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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: La Sorcière: The Witch of the Middle Ages + +Author: Jules Michelet + +Translator: Lionel James Trotter + +Release Date: February 27, 2010 [EBook #31420] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA SORCIÈRE *** + + + + +Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>LA SORCIÈRE.</h1> + +<p class="author">J. MICHELET.</p> + +<p class="printer"> +LONDON:<br /> +PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER,<br /> +ANGEL COURT, SKINNER STREET. +</p> + + + +<h1 class="witch">THE WITCH OF THE MIDDLE AGES.</h1> + +<p class="author2">FROM THE FRENCH OF J. MICHELET.</p> + +<p class="author2">BY L. J. TROTTER.</p> + + +<hr class="title1" /> +<p class="center">(<i>The only Authorized English Translation.</i>)</p> +<hr class="title2" /> + +<p class="publisher"> +LONDON:<br /> +<span style="letter-spacing: 0.20ex">SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.,</span><br /> +STATIONERS’ HALL COURT.<br /> +MDCCCLXIII. +</p> + + + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></h2> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">In</span> this translation of a work rich in the raciest +beauties and defects of an author long since made known +to the British public, the present writer has striven to +recast the trenchant humour, the scornful eloquence, +the epigrammatic dash of Mr. Michelet, in language +not all unworthy of such a word-master. How far he +has succeeded others may be left to judge. In one +point only is he aware of having been less true to his +original than in theory he was bound to be. He has +slurred or slightly altered a few of those passages +which French readers take as a thing of course, but +English ones, because of their different training, are +supposed to eschew. A Frenchman, in short, writes +for men, an Englishman rather for drawing-room +ladies, who tolerate grossness only in the theatres and +the columns of the newspapers. Mr. Michelet’s subject, +and his late researches, lead him into details, moral and +physical, which among ourselves are seldom mixed up +with themes of general talk. The coarsest of these +have been pruned away, but enough perhaps remain +to startle readers of especial prudery. The translator,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> +however, felt that he had no choice between shocking +these and sinning against his original. Readers of a +larger culture will make allowance for such a strait, +will not be so very frightened at an amount of plain-speaking, +neither in itself immoral, nor, on the whole, +impertinent. Had he docked his work of everything +condemned by prudish theories, he might have made +it more conventionally decent; but Michelet would +have been puzzled to recognize himself in the poor +maimed cripple that would then have borne his name.</p> + +<p>Nor will a reader of average shrewdness mistake the +religious drift of a book suppressed by the Imperial +underlings in the interests neither of religion nor of +morals, but merely of Popery in its most outrageous +form. If its attacks on Rome seem, now and then, to +involve Christianity itself, we must allow something +for excess of warmth, and something for the nature of +inquiries which laid bare the rotten outgrowths of a +religion in itself the purest known among men. In +studying the so-called Ages of Faith, the author has +only found them worthy of their truer and older title, +the Ages of Darkness. It is against the tyranny, +feudal and priestly, of those days, that he raises an +outcry, warranted almost always by facts which a more +mawkish philosophy refuses to see. If he is sometimes +hasty and onesided; if the Church and the Feudal +System of those days had their uses for the time being; +it is still a gain to have the other side of the subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +kept before us by way of counterpoise to the doctrines +now in vogue. We need not be intolerant; but Rome +is yet alive.</p> + +<p>Taken as a whole, Mr. Michelet’s book cannot be +called unchristian. Like most thoughtful minds of +the day, he yearns for some nobler and larger creed +than that of the theologians; for a creed which, understanding +Nature, shall reconcile it with Nature’s God. +Nor may he fairly be called irreverent for talking, +Frenchman like, of things spiritual with the same +freedom as he would of things temporal. Perhaps in +his heart of hearts he has nearly as much religious +earnestness as they who call Dr. Colenso an infidel, +and shake their heads at the doubtful theology of +Frederic Robertson. At any rate, no translator who +should cut or file away so special a feature of French +feeling would be doing justice to so marked an +original.</p> + +<p>For English readers who already know the concise +and sober volumes of their countryman, Mr. Wright, +the present work will offer mainly an interesting study +of the author himself. It is a curious compound of +rhapsody and sound reason, of history and romance, of +coarse realism and touching poetry, such as, even in +France, few save Mr. Michelet could have produced. +Founded on truth and close inquiry, it still reads more +like a poem than a sober history. As a beautiful +speculation, which has nearly, but not quite, grasped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +the physical causes underlying the whole history of +magic and illusion in all ages, it may be read with +profit as well as pleasure in this age of vulgar spirit-rapping. +But the true history of Witchcraft has yet +to be written by some cooler hand.</p> + +<p class="right">L. T.</p> + +<p style="padding-left: 2em"><i>May 11th, 1863.</i></p> + + + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></h2> + + +<table summary="contents"> +<tr><td colspan="2" class="ral"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">Introduction</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">To One Wizard Ten Thousand Witches</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Witch was the sole Physician of the People</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Terrorism of the Middle Ages</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Witch was the Offspring of Despair</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">She in her Turn created Satan</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Satan, Prince of the World, Physician, Innovator</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">His School—of Witches, Shepherds, and Headsmen</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">His Decline</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"><hr class="tab" /></td></tr> +<tr><td class="book" colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I.</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I.—The Death of the Gods</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Christianity thought the World was Dying</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The World of Demons</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Bride of Corinth</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II.—Why the Middle Ages fell into Despair</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The People make their own Legends</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">But are forbidden to do so any more</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The People guard their Territory</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">But are made Serfs</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_40">40</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.—The Little Devil of the Fireside</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Ancient Communism of the <i>Villa</i></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Hearth made independent</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Wife of the Serf</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Her Loyalty to the Olden Gods</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Goblin</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV.—Temptations</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Serf invokes the Spirit of Hidden Treasures</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Feudal Raids</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Wife turns her Goblin into a Devil</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V.—Possession</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Advent of Gold in 1300</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Woman makes Terms with the Demon of Gold</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Impure Horrors of the Middle Ages</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Village Lady</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Hatred of the Lady of the Castle</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI.—The Covenant</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Woman-serf gives Herself up to the Devil</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Moor and the Witch</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII.—The King of the Dead</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The dear Dead are brought back to Earth</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Idea of Satan is softened</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.—The Prince of Nature</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Thaw in the Middle Ages</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Witch calls forth the East</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">She conceives Nature</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX.—The Devil a Physician</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Diseases of the Middle Ages</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The <i>Comforters</i>, or Solaneæ</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Middle Ages anti-natural</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_128">128</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X.—Charms and Philtres</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Blue-Beard and Griselda</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Witch consulted by the Castle</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Her Malice</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI.—The Rebels’ Communion—Sabbaths—The Black Mass</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The old Half-heathen Sabasies</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Four Acts of the Black Mass</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Act I. The Introit, the Kiss, the Banquet</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Act II. The Offering: the Woman as Altar and Host</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII.—The Sequel—Love and Death—Satan Disappears</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Act III. Love of near Kindred</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Act IV. Death of Satan and the Witch</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> + + +<tr><td colspan="2"><hr class="tab" /></td></tr> +<tr><td class="book" colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II.</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I_2">Chapter I.—The Witch in her Decline—Satan multiplied and made Common</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Witches and Wizards employed by the Great</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Wolf-lady</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The last Philtre</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II_2">Chapter II.—Persecutions</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Hammer for Witches</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Satan Master of the World</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III_2">Chapter III.—Century of Toleration in France: Reaction</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Spain begins when France stops short</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Reaction: French Lawyers burn as many as the Priests</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV_2">Chapter IV.—The Witches of the Basque Country</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">They give Instructions to their own Judges</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_212">212</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V_2">Chapter V.—Satan turns Priest</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Jokes of the Modern Sabbath</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI_2">Chapter VI.—Gauffridi: 1610</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Wizard Priests prosecuted by Monks</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Jealousies of the Nuns</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII_2">Chapter VII.—The Demoniacs of Loudun: Urban Grandier</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_255">255</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Vicar a fine Speaker, and a Wizard</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Sickly Rages of the Nuns</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII_2">Chapter VIII.—The Demoniacs of Louviers—Madeline Bavent</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Illuminism: the Devil a Quietist</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Fight between the Devil and the Doctor</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX_2">Chapter IX.—The Devil Triumphs in the Seventeenth Century</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X_2">Chapter X.—Father Girard and La Cadière</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI_2">Chapter XI.—Cadière in the Convent</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII_2">Chapter XII.—Trial of Cadière</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="chap"><a href="#EPILOGUE">Epilogue</a></td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Can Satan and Jesus be reconciled?</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_396">396</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">The Witch is dead, but the Fairy will live again</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="subchap">Oncoming of the Religious Revival</td><td class="ral"><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></h2> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was said by Sprenger, before the year 1500, +“<i>Heresy of witches</i>, not of wizards, must we call it, +for these latter are of very small account.” And by +another, in the time of Louis XIII.: “To one wizard, +ten thousand witches.”</p> + +<p>“Witches they are by nature.” It is a gift peculiar +to woman and her temperament. By birth a +fay, by the regular recurrence of her ecstasy she +becomes a sibyl. By her love she grows into an +enchantress. By her subtlety, by a roguishness often +whimsical and beneficent, she becomes a Witch; she +works her spells; does at any rate lull our pains to +rest and beguile them.</p> + +<p>All primitive races have the same beginning, as so +many books of travel have shown. While the man is +hunting and fighting, the woman works with her wits, +with her imagination: she brings forth dreams and +gods. On certain days she becomes a seeress, borne +on boundless wings of reverie and desire. The better +to reckon up the seasons, she watches the sky; but +her heart belongs to earth none the less. Young and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +flower-like herself, she looks down toward the enamoured +flowers, and forms with them a personal acquaintance. +As a woman, she beseeches them to heal +the objects of her love.</p> + +<p>In a way so simple and touching do all religion and +all science begin. Ere long everything will get parcelled +out; we shall mark the beginning of the professional +man as juggler, astrologer, or prophet, necromancer, +priest, physician. But at first the woman +is everything.</p> + +<p>A religion so strong and hearty as that of Pagan +Greece begins with the Sibyl to end in the Witch. The +former, a lovely maiden in the broad daylight, rocked +its cradle, endowed it with a charm and glory of its +own. Presently it fell sick, lost itself in the darkness +of the Middle Ages, and was hidden away by the Witch +in woods and wilds: there, sustained by her compassionate +daring, it was made to live anew. Thus, of +every religion woman is the mother, the gentle guardian, +the faithful nurse. With her the gods fare like +men: they are born and die upon her bosom.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Alas! her loyalty costs her dear. Ye magian queens +of Persia; bewitching Circe; sublime Sibyl! Into +what have ye grown, and how cruel the change that +has come upon you! She who from her throne in the +East taught men the virtues of plants and the courses +of the stars; who, on her Delphic tripod beamed over +with the god of light, as she gave forth her oracle to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +world upon its knees;—she also it is whom, a thousand +years later, people hunt down like a wild beast; following +her into the public places, where she is dishonoured, +worried, stoned, or set upon the burning +coals!</p> + +<p>For this poor wretch the priesthood can never have +done with their faggots, nor the people with their +insults, nor the children with their stones. The poet, +childlike, flings her one more stone, for a woman the +cruellest of all. On no grounds whatever, he imagines +her to have been always old and ugly. The word +“witch” brings before us the frightful old women of +<i>Macbeth</i>. But their cruel processes teach us the +reverse of that. Numbers perished precisely for being +young and beautiful.</p> + +<p>The Sibyl foretold a fortune, the Witch accomplishes +one. Here is the great, the true difference between +them. The latter calls forth a destiny, conjures it, +works it out. Unlike the Cassandra of old, who +awaited mournfully the future she foresaw so well, this +woman herself creates the future. Even more than +Circe, than Medea, does she bear in her hand the rod +of natural miracle, with Nature herself as sister and +helpmate. Already she wears the features of a modern +Prometheus. With her industry begins, especially +that queen-like industry which heals and restores +mankind. As the Sibyl seemed to gaze upon the +morning, so she, contrariwise, looks towards the west; +but it is just that gloomy west, which long before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +dawn—as happens among the tops of the Alps—gives +forth a flush anticipant of day.</p> + +<p>Well does the priest discern the danger, the bane, +the alarming rivalry, involved in this priestess of nature +whom he makes a show of despising. From the +gods of yore she has conceived other gods. Close to +the Satan of the Past we see dawning within her a +Satan of the Future.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The only physician of the people for a thousand +years was the Witch. The emperors, kings, popes, +and richer barons had indeed their doctors of Salerno, +their Moors and Jews; but the bulk of people in every +state, the world as it might well be called, consulted +none but the <i>Saga</i>, or wise-woman. When she could +not cure them, she was insulted, was called a Witch. +But generally, from a respect not unmixed with fear, +she was called good lady or fair lady (<i>belle dame</i>—<i>bella +donna</i><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>), the very name we give to the fairies.</p> + +<p>Soon there came upon her the lot which still befalls +her favourite plant, belladonna, and some other wholesome +poisons which she employed as antidotes to the +great plagues of the Middle Ages. Children and +ignorant passers-by would curse those dismal flowers +before they knew them. Affrighted by their questionable +hues, they shrink back, keep far aloof from +them. And yet among them are the <i>comforters</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>(Solaneæ) which, when discreetly employed, have cured +so many, have lulled so many sufferings to sleep.</p> + +<p>You find them in ill-looking spots, growing all +lonely and ill-famed amidst ruins and rubbish-heaps. +Therein lies one other point of resemblance between +these flowers and her who makes use of them. For +where else than in waste wildernesses could live the poor +wretch whom all men thus evilly entreated; the woman +accursed and proscribed as a poisoner, even while she +used to heal and save; as the betrothed of the Devil +and of evil incarnate, for all the good which, according +to the great physician of the Renaissance, she herself +had done? When Paracelsus, at Basle, in 1527, +threw all medicine into the fire,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> he avowed that he +knew nothing but what he had learnt from witches.</p> + +<p>This was worth a requital, and they got it. They +were repaid with tortures, with the stake. For them +new punishments, new pangs, were expressly devised. +They were tried in a lump; they were condemned by +a single word. Never had there been such wastefulness +of human life. Not to speak of Spain, that classic +land of the faggot, where Moor and Jew are always +accompanied by the Witch, there were burnt at Trèves +seven thousand, and I know not how many at Toulouse; +five hundred at Geneva in three months of +1513; at Wurtzburg eight hundred, almost in one +batch, and fifteen hundred at Bamberg; these two +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>latter being very small bishoprics! Even Ferdinand +II., the savage Emperor of the Thirty Years’ War, was +driven, bigot as he was, to keep a watch on these worthy +bishops, else they would have burned all their subjects. +In the Wurtzburg list I find one Wizard a schoolboy, +eleven years old; a Witch of fifteen: and at Bayonne +two, infernally beautiful, of seventeen years.</p> + +<p>Mark how, at certain seasons, hatred wields this one +word <i>Witch</i>, as a means of murdering whom she will. +Woman’s jealousy, man’s greed, take ready hold of so +handy a weapon. Is such a one wealthy? <i>She is a +Witch.</i> Is that girl pretty? <i>She is a Witch.</i> You +will even see the little beggar-woman, La Murgui, +leave a death-mark with that fearful stone on the +forehead of a great lady, the too beautiful dame of +Lancinena.</p> + +<p>The accused, when they can, avert the torture by +killing themselves. Remy, that excellent judge of +Lorraine, who burned some eight hundred of them, +crows over this very fear. “So well,” said he, “does +my way of justice answer, that of those who were arrested +the other day, sixteen, without further waiting, +strangled themselves forthwith.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Over the long track of my History, during the +thirty years which I have devoted to it, this frightful +literature of witchcraft passed to and fro repeatedly +through my hands. First I exhausted the manuals of +the Inquisition, the asinine foolings of the Dominicans.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +(<i>Scourges</i>, <i>Hammers</i>, <i>Ant-hills</i>, <i>Floggings</i>, <i>Lanterns</i>, +&c., are the titles of their books.) Next, I read the +Parliamentarists, the lay judges who despised the +monks they succeeded, but were every whit as foolish +themselves. One word further would I say of them +here: namely, this single remark, that, from 1300 to +1600, and yet later, but one kind of justice may be +seen. Barring a small interlude in the Parliament of +Paris, the same stupid savagery prevails everywhere, +at all hours. Even great parts are of no use here. +As soon as witchcraft comes into question, the fine-natured +De Lancre, a Bordeaux magistrate and forward +politician under Henry IV., sinks back to the level of +a Nider, a Sprenger; of the monkish ninnies of the +fifteenth century.</p> + +<p>It fills one with amazement to see these different +ages, these men of diverse culture, fail in taking the +least step forward. Soon, however, you begin clearly +to understand how all were checked alike, or let us +rather say blinded, made hopelessly drunk and savage, +by the poison of their guiding principle. That principle +lies in the statement of a radical injustice: “On +account of one man all are lost; are not only punished +but worthy of punishment; <i>depraved and perverted +beforehand</i>, dead to God even before their birth. The +very babe at the breast is damned.”</p> + +<p>Who says so? Everyone, even Bossuet himself. A +leading doctor in Rome, Spina, a Master of the Holy +Palace, formulates the question neatly: “Why does God<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +suffer the innocent to die?—For very good reasons: +even if they do not die on account of their own sins, +they are always liable to death as guilty of the original +sin.” (<i>De Strigibus</i>, ch. 9.)</p> + +<p>From this atrocity spring two results, the one pertaining +to justice, the other to logic. The judge is +never at fault in his work: the person brought before +him is certainly guilty, the more so if he makes a +defence. Justice need never beat her head, or work +herself into a heat, in order to distinguish the truth +from the falsehood. Everyhow she starts from a foregone +conclusion. Again, the logician, the schoolman, +has only to analyse the soul, to take count of the +shades it passes through, of its manifold nature, its +inward strifes and battles. He had no need, as we +have, to explain how that soul may grow wicked step +by step. At all such niceties and groping efforts, how, +if even he could understand them, would he laugh and +wag his head! And, oh! how gracefully then would +quiver those splendid ears which deck his empty skull!</p> + +<p>Especially in treating of the <i>compact with the Devil</i>, +that awful covenant whereby, for the poor profit of one +day, the spirit sells itself to everlasting torture, we of +another school would seek to trace anew that road +accursed, that frightful staircase of mishaps and crimes, +which had brought it to a depth so low. Much, however, +cares our fine fellow for all that! To him soul +and Devil seem born for each other, insomuch that on +the first temptation, for a whim, a desire, a passing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +fancy, the soul will throw itself at one stroke into so +horrible an extremity.