assured that the number
of witches would then very sensibly diminish.
Many other instances of this lingering belief might be cited both in
France and Great Britain, and indeed in every other country in Europe. So
deeply rooted are some errors, that ages cannot remove them. The poisonous
tree that once overshadowed the land may be cut down by the sturdy efforts
of sages and philosophers; the sun may shine clearly upon spots where
venomous things once nestled in security and shade; but still the
entangled roots are stretched beneath the surface, and may be found by
those who dig. Another king like James I. might make them vegetate again;
and, more mischievous still, another pope like Innocent VIII. might raise
the decaying roots to strength and verdure. Still it is consoling to think
that the delirium has passed away; that the raging madness has given place
to a milder folly; and that we may now count by units the votaries of a
superstition which in former ages numbered its victims by tens of
thousands, and its votaries by millions.
[Illustration: FLOATING A WITCH.]
[Illustration: PLACE DE GREVE.]
THE SLOW POISONERS.
_Pescara._ The like was never read of.
_Stephano._ In my judgment,
To all that shall but hear it, 'twill appear
A most impossible fable.
_Pescara._ Troth, I'll tell you,
And briefly as I can, by what degrees
They fell into this madness.--_Duke of Milan_.
The atrocious system of poisoning by poisons so slow in their operation as
to make the victim appear, to ordinary observers, as if dying from a
gradual decay of nature, has been practised in all ages. Those who are
curious in the matter may refer to Beckmann on secret poisons, in his
_History of Inventions_, in which he has collected several instances of it
from the Greek and Roman writers. Early in the sixteenth century the crime
seems to have gradually increased, till in the seventeenth it spread over
Europe like a pestilence. It was often exercised by pretended witches and
sorcerers, and finally became a branch of education amongst all who laid
any claim to magical and supernatural arts. In the twenty-first year of
Henry VIII. an act was passed rendering it high treason. Those found
guilty of it were to be boiled to death.
One of the first in point of date, and hardly second to any in point of
atrocity, is the murder by this means of Sir Thomas Overbury; which
disgraced the court of James I. in the year 1613. A slight sketch of it
will be a fitting introduction to the history of the poisoning mania,
which was so prevalent in France and Italy fifty years later.
Robert Kerr, a Scottish youth, was early taken notice of by James I., and
loaded with honours, for no other reason that the world could ever
discover than the beauty of his person. James, even in his own day, was
suspected of being addicted to the most abominable of all offences; and
the more we examine his history now, the stronger the suspicion becomes.
However that may be, the handsome Kerr, lending his smooth cheek even in
public to the disgusting kisses of his royal master, rose rapidly in
favour. In the year 1613, he was made Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, and
created an English peer by the style and title of Viscount Rochester.
Still further honours were in store for him.
In this rapid promotion he had not been without a friend. Sir Thomas
Overbury, the king's secretary--who appears, from some threats in his own
letters, to have been no better than a pander to the vices of the king,
and privy to his dangerous secrets--exerted all his backstair influence to
forward the promotion of Kerr, by whom he was doubtless repaid in some way
or other. Overbury did not confine his friendship to this--if friendship
ever could exist between two such men--but acted the part of an
_entremetteur_, and assisted Rochester to carry on an adulterous intrigue
with the Lady Frances Howard, the wife of the Earl of Essex. This woman
was a person of violent passions, and lost to all sense of shame. Her
husband was in her way, and to be freed from him she instituted
proceedings for a divorce, on grounds which a woman of any modesty or
delicacy of feeling would die rather than avow. Her scandalous suit was
successful, and was no sooner decided than preparations on a scale of the
greatest magnificence were made for her marriage with Lord Rochester.
Sir Thomas Overbury, who had willingly assisted his patron to intrigue
with the Countess of Essex, seems to have imagined that his marriage with
so vile a woman might retard his advancement. He accordingly employed all
his influence to dissuade him from it; but Rochester was bent on the
match, and his passions were as violent as those of the countess. On one
occasion, when Overbury and the viscount were walking in the gallery of
Whitehall, Overbury was overheard to say, "Well, my lord, if you do marry
that base woman, you will utterly ruin your honour and yourself. You shall
never do it with my advice or consent; and if you do, you had best look to
stand fast." Rochester flung from him in a rage, exclaiming with an oath,
"I will be even with you for this." These words were the death-warrant of
the unfortunate Overbury. He had mortally wounded the pride of Rochester
in insinuating that by his (Overbury's) means he might be lowered in the
king's favour; and he had endeavoured to curb the burning passions of a
heartless, dissolute, and reckless man.
Overbury's imprudent remonstrances were reported to the countess; and from
that moment she also vowed the most deadly vengeance against him. With a
fiendish hypocrisy, however, they both concealed their intentions; and
Overbury, at the solicitation of Rochester, was appointed ambassador to
the court of Russia. This apparent favour was but the first step in a deep
and deadly plot. Rochester, pretending to be warmly attached to the
interests of Overbury, advised him to refuse the embassy, which he said
was but a trick to get him out of the way. He promised, at the same time,
to stand between him and any evil consequences which might result from his
refusal. Overbury fell into the snare, and declined the embassy. James,
offended, immediately ordered his committal to the Tower.
He was now in safe custody, and his enemies had opportunity to commence
the work of vengeance. The first thing Rochester did was to procure, by
his influence at court, the dismissal of the Lieutenant of the Tower, and
the appointment of Sir Jervis Elwes, one of his creatures, to the vacant
post. This man was but one instrument; and another being necessary, was
found in Richard Weston, a fellow who had formerly been shopman to a
druggist. He was installed in the office of under-keeper, and as such had
the direct custody of Overbury. So far all was favourable to the designs
of the conspirators.