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Neither do I find that the moderns have made much +inquiry into the moral chronology of witchcraft. They +cling too much to the connection between antiquity and +the Middle Ages; connection real indeed, but slight, of +small importance. Neither from the magician of old, +nor the seeress of Celts and Germans, comes forth the +true Witch. The harmless “Sabasies” (from Bacchus +Sabasius), and the petty rural “Sabbath” of the +Middle Ages, have nothing to do with the Black Mass +of the fourteenth century, with the grand defiance +then solemnly given to Jesus. This fearful conception +never grew out of a long chain of tradition. It leapt +forth from the horrors of the day.</p> + +<p>At what date, then, did the Witch first appear? I +say unfalteringly, “In the age of despair:” of that +deep despair which the gentry of the Church engendered. +Unfalteringly do I say, “The Witch is a crime +of their own achieving.”</p> + +<p>I am not to be taken up short by the excuses which +their sugary explanations seem to furnish. “Weak +was that creature, and giddy, and pliable under temptation. +She was drawn towards evil by her lust.” +Alas! in the wretchedness, the hunger of those days, +nothing of that kind could have ruffled her even into +a hellish rage. An amorous woman, jealous and forsaken, +a child hunted out by her step-mother, a mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +beaten by her son (old subjects these of story), if +such as they were ever tempted to call upon the Evil +Spirit, yet all this would make no Witch. These poor +creatures may have called on Satan, but it does not +follow that he accepted them. They are still far, ay, +very far from being ripe for him. They have not yet +learned to hate God.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>For the better understanding of this point, you +should read those hateful registers which remain to us +of the Inquisition, not only in the extracts given by +Llorente, by Lamothe-Langon, &c., but in what remains +of the original registers of Toulouse. Read +them in all their flatness, in all their dryness, so dismal, +so terribly savage. At the end of a few pages +you feel yourself stricken with a chill; a cruel shiver +fastens upon you; death, death, death, is traceable in +every line. Already you are in a bier, or else in a stone +cell with mouldy walls. Happiest of all are the killed. +The horror of horrors is the <i>In pace</i>. This phrase it +is which comes back unceasingly, like an ill-omened +bell sounding again and again the heart’s ruin of the +living dead: always we have the same word, “Immured.”</p> + +<p>Frightful machinery for crushing and flattening; +most cruel press for shattering the soul! One turn of +the screw follows another, until, all breathless, and +with a loud crack, it has burst forth from the machine +and fallen into the unknown world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>On her first appearance the Witch has neither father +nor mother, nor son, nor husband, nor family. She is +a marvel, an aerolith, alighted no one knows whence. +Who, in Heaven’s name, would dare to draw near her?</p> + +<p>Her place of abode? It is in spots impracticable, +in a forest of brambles, on a wild moor where thorn +and thistle intertwining forbid approach. The night +she passes under an old cromlech. If anyone finds her +there, she is isolated by the common dread; she is +surrounded, as it were, by a ring of fire.</p> + +<p>And yet—would you believe it?—she is a woman +still. This very life of hers, dreadful though it be, +tightens and braces her woman’s energy, her womanly +electricity. Hence, you may see her endowed with two +gifts. One is the <i>inspiration of lucid frenzy</i>, which +in its several degrees, becomes poesy, second-sight, +depth of insight, cunning simplicity of speech, the +power especially of believing in yourself through all +your delusions. Of such a gift the man, the wizard, +knows nothing. On his side no beginning would have +been made.</p> + +<p>From this gift flows that other, the sublime power +of <i>unaided conception</i>, that parthenogenesis which our +physiologists have come to recognise, as touching fruitfulness +of the body in the females of several species; +and which is not less a truth with regard to the conceptions +of the spirit.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>By herself did she conceive and bring forth—what?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +A second self, who resembles her in his self-delusions. +The son of her hatred, conceived upon her love; for +without love can nothing be created. For all the alarm +this child gave her, she has become so well again, is +so happily engrossed with this new idol, that she +places it straightway upon her altar, to worship it, +yield her life up to it, and offer herself up as a living +and perfect sacrifice. Very often she will even say to +her judge, “There is but one thing I fear; that I +shall not suffer enough for him.”—(<i>Lancre.</i>)</p> + +<p>Shall I tell you what the child’s first effort was? It +was a fearful burst of laughter. Has he not cause for +mirth on his broad prairie, far away from the Spanish +dungeons and the “immured” of Toulouse? The +whole world is his <i>In pace</i>. He comes, and goes, and +walks to and fro. His is the boundless forest, his the +desert with its far horizons, his the whole earth, in the +fulness of its teeming girdle. The Witch in her tenderness +calls him “<i>Robin mine</i>,” the name of that +bold outlaw, the joyous Robin Hood, who lived under +the green bowers. She delights too in calling him +fondly by such names as <i>Little Green</i>, <i>Pretty-Wood</i>, +<i>Greenwood</i>; after the little madcap’s favourite haunts. +He had hardly seen a thicket when he took to playing +the truant.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>What astounds one most is, that at one stroke the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>Witch should have achieved an actual Being. He +bears about him every token of reality. We have +heard and seen him; anyone could draw his likeness.</p> + +<p>The Saints, those darling sons of the house, with +their dreams and meditations make but little stir; +<i>they look forward waitingly</i>, as men assured of their +part in Elysium. What little energy they have is all +centred in the narrow round of <i>Imitation</i>; a word +which condenses the whole of the Middle Ages. He +on the other hand—this accursed bastard whose only lot +is the scourge—has no idea of waiting. He is always +seeking and will never rest. He busies himself with +all things between earth and heaven. He is exceedingly +curious; will dig, dive, ferret, and poke his nose +everywhere. At the <i>consummatum est</i> he only laughs, +the little scoffer! He is always saying “Further,” or +“Forward.” Moreover, he is not hard to please. He +takes every rebuff; picks up every windfall. For instance, +when the Church throws out nature as impure +and doubtworthy, Satan fastens on her for his own +adornment. Nay, more; he employs her, and makes +her useful to him as the fountain-head of the arts; +thus accepting the awful name with which others +would brand him; to wit, the <i>Prince of the World</i>.</p> + +<p>Some one rashly said, “Woe to those who laugh.” +Thus from the first was Satan intrusted with too pretty +a part; he had the sole right of laughing, and of declaring +it an <i>amusement</i>—rather let us say <i>a necessity</i>; +for laughing is essentially a natural function. Life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +would be unbearable if we could not laugh, at least in +our afflictions.</p> + +<p>Looking on life as nothing but a trial, the Church +is careful not to prolong it. Her medicine is resignation, +the looking for and the hope of death. A broad field +this for Satan! He becomes the physician, the healer +of the living. Better still, he acts as comforter: he is +good enough to shew us our dead, to call up the shades +of our beloved.</p> + +<p>One more trifle the Church rejected, namely, logic +or free reason. Here was a special dainty, to which +<i>the other</i> greedily helped himself. The Church had +carefully builded up a small <i>In pace</i>, narrow, low-roofed, +lighted by one dim opening, a mere cranny. +That was called <i>The School</i>. Into it were turned +loose a few shavelings, with this commandment, “Be +free.” They all fell lame. In three or four centuries +the paralysis was confirmed, and Ockham’s standpoint +is the very same as Abélard’s.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> + +<p>It is pleasant to track the Renaissance up to such a +point. The Renaissance took place indeed, but how? +Through the Satanic daring of those who pierced the +vault, through the efforts of the damned who were +bent on seeing the sky. And it took place yet more +largely away from the schools and the men of letters, +in the <i>School of the Bush</i>, where Satan had set up a +class for the Witch and the shepherd.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> +<p>Perilous teaching it was, if so it happened; but the +very dangers of it heightened the eager passion, the +uncontrollable yearning to see and to know. Thus +began those wicked sciences, physic debarred from +poisoning, and that odious anatomy. There, along +with his survey of the heavens, the shepherd who kept +watch upon the stars applied also his shameful nostrums, +made his essays upon the bodies of animals. +The Witch would bring out a corpse stolen from the +neighbouring cemetery; and, for the first time, at risk +of being burned, you might gaze upon that heavenly +wonder, “which men”—as M. Serres has well said—“are +foolish enough to bury, instead of trying to +understand.”</p> + +<p>Paracelsus, the only doctor whom Satan admitted +there, saw yet a third worker, who, stealing at times +into that dark assembly, displayed there his surgical +art. This was the surgeon of those happy days, the +headsman stout of hand, who could play patly enough +with the fire, could break bones and set them again; +who if he killed, would sometimes save, by hanging +one only for a certain time.</p> + +<p>By the more sacrilegious of its essays this convict +university of witches, shepherds, and headsmen, emboldened +the other, obliged its rival to study. For +everyone wanted to live. The Witch would have got hold +of everything: people would for ever have turned their +backs on the doctor. And so the Church was fain to +suffer, to countenance these crimes. She avowed he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>r +belief in <i>good poisons</i> (Grillandus). She found herself +driven and constrained to allow of public dissections. +In 1306 one woman, in 1315 another, was opened and +dissected by the Italian Mondino. Here was a holy +revelation, the discovery of a greater world than that +of Christopher Columbus! Fools shuddered or howled; +but wise men fell upon their knees.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>With such conquests the Devil was like enough to +live on. Never could the Church alone have put an +end to him. The stake itself was useless, save for +some political objects.</p> + +<p>Men had presently the wit to cleave Satan’s realm +in twain. Against the Witch, his daughter, his bride, +they armed his son, the doctor. Heartily, utterly as +the Church loathed the latter, yet to extinguish the +Witch, she established his monopoly nevertheless. In +the fourteenth century she proclaimed, that any woman +who dared to heal others <i>without having duly studied</i>, +was a witch and should therefore die.</p> + +<p>But how was she to study in public? Fancy what +a scene of mingled fun and horror would have occurred, +if the poor savage had risked an entrance into +the schools! What games and merry-makings there +would have been! On Midsummer Day they used to +chain cats together and burn them in the fire. But to +tie up a Witch in that hell of caterwaulers, a Witch +yelling and roasting, what fun it would have been for +that precious crew of monklings and cowlbearers!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>In due time we shall see the decline of Satan. Sad +to tell, we shall find him pacified, turned into <i>a good +old fellow</i>. He will be robbed and plundered, until of +the two masks he wore at the Sabbath, the dirtiest is +taken by Tartuffe. His spirit is still everywhere, but +of his bodily self, in losing the Witch he lost all. The +wizards were only wearisome.</p> + +<p>Now that we have hurled him so far downwards, +are we fully aware of what has happened? Was he +not an important actor, an essential item in the great +religious machine just now slightly out of gear? All +organisms that work properly are twofold, twosided. +Life can otherwise not go on at all. It is a kind of +balance between two forces, opposite, symmetrical, +but unequal; the lower answering to the other as its +counterpoise. The higher chafes at it, seeks to put it +down. So doing, it is all wrong.</p> + +<p>When Colbert, in 1672, got rid of Satan, with very +little ceremony, by forbidding the judges to entertain +pleas of witchcraft, the sturdy Parliament of Normandy +with its sound Norman logic pointed out the dangerous +drift of such a decision. The Devil is nothing less +than a dogma holding on to all the rest. If you +meddle with the Eternally Conquered, are you not +meddling with the Conqueror likewise? To doubt the +acts of the former, leads to doubting the acts of the +second, the miracles he wrought for the very purpose +of withstanding the Devil. The pillars of heaven are +grounded in the Abyss. He who thoughtlessly removes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +that base infernal, may chance to split up Paradise +itself.</p> + +<p>Colbert could not listen, having other business to +mind. But the Devil perhaps gave heed and was +comforted. Amidst such minor means of earning a +livelihood as spirit-rapping or table-turning, he grows +resigned, and believes at least that he will not die +alone.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Whence our old word <i>Beldam</i>, the more courteous meaning +of which is all but lost in its ironical one.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Alluding to the bonfire which Paracelsus, as professor of +medicine, made of the works of Galen and Avicenna.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Here, as in some other passages, the play of words in +the original is necessarily lost.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Abélard flourished in the twelfth, William of Ockham +(pupil of Duns Scotus) in the fourteenth century.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> +</div> + + +<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I.</h2> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE DEATH OF THE GODS.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Certain</span> authors have declared that, shortly before +the triumph of Christianity, a voice mysterious ran +along the shores of the Ægean Sea, crying, “Great +Pan is dead!” The old universal god of nature was +no more; and great was the joy thereat. Men fancied +that with the death of nature temptation itself was +dead. After the troublings of so long a storm, the +soul of man was at length to find rest.</p> + +<p>Was it merely a question touching the end of that +old worship, its overthrow, and the eclipse of old +religious rites? By no means. Consult the earliest +Christian records, and in every line you may read the +hope, that nature is about to vanish, life to be extinguished; +that the end of the world, in short, is very +near. It is all over with the gods of life, who have +spun out its mockeries to such a length. Everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +is falling, breaking up, rushing down headlong. +The whole is becoming as nought: “Great Pan is +dead!”</p> + +<p>It was nothing new that the gods must perish. +Many an ancient worship was grounded in that very +idea. Osiris, Adonis die indeed in order to rise again. +On the stage itself, in plays which were only acted +for the feast days of the gods, Æschylus expressly +averred by the mouth of Prometheus, that some day +they should suffer death: but how? As conquered +and laid low by the Titans, the ancient powers of +nature.</p> + +<p>Here, however, things are quite otherwise. Alike +in generals and particulars, in the past and the future, +would the early Christians have cursed Nature herself. +So utterly did they condemn her, as to find the Devil +incarnate in a flower. Swiftly may the angels come +again, who erst overwhelmed the cities of the Dead +Sea! Oh, that they may sweep off, may crumple up as +a veil the hollow frame of this world; may at length +deliver the saints from their long trial!</p> + +<p>The Evangelist said, “The day is coming:” the +Fathers, “It is coming immediately.” From the +breaking-up of the Empire and the invasion of the +Barbarians, St. Augustin draws the hope that very +soon no city would remain but the city of God.</p> + +<p>And yet, how hard of dying is the world; how +stubbornly bent on living! Like Hezekiah, it begs +a respite, one turn more of the dial. Well, then, be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +it so until the year one thousand. But thereafter, +not one day.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Are we quite sure of what has been so often +repeated, that the gods of old had come to an end, +themselves wearied and sickened of living; that they +were so disheartened as almost to send in their resignation; +that Christianity had only to blow upon these +empty shades?</p> + +<p>They point to the gods in Rome; they point out +those in the Capitol, admitted there only by a kind of +preliminary death, on the surrender, I might say, of +all their local pith; as having disowned their country, +as having ceased to be the representative spirits of the +nations. In order to receive them, indeed, Rome had +performed on them a cruel operation: they were +enervated, bleached. Those great centralized deities +became in their official life the mournful functionaries +of the Roman Empire. But the decline of that +Olympian aristocracy had in no wise drawn down +the host of home-born gods, the mob of deities still +keeping hold of the boundless country-sides, of the +woods, the hills, the fountains; still intimately blended +with the life of the country. These gods abiding in +the heart of oaks, in waters deep and rushing, could +not be driven therefrom.</p> + +<p>Who says so? The Church. She rudely gainsays +her own words. Having proclaimed their death, she +is indignant because they live. Time after time, by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +the threatening voice of her councils<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> she gives +them notice of their death—and lo! they are living still.</p> + +<p>“They are devils.”—Then they must be alive. +Failing to make an end of them, men suffer the +simple folk to clothe, to disguise them. By the help +of legends they come to be baptized, even to be foisted +upon the Church. But at least they are converted? +Not yet. We catch them stealthily subsisting in their +own heathen character.</p> + +<p>Where are they? In the desert, on the moor, in +the forest? Ay; but, above all, in the house. They are +kept up by the most intimate household usages. The +wife guards and hides them in her household things, +even in her bed. With her they have the best place +in the world, better than the temple,—the fireside.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Never was revolution so violent as that of Theodosius. +Antiquity shows no trace of such proscription +of any worship. The Persian fire-worshipper might, +in the purity of his heroism, have insulted the visible +deities, but he let them stand nevertheless. He +greatly favoured the Jews, protecting and employing +them. Greece, daughter of the light, made merry +with the gods of darkness, the tunbellied Cabiri; but +yet she bore with them, adopted them as workmen, +even to shaping out of them her own Vulcan. Rome +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>in her majesty welcomed not only Etruria, but even +the rural gods of the old Italian labourer. She persecuted +the Druids, but only as the centre of a dangerous +national resistance.</p> + +<p>Christianity conquering sought and thought to slay +the foe. It demolished the schools, by proscribing +logic and uprooting the philosophers, whom Valens +slaughtered. It razed or emptied the temples, shivered +to pieces the symbols. The new legend would have +been propitious to the family, had the father not been +cancelled in Saint Joseph; had the mother been set +up as an educatress, as having morally brought forth +Jesus. A fruitful road there was, but abandoned at +the very outset through the effort to attain a high but +barren purity.</p> + +<p>So Christianity turned into that lonely path where +the world was going of itself; the path of a celibacy +in vain opposed by the laws of the emperors. Down +this slope it was hurled headlong by the establishment +of monkery.</p> + +<p>But in the desert was man alone? The Devil kept +him company with all manner of temptations. He +could not help himself, he was driven to create anew +societies, nay whole cities of anchorites. We all know +those dismal towns of monks which grew up in the +Thebaid; how wild, unruly a spirit dwelt among them; +how deadly were their descents on Alexandria. They +talked of being troubled, beset by the Devil; and they +told no lie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>A huge gap was made in the world; and who was +to fill it? The Christians said, The Devil, everywhere +the Devil: <i>ubique dæmon</i>.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<p>Greece, like all other nations, had her <i>energumens</i>, +who were sore tried, possessed by spirits. The relation +there is quite external; the seeming likeness is +really none at all. Here we have no spirits of any +kind: they are but black children of the Abyss, the +ideal of waywardness. Thenceforth we see them +everywhere, those poor melancholics, loathing, shuddering +at their own selves. Think what it must be to +fancy yourself double, to believe in that <i>other</i>, that +cruel host who goes and comes and wanders within +you, making you roam at his pleasure among deserts, +over precipices! You waste and weaken more and +more; and the weaker grows your wretched body, the +more is it worried by the devil. In woman especially +these tyrants dwell, making her blown and swollen. +They fill her with an infernal <i>wind</i>, they brew in her +storms and tempests, play with her as the whim seizes +them, drive her to wickedness, to despair.</p> + +<p>And not ourselves only, but all nature, alas! becomes +demoniac. If there is a devil in the flower, how +much more in the gloomy forest! The light we think +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>so pure teems with children of the night. The +heavens themselves—O blasphemy!—are full of hell. +That divine morning star, whose glorious beams not +seldom lightened a Socrates, an Archimedes, a Plato, +what is it now become? A devil, the archfiend +Lucifer. In the eventime again it is the devil Venus +who draws me into temptation by her light so soft and +mild.</p> + +<p>That such a society should wax wroth and terrible +is not surprising. Indignant at feeling itself so weak +against devils, it persecutes them everywhere, in the +temples, at the altars once of the ancient worship, +then of the heathen martyrs. Let there be more +feasts?—they will likely be so many gatherings of idolaters. +The Family itself becomes suspected: for +custom might bring it together round the ancient +Lares. And why should there be a family?—the +empire is an empire of monks.</p> + +<p>But the individual man himself, thus dumb and +isolated though he be, still watches the sky, still +honours his ancient gods whom he finds anew in the +stars. “This is he,” said the Emperor Theodosius, +“who causes famines and all the plagues of the +empire.” Those terrible words turned the blind rage +of the people loose upon the harmless Pagan. Blindly +the law unchained all its furies against the law.</p> + +<p>Ye gods of Eld, depart into your tombs! Get ye +extinguished, gods of Love, of Life, of Light! Put +on the monk’s cowl. Maidens, become nuns. Wives,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +forsake your husbands; or, if ye will look after the +house, be unto them but cold sisters.</p> + +<p>But is all this possible? What man’s breath shall +be strong enough to put out at one effort the burning +lamp of God? These rash endeavours of an impious +piety may evoke miracles strange and monstrous. +Tremble, guilty that ye are!</p> + +<p>Often in the Middle Ages will recur the mournful +tale of the Bride of Corinth. Told at a happy moment +by Phlegon, Adrian’s freedman, it meets us again in the +twelfth, and yet again in the sixteenth century, as the +deep reproof, the invincible protest of nature herself.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“A young man of Athens went to Corinth, to the +house of one who had promised him his daughter. +Himself being still a heathen, he knew not that the +family which he thought to enter had just turned +Christian. It is very late when he arrives. They are +all gone to rest, except the mother, who serves up for +him the hospitable repast and then leaves him to sleep. +Dead tired, he drops down. Scarce was he fallen +asleep, when a figure entered the room: ’tis a girl all +clothed and veiled in white; on her forehead a fillet of +black and gold. She sees him. In amazement she +lifts her white hand: ‘Am I, then, such a stranger in +the house already? Alas, poor recluse!... But I +am ashamed, and withdraw. Sleep on.’</p> + +<p>“‘Stay, fair maiden! Here are Bacchus, Ceres, and +with thee comes Love. Fear not, look not so pale!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>’</p> + +<p>“‘Ah! Away from me, young man! I have nothing +more to do with happiness. By a vow my +mother made in her sickness my youth and my life are +bound for ever. The gods have fled, and human +victims now are our only sacrifices.’</p> + +<p>“‘Ha! can it be thou, thou, my darling betrothed, +who wast given me from my childhood? The oath of +our fathers bound us for evermore under the blessing +of heaven. Maiden, be mine!’</p> + +<p>“‘No, my friend, not I. Thou shalt have my +younger sister. If I moan in my chilly dungeon, do +thou in her arms think of me, of me wasting away +and thinking only of thee; of me whom the earth is +about to cover again.’</p> + +<p>“‘Nay, I swear by this flame, the torch of Hymen, +thou shalt come home with me to my father. Rest +thee, my own beloved.’</p> + +<p>“As a wedding-gift he offers her a cup of gold. She +gives him her chain, but instead of the cup desires a +curl of his hair.</p> + +<p>“It is the hour of spirits; her pale lip drinks up the +dark blood-red wine. He too drinks greedily after +her. He calls on the god of Love. She still resisted, +though her poor heart was dying thereat. But he +grows desperate, and falls weeping on the couch. +Anon she throws herself by his side.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh! how ill thy sorrow makes me! Yet, if thou +wast to touch me—— Oh, horror!—white as the snow, +and cold as ice, such, ah me! is thy bride.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>’</p> + +<p>“‘I will warm thee again: come to me, wert thou +come from the very grave.’</p> + +<p>“Sighs and kisses many do they exchange.</p> + +<p>“‘Dost thou feel how warm I am?’</p> + +<p>“Love twines and holds them fast. Tears mingle +with their joy. She changes with the fire she drinks +from his mouth: her icy blood is aglow with passion; +but the heart in her bosom will not beat.</p> + +<p>“But the mother was there listening. Soft vows, +cries of wailing and of pleasure.</p> + +<p>“‘Hush, the cock is crowing: to-morrow night!’ +Then with kiss on kiss they say farewell.</p> + +<p>“In wrath the mother enters; sees what? Her +daughter. He would have hidden her, covered her +up. But freeing herself from him, she grew from +the couch up to the roof.</p> + +<p>“‘O mother, mother, you grudge me a pleasant +night; you would drive me from this cosy spot! Was +it not enough to have wrapped me in my winding-sheet +and borne me to the grave? A greater power +has lifted up the stone. In vain did your priests +drone over the trench they dug for me. Of what use +are salt and water, where burns the fire of youth? +The earth cannot freeze up love. You made a promise; +I have just reclaimed my own.</p> + +<p>“‘Alas, dear friend, thou must die: thou wouldst +but pine and dry up here. I have thy hair; it will +be white to-morrow.... Mother, one last prayer! +Open my dark dungeon, set up a stake, and let the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +loving one find rest in the flames. Let the sparks fly +upward and the ashes redden. We will go to our +olden gods.’”<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> See Mansi, Baluze; Council of Arles, 442; of Tours, 567; +of Leptines, 743; the Capitularies, &c., and even Gerson, +about 1400.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> See the Lives of the Desert Fathers, and the authors +quoted by A. Maurie, <i>Magie</i>, 317. In the fourth century, the +Messalians, thinking themselves full of devils, spat and blew +their noses without ceasing; made incredible efforts to spit +them forth.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Here I have suppressed a shocking phrase. Goethe, so +noble in the form, is not so in the spirit of his poem. He spoils +the marvel of the legend by sullying the Greek conception +with a horrible Slavish idea. As they are weeping, he turns +the maiden into a vampire. She comes because she thirsts for +blood, that she may suck the blood from his heart. And he +makes her coldly say this impious and unclean thing: “When +I have done with him, I will pass on to others: the young +blood shall fall a prey to my fury.” +</p><p> +In the Middle Ages this story put on a grotesque garb, by +way of frightening us with the <i>Devil Venus</i>. On the finger of +her statue a young man imprudently places a ring, which she +clasps tight, guarding it like a bride, and going in the night +to his couch, to assert her rights. He cannot rid himself of +his infernal spouse without an exorcism. The same tale, +foolishly applied to the Virgin, is found in the <i>Fabliaux</i>. If +my memory does not mislead me, Luther also, in his “Table +Talk,” takes up the old story in a very coarse way, till you +quite smell the body. The Spanish Del Rio shifts the scene of +it to Brabant. The bride dies shortly before her marriage; +the death-bells are rung. The bridegroom rushed wildly over +the country. He hears a wail. It is she herself wandering +about the heath. “Seest thou not”—she says—“who leads +me?” But he catches her up and bears her home. At this +point the story threatened to become too moving; but the hard +inquisitor, Del Rio, cuts the thread. “On lifting her veil,” +says he, “they found only a log of wood covered with the skin +of a corpse.” The Judge le Loyer, silly though he be, has +restored the older version. +</p><p> +Thenceforth these gloomy taletellers come to an end. The +story is useless when our own age begins; for then the bride +has triumphed. Nature comes back from the grave, not by +stealth, but as mistress of the house.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>WHY THE MIDDLE AGES FELL INTO DESPAIR.</h3> + + +<p class="noind">“<span class="smcap">Be</span> ye as newborn babes (<i>quasi modo geniti infantes</i>); +be thoroughly childlike in the innocence of your hearts; +peaceful, forgetting all disputes, calmly resting under +the hand of Christ.” Such is the kindly counsel +tendered by the Church to this stormy world on the +morning after the great fall. In other words: “Volcanoes, +ruins, ashes, and lava, become green. Ye +parched plains, get covered with flowers.”</p> + +<p>One thing indeed gave promise of the peace that +reneweth: the schools were all shut up, the way of +logic forsaken. A method infinitely simple for the +doing away with argument, offered all men a gentle +slope, down which they had nothing to do but go. If +the creed was doubtful, the life was all traced out in +the pathway of the legend. From first to last but the +one word <i>Imitation</i>.</p> + +<p>“Imitate, and all will go well. Rehearse and copy.” +But is this the way to that true childhood which quickens +the heart of man, which leads back to its fresh and +fruitful springs? In this world that is to make us +young and childlike, I see at first nothing but the +tokens of age; only cunning, slavishness, want of power.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +What kind of literature is this, confronted with the +glorious monuments of Greeks and Jews? We have +just the same literary fall as happened in India from +Brahminism to Buddhism; a twaddling flow of words +after a noble inspiration. Books copy from books, +churches from churches, until they cannot so much as +copy. They pillage from each other: Aix-la-Chapelle +is adorned with the marbles torn from Ravenna. It is +the same with all the social life of those days. The +bishop-king of a city, the savage king of a tribe, alike +copy the Roman magistrates. Original as one might +deem them, our monks in their monasteries simply +restored their ancient <i>Villa</i>, as Chateaubriand well said. +They had no notion either of forming a new society or +of fertilizing the old. Copying from the monks of the +East, they wanted their servants at first to be themselves +a barren race of monkling workmen. It was in +spite of them that the family in renewing itself renewed +the world.</p> + +<p>Seeing how fast these oldsters keep on oldening; +how in one age we fall from the wise monk St. Benedict +down to the pedantic Benedict of Aniane;<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> we +feel that such gentry were wholly guiltless of that great +popular creation which bloomed amidst ruins; namely, +the Lives of the Saints. If the monks wrote, it was +the people made them. This young growth might +throw out some leaves and flowers from the crannies of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>an old Roman ruin turned into a convent: but most +assuredly not thence did it first arise. Its roots go +deep into the ground: sown by the people and cultivated +by the family, it takes help from every hand, +from men, from women, from children. The precarious, +troubled life of those days of violence, made these poor +folk imaginative, prone to believe in their own dreams, +as being to them full of comfort: strange dreams +withal, rich in marvels, in fooleries; absurd, but charming.</p> + +<p>These families, isolated in forests and mountains, as +we still see them in the Tyrol or the Higher Alps, and +coming down thence but once a week, never wanted for +illusions in the desert. One child had seen this, some +woman had dreamed that. A new saint began to rise. +The story went abroad in the shape of a ballad with +doggrel rhymes. They sang and danced to it of an +evening at the oak by the fountain. The priest, when +he came on Sunday to perform service in the woodland +chapel, found the legendary chant already in every +mouth. He said to himself, “After all, history is +good, is edifying.... It does honour to the Church. +<i>Vox populi, vox Dei!</i>—But how did they light upon +it?” He could be shown the true, the irrefragable +proofs of it in some tree or stone which had witnessed +the apparition, had marked the miracle. What can he +say to that?</p> + +<p>Brought back to the abbey, the tale will find a monk +good for nothing, who can only write; who is curious,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +believes everything, no matter how marvellous. It is +written out, broidered with his dull rhetoric, and spoilt +a little. But now it has come forth, confirmed and +consecrated, to be read in the refectory, ere long in +the church. Copied, loaded and overloaded with ornaments +chiefly grotesque, it will go on from age to age, +until at last it comes to take high rank in the Golden +Legend.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When those fair stories are read again to us in these +days, even as we listen to the simple, grave, artless airs +into which those rural peoples threw all their young +heart, we cannot help marking a great inspiration; +and we are moved to pity as we reflect upon their fate.</p> + +<p>They had taken literally the touching advice of the +Church: “Be ye as newborn babes.” But they gave +to it a meaning, the very last that one would dream of +finding in the original thought. As much as Christianity +feared and hated Nature, even so much did these +others cherish her, deeming her all guileless, hallowing +her even in the legends wherewith they mingled +her up.</p> + +<p>Those <i>hairy</i> animals, as the Bible sharply calls them, +animals mistrusted by the monks who fear to find +devils among them, enter in the most touching way +into these beautiful stories; as the hind, for instance, +who refreshes and comforts Geneviève of Brabant.</p> + +<p>Even outside the life of legends, in the common +everyday world, the humble friends of his hearth, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +bold helpmates of his work, rise again in man’s esteem. +They have their own laws,<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> their own festivals. If in +God’s unbounded goodness there is room for the smallest +creatures, if He seems to show them a pitying preference, +“Wherefore,” says the countryman, “should +my ass not have entered the church? Doubtless, he +has his faults, wherein he only resembles me the more. +He is a rough worker, but has a hard head; is intractable, +stubborn, headstrong; in short, just like myself.”</p> + +<p>Thence come those wonderful feasts, the fairest of +the Middle Ages; feasts of <i>Innocents</i>, of <i>Fools</i>, of the +<i>Ass</i>. It is the people itself, moreover, which, in the +shape of an ass, draws about its own image, presents +itself before the altar, ugly, comical, abased. Verily, a +touching sight! Led by Balaam, he enters solemnly +between Virgil and the Sibyl;<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> enters that he may +bear witness. If he kicked of yore against Balaam, +it was that before him he beheld the sword of the ancient +law. But here the law is ended, and the world +of grace seems opening its two-leaved gate to the mean +and to the simple. The people innocently believes it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>all. Thereon comes that lofty hymn, in which it says +to the ass what it might have said to itself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" style="margin-bottom: 0em"> +<span class="i0">“Down on knee and say <i>Amen</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grass and hay enough hast eaten.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the bad old ways, and go!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" style="margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em"> +<span class="i0">•<span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•</span><span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•</span> +<span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•</span><span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•</span> +<span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•</span><span style="padding-left: 1.5em">•<br /></span></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza" style="margin-top: 0em"> +<span class="i0">For the new expels the old:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadows fly before the noon:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light hath hunted out the night.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How bold and coarse ye are! Was it this we asked +of you, children rash and wayward, when we told you +to be as children? We offered you milk; you are +drinking wine. We led you softly, bridle in hand, +along the narrow path. Mild and fearful, ye hesitated +to go forward: and now, all at once, the bridle is broken; +the course is cleared at a single bound. Ah! how +foolish we were to let you make your own saints; to +dress out the altar; to deck, to burden, to cover it up +with flowers! Why, it is hardly distinguishable! And +what we do see is the old heresy condemned of the +Church, <i>the innocence of nature</i>: what am I saying?—a +new heresy, not like to end to-morrow, <i>the independence +of man</i>.</p> + +<p>Listen and obey!—You are forbidden to invent, to +create. No more legends, no more new saints: we +have had enough of them. You are forbidden to introduce +new chants in your worship: inspiration is not +allowed. The martyrs you would bring to light should +stay modestly within their tombs, waiting to be recognised +by the Church. The clergy, the monks are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +forbidden to grant the tonsure of civil freedom to +husbandmen and serfs. Such is the narrow fearful +spirit that fills the Church of the Carlovingian days.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> +She unsays her words, she gives herself the lie, she +says to the children, “Be old!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>A fall indeed! But is this earnest? They had +bidden us all be young.—Ah! but priest and people +are no longer one. A divorce without end begins, a +gulf unpassable divides them for ever. The priest +himself, a lord and prince, will come out in his golden +cope, and chant in the royal speech of that great +empire which is no more. For ourselves, a mournful +company, bereft of human speech, of the only speech +that God would care to hear, what else can we do but +low and bleat with the guileless friends who never +scorn us, who, in winter-time will keep us warm in +their stable, or cover us with their fleeces? We will +live with dumb beasts, and be dumb ourselves.</p> + +<p>In sooth there is less need than before for our going +to church. But the church will not hold us free: she +insists on our returning to hear what we no longer +understand. Thenceforth a mighty fog, a fog heavy +and dun as lead, enwraps the world. For how long? +For a whole millennium of horror. Throughout ten +centuries, a languor unknown to all former times seizes +upon the Middle Ages, even in part on those latter +days that come midway betwixt sleep and waking, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>holds them under the sway of a visitation most irksome, +most unbearable; that convulsion, namely, of +mental weariness, which men call a fit of yawning.</p> + +<p>When the tireless bell rings at the wonted hours, +they yawn; while the nasal chant is singing in the old +Latin words, they yawn. It is all foreseen, there is +nothing to hope for in the world, everything will come +round just the same as before. The certainty of being +bored to-morrow sets one yawning from to-day; and +the long vista of wearisome days, of wearisome years to +come, weighs men down, sickens them from the first +with living. From brain to stomach, from stomach to +mouth, the fatal fit spreads of its own accord, and keeps +on distending the jaws without end or remedy. An +actual disease the pious Bretons call it, ascribing it, +however, to the malice of the Devil. He keeps crouching +in the woods, the peasants say: if anyone passes +by tending his cattle, he sings to him vespers and +other rites, until he is dead with yawning.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><i>To be old</i> is to be weak. When the Saracens, when +the Norsemen threaten us, what will come to us if the +people remain old? Charlemagne weeps, and the +Church weeps too. She owns that her relics fail to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>guard her altars from these Barbarian devils.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> Had +she not better call upon the arm of that wayward +child whom she was going to bind fast, the arm of that +young giant whom she wanted to paralyse? This +movement in two opposite ways fills the whole ninth +century. The people are held back, anon they are +hurled forward: we fear them and we call on them for +aid. With them and by means of them we throw up +hasty barriers, defences that may check the Barbarians, +while sheltering the priests and their saints escaped +thither from their churches.</p> + +<p>In spite of the Bald Emperor’s<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> command not to +build, there grows up a tower on the mountain. +Thither comes the fugitive, crying, “In God’s name, +take me in, at least my wife and children! Myself +with my cattle will encamp in your outer enclosure.” +The tower emboldens him and he feels himself a man. +It gives him shade, and he in his turn defends, protects +his protector.</p> + +<p>Formerly in their hunger the small folk yielded +themselves to the great as serfs; but here how great +the difference! He offers himself as a <i>vassal</i>, one who +would be called brave and valiant.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> He gives himself +up, and keeps himself, and reserves to himself the +right of going elsewhere. “I will go further: the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>earth is large: I, too, like the rest, can rear my tower +yonder. If I have defended the outworks, I can surely +look after myself within.”</p> + +<p>Thus nobly, thus grandly arose the feudal world. +The master of the tower received his vassals with some +such words as these: “Thou shalt go when thou +willest, and if need be with my help; at least, if thou +shouldst sink in the mire, I myself will dismount to +succour thee.” These are the very words of the old +formula.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But, one day, what do I see? Can my sight be +grown dim? The lord of the valley, as he rides about, +sets up bounds that none may overleap; ay, and +limits that you cannot see. “What is that? I don’t +understand.” That means that the manor is shut in. +“The lord keeps it all fast under gate and hinge, +between heaven and earth.”</p> + +<p>Most horrible! By virtue of what law is this <i>vassus</i> +(or <i>valiant</i> one) held to his power? People will thereon +have it, that <i>vassus</i> may also mean <i>slave</i>. In like +manner the word <i>servus</i>, meaning a <i>servant</i>, often +indeed a proud one, even a Count or Prince of the +Empire, comes in the case of the weak to signify a <i>serf</i>, +a wretch whose life is hardly worth a halfpenny.</p> + +<p>In this damnable net are they caught. But down +yonder, on his ground, is a man who avers that his land +is free, a <i>freehold</i>, a <i>fief of the sun</i>. Seated on his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>boundary-stone, with hat pressed firmly down, he looks +at Count or Emperor passing near. “Pass on, Emperor; +go thy ways! If thou art firm on thy horse, +yet more am I on my pillar. Thou mayest pass, but so +will not I: for I am Freedom.”</p> + +<p>But I lack courage to say what becomes of this man. +The air grows thick around him: he breathes less and +less freely. He seems to be <i>under a spell</i>: he cannot +move: he is as one paralysed. His very beasts grow +thin, as if a charm had been thrown over them. His +servants die of hunger. His land bears nothing now; +spirits sweep it clean by night.</p> + +<p>Still he holds on: “The poor man is a king in his +own house.” But he is not to be let alone. He gets +summoned, must answer for himself in the Imperial +Court. So he goes, like an old-world spectre, whom +no one knows any more. “What is he?” ask the +young. “Ah, he is neither a lord, nor a serf! Yet +even then is he nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Who am I? I am he who built the first tower, he +who succoured you, he who, leaving the tower, went +boldly forth to meet the Norse heathens at the bridge. +Yet more, I dammed the river, I tilled the meadow, +creating the land itself by drawing it God-like out of +the waters. From this land who shall drive me?”</p> + +<p>“No, my friend,” says a neighbour—“you shall +not be driven away. You shall till this land, but in a +way you little think for. Remember, my good fellow, +how in your youth, some fifty years ago, you were rash<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +enough to wed my father’s little serf, Jacqueline. +Remember the proverb, ‘He who courts my hen is my +cock.’ You belong to my fowl-yard. Ungird yourself; +throw away your sword! From this day forth +you are my serf.”</p> + +<p>There is no invention here. The dreadful tale recurs +incessantly during the Middle Ages. Ah, it was a +sharp sword that stabbed him. I have abridged and +suppressed much, for as often as one returns to these +times, the same steel, the same sharp point, pierces +right through the heart.</p> + +<p>There was one among them who, under this gross +insult, fell into so deep a rage that he could not bring +up a single word. It was like Roland betrayed. His +blood all rushed upwards into his throat. His flaming +eyes, his mouth so dumb, yet so fearfully eloquent, +turned all the assembly pale. They started back. He +was dead: his veins had burst. His arteries spurted +the red blood over the faces of his murderers.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The doubtful state of men’s affairs, the frightfully +slippery descent by which the freeman becomes a +vassal, the vassal a servant, and the servant a serf,—in +these things lie the great terror of the Middle Ages, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>and the depth of their despair. There is no way of +escape therefrom; for he who takes one step is lost. +He is an <i>alien</i>, a <i>stray</i>, a <i>wild beast of the chase</i>. The +ground grows slimy to catch his feet, roots him, as he +passes, to the spot. The contagion in the air kills +him; he becomes a thing <i>in mortmain</i>, a dead creature, +a mere nothing, a beast, a soul worth twopence-halfpenny, +whose murder can be atoned for by twopence-halfpenny.</p> + +<p>These are outwardly the two great leading traits in +the wretchedness of the Middle Ages, through which +they came to give themselves up to the Devil. Meanwhile +let us look within, and sound the innermost +depths of their moral life.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Benedict founded a convent at Aniane in Languedoc, in +the reign of Charlemagne.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> See J. Grimm, <i>Rechts Alterthümer</i>, and my <i>Origines du +Droit</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> According to the ritual of Rouen. See Ducange on the +words <i>Festum</i> and <i>Kalendæ</i>: also Martène, iii. 110. The Sibyl +was crowned and followed by Jews and Gentiles, by Moses, the +Prophets, Nebuchadnezzar, &c. From a very early time, and +continually from the seventh to the seventeenth century, the +Church strove to proscribe the great people’s feasts of the Ass, +of Innocents, of Children, and of Fools. It never succeeded +until the advent of the modern spirit.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> See the Capitularies, <i>passim</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> An illustrious Breton, the last man of the Middle Ages, +who had gone on a bootless errand to convert Rome, received +there some brilliant offers. “What do you want?” said the +Pope.—“Only one thing: to have done with the Breviary.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> The famous avowal made by Hincmar.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Charles the Bald.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> A difference too little felt by those who have spoken of +the <i>personal recommendation</i>, &c.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Grimm, <i>Rechts Alterthümer</i>, and my <i>Origines du Droit</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> This befell the Count of Avesnes when his freehold was +declared a mere fief, himself a mere vassal, a serf of the Earl +of Hainault. Read, too, the dreadful story of the Great Chancellor +of Flanders, the first magistrate of Bruges, who also was +claimed as a serf.—Gualterius, <i>Scriptores Rerum Francicarum</i>, +viii. 334.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE DEVIL OF THE FIRESIDE.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">There</span> is an air of dreaming about those earlier centuries +of the Middle Ages, in which the legends were +self-conceived. Among countryfolk so gently submissive, +as these legends show them, to the Church, +you would readily suppose that very great innocence +might be found. This is surely the temple of God +the Father. And yet the <i>penitentiaries</i>, wherein reference +is made to ordinary sins, speak of strange +defilements, of things afterwards rare enough under +the rule of Satan.</p> + +<p>These sprang from two causes, from the utter ignorance +of the times, and from the close intermingling +of near kindred under one roof. They seem to have +had but a slight acquaintance with our modern ethics. +Those of their day, all counterpleas notwithstanding, +resemble the ethics of the patriarchs, of that far antiquity +which regarded marriage with a stranger as +immoral, and allowed only of marriage amongst kinsfolk. +The families thus joined together became as +one. Not daring to scatter over the surrounding +deserts, tilling only the outskirts of a Merovingian +palace or a monastery, they took shelter every evening +under the roof of a large homestead (<i>villa</i>). Thence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +arose unpleasant points of analogy with the ancient +<i>ergastulum</i>, where the slaves of an estate were all +crammed together. Many of these communities lasted +through and even beyond the Middle Ages. About +the results of such a system the lord would feel very +little concern. To his eyes but one family was visible +in all this tribe, this multitude of people “who rose +and lay down together, ... who ate together of the +same bread, and drank out of the same mug.”</p> + +<p>Amidst such confusion the woman was not much +regarded. Her place was by no means lofty. If the +virgin, the ideal woman, rose higher from age to age, +the real woman was held of little worth among these +boorish masses, in this medley of men and herds. +Wretched was the doom of a condition which could only +change with the growth of separate dwellings, when +men at length took courage to live apart in hamlets, +or to build them huts in far-off forest-clearings, amidst +the fruitful fields they had gone out to cultivate. From +the lonely hearth comes the true family. It is the nest +that forms the bird. Thenceforth they were no more +things, but men; for then also was the woman born.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It was a very touching moment, the day she entered +<i>her own home</i>. Then at last the poor wretch might +become pure and holy. There, as she sits spinning +alone, while her goodman is in the forest, she may +brood on some thought and dream away. Her damp, +ill-fastened cabin, through which keeps whistling the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +winter wind, is still, by way of a recompense, calm +and silent. In it are sundry dim corners where the +housewife lodges her dreams.</p> + +<p>And by this time she has some property, something +of her own. The <i>distaff</i>, the <i>bed</i>, and the <i>trunk</i>, are +all she has, according to the old song.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> We may add +a table, a seat, perhaps two stools. A poor dwelling +and very bare; but then it is furnished with a living +soul! The fire cheers her, the blessed box-twigs +guard her bed, accompanied now and again by a pretty +bunch of vervein. Seated by her door, the lady of +this palace spins and watches some sheep. We are +not yet rich enough to keep a cow; but to that we +may come in time, if Heaven will bless our house. +The wood, a bit of pasture, and some bees about our +ground—such is our way of life! But little corn is +cultivated as yet, there being no assurance of a harvest +so long of coming. Such a life, however needy, is +anyhow less hard for the woman: she is not broken +down and withered, as she will be in the days of large +farming. And she has more leisure withal. You +must never judge of her by the coarse literature of +the Fabliaux and the Christmas Carols, by the foolish +laughter and license of the filthy tales we have to put +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>up with by and by. She is alone; without a neighbour. +The bad, unwholesome life of the dark, little, +walled towns, the mutual spyings, the wretched dangerous +gossipings, have not yet begun. No old +woman comes of an evening, when the narrow street +is growing dark, to tempt the young maiden by saying +how for the love of her somebody is dying. She has +no friend but her own reflections; she converses only +with her beasts or the tree in the forest.</p> + +<p>Such things speak to her, we know of what. They +recall to her mind the saws once uttered by her mother +and grandmother; ancient saws handed down for ages +from woman to woman. They form a harmless reminder +of the old country spirits, a touching family +religion which doubtless had little power in the blustering +hurly-burly of a great common dwellinghouse, +but now comes back again to haunt the lonely cabin.</p> + +<p>It is a singular, a delicate world of fays and hobgoblins, +made for a woman’s soul. When the great +creation of the saintly Legend gets stopped and dried +up, that other older, more poetic legend comes in for +its share of welcome; reigns privily with gentle sway. +It is the woman’s treasure; she worships and caresses +it. The fay, too, is a woman, a fantastic mirror wherein +she sees herself in a fairer guise.</p> + +<p>Who were these fays? Tradition says, that of yore +some Gaulish queens, being proud and fanciful, did on +the coming of Christ and His Apostles behave so insolently +as to turn their backs upon them. In Brittany<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +they were dancing at the moment, and never stopped +dancing. Hence their hard doom; they are condemned +to live until the Day of Judgment.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> Many of +them were turned into mice or rabbits; as the Kow-riggwans +for instance, or Elves, who meeting at night +round the old Druidic stones entangle you in their +dances. The same fate befell the pretty Queen Mab, +who made herself a royal chariot out of a walnut-shell. +They are all rather whimsical, and sometimes ill-humoured. +But can we be surprised at them, remembering +their woeful lot? Tiny and odd as they are, +they have a heart, a longing to be loved. They are +good and they are bad and full of fancies. On the +birth of a baby they come down the chimney, to endow +it and order its future. They are fond of good spinning-women—they +even spin divinely themselves. Do +we not talk of <i>spinning like a fairy</i>?</p> + +<p>The fairy-tales, stripped of the absurd embellishments +in which the latest compilers muffled them up, express +the heart of the people itself. They mark a poetic +interval between the gross communism of the primitive +<i>villa</i>, and the looseness of the time when a growing +burgess-class made our cynical Fabliaux.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<p>These tales have an historical side, reminding us, in +the ogres, &c., of the great famines. But commonly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>they soar higher than any history, on the <i>Blue Bird’s</i> +wing, in a realm of eternal poesy; telling us our +wishes which never vary, the unchangeable history of +the heart.</p> + +<p>The poor serf’s longing to breathe, to rest, to find a +treasure that may end his sufferings, continually returns. +More often, through a lofty aspiration, this +treasure becomes a soul as well, a treasure of love +asleep, as in <i>The Sleeping Beauty</i>: but not seldom the +charming person finds herself by some fatal enchantment +hidden under a mask. Hence that touching trilogy, +that admirable <i>crescendo</i> of <i>Riquet with the Tuft</i>, +<i>Ass’s Skin</i>, and <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>. Love will not +be discouraged. Through all that ugliness it follows +after and gains the hidden beauty. In the last of these +tales that feeling touches the sublime, and I think that +no one has ever read it without weeping.</p> + +<p>A passion most real, most sincere, lurks beneath it—that +unhappy, hopeless love, which unkind nature often +sets between poor souls of very different ranks in life. +On the one hand is the grief of the peasant maid at +not being able to make herself fair enough to win the +cavalier’s fancy; on the other the smothered sighs of +the serf, when along his furrow he sees passing, on a +white horse, too exquisite a glory, the beautiful, the +majestic Lady of the Castle. So in the East arises +the mournful idyll of the impossible loves of the Rose +and the Nightingale. Nevertheless, there is one +great difference: the bird and the flower are both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +beautiful; nay, are alike in their beauty. But here +the humbler being, doomed to a place so far below, +avows to himself that he is ugly and monstrous. But +amidst his wailing he feels in himself a power greater +than the East can know. With the will of a hero, +through the very greatness of his desire, he breaks out +of his idle coverings. He loves so much, this monster, +that he is loved, and, in return, through that love +grows beautiful.</p> + +<p>An infinite tenderness pervades it all. This soul +enchanted thinks not of itself alone. It busies itself +in saving all nature and all society as well. Victims +of every kind, the child beaten by its step-mother, the +youngest sister slighted, ill-used by her elders, are the +surest objects of its liking. Even to the Lady of the +Castle does its compassion extend; it mourns her fallen +into the hands of so fierce a lord as Blue-Beard. It +yearns with pity towards the beasts; it seeks to console +them for being still in the shape of animals. Let them +be patient, and their day will come. Some day their +prisoned souls shall put on wings, shall be free, lovely, +and beloved. This is the other side of <i>Ass’s Skin</i> +and such like stories. There especially we are sure of +finding a woman’s heart. The rude labourer in the +fields may be hard enough to his beasts, but to the +woman they are no beasts. She regards them with the +feeling of a child. To her fancy all is human, all is +soul: the whole world becomes ennobled. It is a beautiful +enchantment. Humble as she is, and ugly as she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +thinks herself, she has given all her beauty, all her +grace to the surrounding universe.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Is she, then, so ugly, this little peasant-wife, whose +dreaming fancy feeds on things like these? I tell you +she keeps house, she spins and minds the flock, she +visits the forest to gather a little wood. As yet she has +neither the hard work nor the ugly looks of the +countrywoman as afterwards fashioned by the prevalent +culture of grain crops. Nor is she like the fat townswife, +heavy and slothful, about whom our fathers made +such a number of fat stories. She has no sense of +safety; she is meek and timid, and feels herself, as it +were, in God’s hand. On yonder hill she can see the +dark frowning castle, whence a thousand harms may +come upon her. Her husband she holds in equal fear +and honour. A serf elsewhere, by her side he is a +king. For him she saves of her best, living herself on +nothing. She is small and slender like the women-saints +of the Church. The poor feeding of those +days must needs make women fine-bred, but lacking +also in vital strength. The children die off in vast +numbers: those pale roses are all nerves. Hence, will +presently burst forth the epileptic dances of the fourteenth +century. Meanwhile, towards the twelfth century, +there come to be two weaknesses attached to this +state of half-grown youth: by night somnambulism; +in the daytime seeing of visions, trance, and the gift +of tears.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p><hr /> + +<p>This woman, for all her innocence, still has a secret +which the Church may never be told. Locked up in +her heart she bears the pitying remembrance of those +poor old gods who have fallen into the state of +spirits;<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> and spirits, you must know, are not exempt +from suffering. Dwelling in rocks, and in hearts of +oak, they are very unhappy in winter; being particularly +fond of warmth. They ramble about houses; +they are sometimes seen in stables warming themselves +beside the beasts. Bereft of incense and burnt-offerings, +they sometimes take of the milk. The housewife +being thrifty, will not stint her husband, but +lessens her own share, and in the evening leaves a +little cream.</p> + +<p>Those spirits who only appear at night, regret their +banishment from the day and are greedy of lamplight. +By night the housewife starts on her perilous trip, +bearing a small lantern, to the great oak where they +dwell, or to the secret fountain whose mirror, as it +multiplies the flame, may cheer up those sorrowful +outlaws.</p> + +<p>But if anyone should know of it, good heavens! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>Her husband is canny and fears the Church: he would +certainly give her a beating. The priest wages fierce +war with the sprites, and hunts them out of every +place. Yet he might leave them their dwelling in the +oaks! What harm can they do in the forest? Alas! +no: from council to council they are hunted down. +On set days the priest will go even to the oak, and +with prayers and holy water drive away the spirits.</p> + +<p>How would it be if no kind soul took pity on them? +This woman, however, will take them under her care. +She is an excellent Christian, but will keep for them +one corner of her heart. To them alone can she +entrust those little natural affairs, which, harmless as +they are in a chaste wife’s dwelling, the Church +at any rate would count as blameworthy. They are +the confidants, the confessors of these touching womanly +secrets. Of them she thinks, when she puts +the holy log on the fire. It is Christmastide; but +also is it the ancient festival of the Northern spirits, +the <i>Feast of the Longest Night</i>. So, too, the Eve of +May-day is the <i>Pervigilium of Maia</i>, when the tree +is planted. So, too, with the Eve of St. John, the +true feast-day of life, of flowers, and newly-awakened +love. She who has no children makes it her especial +duty to cherish these festivals, and to offer them a +deep devotion. A vow to the Virgin would perhaps be +of little avail, it being no concern of Mary’s. In a +low whisper, she prefers addressing some ancient +<i>genius</i>, worshipped in other days as a rustic deity, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +afterwards by the kindness of some local church transformed +into a saint.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> And thus it happens that the +bed, the cradle, all the sweetest mysteries on which the +chaste and loving soul can brood, belong to the olden +gods.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Nor are the sprites ungrateful. One day she awakes, +and without having stirred a finger, finds all her housekeeping +done. In her amazement she makes the sign +of the cross and says nothing. When the good man +goes she questions herself, but in vain. It must have +been a spirit. “What can it be? How came it here? +How I should like to see it! But I am afraid: they +say it is death to see a spirit.”—Yet the cradle moves +and swings of itself. She is clasped by some one, and +a voice so soft, so low that she took it for her own, is +heard saying, “Dearest mistress, I love to rock your +babe, because I am myself a babe.” Her heart beats, +and yet she takes courage a little. The innocence of +the cradle gives this spirit also an innocent air, causing +her to believe it good, gentle, suffered at least by +God.</p> + +<p>From that day forth she is no longer alone. She +readily feels its presence, and it is never far from her. +It rubs her gown, and she hears the grazing. It rambles +momently about her, and plainly cannot leave her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>side. If she goes to the stable, it is there; and she +believes that the other day it was in the churn.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> + +<p>Pity she cannot take it up and look at it! Once, +when she suddenly touched the brands, she fancied +she saw the tricksy little thing tumbling about in the +sparks; another time she missed catching it in a rose. +Small as it is, it works, sweeps, arranges, saves her a +thousand cares.</p> + +<p>It has its faults, however; is giddy, bold, and if she +did not hold it fast, might perhaps shake itself free. It +observes and listens too much. It repeats sometimes +of a morning some little word she had whispered very, +very softly on going to bed, when the light was put out. +She knows it to be very indiscreet, exceedingly curious. +She is irked with feeling herself always followed about, +complains of it, and likes complaining. Sometimes, +having threatened him and turned him off, she feels +herself quite at ease. But just then she finds herself +caressed by a light breathing, as it were a bird’s wing. +He was under a leaf. He laughs: his gentle voice, free +from mocking, declares the joy he felt in taking his +chaste young mistress by surprise. On her making a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>show of great wrath, “No, my darling, my little pet,” +says the monkey, “you are not a bit sorry to have +me here.”</p> + +<p>She feels ashamed and dares say nothing more. But +she guesses now that she loves him overmuch. She has +scruples about it, and loves him yet more. All night +she seems to feel him creeping up to her bed. In her +fear she prays to God, and keeps close to her husband. +What shall she do? She has not the strength to tell +the Church. She tells her husband, who laughs at first +incredulously. Then she owns to a little more,—what +a madcap the goblin is, sometimes even overbold. +“What matters? He is so small.” Thus he himself +sets her mind at ease.</p> + +<p>Should we too feel reassured, we who can see more +clearly? She is quite innocent still. She would shrink +from copying the great lady up there who, in the face +of her husband, has her court of lovers and her page. +Let us own, however, that to that point the goblin has +already smoothed the way. One could not have a more +perilous page than he who hides himself under a rose; +and, moreover, he smacks of the lover. More intrusive +than anyone else, he is so tiny that he can creep +anywhere.</p> + +<p>He glides even into the husband’s heart, paying him +court and winning his good graces. He looks after +his tools, works in his garden, and of an evening, by +way of reward, curls himself up in the chimney, behind +the babe and the cat. They hear his small voice, just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +like a cricket’s; but they never see much of him, save +when a faint glimmer lights a certain cranny in which +he loves to stay. Then they see, or think they see, a +thin little face; and cry out, “Ah! little one, we have +seen you at last!”</p> + +<p>In church they are told to mistrust the spirits, for +even one that seems innocent, and glides about like a +light breeze, may after all be a devil. They take good +care not to believe it. His size begets a belief in his +innocence. Whilst he is there, they thrive. The husband +holds to him as much as the wife, and perhaps +more. He sees that the tricksy little elf makes the +fortune of the house.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Trois pas du côté du banc,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Et trois pas du côté du lit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trois pas du côté du coffre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Et trois pas—— Revenez ici.”<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(<i>Old Song of the Dancing Master.</i>)<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> All passages bearing on this point have been gathered +together in two learned works by M. Maury (<i>Les Fées</i>, 1843; +and <i>La Magie</i>, 1860). See also Grimm.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> A body of tales by the Trouvères of the twelfth and +thirteenth centuries.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> This loyalty of hers is very touching indeed. In the fifth +century the peasants braved persecution by parading the gods +of the old religion in the shape of small dolls made of linen +or flour. Still the same in the eighth century. The <i>Capitularies</i> +threaten death in vain. In the twelfth century, Burchard, of +Worms, attests their inutility. In 1389, the Sorbonne inveighs +against certain traces of heathenism, while in 1400, Gerson +talks of it as still a lively superstition.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> A. Maury, <i>Magie</i>, 159.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> This is a favourite haunt of the little rogue’s. To this day +the Swiss, knowing his tastes, make him a present of some +milk. His name among them is <i>troll</i> (<i>drôle</i>); among the Germans +<i>kobold</i>, <i>nix</i>. In France he is called <i>follet</i>, <i>goblin</i>, <i>lutin</i>; +in England, <i>Puck</i>, <i>Robin Goodfellow</i>. Shakespeare says, he does +sleepy servants the kindness to pinch them black and blue, in +order to rouse them.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>TEMPTATIONS.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">I have</span> kept this picture clear of those dreadful +shadows of the hour by which it would have been +sadly overdarkened. I refer especially to the uncertainty +attending the lot of these rural households, to +their constant fear and foreboding of some casual +outrage which might at any moment descend on them +from the castle.</p> + +<p>There were just two things which made the feudal +rule a hell: on one hand, its <i>exceeding steadfastness</i>, +man being nailed, as it were, to the ground, and +emigration made impossible; on the other, a very +great degree of <i>uncertainty</i> about his lot.</p> + +<p>The optimist historians who say so much about +fixed rents, charters, buying of immunities, forget how +slightly all this was guaranteed. So much you were +bound to pay the lord, but all the rest he could take +if he chose; and this was very fitly called the <i>right of +seizure</i>. You may work and work away, my good +fellow! But while you are in the fields, yon dreaded +band from the castle will fall upon your house and +carry off whatever they please “for their lord’s service.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Look again at that man standing with his head +bowed gloomily over the furrow! And thus he is +always found, his face clouded, his heart oppressed, as +if he were expecting some evil news. Is he meditating +some wrongful deed? No; but there are two ideas +haunting him, two daggers piercing him in turn. +The one is, “In what state shall I find my house +this evening?” The other, “Would that the turning +up of this sod might bring some treasure to +light! O that the good spirit would help to buy us +free!”</p> + +<p>We are assured that, after the fashion of the +Etruscan spirit which one day started up from under +the ploughshare in the form of a child, a dwarf or +gnome of the tiniest stature would sometimes on such +an appeal come forth from the ground, and, setting +itself on the furrow, would say, “What wantest thou?” +But in his amazement the poor man would ask for +nothing; he would turn pale, cross himself, and presently +go quite away.</p> + +<p>Did he never feel sorry afterwards? Said he never +to himself, “Fool that you are, you will always be unlucky?” +I readily believe he did; but I also think +that a barrier of dread invincible stopped him short. +I cannot believe with the monks who have told us all +things concerning witchcraft, that the treaty with +Satan was the light invention of a miser or a man in +love. On the contrary, nature and good sense alike +inform us that it was only the last resource of an overwhelming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +despair, under the weight of dreadful outrages +and dreadful sufferings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But those great sufferings, we are told, must have been +greatly lightened about the time of St. Louis, who forbade +private wars among the nobles. My own opinion +is quite the reverse. During the fourscore or hundred +years that elapsed between his prohibition and the +wars with England (1240-1340), the great lords being +debarred from the accustomed sport of burning and +plundering their neighbours’ lands, became a terror +to their own vassals. For the latter such a peace was +simply war.</p> + +<p>The spiritual, the monkish lords, and others, as +shown in the <i>Journal of Eudes Rigault</i>, lately published, +make one shudder. It is a repulsive picture of +profligacy at once savage and uncontrolled. The +monkish lords especially assail the nunneries. The +austere Rigault, Archbishop of Rouen, confessor of the +holy king, conducts a personal inquiry into the state +of Normandy. Every evening he comes to a monastery. +In all of them he finds the monks leading the life of +great feudal lords, wearing arms, getting drunk, fighting +duels, keen huntsmen over all the cultivated land; +the nuns living among them in wild confusion, and +betraying everywhere the fruits of their shameless +deeds.</p> + +<p>If things are so in the Church, what must the lay +lords have been? What like was the inside of those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +dark towers which the folk below regarded with so +much horror? Two tales, undoubtedly historical, +namely, <i>Blue-Beard</i> and <i>Griselda</i>, tell us something +thereanent. To his vassals, his serfs, what indeed must +have been this devotee of torture who treated his own +family in such a way? He is known to us through the +only man who was brought to trial for such deeds; and +that not earlier than the fifteenth century,—Gilles de +Retz, who kidnapped children.</p> + +<p>Sir Walter Scott’s Front de Bœuf, and the other +lords of melodramas and romances, are but poor creatures +in the face of these dreadful realities. The +Templar also in <i>Ivanhoe</i>, is a weak artificial conception. +The author durst not assay the foul reality of celibate +life in the Temple, or within the castle walls. Few +women were taken in there, being accounted not worth +their keep. The romances of chivalry altogether belie +the truth. It is remarkable, indeed, how often the +literature of an age expresses the very opposite of its +manners, as, for instance, the washy theatre of eclogues +after Florian,<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> during the years of the Great Terror.</p> + +<p>The rooms in these castles, in such at least as may +be seen to-day, speak more plainly than any books. +Men-at-arms, pages, footmen, crammed together of +nights under low-vaulted roofs, in the daytime kept on +the battlements, on narrow terraces, in a state of most +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>sickening weariness, lived only in their pranks down +below; in feats no longer of arms on the neighbouring +domains, but of hunting, ay, and hunting of men; +insults, I may say, without number, outrages untold on +families of serfs. The lord himself well knew that +such an army of men, without women, could only be +kept in order by letting them loose from time to time.</p> + +<p>The awful idea of a hell wherein God employs the +very guiltiest of the wicked spirits to torture the less +guilty delivered over to them for their sport,—this +lovely dogma of the Middle Ages was exemplified to +the last letter. Men felt that God was not among +them. Each new raid betokened more and more +clearly the kingdom of Satan, until men came to believe +that thenceforth their prayers should be offered to +him alone.</p> + +<p>Up in the castle there was laughing and joking. +“The women-serfs were too ugly.” There is no question +raised as to their beauty. The great pleasure lay +in deeds of outrage, in striking and making them +weep. Even in the seventeenth century the great +ladies died with laughing, when the Duke of Lorraine +told them how, in peaceful villages, his people went +about harrying and torturing all the women, even to +the old.</p> + +<p>These outrages fell most frequently, as we might +suppose, on families well to do and comparatively distinguished +among the serfs; the families, namely, of +those serf-born mayors, who already in the twelfth +century appear at the head of the village. By the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +nobles they were hated, jeered, cruelly plagued. Their +newborn moral dignity was not to be forgiven. Their +wives and daughters were not allowed to be good and +wise: they had no right to be held in any respect. +Their honour was not their own. <i>Serfs of the body</i>, +such was the cruel phrase cast for ever in their teeth.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In days to come people will be slow to believe, that +the law among Christian nations went beyond anything +decreed concerning the olden slavery; that it +wrote down as an actual right the most grievous outrage +that could ever wound man’s heart. The lord +spiritual had this foul privilege no less than the lord +temporal. In a parish outside Bourges, the parson, as +being a lord, expressly claimed the firstfruits of the +bride, but was willing to sell his rights to the husband.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> + +<p>It has been too readily believed that this wrong was +formal, not real. But the price laid down in certain +countries for getting a dispensation, exceeded the +means of almost every peasant. In Scotland, for +instance, the demand was for “several cows:” a price +immense, impossible. So the poor young wife was at +their mercy. Besides, the Courts of Béarn openly +maintain that this right grew up naturally: “The +eldest-born of the peasant is accounted the son of his +lord, for he perchance it was who begat him.”<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p><p>All feudal customs, even if we pass over this, compel +the bride to go up to the castle, bearing thither the +“wedding-dish.” Surely it was a cruel thing to make +her trust herself amongst such a pack of celibate dogs, +so shameless and so ungovernable.</p> + +<p>A shameful scene we may well imagine it to have +been. As the young husband is leading his bride to +the castle, fancy the laughter of cavaliers and footmen, +the frolics of the pages around the wretched poor! +But the presence of the great lady herself will check +them? Not at all. The lady in whose delicate breeding +the romances tell us to believe,<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> but who, in her husband’s +absence, ruled his men, judging, chastising, +ordaining penalties, to whom her husband himself was +bound by the fiefs she brought him,—such a lady +would be in no wise merciful, especially towards a girl-serf +who happened also to be good-looking. Since, +according to the custom of those days, she openly kept +her gentleman and her page, she would not be sorry to +sanction her own libertinism by that of her husband.</p> + +<p>Nothing will she do to hinder the fun, the sport they +are making out of yon poor trembler who has come to +redeem his bride. They begin by bargaining with him; +they laugh at the pangs endured by “the miserly +peasant;” they suck the very blood and marrow of +him. Why all this fury? Because he is neatly clad; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>is honest, settled; is a man of mark in the village. +Why, indeed? Because she is pious, chaste, and pure; +because she loves him; because she is frightened and +falls a-weeping. Her sweet eyes plead for pity.</p> + +<p>In vain does the poor wretch offer all he has, even +to her dowry: it is all too little. Angered at such +cruel injustice, he will say perhaps that “his neighbour +paid nothing.” The insolent fellow! he would argue +with us! Thereon they gather round him, a yelling +mob: sticks and brooms pelt upon him like hail. They +jostle him, they throw him down. “You jealous +villain, you Lent-faced villain!” they cry; “no one +takes your wife from you; you shall have her back to-night, +and to enhance the honour done you ... your +eldest child will be a baron!” Everyone looks +out of window at the absurd figure of this dead man +in wedding garments. He is followed by bursts of +laughter, and the noisy rabble, down to the lowest +scullion, give chase to the “cuckold.”<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The poor fellow would have burst, had he nothing to +hope for from the Devil. By himself he returns: is +the house empty as well as desolate? No, there is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>company waiting for him there: by the fireside sits +Satan.</p> + +<p>But soon his bride comes back, poor wretch, all pale +and undone. Alas! alas! for her condition. At his +feet she throws herself and craves forgiveness. Then, +with a bursting heart, he flings his arms round her +neck. He weeps, he sobs, he roars, till the house +shakes again.</p> + +<p>But with her comes back God. For all her suffering, +she is pure, innocent, holy still. Satan for that +nonce will get no profit: the treaty is not yet ripe.</p> + +<p>Our silly Fabliaux, our absurd tales, assume with +regard to this deadly outrage and all its further issues, +that the woman sides with her oppressors against her +husband; they would have us believe that her brutal +treatment by the former makes her happy and transports +her with delight. A likely thing indeed! +Doubtless she might be seduced by rank, politeness, +elegant manners. But no pains are ever taken to that +end. Great would be the scoffing at anyone who +made true-love’s wooing towards a serf. The whole +gang of men, to the chaplain, the butler, even the +footmen, would think they honoured her by deeds of +outrage. The smallest page thought himself a great +lord, if he only seasoned his love with insolence and +blows.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>One day, the poor woman, having just been ill-treated +during her husband’s absence, begins weeping,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +and saying quite aloud, the while she is tying up her +long hair, “Ah, those unhappy saints of the woods, +what boots it to offer them my vows? Are they deaf, +or have they grown too old? Why have I not some +protecting spirit, strong and mighty—wicked even, if it +need be? Some such I see in stone at the church-door; +but what do they there? Why do they not go +to their proper dwelling, the castle, to carry off and +roast those sinners? Oh, who is there will give me +power and might? I would gladly give myself in +exchange. Ah, me, what is it I would give? What +have I to give on my side? Nothing is left me. Out +on this body, out on this soul, a mere cinder now! +Why, instead of this useless goblin, have I not some +spirit, great, strong, and mighty, to help me?”</p> + +<p>“My darling mistress! If I am small, it is your +fault; and bigger I cannot grow. And besides, if I +were very big, neither you nor your husband would +have borne with me. You would have driven me away +with your priests and your holy water. I can be strong, +however, if you please. For, mistress mine, the spirits +in themselves are neither great nor small, neither weak +nor strong. For him who wishes it, the smallest can +become a giant.”</p> + +<p>“In what way?”</p> + +<p>“Why, nothing can be simpler. To make him a +giant, you must grant him only one gift.”</p> + +<p>“What is that?”</p> + +<p>“A lovely woman-soul.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Ah, wicked one! What then art thou, and what +wouldst thou have?”</p> + +<p>“Only what you give me every day.... Would +you be better than the lady up yonder? She has +pledged her soul to her husband and to her lover, and +yet she yields it whole to her page. I am more than a +page to you, more than a servant. In how many +matters have I not been your little handmaid! Do +not blush, nor be angry. Let me only say, that I am +all about you, and already perhaps in you. Else, how +could I know your thoughts, even those which you +hide from yourself? Who am I, then? Your little +soul, which speaks thus openly to the great one. We +are inseparable. Do you know how long I have been +with you? Some thousand years, for I belonged to your +mother, to hers, to your ancestors. I am the Spirit of +the Fireside.”</p> + +<p>“Tempter! What wilt thou do?”</p> + +<p>“Why, thy husband shall be rich, thyself mighty, +and men shall fear thee.”</p> + +<p>“Where am I? Surely thou art the demon of +hidden treasures!”</p> + +<p>“Why call me demon, if I do deeds of justice, of +goodness, of piety? God cannot be everywhere—He +cannot be always working. Sometimes He likes to +rest, leaving us other spirits here to carry on the +smaller husbandry, to remedy the ills which his providence +passed over, which his justice forgot to +handle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Of this your husband is an example. Poor, deserving +workman, he is killing himself and gaining +nought in return. Heaven has had no time to look +after him. But I, though rather jealous of him, still +love my kind host. I pity him: his strength is going, +he can bear up no longer. He will die, like your children, +already dead of misery. This winter he was ill; +what will become of him the next?”</p> + +<p>Thereon, her face in her hands, she wept two, three +hours, and even more. And when she had poured out +all her tears—her bosom still throbbing hard—the +other said, “I ask nothing: only, I pray, save him.”</p> + +<p>She had promised nothing, but from that hour she +became his.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> A writer of eclogues, fables and dramas; in youth a +friend of Voltaire, afterwards imprisoned during the Terror.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Lauriere, ii. 100 (on the word <i>Marquette</i>). Michelet, +<i>Origines du Droit</i>, 264.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> When I published my <i>Origines</i> in 1837, I could not have +known this work, published in 1842.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> This delicacy appears in the treatment these ladies inflicted +on their poet Jean de Meung, author of the <i>Roman de +la Rose</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> The old tales are very sportive, but rather monotonous. +They turn on three jokes only: the despair of the <i>cuckold</i>, the +cries of the <i>beaten</i>, the wry faces of the <i>hanged</i>. The first is +amusing, the second laughable, the third, as crown of all, +makes people split their sides. And the three have one point +in common: it is the weak and helpless who is ill-used.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>POSSESSION.</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">A dreadful</span> age was the age of gold; for thus do +I call that hard time when gold first came into use. +This was in the year 1300, during the reign of that +Fair King<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> who never spake a word; the great king +who seemed to have a dumb devil, but a devil with +mighty arm, strong enough to burn the Temple, long +enough to reach Rome, and with glove of iron to deal +the first good blow at the Pope.</p> + +<p>Gold thereupon becomes a great pope, a mighty +god, and not without cause. The movement began +in Europe with the Crusades: the only wealth men +cared for was that which having wings could lend +itself to their enterprise; the wealth, namely, of swift +exchanges. To strike blows afar off the king wants +nothing but gold. An army of gold, a fiscal army, +spreads over all the land. The lord, who has brought +back with him his dreams of the East, is always +longing for its wonders, for damascened armour, +carpets, spices, valuable steeds. For all such things +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>he needs gold. He pushes away with his foot the +serf who brings him corn. “That is not all; I want +gold!”</p> + +<p>On that day the world was changed. Theretofore +in the midst of much evil there had always been a +harmless certainty about the tax. According as the +year was good or bad, the rent followed the course of +nature and the measure of the harvest. If the lord +said, “This is little,” he was answered, “My lord, +Heaven has granted us no more.”</p> + +<p>But the gold, alas! where shall we find it? We +have no army to seize it in the towns of Flanders. +Where shall we dig the ground to win him his treasure? +Oh, that the spirit of hidden treasures would be +our guide!<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> +<p>While all are desperate, the woman with the goblin +is already seated on her sacks of corn in the little +neighbouring village. She is alone, the rest being +still at their debate in the village.</p> + +<p>She sells at her own price. But even when the +rest come up, everything favours her, some strange +magical allurement working on her side. No one +bargains with her. Her husband, before his time, +brings his rent in good sounding coin to the feudal +elm. “Amazing!” they all say, “but the Devil +is in her!”</p> + +<p>They laugh, but she does not. She is sorrowful +and afraid. In vain she tries to pray that night. +Strange prickings disturb her slumber. Fantastic +forms appear before her. The small gentle sprite +seems to have grown imperious. He waxes bold. +She is uneasy, indignant, eager to rise. In her sleep +she groans, and feels herself dependent, saying, “No +more do I belong to myself!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“Here is a sensible countryman,” says the lord; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>“he pays beforehand! You charm me: do you know +accounts?”—“A little.”—“Well then, you shall +reckon with these folk. Every Saturday you shall +sit under the elm and receive their money. On +Sunday, before mass, you shall bring it up to the +castle.”</p> + +<p>What a change in their condition! How the wife’s +heart beats when of a Saturday she sees her poor +workman, serf though he be, seated like a lordling +under the baronial shades. At first he feels giddy, +but in time accustoms himself to put on a grave +air. It is no joking matter, indeed; for the lord commands +them to show him due respect. When he has +gone up to the castle, and the jealous ones look like +laughing and designing to pay him off, “You see +that battlement,” says the lord, “the rope you +don’t see, but it is also ready. The first man who +touches him shall be set up there high and quick.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>This speech is repeated from one to another; until +it has spread around these two as it were an atmosphere +of terror. Everybody doffs his hat to them, +bowing very low indeed. But when they pass by, folk +stand aloof, and get out of the way. In order to +shirk them they turn up cross roads, with backs +bended, with eyes turned carefully down. Such a +change makes them first savage, but afterwards sorrowful. +They walk alone through all the district. +The wife’s shrewdness marks the hostile scorn of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +castle, the trembling hate of those below. She feels +herself fearfully isolated between two perils. No one +to defend her but her lord, or rather the money they +pay him: but then to find that money, to spur on the +peasant’s slowness, and overcome his sluggish antagonism, +to snatch somewhat even from him who has +nothing, what hard pressure, what threats, what +cruelty, must be employed! This was never in the +goodman’s line of business. The wife brings him to +the mark by dint of much pushing: she says to him, +“Be rough; at need be cruel. Strike hard. Otherwise +you will fall short of your engagements; and +then we are undone.”</p> + +<p>This suffering by day, however, is a trifle in comparison +with the tortures of the night. She seems to +have lost the power of sleeping. She gets up, walks +to and fro, and roams about the house. All is still; +and yet how the house is altered; its old innocence, its +sweet security all for ever gone! “Of what is that cat +by the hearth a-thinking, as she pretends to sleep, and +’tweenwhiles opens her green eyes upon me? The +she-goat with her long beard, looking so discreet and +ominous, knows more about it than she can tell. And +yon cow which the moon reveals by glimpses in her +stall, why does she give me such a sidelong look? All +this is surely unnatural!”</p> + +<p>Shivering, she returns to her husband’s side. +“Happy man, how deep his slumber! Mine is over; +I cannot sleep, I never shall sleep again.” In time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +however, she falls off. But oh, what suffering visits +her then! The importunate guest is beside her, demanding +and giving his orders. If one while she gets +rid of him by praying or making the sign of the cross, +anon he returns under another form. “Get back, devil! +What durst thou? I am a Christian soul. No, thou +shalt not touch me!”</p> + +<p>In revenge he puts on a hundred hideous forms; +twining as an adder about her bosom, dancing as a frog +upon her stomach, anon like a bat, sharp-snouted, covering +her scared mouth with dreadful kisses. What is +it he wants? To drive her into a corner, so that +conquered and crushed at last, she may yield and utter +the word “Yes.” Still she is resolute to say “No.” Still +she is bent on braving the cruel struggles of every +night, the endless martyrdom of that wasting strife.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“How far can a spirit make himself withal a body? +What reality can there be in his efforts and approaches? +Would she be sinning in the flesh, if she allowed the +intrusions of one who was always roaming about her? +Would that be sheer adultery?” Such was the sly +roundabout way in which sometimes he stayed and +weakened her resistance. “If I am only a breath, a +smoke, a thin air, as so many doctors call me, why are +you afraid, poor fearful soul, and how does it concern +your husband?”</p> + +<p>It is the painful doom of the soul in these Middle +Ages, that a number of questions which to us would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +seem idle, questions of pure scholastics, disturb, +frighten, and torment it, taking the guise of visions, +sometimes of devilish debatings, of cruel dialogues +carried on within. The Devil, fierce as he shows himself +in the demoniacs, remains always a spirit throughout +the days of the Roman Empire, even in the time +of St. Martin or the fifth century. With the Barbarian +inroads he waxes barbarous, and takes to himself +a body. So great a body does he become, that he +amuses himself in breaking with stones the bell of +the convent of St. Benedict. More and more fleshly +is he made to appear, by way of frightening the plunderers +of ecclesiastical goods. People are taught to +believe that sinners will be tormented not in the spirit +only, but even bodily in the flesh; that they will suffer +material tortures, not those of ideal flames, but in very +deed such exquisite pangs as burning coals, gridirons, +and red-hot spits can awaken.</p> + +<p>This conception of the torturing devils inflicting +material agonies on the souls of the dead, was a mine +of gold to the Church. The living, pierced with grief +and pity, asked themselves “if it were possible to redeem +these poor souls from one world to another; if to +these, too, might be applied such forms of expiation, by +atonement and compromise, as were practised upon +earth?” This bridge between two worlds was found +in Cluny, which from its very birth, about 900, became +at once among the wealthiest of the monastic +orders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>So long as God Himself dealt out his punishments, +<i>making heavy his hand</i>, or striking <i>with the sword of +the Angel</i>, according to the grand old phrase, there +was much less of horror; if his hand was heavy as +that of a judge, it was still the hand of a Father. The +Angel who struck remained pure and clean as his own +sword. Far otherwise is it when the execution is done +by filthy demons, who resemble not the angel that +burned up Sodom, but the angel that first went forth +therefrom. In that place they stay, and their hell is +a kind of Sodom, wherein these spirits, fouler than the +sinners yielded into their charge, extract a horrible joy +from the tortures they are inflicting. Such was the +teaching to be found in the simple carvings hung out +at the doors of churches. By these men learned the +horrible lesson of the pleasures of pain. On pretence +of punishing, the devils wreaked upon their victims +the most outrageous whims. Truly an immoral and +most shameful idea was this, of a sham justice that +befriended the worse side, deepening its wickedness by +the present of a plaything, and corrupting the Demon +himself!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Cruel times indeed! Think how dark and low a +heaven it was, how heavily it weighed on the head of +man! Fancy the poor little children from their earliest +years imbued with such awful ideas, and trembling +within their cradles! Look at the pure innocent virgin +believing herself damned for the pleasure infused in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +her by the spirit! And the wife in her marriage-bed +tortured by his attacks, withstanding him, and yet +again feeling him within her!—a fearful feeling known +to those who have suffered from tænia. You feel in +yourself a double life; you trace the monster’s movements, +now boisterous, anon soft and waving, and +therein the more troublesome, as making you fancy +yourself on the sea. Then you rush off in wild dismay, +terrified at yourself, longing to escape, to die.</p> + +<p>Even at such times as the demon was not raging +against her, the woman into whom he had once forced +his way would wander about as one burdened with +gloom. For thenceforth she had no remedy. He had +taken fast hold of her, like an impure steam. He is +the Prince of the Air, of storms, and not least of the +storms within. All this may be seen rudely but forcefully +presented under the great doorway of Strasburg +Cathedral. Heading the band of <i>Foolish Virgins</i>, the +wicked woman who lures them on to destruction is +filled, blown out by the Devil, who overflows ignobly +and passes out from under her skirts in a dark stream +of thick smoke.</p> + +<p>This blowing-out is a painful feature in the <i>possession</i>; +at once her punishment and her pride. This proud +woman of Strasburg bears her belly well before her, +while her head is thrown far back. She triumphs in +her size, delights in being a monster.</p> + +<p>To this, however, the woman we are following has +not yet come. But already she is puffed up with him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +and with her new and lofty lot. The earth has ceased +to bear her. Plump and comely in these better days, +she goes down the street with head upright, and merciless +in her scorn. She is feared, hated, admired.</p> + +<p>In look and bearing our village lady says, “I ought +to be the great lady herself. And what does she up +yonder, the shameless sluggard, amidst all those men, +in the absence of her lord?” And now the rivalry is +set on foot. The village, while it loathes her, is proud +thereat. “If the lady of the castle is a baroness, our +woman is a queen; and more than a queen,—we dare +not say what.” Her beauty is a dreadful, a fantastic +beauty, killing in its pride and pain. The Demon himself +is in her eyes.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He has her and yet has her not. She is still <i>herself</i>, +and preserves <i>herself</i>. She belongs neither to the Demon +nor to God. The Demon may certainly invade +her, may encompass her like a fine atmosphere. And +yet he has gained nothing at all; for he has no will +thereto. She is <i>possessed</i>, <i>bedevilled</i>, and she does not +belong to the Devil. Sometimes he uses her with +dreadful cruelty, and yet gains nothing thereby. He +places a coal of fire on her breast, or within her bowels. +She jumps and writhes, but still says, “No, butcher, +I will stay as I am.”</p> + +<p>“Take care! I will lash you with so cruel a +scourge of vipers, I will smite you with such a blow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +that you will afterwards go weeping and rending the +air with your cries.”</p> + +<p>The next night he will not come. In the morning—it +was Sunday—her husband went up to the castle. +He came back all undone. The lord had said: “A +brook that flows drop by drop cannot turn the mill. +You bring me a halfpenny at a time, which is good for +nought. I must set off in a fortnight. The king +marches towards Flanders, and I have not even a war-horse, +my own being lame ever since the tourney. +Get ready for business: I am in want of a hundred +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“But, my lord, where shall I find them?”</p> + +<p>“You may sack the whole village, if you will; I am +about to give you men enough. Tell your churls, if +the money is not forthcoming they are lost men; yourself +especially—you shall die. I have had enough of +you: you have the heart of a woman; you are slack +and sluggish. You shall die—you shall pay for your +cowardice, your effeminacy. Stay; it makes but very +small difference whether you go down now, or whether +I keep you here. This is Sunday: right loudly would +the folk yonder laugh to see you dangling your legs +from my battlements.”</p> + +<p>All this the unhappy man tells again to his wife; +and preparing hopelessly for death, commends his soul +to God. She being just as frightened, can neither lie +down nor sleep. What is to be done? How sorry +she is now to have sent the spirit away! If he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +but come back! In the morning, when her husband +rises, she sinks crushed upon the bed. She has hardly +done so, when she feels on her chest a heavy weight. +Gasping for breath, she is like to choke. The weight +falls lower till it presses on her stomach, and therewithal +on her arms she feels the grasp as of two steel hands.</p> + +<p>“You wanted me, and here I am. So, at last, stubborn +one, I have your soul—at last!”</p> + +<p>“But oh, sir, is it mine to give away? My poor +husband! you used to love him—you said so: you +promised——”</p> + +<p>“Your husband! You forget. Are you sure your +thoughts were always kept upon him? Your soul! I +ask for it as a favour; but it is already mine.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” she says—her pride once more returning +to her, even in so dire a strait—“no, sir; that soul +belongs to me, to my husband, to our marriage rites.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, incorrigible little fool! you would struggle +still, even now that you are under the goad! I have +seen your soul at all hours; I know it better than +you yourself. Day by day did I mark your first reluctances, +your pains, and your fits of despair. I saw +how disheartened you were when, in a low tone, you +said that no one could be held to an impossibility. +And then I saw you growing more resigned. You +were beaten a little, and you cried out not very loud. +As for me, I ask for your soul simply because you have +already lost it. Meanwhile, your husband is dying. +What is to be done? I am sorry for you: I have you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +in my power; but I want something more. You must +grant it frankly and of free will, or else he is a dead +man.”</p> + +<p>She answered very low, in her sleep, “Ah me! my +body and my miserable flesh, you may take them to +save my husband; but my heart, never. No one has +ever had it, and I cannot give it away.”</p> + +<p>So, all resignedly she waited there. And he flung +at her two words: “Keep them, and they will save +you.” Therewith she shuddered, felt within her a +horrible thrill of fire, and, uttering a loud cry, awoke +in the arms of her astonished husband, to drown him +in a flood of tears.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>She tore herself away by force, and got up, fearing +lest she should forget those two important words. Her +husband was alarmed; for, without looking even at +him, she darted on the wall a glance as piercing as +that of Medea. Never was she more handsome. In +her dark eye and the yellowish white around it played +such a glimmer as one durst not face—a glimmer like +the sulphurous jet of a volcano.</p> + +<p>She walked straight to the town. The first word +was “<i>Green</i>.” Hanging at a tradesman’s door she beheld +a green gown—the colour of the Prince of the World—an +old gown, which as she put it on became new +and glossy. Then she walked, without asking anyone, +straight to the door of a Jew, at which she +knocked loudly. It was opened with great caution.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +The poor Jew was sitting on the ground, covered over +with ashes. “My dear, I must have a hundred +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, madam, how am I to get them? The Prince-bishop +of the town has just had my teeth drawn to +make me say where my gold lies.<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> Look at my bleeding +mouth.”</p> + +<p>“I know, I know; but I come to obtain from you +the very means of destroying your Bishop. When the +Pope gets a cuffing, the Bishop will not hold out long.”</p> + +<p>“Who says so?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Toledo.</i>”<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p> + +<p>He hung his head. She spoke and blew: within +her was her own soul and the Devil to boot. A +wondrous warmth filled the room: he himself was +aware of a kind of fiery fountain. “Madam,” said he, +looking at her from under his eyes, “poor and ruined +as I am, I had some pence still in store to sustain my +poor children.”</p> + +<p>“You will not repent of it, Jew. I will swear to you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>the <i>great oath</i> that kills whoso breaks it. What you are +about to give me, you shall receive back in a week, at an +early hour in the morning. This I swear by your <i>great +oath</i> and by mine, which is yet greater: ‘<i>Toledo</i>.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>A year went by. She had grown round and plump; +had made herself one mass of gold. Men were +amazed at her power of charming. Every one admired +and obeyed her. By some devilish miracle the Jew +had grown so generous as to lend at the slightest +signal. By herself she maintained the castle, both +through her own credit in the town, and through the +fear inspired in the village by her rough extortion. +The all-powerful green gown floated to and fro, ever +newer and more beautiful. Her own beauty grew, as +it were, colossal with success and pride. Frightened at +a result so natural, everyone said, “At her time of +life how tall she grows!”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we have some news: the lord is coming +home. The lady, who for a long time had not dared +to come forth, lest she might meet the face of this other +woman down below, now mounted her white horse. +Surrounded by all her people, she goes to meet her +husband; she stops and salutes him.</p> + +<p>And, first of all, she says, “How long I have been +looking for you! Why did you leave your faithful +wife so long a languishing widow? And yet I will +not take you in to-night, unless you grant me a boon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Ask it, ask it, fair lady,” says the gentleman +laughing; “but make haste, for I am eager to embrace +you. How beautiful you have grown!”</p> + +<p>She whispered in his ear, so that no one knew what +she said. Before going up to the castle the worthy +lord dismounts by the village church, and goes in. +Under the porch, at the head of the chief people, he +beholds a lady, to whom without knowing her he offers +a low salute. With matchless pride she bears high +over the men’s heads the towering horned bonnet +(<i>hennin</i><a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>) of the period; the triumphal cap of the +Devil, as it was often called, because of the two horns +wherewith it was embellished. The real lady, blushing +at her eclipse, went out looking very small. Anon +she muttered, angrily, “There goes your serf. It is +all over: everything has changed places: the ass insults +the horse.”</p> + +<p>As they are going off, a bold page, a pet of the +lady’s, draws from his girdle a well-sharpened dagger, +and with a single turn cleverly cuts the fine robe along +her loins.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> The crowd was astonished, but began to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>make it out when it saw the whole of the Baron’s +household going off in pursuit of her. Swift and +merciless about her whistled and fell the strokes of the +whip. She flies, but slowly, being already grown +somewhat heavy. She has hardly gone twenty paces +when she stumbles; her best friend having put a stone +in her way to trip her up. Amidst roars of laughter +she sprawls yelling on the ground. But the ruthless +pages flog her up again. The noble handsome greyhounds +help in the chase and bite her in the tenderest +places. At last, in sad disorder, amidst the terrible +crowd, she reaches the door of her house. It is shut. +There with hands and feet she beats away, crying, +“Quick, quick, my love, open the door for me!” +There hung she, like the hapless screech-owl whom +they nail up on a farm-house door; and still as hard as +ever rained the blows. Within the house all is deaf. +Is the husband there? Or rather, being rich and +frightened, does he dread the crowd, lest they should +sack his house?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p><p>And now she has borne such misery, such strokes, +such sounding buffets, that she sinks down in a swoon. +On the cold stone threshold she finds herself seated, +naked, half-dead, her bleeding flesh covered with little +else than the waves of her long hair. Some one from +the castle says, “No more now! We do not want her +to die.”</p> + +<p>They leave her alone, to hide herself. But in +spirit she can see the merriment going on at the +castle. The lord however, somewhat dazed, said +that he was sorry for it. But the chaplain says, in +his meek way, “If this woman is <i>bedevilled</i>, as +they say, my lord, you owe it to your good vassals, +you owe it to the whole country, to hand her over +to Holy Church. Since all that business with the +Templars and the Pope, what way the Demon is +making! Nothing but fire will do for him.” +Upon which a Dominican says, “Your reverence +has spoken right well. This devilry is a heresy +in the highest degree. The bedevilled, like the +heretic, should be burnt. Some of our good fathers, +however, do not trust themselves now even to the +fire. Wisely they desire that, before all things, +the soul may be slowly purged, tried, subdued by +fastings; that it may not be burnt in its pride, +that it shall not triumph at the stake. If you, +madam, in the greatness of your piety, of your +charity, would take the trouble to work upon this +woman, putting her for some years <i>in pace</i> in a safe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +cell, of which you only should have the key,—by +thus keeping up the chastening process you might +be doing good to her soul, shaming the Devil, and +giving herself up meek and humble into the hands of +the Church.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Philip the Fair of France, who put down the Templar +in Paris, and first secured the liberties of the Gallican Church.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> The devils trouble the world all through the Middle Ages; +but not before the thirteenth century does Satan put on a +settled shape. “<i>Compacts</i>,” says M. Maury, “are very rare +before that epoch;” and I believe him. How could they treat +with one who as yet had no real existence? Neither of the +treating parties was yet ripe for the contract. Before the will +could be reduced to the dreadful pass of selling itself for ever, +it must be made thoroughly desperate. It is not the unhappy +who falls into despair, but the truly wretched, who being quite +conscious of his misery, and having yet more to suffer, can +find no escape therefrom. The wretched in this way are the +men of the fourteenth century, from whom they ask a thing so +impossible as payments in gold. In this and the following +chapter I have touched on the circumstances, the feelings, the +growing despair, which brought about the enormity of <i>compacts</i>, +and, worse still than these, the dreadful character of the <i>Witch</i>. +If the name was freely used, the thing itself was then rare, +being no less than a marriage and a kind of priesthood. For +ease of illustration, I have joined together the details of so +delicate a scrutiny by a thread of fiction. The outward body +of it matters little. The essential point is to remember that +such things were not caused, as they try to persuade us, by +<i>human fickleness, by the inconstancy of our fallen nature, by the +chance persuasions of desire</i>. There was needed the deadly +pressure of an age of iron, of cruel needs: it was needful that +Hell itself should seem a shelter, an asylum, by contrast with +the hell below.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> This was a common way of extracting help from the Jews. +King John Lackland often tried it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Toledo seems to have been the holy city of Wizards, who +in Spain were numberless. These relations with the civilized +Moors, with the Jews so learned and paramount in Spain, as +managers of the royal revenues, had given them a very high +degree of culture, and in Toledo they formed a kind of University. +In the sixteenth century, it was christianised, remodelled, +reduced to mere <i>white magic</i>. See the <i>Deposition of +the Wizard Achard, Lord of Beaumont, a Physician of Poitou</i>. +Lancre, <i>Incredulité</i>, p. 781.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> The absurd head-dress of the women, with its one and +often two horns sloping back from the head, in the fourteenth +century.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Such cruel outrages were common in those days. By the +French and Anglo-Saxon laws, lewdness was thus punished. +Grimm, 679, 711. Sternhook, 19, 326. Ducange, iii. 52. +Michelet, <i>Origines</i>, 386, 389. By and by, the same rough usage +is dealt out to honest women, to citizen’s wives, whose pride +the nobles seek to abase. We know the kind of ambush into +which the tyrant Hagenbach drew the honourable ladies of +the chief burghers in Alsace, probably in scorn of their rich +and royal costume, all silks and gold. In my <i>Origines</i> I have +also related the strange claim made by the Lord of Pacé, in +Anjou, on the pretty (and honest) women of the neighbourhood. +They were to bring to the castle fourpence and a +chaplet of flowers, and to dance with his officers: a dangerous +trip, in which they might well fear some such affronts as those +offered by Hagenbach. They were forced to obey by the threat +of being stripped and pricked with a goad bearing the impress +of the lord’s arms.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE COVENANT.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Nothing</span> was wanting but the victim. They knew +that to bring this woman before her was the most +charming present she could receive. Tenderly would +she have acknowledged the devotion of anyone +who would have given her so great a token of his +love, by delivering that poor bleeding body into her +hands.</p> + +<p>But the prey was aware of the hunters. A few +minutes later and she would have been carried off, to +be for ever sealed up beneath the stone. Wrapping +herself in some rags found by chance in the stable, +she took to herself wings of some kind, and before +midnight gained some out-of-the-way spot on a lonely +moor all covered with briars and thistles. It was on +the skirts of a wood, where by the uncertain light she +might gather a few acorns, to swallow them like a +beast. Ages had elapsed since evening; she was +utterly changed. Beauty and queen of the village no +more, she seemed with the change in her spirit to +have changed her postures also. Among her acorns +she squatted like a boar or a monkey. Thoughts far +from human circled within her as she heard, or seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +to hear the hooting of an owl, followed by a burst of +shrill laughter. She felt afraid, but perhaps it was +the merry mockbird mimicking all those sounds, according +to its wonted fashion.</p> + +<p>But the laughter begins again: whence comes it? +She can see nothing. Apparently it comes from an old +oak. Distinctly, however, she hears these words: “So, +here you are at last! You have come with an ill grace; +nor would you have come now, if you had not tried +the full depth of your last need. You were fain first +to run the gauntlet of whips; to cry out and plead for +mercy, haughty as you were; to be mocked, undone, +forsaken, unsheltered even by your husband. Where +would you have been this night, if I had not been +charitable enough to show you the <i>in pace</i> getting +ready for you in the tower? Late, very late, you are +in coming to me, and only after they have called you +the <i>old woman</i>. In your youth you did not treat me +well, when I was your wee goblin, so eager to serve +you. Now take your turn, if so I wish it, to serve me +and kiss my feet.</p> + +<p>“You were mine from birth through your inborn +wickedness, through those devilish charms of yours. I +was your lover, your husband. Your own has shut +his door against you: I will not shut mine. I welcome +you to my domains, my free prairies, my woods. How +am I the gainer, you may say? Could I not long +since have had you at any hour? Were you not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +invaded, possessed, filled with my flame? I changed +your blood and renewed it: not a vein in your body +where I do not flow. You know not yourself how +utterly you are mine. But our wedding has yet to be +celebrated with all the forms. I have some manners, +and feel rather scrupulous. Let us be one for everlasting.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! sir, in my present state, what should I say? +For a long, long while back have I felt, too truly felt, +that you were all my fate. With evil intent you +caressed me, loaded me with favours, and made me +rich, in order at length to cast me down. Yesterday, +when the black greyhound bit my poor naked flesh, +its teeth scorched me, and I said, ‘’Tis he!’ At night +when that daughter of Herodias with her foul language +scared the company, somebody put them up to the promising +her my blood; and that was you!”</p> + +<p>“True; but ’twas I who saved you and brought you +hither. I did everything, as you have guessed. I +ruined you, and why? That I might have you all to +myself. To speak frankly, I was tired of your husband. +You took to haggling and pettifogging: far otherwise +do I go to work; I want all or none. This is why I have +moulded and drilled you, polished and ripened you, for +my own behoof. Such, you see, is my delicacy of taste. +I don’t take, as people imagine, those foolish souls who +would give themselves up at once. I prefer the choicer +spirits, who have reached a certain dainty stage of fury<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +and despair. Stop: I must let you know how pleasant +you look at this moment. You are a great beauty, a +most desirable soul. I have loved you ever so long, but +now I am hungering for you.</p> + +<p>“I will do things on a large scale, not being one of +those husbands who reckon with their betrothed. If +you wanted only riches, you should have them in a +trice. If you wanted to be queen in the stead of Joan +of Navarre, that too, though difficult, should be done, +and the King would not lose much thereby in the +matter of pride and haughtiness. My wife is greater +than a queen. But, come, tell me what you wish.”</p> + +<p>“Sir, I ask only for the power of doing evil.”</p> + +<p>“A delightful answer, very delightful! Have I not +cause to love you? In reality those words contain all +the law and all the prophets. Since you have made so +good a choice, all the rest shall be thrown in, over and +above. You shall learn all my secrets. You shall see +into the depths of the earth. The whole world shall +come and pour out gold at thy feet. See here, my +bride, I give you the true diamond, <i>Vengeance</i>. I +know you, rogue; I know your most hidden desires. +Ay, our hearts on that point understand each other +well! Therein at least shall I have full possession of +you. You shall behold your enemy on her knees at +your feet, begging and praying for mercy, and only too +happy to earn her release by doing whatever she has +made you do. She will burst into tears; and you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +graciously say, <i>No</i>: whereon she will cry, ‘Death and +damnation!’ ... Come, I will make this my special +business.”</p> + +<p>“Sir, I am at your service. I was thankless indeed, +for you have always heaped favours on me. I am +yours, my master, my god! None other do I desire. +Sweet are your endearments, and very mild your service.”</p> + +<p>And so she worships him, tumbling on all-fours. +At first she pays him, after the forms of the Temple, +such homage as betokens the utter abandonment of +the will. Her master, the Prince of this World, the +Prince of the Winds, breathes upon her in his turn, +like an eager spirit. She receives at once the three +sacraments, in reverse order—baptism, priesthood, and +marriage. In this new Church, the exact opposite of +the other, everything must be done the wrong way. +Meekly, patiently, she endures the cruel initiation,<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> +borne up by that one word, “Vengeance!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Far from being crushed or weakened by the infernal +thunderbolt, she arose with an awful vigour and flashing +eyes. The moon, which for a moment had chastely +covered herself, took flight on seeing her again. Blown +out to an amazing degree by the hellish vapour, filled +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>with fire, with fury, and with some new ineffable desire, +she grew for a while enormous with excess of fulness, +and displayed a terrible beauty. She looked around +her, and all nature was changed. The trees had gotten +a tongue, and told of things gone by. The herbs became +simples. The plants which yesterday she trod +upon as so much hay, were now as people discoursing +on the art of medicine.</p> + +<p>She awoke on the morrow far, very far, from her +enemies, in a state of thorough security. She had been +sought after, but they had only found some scattered +shreds of her unlucky green gown. Had she in her +despair flung herself headlong into the torrent? Or +had she been carried off alive by the Devil? No one +could tell. Either way she was certainly damned, +which greatly consoled the lady for having failed to +find her.</p> + +<p>Had they seen her they would hardly have known +her again, she was so changed. Only the eyes remained, +not brilliant, but armed with a very strange +and a rather deterring glimmer. She herself was afraid +of frightening: she never lowered them, but looked +sideways, so that the full force of their beams might +be lost by slanting them. From the sudden browning +of her hue people would have said that she had passed +through the flame. But the more watchful felt that +the flame was rather in herself, that she bore about her +an impure and scorching heat. The fiery dart with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +which Satan had pierced her was still there, and, as +through a baleful lamp, shot forth a wild, but fearfully +witching sheen. Shrinking from her, you would +yet stand still, with a strange trouble filling your every +sense.</p> + +<p>She saw herself at the mouth of one of those troglodyte +caves, such as you find without number in +the hills of the Centre and the West of France. It +was in the borderland, then wild, between the country +of Merlin and the country of Melusina. Some moors +stretching out of sight still bear witness to the ancient +wars, the unceasing havoc, the many horrors, which +prevented the country being peopled again. There the +Devil was in his home. Of the few inhabitants most +were his zealous worshippers. Whatever attractions he +might have found in the rough brakes of Lorraine, the +black pine-forests of the Jura, or the briny deserts of +Burgos, his preferences lay, perhaps, in our western +marches. There might be found not only the visionary +shepherd, that Satanic union of the goat and the goatherd, +but also a closer conspiracy with nature, a deeper +insight into remedies and poisons, a mysterious connection, +whose links we know not, with Toledo the +learned, the University of the Devil.</p> + +<p>The winter was setting in: its breath having first +stripped the trees, had heaped together the leaves and +small boughs of dead wood. All this she found prepared +for her at the mouth of her gloomy den. By a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +wood and moor, half a mile across, you came down +within reach of some villages, which had grown up +beside a watercourse. “Behold your kingdom!” said +the voice within her. “To-day a beggar, to-morrow +you shall be queen of the whole land.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> This will be explained further on. We must guard against +the pedantic additions of the sixteenth century writers.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE KING OF THE DEAD.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">At</span> first she was not much affected by promises like +these. A lonely hermitage without God, amidst the +great monotonous breezes of the West, amidst memories +all the more ruthless for that mighty solitude, +of such heavy losses, such sharp affronts; a widowhood +so hard and sudden, away from the husband who had +left her to her shame—all this was enough to bow her +down. Plaything of fate, she seemed like the wretched +weed upon the moor, having no root, but tossed to and +fro, lashed and cruelly cut by the north-east winds; or +rather, perhaps, like the grey, many-cornered coral, +which only sticks fast to get more easily broken. The +children trampled on her; the people said, with a +laugh, “She is the bride of the winds.”</p> + +<p>Wildly she laughed at herself when she thought on +the comparison. But, from the depth of her dark +cave, she heard,—</p> + +<p>“Ignorant and witless, you know not what you +say. The plant thus tossing to and fro may well look +down upon the rank and vulgar herbs. If it tosses, it +is, at least, all self-contained—itself both flower and +seed. Do thou be like it; be thine own root, and even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +in the whirlwind thou wilt still bear thy blossom: our +own flowers for ourselves, as they come forth from the +dust of tombs and the ashes of volcanoes.</p> + +<p>“To thee, first flower of Satan, do I this day grant +the knowledge of my former name, my olden power. +I was, I am, the <i>King of the Dead</i>. Ay, have I not +been sadly slandered? ’Tis I who alone can make +them reappear; a boon untold, for which I surely deserved +an altar.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>To pierce the future and to call up the past, to forestal +and to live again the swift-flying moments, to +enlarge the present with that which has been and that +which will be—these are the two things forbidden to +the Middle Ages; but forbidden in vain. Nature is +invincible; nothing can be gained in such a quarter. +He who thus errs is <i>a man</i>. It is not for him to be +rooted to his furrow, with eyes cast down, looking nowhere +beyond the steps he takes behind his oxen. No: +we will go forward with head upraised, looking further +and looking deeper! This earth that we measure out +with so much care, we kick our feet upon withal, and +keep ever saying to it, “What dost thou hold in thy +bowels? What secrets lie therein? Thou givest us +back the grain we entrust to thee; but not that human +seed, those beloved dead, we have lent into thy charge. +Our friends, our loves, that lie there, will they never +bud again? Oh, that we might see them, if only for +one hour, if only for one moment!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Some day we ourselves shall reach the unknown +land, whither they have already gone. But shall we +see them again there? Shall we dwell with them? +Where are they, and what are they doing? They must +be kept very close prisoners, these dear dead of mine, +to give me not one token! And how can I make them +hear me? My father, too, whose only hope I was, +who loved me with so mighty a love, why comes he +never to me? Ah, me! on either side is bondage, +imprisonment, mutual ignorance; a dismal night, +where we look in vain for one glimmer!”<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> + +<p>These everlasting thoughts of Nature, from having +in olden times been simply mournful, became in the +Middle Ages painful, bitter, weakening, and the heart +thereby grew smaller. It seems as if they had reckoned +on flattening the soul, on pressing and squeezing it down +to the compass of a bier. The burial of the serf between +four deal boards was well suited to such an end: +it haunted one with the notion of being smothered. +A person thus enclosed, if ever he returned in one’s +dreams, would no longer appear as a thin luminous +shadow encircled by a halo of Elysium, but only as +the wretched sport of some hellish griffin-cat. What +a hateful and impious idea, that my good, kind father, +my mother so revered by all, should become the plaything +of such a beast! You may laugh now, but for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>a thousand years it was no laughing matter: they +wept bitterly. And even now the heart swells with +wrath, the very pen grates angrily upon the paper, as +one writes down these blasphemous doings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Moreover, it was surely a cruel device to transfer +the Festival of the Dead from the Spring, where antiquity +had placed it, to November. In May, where +it fell at first, they were buried among the flowers. +In March, wherein it was afterwards placed, it became +the signal for labour and the lark. The dead and the +seed of corn entered the earth together with the same +hope. But in November, when all the work is done, +the weather close and gloomy for many days to come; +when the folk return to their homes; when a man, re-seating +himself by the hearth, looks across on that +place for evermore empty—ah, me! at such a time +how great the sorrow grows! Clearly, in choosing a +moment already in itself so funereal, for the obsequies +of Nature, they feared that a man would not find +cause enough of sorrow in himself!</p> + +<p>The coolest, the busiest of men, however taken up +they be with life’s distracting cares, have, at least, +their sadder moments. In the dark wintry morning, +in the night that comes on so swift to swallow us up +in its shadow, ten years, nay, twenty years hence, +strange feeble voices will rise up in your heart: “Good +morning, dear friend, ’tis we! You are alive, are +working as hard as ever. So much the better! You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +do not feel our loss so heavily, and you have learned +to do without us; but we cannot, we never can, do +without you. The ranks are closed, the gap is all but +filled. The house that was ours is full, and we have +blessed it. All is well, is better than when your father +carried you about; better than when your little girl +said, in her turn, to you, ‘Papa, carry me.’ But, lo! +you are in tears. Enough, till we meet again!”</p> + +<p>Alas, and are they gone? That wail was sweet and +piercing: but was it just? No. Let me forget myself +a thousand times rather than I should forget them! +And yet, cost what it will to say so, say it we must, that +certain traces are fading off, are already less clear to +see; that certain features are not indeed effaced, but +grown paler and more dim. A hard, a bitter, a +humbling thought it is, to find oneself so weak and +fleeting, wavering as unremembered water; to feel that +in time one loses that treasure of grief which one had +hoped to preserve for ever. Give it me back, I pray: I +am too much bounden to so rich a fountain of tears. +Trace me again, I implore you, those features I love so +well. Could you not help me at least to dream of them +by night?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>More than one such prayer is spoken in the month of +November. And amidst the striking of the bells and the +dropping of the leaves, they clear out of church, saying +one to another in low tones: “I say, neighbour; up there +lives a woman of whom folk speak well and ill. For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +myself, I dare say nothing; but she has power over the +world below. She calls up the dead, and they come. +Oh, if she might—without sin, you know, without +angering God—make my friends come to me! I am +alone, as you must know, and have lost everything in +this world. But who knows what this woman is, +whether of hell or heaven? I won’t go (he is dying +of curiosity all the while); I won’t. I have no wish +to endanger my soul: besides, the wood yonder is +haunted. Many’s the time that things unfit to see +have been found on the moor. Haven’t you heard +about Jacqueline, who was there one evening looking +for one of her sheep? Well, when she returned, she +was crazy. I won’t go.”</p> + +<p>Thus unknown to each other, many of the men at +least went thither. For as yet the women hardly dared +so great a risk. They remark the dangers of the road, +ask many questions of those who return therefrom. +The new Pythoness is not like her of Endor, who +raised up Samuel at the prayer of Saul. Instead of +showing you the ghosts, she gives you cabalistic words +and powerful potions to bring them back in your +dreams. Ah, how many a sorrow has recourse to +these! The grandmother herself, tottering with her +eighty years, would behold her grandson again. By +an unwonted effort, yet not without a pang of shame +at sinning on the edge of the grave, she drags herself +to the spot. She is troubled by the savage look of a +place all rough with yews and thorns, by the rude,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +dark beauty of that relentless Proserpine. Prostrate, +trembling, grovelling on the ground, the poor old +woman weeps and prays. Answer there is none. But +when she dares to lift herself up a little, she sees that +Hell itself has been a-weeping.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It is simply Nature recovering herself. Proserpine +blushes self-indignantly thereat. “Degenerate soul!” +she calls herself, “why this weakness? You came +hither with the firm desire of doing nought but evil. +Is this your master’s lesson? How he will laugh +at you for this!”</p> + +<p>“Nay! Am I not the great shepherd of the shades, +making them come and go, opening unto them the +gate of dreams? Your Dante, when he drew my likeness, +forgot my attributes. When he gave me that +useless tail, he did not see that I held the shepherd’s +staff of Osiris; that from Mercury I had inherited his +caduceus. In vain have they thought to build up an +insurmountable wall between the two worlds; I have +wings to my heels, I have flown over. By a kindly +rebellion of that slandered Spirit, of that ruthless +monster, succour has been given to those who mourned; +mothers, lovers, have found comfort. He has taken +pity on them in defiance of their new god.”</p> + +<p>The scribes of the Middle Ages, being all of the +priestly class, never cared to acknowledge the deep but +silent changes of the popular mind. It is clear that +from thenceforth compassion goes over to Satan’s side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +The Virgin herself, ideal as she is of grace, makes no +answer to such a want of the heart. Neither does the +Church, who expressly forbids the calling up of the +dead. While all books delight in keeping up either +the swinish demon of earlier times, or the griffin butcher +of the second period, Satan has changed his shape for +those who cannot write. He retains somewhat of the +ancient Pluto; but his pale nor wholly ruthless majesty, +that permitted the dead to come back, the living +once more to see the dead, passes ever more and more +into the nature of his father, or his grandfather, +Osiris, the shepherd of souls.</p> + +<p>Through this one change come many others. Men +with their mouths acknowledge the hell official and +the boiling caldrons; but in their hearts do they +truly believe therein? Would it be so easy to win +these infernal favours for hearts beset with hateful traditions +of a hell of torments? The one idea neutralizes +without wholly effacing the other, and between +them grows up a vague mixed image, resembling more +and more nearly the hell of Virgil. A mighty solace +was here offered to the human heart. Blessed above +all was the relief thus given to the poor women, whom +that dreadful dogma about the punishment of their +loved dead had kept drowned in tears and inconsolable. +The whole of their lifetime had been but one long +sigh.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Sibyl was musing over her master’s words,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +when a very light step became audible. The day has +scarcely dawned: it is after Christmas, about the first +day of the new year. Over the crisp and rimy grass +approaches a small, fair woman, all a-trembling, who +has no sooner reached the spot, than she swoons and +loses her breath. Her black gown tells plainly of her +widowhood. To the piercing gaze of Medea, without +moving or speaking, she reveals all: there is no mystery +about her shrinking figure. The other says to +her with a loud voice: “You need not tell me, little +dumb creature, for you would never get to the end of +it. I will speak for you. Well, you are dying of +love!” Recovering a little, she clasps her hands +together, and sinking almost on her knees, tells everything, +making a full confession. She had suffered, +wept, prayed, and would have silently suffered on. +But these winter feasts, these family re-unions, the +ill-concealed happiness of other women who, without +pity for her, showed off their lawful loves, had driven +the burning arrow again into her heart. Alas, what +could she do? If he might but return and comfort +her for one moment! “Be it even at the cost of +my life; let me die, but only let me see him once +more!”</p> + +<p>“Go back to your house: shut the door carefully: +put up the shutter even against any curious neighbour. +Throw off your mourning, and put on your wedding-clothes; +place a cover for him on the table; but yet +he will not come. You will sing the song he made for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +you, and sang to you so often, but yet he will +not come. Then you shall draw out of your box +the last dress he wore, and, kissing it, say, ‘So +much the worse for thee if thou wilt not come!’ +And presently when you have drunk this wine, bitter, +but very sleepful, you will lie down as a wedded bride. +Then assuredly he will come to you.”</p> + +<p>The little creature would have been no woman, if +next morning she had not shown her joy and tenderness +by owning the miracle in whispers to her best +friend. “Say nought of it, I beg. But he himself +told me, that if I wore this gown and slept a deep sleep +every Sunday, he would return.”</p> + +<p>A happiness not without some danger. Where +would the rash woman be, if the Church learned that +she was no longer a widow; that re-awakened by her +love, the spirit came to console her?</p> + +<p>But strange to tell, the secret is kept. There is an +understanding among them all, to hide so sweet a +mystery. For who has no concern therein? Who +has not lost and mourned? Who would not gladly +see this bridge created between two worlds? “O +thou beneficent Witch! Blessed be thou, spirit of the +nether world!”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> The glimmer shines forth in Dumesnil’s <i>Immortalité</i>, and +<i>La Foi Nouvelle</i>, in the <i>Ciel et Terre</i> of Reynaud, Henry Martin, +&c.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE PRINCE OF NATURE.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Hard</span> is the long sad winter of the North-west. +Even after its departure it renews its visits, like a +drowsy sorrow which ever and again comes back and +rages afresh. One morning everything wakes up +decked with bright needles. In this cruel mocking +splendour that makes one shiver through and through, +the whole vegetable world seems turned mineral, loses +its sweet diversity, and freezes into a mass of rough +crystals.</p> + +<p>The poor Sibyl, as she sits benumbed by her hearth +of leaves, scourged by the flaying north-east winds, +feels at her heart a cruel pang, for she feels herself all +alone. But that very thought again brings her relief. +With returning pride returns a vigour that warms her +heart and lights up her soul. Intent, quick, and +sharp, her sight becomes as piercing as those needles; +and the world, the cruel world that caused her suffering, +is to her transparent as glass. Anon she rejoices +over it, as over a conquest of her making.</p> + +<p>For is she not a queen, a queen with courtiers of her +own? The crows have clearly some connection with +her. In grave, dignified body they come like ancient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +augurs, to talk to her of passing things. The wolves +passing by salute her timidly with sidelong glances. +The bear, then oftener seen than now, would sometimes, +in his heavily good-natured way, seat himself +awkwardly at the threshold of her den, like a hermit +calling on a fellow-hermit, just as we often see him in +the Lives of the Desert Fathers.</p> + +<p>All those birds and beasts with whom men only +made acquaintance in hunting or slaying them, were +outlawed as much as she. With all these she comes to +an understanding; for Satan as the chief outlaw, +imparts to his own the pleasures of natural freedom, +the wild delight of living in a world sufficient unto +itself.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Rough freedom of loneliness, all hail! The whole +earth seems still clothed in a white shroud, held in +bondage by a load of ice, of pitiless crystals, so uniform, +sharp, and agonizing. After the year 1200 +especially, the world is shut in like a transparent +tomb, wherein all things look terribly motionless, hard, +and stiff.</p> + +<p>The Gothic Church has been called a “crystallization;” +and so it truly is. About 1300, architecture +gave up all its old variety of form and living fancies, +to repeat itself for evermore, to vie with the monotonous +prisms of Spitzbergen, to become the true and +awful likeness of that hard crystal city, in which a +dreadful dogma thought to bury all life away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>But for all the props, buttresses, flying-buttresses, +that keep the monument up, one thing there is that +makes it totter. There is no loud battering from without, +but a certain softness in the very foundations, +which attacks the crystal with an imperceptible thaw. +What thing do I mean? The humble stream of warm +tears shed by a whole world, until they have become a +very sea of wailings. What do I call it? A breath of +the future, a stirring of the natural life, which shall +presently rise again in irresistible might. The fantastic +building of which more than one side is already +sinking, says, not without terror, to itself, “It is the +breath of Satan.”</p> + +<p>Beneath this Hecla-glacier lies a volcano which has +no need of bursting out; a mild, slow, gentle heat, +which caresses it from below, and, calling it nearer, +says in a whisper, “Come down.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Witch has something to laugh at, if from the +gloom she can see how utterly Dante and St. Thomas,<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> +in the bright light yonder, ignore the true position of +things. They fancy that the Devil wins his way by +cunning or by terror. They make him grotesque and +coarse, as in his childhood, when Jesus could still send +him into the herd of swine. Or else they make him +subtle as a logician of the schools, or a fault-finding +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>lawyer. If he had been no better than this compound +of beast and disputant,—if he had only lived in the +mire or on fine-drawn quibbles about nothing, he +would very soon have died of hunger.</p> + +<p>People were too ready to crow over him, when he +was shewn by Bartolus<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> pleading against the woman—that +is, the Virgin—who gets him nonsuited and condemned +with costs. At that time, indeed, the very +contrary was happening on earth. By a master-stroke +of his he had won over the plaintiff herself, his fair +antagonist, the Woman; had seduced her, not indeed +by verbal pleadings, but by arguments not less real +than they were charming and irresistible. He put into +her hands the fruits of science and of nature.</p> + +<p>No need for controversies, for pleas of any kind: +he simply shows himself. In the East, the new-found +Paradise, he begins to work. From that Asian world, +which men had thought to destroy, there springs forth +a peerless day-dawn, whose beams travel afar until +they pierce the deep winter of the West. There dawns +on us a world of nature and of art, accursed of the +ignorant indeed, but now at length come forward to +vanquish its late victors in a pleasant war of love and +motherly endearments. All are conquered, all rave +about it; they will have nothing but Asia herself. +With her hands full she comes to meet us. Her +tissues, shawls, her carpets so agreeably soft, so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>wondrously harmonized, her bright and well-wrought +blades, her richly damascened arms, make us aware of +our own barbarism. Moreover, little as that may +seem, these accursed lands of the “miscreant,” ruled +by Satan, are visibly blessed with the fairest fruits of +nature, that elixir of the powers of God; with <i>the first +of vegetables</i>, coffee; with <i>the first of beasts</i>, the Arab +horse. What am I saying?—with a whole world of +treasures, silk, sugar, and a host of herbs all-powerful +to relieve the heart, to soothe and lighten our sufferings.</p> + +<p>All this breaks upon our view about the year 1300. +Spain herself, whose brain is wholly fashioned out of +Moors and Jews, for all that she is again subdued by +the barbarous children of the Goth, bears witness in +behalf of those <i>miscreants</i>. Wherever the Mussulman +children of the Devil are at work, all is prosperous, the +springs well forth, the ground is covered with flowers. +A right worthy and harmless travail decks it with those +wondrous vineyards, through which men recruit themselves, +drowning all care, and seeming to drink in +draughts of very goodness and heavenly compassion.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>To whom does Satan bring the foaming cup of life? +In this fasting world, which has so long been fasting +from reason, what man was there strong enough to +take all this in without growing giddy, without getting +drunken and risking the loss of his wits?</p> + +<p>Is there yet a brain so far from being petrified or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +crystallized by the teaching of St. Thomas, as to remain +open to the living world, to its vegetative forces? +Three magicians, Albert the Great, Roger Bacon, +Arnaud of Villeneuve,<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> by strong efforts make their +way to Nature’s secrets; but those lusty intellects lack +flexibility and popular power. Satan falls back on his +own Eve. The woman is still the most natural thing +in the world; still keeps her hold on those traits of +roguish innocence one sees in a kitten or a child of +very high spirit. Besides, she figures much better in +that world-comedy, that mighty game wherewith the +universal Proteus disports himself.</p> + +<p>But being light and changeful, she is all the less +liable to be carked and hardened by pain! This woman, +whom we have seen outlawed from the world, and +rooted on her wild moor, affords a case in point. Have +we yet to learn whether, bruised and soured as she is, +with her heart full of hate, she will re-enter the natural +world and the pleasant paths of life? Assuredly her +return thither will not find her in good tune, will +happen mainly through a round of ill. In the coming +and going of the storm she is all the more scared and +violent for being so very weak.</p> + +<p>When in the mild warmth of spring, from the air, +the depths of the earth, from the flowers and their +languages, a new revelation rises round her on every +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>side, she is taken dizzy at the first. Her swelling +bosom overflows. The Sibyl of science has her +tortures, like her of Cumæ or of Delphi. The schoolmen +find their fun in saying, “It is the wind and +nought else that blows her out. Her lover, the Prince +of the Air, fills her with dreams and delusions, with +wind, with smoke, with emptiness.” Foolish irony! +So far from this being the true cause of her drunkenness, +it is nothing empty, it is a real, a substantial +thing, which has loaded her bosom all too quickly.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Have you ever seen the agave, that hard wild African +shrub, so sharp, bitter, and tearing, with huge bristles +instead of leaves? Ten years through it loves and +dies. At length one day the amorous shoot, which +has so long been gathering in the rough thing, goes +off with a noise like gunfire, and darts skyward. And +this shoot becomes a whole tree, not less than thirty +feet high, and bristling with sad flowers.</p> + +<p>Some such analogy does the gloomy Sibyl feel, when +one morning of a spring-time, late in coming, and +therefore impetuous at the last, there takes place all +around her a vast explosion of life.</p> + +<p>And all things look at her, and all things bloom for +her. For every thing that has life says softly, “Whoso +understands me, I am his.”</p> + +<p>What a contrast! Here is the wife of the desert +and of despair, bred up in hate and vengeance, and lo! +all these innocent things agree to smile upon her!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +The trees, soothed by the south wind, pay her gentle +homage. Each herb of the field, with its own special +virtue of scent, or remedy, or poison—very often the +three things are one—offers itself to her, saying, +“Gather me.”</p> + +<p>All things are clearly in love. “Are they not +mocking me? I had been readier for hell than for +this strange festival. O spirit, art thou indeed that +spirit of dread whom once I knew, the traces of whose +cruelty I bear about me—what am I saying, and where +are my senses?—the wound of whose dealing scorches +me still?</p> + +<p>“Ah, no! ’Tis not the spirit whom I hoped for in +my rage; ‘<i>he who always says, No!</i>’ This other one +utters a yes of love, of drunken dizziness. What ails +him? Is he the mad, the dazed soul of life?</p> + +<p>“They spoke of the great Pan as dead. But here +he is in the guise of Bacchus, of Priapus, eager with +long-delayed desire, threatening, scorching, teeming. +No, no! Be this cup far from me! Trouble only +should I drink from it,—who knows? A despair yet +sharper than my past despairs.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile wherever the woman appears, she becomes +the one great object of love. She is followed by all, +and for her sake all despise their own proper kind. +What they say about the black he-goat, her pretended +favourite, may be applied to all. The horse neighs for +her, breaking everything and putting her in danger. +The awful king of the prairie, the black bull, bellows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +with grief, should she pass him by at a distance. And, +behold, yon bird despondingly turns away from his +hen, and with whirring wings hastes to convince the +woman of his love!</p> + +<p>Such is the new tyranny of her master, who, by the +funniest hap of all, foregoes the part accredited to him +as king of the dead, to burst forth a very king of +life.</p> + +<p>“No!” she says; “leave me to my hatred: I +ask for nothing more. Let me be feared and fearful! +The beauty I would have, is only that which dwells in +these black serpents of my hair, in this countenance +furrowed with grief, and the scars of thy thunderbolt.” +But the Lord of Evil replies with cunning softness: +“Oh, but you are only the more beautiful, the more +impressible, for this fiery rage of yours! Ay, call out +and curse on, beneath one and the same goad! ’Tis +but one storm calling another. Swift and smooth is the +passage from wrath to pleasure.”</p> + +<p>Neither her fury nor her pride would have saved her +from such allurements. But she is saved by the boundlessness +of her desire. There is nought will satisfy her. +Each kind of life for her is all too bounded, wanting in +power. Away from her, steed and bull and loving bird! +Away, ye creatures all! for one who desires the Infinite, +how weak ye are!</p> + +<p>She has a woman’s longing; but for what? Even +for the whole, the great all-containing whole. Satan +did not foresee that no one creature would content her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>That which he could not do, is done for her in some +ineffable way. Overcome by a desire so wide and +deep, a longing boundless as the sea, she falls asleep. +At such a moment, all else forgot, no touch of hate, no +thought of vengeance left in her, she slumbers on the +plain, innocent in her own despite, stretched out in +easy luxuriance like a sheep or a dove.</p> + +<p>She sleeps, she dreams; a delightful dream! It +seemed as if the wondrous might of universal life had +been swallowed up within her; as if life and death and +all things thenceforth lay fast in her bowels; as if in +return for all her suffering, she was teeming at last +with Nature herself.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> St. Thomas Aquinas, the “Angelic Doctor,” who died in +1274.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Bartolus or Bartoli, a lawyer and law-writer of the fourteenth +century.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Three eminent schoolmen of the thirteenth century, whose +scientific researches pointed the way to future discoveries.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE DEVIL A PHYSICIAN.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">That</span> still and dismal scene of the Bride of Corinth, +is repeated literally from the thirteenth to the fifteenth +century. While it was yet night, just before the daybreak, +the two lovers, Man and Nature, meet again, +embrace with rapture, and, at that same moment—horrible +to tell!—behold themselves attacked by fearful +plagues. We seem still to hear the loved one saying +to her lover, “It is all over: thy hair will be white +to-morrow. I am dead, and thou too wilt die.”</p> + +<p>Three dreadful blows happen in these three centuries. +In the first we have a loathsome changing of the +outer man, diseases of the skin, above all, leprosy. In +the second, the evil turns inwards, becomes a grotesque +excitement of the nerves, a fit of epileptic +dancing. Then all grows calm, but the blood is changed, +and ulcers prepare the way for syphilis, the scourge of +the fifteenth century.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Among the chief diseases of the Middle Ages, so +far as one can look therein, to speak generally, had +been hunger, weakness, poverty of blood, that kind +of consumption which is visible in the sculptures of +that time. The blood was like clear water, and scrofulous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +ailments were rife everywhere. Barring the +well-paid doctors, Jew or Arab, of the kings, the art of +medicine was practised only with, holy water at the +church door. Thither on Sundays, after the service, +would come a crowd of sick, to whom words like these +were spoken: “You have sinned and God has afflicted +you. Be thankful: so much the less will you suffer +in the next world. Resign yourselves to suffer and to +die. The Church has prayers for the dead.” Weak, +languishing, hopeless, with no desire to live, they +followed this counsel faithfully, and let life go its way.</p> + +<p>A fatal discouragement, a wretched state of things, +that would have prolonged without end these ages of +lead, and debarred them from all progress! Worst of +all things is it to resign oneself so readily, to welcome +death with so much docility, to have strength for +nothing, to desire nothing. Of more worth was that +new era, that close of the Middle Ages, which at the +cost of cruel sufferings first enabled us to regain our +former energy; namely, <i>the resurrection of desire</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Some Arab writers have asserted that the widespread +eruption of skin-diseases which marks the thirteenth +century, was caused by the taking of certain stimulants +to re-awaken and renew the defaults of passion. +Undoubtedly the burning spices brought over from the +East, tended somewhat to such an issue. The invention +of distilling and of divers fermented drinks may +also have worked in the same direction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>But a greater and far more general fermentation was +going on. During the sharp inward struggle between +two worlds and two spirits, a third surviving silenced +both. As the fading faith and the newborn reason +were disputing together, somebody stepping between +them caught hold of man. You ask who? A spirit +unclean and raging, the spirit of sour desires, bubbling +painfully within.</p> + +<p>Debarred from all outlet, whether of bodily enjoyment, +or the free flow of soul, the sap of life thus +closely rammed together, was sure to corrupt itself. +Bereft of light, of sound, of speech, it spoke through +pains and ominous excrescences. Then happened a +new and dreadful thing. The desire put off without +being diminished, finds itself stopped short by a cruel +enchantment, a shocking metamorphosis.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> Love was +advancing blindly with open arms. It recoils groaning; +but in vain would it flee: the fire of the blood keeps +raging; the flesh eats itself away in sharp titillations, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>and sharper within rages the coal of fire, made fiercer +by despair.</p> + +<p>What remedy does Christian Europe find for this +twofold ill? Death and captivity; nothing more. +When the bitter celibacy, the hopeless love, the passion +irritable and ever-goading, bring you into a morbid +state; when your blood is decomposing, then you shall +go down into an <i>In pace</i>, or build your hut in the +desert. You must live with the handbell in your hand, +that all may flee before you. “No human being must +see you: no consolation may be yours. If you come +near, ’tis death.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Leprosy is the last stage, the <i>apogee</i> of this scourge; +but a thousand other ills, less hideous but still cruel, +raged everywhere. The purest and the most fair were +stricken with sad eruptions, which men regarded as sin +made visible, or the chastisement of God. Then people +did what the love of life had never made them do: +they forsook the old sacred medicine, the bootless +holy water, and went off to the Witch. From habit +and fear as well, they still repaired to church; but +thenceforth their true church was with her, on the +moor, in the forest, in the desert. To her they carried +their vows.</p> + +<p>Prayers for healing, prayers for pleasure. On the +first effervescing of their heated blood, folk went to +the Sibyl, in great secrecy, at uncertain hours. “What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +shall I do? and what is this I feel within me? I +burn: give me some lenitive. I burn: grant me that +which causes my intolerable desire.”</p> + +<p>A bold, a blamable journey, for which they reproach +themselves at night. Let this new fatality be +never so urgent, this fire be never so torturing, the +Saints themselves never so powerless; still, have not +the indictment of the Templars and the proceedings of +Pope Boniface unveiled the Sodom lying hid beneath +the altar? But a wizard Pope, a friend of the Devil, +who also carried him away, effects a change in all their +ideas. Was it not with the Demon’s help that John +XXII., the son of a shoemaker, a Pope no more of +Rome, succeeded in amassing in his town of Avignon +more gold than the Emperor and all the kings? As +the Pope is, so is the bishop. Did not Guichard, +Bishop of Troyes, procure from the Devil the death of +the King’s daughters? No death we ask for—we; but +pleasant things—for life, for health, for beauty, and +for pleasure: the things of God which God refuses. +What shall we do? Might we but win them through +the grace of the <i>Prince of this World</i>!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When the great and mighty doctor of the Renaissance, +Paracelsus, cast all the wise books of ancient +medicine into the fire, Latin, and Jewish, and Arabic, +all at once, he declared that he had learned none but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +the popular medicine, that of the <i>good women</i>,<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> the +<i>shepherds</i>, and the <i>headsmen</i>, the latter of whom made +often good horse-doctors and clever surgeons, resetting +bones broken or put out of joint.</p> + +<p>I make no doubt but that his admirable and +masterly work on <i>The Diseases of Women</i>—the first +then written on a theme so large, so deep, so tender—came +forth from his special experience of those women +to whom others went for aid; of the witches, namely, +who always acted as the midwives: for never in those +days was a male physician admitted to the woman’s +side, to win her trust in him, to listen to her secrets. +The witches alone attended her, and became, especially +for women, the chief and only physician.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>What we know for surest with regard to their medicinal +practice is, that for ends the most different, alike +to stimulate and to soothe, they made use of one large +family of doubtful and very dangerous plants, called, +by reason of the services they rendered, <i>The Comforters</i>, +or Solaneæ.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p><p>A vast and popular family, many kinds of which +abound to excess under our feet, in the hedges, everywhere—a +family so numerous that of one kind alone +we have eight hundred varieties.<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> There is nothing +easier, nothing more common, to find. But these +plants are mostly dangerous in the using. It needs +some boldness to measure out a dose, the boldness, +perhaps, of genius.</p> + +<p>Let us, step by step, mount the ladder of their +powers.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> The first are simply pot-herbs, good for +food, such as the mad-apples and the tomatoes, miscalled +“love-apples.” Other, of the harmless kinds, +are sweetness and tranquillity itself, as the white mullens, +or lady’s fox-gloves, so good for fomentations.</p> + +<p>Going higher up, you come on a plant already suspicious, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>which many think a poison, a plant which at +first seems like honey and afterwards tastes bitter, reminding +one of Jonathan’s saying, “I have eaten a +little honey, and therefore shall I die.” But this death +is serviceable, a dying away of pain. The “bittersweet” +should have been the first experiment of that +bold homœopathy which rose, little by little, up to the +most dangerous poisons. The slight irritation and the +tingling which it causes might point it out as a remedy +for the prevalent diseases of that time, those, namely, +of the skin.</p> + +<p>The pretty maiden who found herself woefully +adorned with uncouth red patches, with pimples, or +with ringworm, would come crying for such relief. In +the case of an elder woman the hurt would be yet +more painful. The bosom, most delicate thing in nature, +with its innermost vessels forming a matchless +flower, becomes, through its injective and congestive +tendencies, the most perfect instrument for causing +pain. Sharp, ruthless, restless are the pains she suffers. +Gladly would she accept all kinds of poison. +Instead of bargaining with the Witch, she only puts +her poor hard breast between her hands.</p> + +<p>From the bittersweet, too weak for such, we rise to +the dark nightshades, which have rather more effect. +For a few days the woman is soothed. Anon she +comes back weeping. “Very well, to-night you may +come again. I will fetch you something, as you wish +me; but it will be a strong poison.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>It was a heavy risk for the Witch. At that time +they never thought that poisons could act as remedies, +if applied outwardly or taken in very weak doses. The +plants they compounded together under the name of +<i>witches’ herbs</i>, seemed to be but ministers of death. +Such as were found in her hands would have proved +her, in their opinion, a poisoner or a dealer in accursed +charms. A blind crowd, all the more cruel for its +growing fears, might fell her with a shower of stones, +or make her undergo the trial by water—the <i>noyade</i>. +Or even—most dreadful doom of all!—they might +drag her with a rope round her neck to the churchyard, +where a pious festival was held and the people +edified by seeing her thrown to the flames.</p> + +<p>However, she runs the risk, and fetches home the +dreadful plant. The other woman comes back to her +abode by night or morning, whenever she is least afraid +of being met. But a young shepherd, who saw her +there, told the village, “If you had seen her as I did, +gliding among the rubbish of the ruined hut, looking +about her on all sides, muttering I know not what! +Oh, but she has frightened me very much! If she +had seen me, I was a lost man. She would have +changed me into a lizard, a toad, or a bat. She took +a paltry herb—the paltriest I ever saw—of a pale +sickly yellow, with red and black marks, like the +flames, as they say, of hell. The horror of the thing +is, that the whole stalk was hairy like a man, with +long, black, sticky hairs. She plucked it roughly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +with a grunt, and suddenly I saw her no more. She +could not have run away so quick; she must have +flown. What a dreadful thing that woman is! How +dangerous to the whole country!”</p> + +<p>Certainly the plant inspires dread. It is the henbane, +a cruel and dangerous poison, but a powerful +emollient, a soft sedative poultice, which melts, unbends, +lulls to sleep the pain, often taking it quite +away.</p> + +<p>Another of these poisons—the Belladonna, so called, +undoubtedly, in thankful acknowledgment, had great +power in laying the convulsions that sometimes supervened +in childbirth, and added a new danger, a new +fear, to the danger and the fear of that most trying +moment. A motherly hand instilled the gentle poison, +casting the mother herself into a sleep, and smoothing +the infant’s passage, after the manner of the modern +chloroform, into the world.<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a></p> + +<p>Belladonna cures the dancing-fits while making you +dance. A daring homœopathy this, which at first +must frighten: it is <i>medicine reversed</i>, contrary in most +things to that which alone the Christians studied, +which alone they valued, after the example of the Jews +and Arabs.</p> + +<p>How did men come to this result? Undoubtedly +by the simple effect of the great Satanic principle, that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span><i>everything must be done the wrong way</i>, the very opposite +way to that followed by the holy people. These +latter have a dread of poisons. Satan uses them and +turns them into remedies. The Church thinks by +spiritual means, by sacraments and prayers, to act +even on the body. Satan, on the other hand, uses +material means to act even upon the soul, making you +drink of forgetfulness, love, reverie, and every passion. +To the blessing of the priest he opposes the magnetic +passes made by the soft hands of women, who cheat +you of your pains.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>By a change of system, and yet more of dress, as +in the substitution of linen for wool, the skin-diseases +lost their intensity. Leprosy abated, but seemed to +go inwards and beget deeper ills. The fourteenth century +wavered between three scourges—the epileptic +dancings, the plague, and the sores which, according +to Paracelsus, led the way to syphilis.</p> + +<p>The first danger was not the least. About 1350 it +broke out in a frightful manner with the dance of St. +Guy, and was singular especially in this, that it did not +act upon each person separately. As if carried on by +one same galvanic current, the sick caught each other +by the hand, formed immense chains, and spun and +spun round till they died. The spectators, who laughed +at first, presently catching the contagion, let themselves +go, fell into the mighty current, increased the +terrible choir.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>What would have happened if the evil had held on +as long as leprosy did even in its decline?</p> + +<p>It was the first step, as it were, towards epilepsy. +If that generation of sufferers had not been cured, +it would have begotten another decidedly epileptic. +What a frightful prospect! Think of Europe covered +with fools, with idiots, with raging madmen! We are +not told how the evil was treated and checked. The +remedy prescribed by most, the falling upon these +jumpers with kicks and cuffings, was entirely fitted +to increase the frenzy and turn it into downright +epilepsy.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> Doubtless there was some other remedy, +of which people were loth to speak. At the time when +witchcraft took its first great flight, the widespread +use of the <i>Solaneæ</i>, above all, of belladonna, vulgarized +the medicine which really checked those affections. At +the great popular gatherings of the Sabbath, of which +we shall presently speak, the <i>witches’ herb</i>, mixed with +mead, beer, cider,<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> or perry (the strong drinks of the +West), set the multitude dancing a dance luxurious +indeed, but far from epileptic.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But the greatest revolution caused by the witches, +the greatest step <i>the wrong way</i> against the spirit of +the Middle Ages, was what may be called the reënfeoffment +of the stomach and the digestive organs. They +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>had the boldness to say, “There is nothing foul or +unclean.” Thenceforth the study of matter was free +and boundless. Medicine became a possibility.</p> + +<p>That this principle was greatly abused, we do not +deny; but the principle is none the less clear. There +is nothing foul but moral evil. In the natural world +all things are pure: nothing may be withheld from our +studious regard, nothing be forbidden by an idle spiritualism, +still less by a silly disgust.</p> + +<p>It was here especially that the Middle Ages showed +themselves in their true light, as <i>anti-natural</i>, out of +Nature’s oneness drawing distinctions of castes, of +priestly orders. Not only do they count the spirit +<i>noble</i>, and the body <i>ignoble</i>; but even parts of the body +are called noble, while others are not, being evidently +plebeian. In like manner heaven is noble, and hell +is not; but why?—“Because heaven is high up.” But +in truth it is neither high nor low, being above and +beneath alike. And what is hell? Nothing at all. +Equally foolish are they about the world at large and +the smaller world of men.</p> + +<p>This world is all one piece: each thing in it is attached +to all the rest. If the stomach is servant of +the brain and feeds it, the brain also works none the +less for the stomach, perpetually helping to prepare +for it the digestive <i>sugar</i>.<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>There was no lack of injurious treatment. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>witches were called filthy, indecent, shameless, immoral. +Nevertheless, their first steps on that road +may be accounted as a happy revolution in things most +moral, in charity and kindness. With a monstrous +perversion of ideas the Middle Ages viewed the flesh +in its representative, woman,—accursed since the days +of Eve—as a thing impure. The Virgin, exalted as +<i>Virgin</i> more than as <i>Our Lady</i>, far from lifting up the +real woman, had caused her abasement, by setting men +on the track of a mere scholastic puritanism, where +they kept rising higher and higher in subtlety and +falsehood.</p> + +<p>Woman herself ended by sharing in the hateful +prejudice and deeming herself unclean. She hid herself +at the hour of childbed. She blushed at loving +and bestowing happiness on others. Sober as she +mostly was in comparison with man, living as she +mostly did on herbs and fruits, sharing through her +diet of milk and vegetables the purity of the most innocent +breeds, she almost besought forgiveness for +being born, for living, for carrying out the conditions +of her life.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The medical art of the Middle Ages busied itself +peculiarly about the man, a being noble and pure, who +alone could become a priest, alone could make God at +the altar. It also paid some attention to the beasts, +beginning indeed with them; but of children it thought +seldom: of women not at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>The romances, too, with their subtleties pourtray the +converse of the world. Outside the courts and highborn +adulterers, which form the chief topic of these +romances, the woman is always a poor Griselda, born +to drain the cup of suffering, to be often beaten, and +never cared for.</p> + +<p>In order to mind the woman, to trample these usages +under foot, and to care for her in spite of herself, nothing +less would serve than the Devil, woman’s old ally, her +trusty friend in Paradise, and the Witch, that monster +who deals with everything the wrong way, exactly contrariwise +to that of the holier people. The poor creature +set such little store by herself. She would shrink +back, blushing, and loth to say a word. The Witch +being clever and evil-hearted, read her to the inmost +depths. Ere long she won her to speak out, drew from +her her little secret, overcame her refusals, her modest, +humble hesitations. Rather than undergo the remedy, +she was willing almost to die. But the cruel sorceress +made her live.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> Leprosy has been traced to Asia and the Crusades; but +Europe had it in herself. The war declared by the Middle +Ages against the flesh and all cleanliness bore its fruits. More +than one saint boasted of having never washed even his hands. +And how much did the rest wash? To have stripped for a +moment would have been sinful. The worldlings carefully +follow the teaching of the monks. This subtle and refined +society, which sacrificed marriage and seemed inspired only +with the poetry of adultery, preserved a strange scruple on a +point so harmless. It dreaded all cleansing, as so much defilement. +There was no bathing for a thousand years!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> The name given in fear and politeness to the witches.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Man’s ingratitude is painful to see. A thousand other +plants have come into use: a hundred exotic vegetables have +become the fashion. But the good once done by these poor +<i>Comforters</i> is clean forgotten!—Nay, who now remembers or +even acknowledges the old debt of humanity to harmless +nature? The <i>Asclepias acida</i>, <i>Sarcostemma</i>, or flesh-plant, +which for five thousand years was the <i>Holy Wafer</i> of the East, +its very palpable God, eaten gladly by five hundred millions of +men,—this plant, in the Middle Ages called the Poison-queller +(<i>vince-venenum</i>), meets with not one word of historical comment +in our books of Botany. Perhaps two thousand years +hence they will forget the wheat. See Langlois on the <i>Soma</i> +of India and the <i>Hom</i> of Persia. <i>Mem. de l’Académie des +Inscriptions</i>, xix. 326.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> M. d’Orbigny’s <i>Dictionary of Natural History</i>, article +<i>Morelles</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> I have found this ladder nowhere else. It is the more +important, because the witches who made these essays at the +risk of passing for poisoners, certainly began with the weakest, +and rose gradually to the strongest. Each step of power thus +gives its relative date, and helps us in this dark subject to set +up a kind of chronology. I shall complete it in the following +chapters, when I come to speak of the Mandragora and the +Datura. I have chiefly followed Pouchet’s <i>Solanées</i> and <i>Botanique +Générale</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Madame La Chapelle and M. Chaussier have renewed to +good purpose these practices of the older medicine. Pouchet, +<i>Solanées</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> We should think that few physicians would quite agree +with M. Michelet.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Cider was first made in the twelfth century.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> This great discovery was made by Claude Bernard.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>CHARMS AND PHILTRES.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Let</span> no one hastily conclude from the foregoing +chapter that I attempt to whiten, to acquit entirely, +the dismal bride of the Devil. If she often did good, +she could also do no small amount of ill. There is no +great power which is not abused. And this one had +three centuries of actual reigning, in the interlude between +two worlds, the older dying and the new struggling +painfully to begin. The Church, which in the +quarrels of the sixteenth century will regain some of +her strength, at least for fighting, in the fourteenth is +down in the mire. Look at the truthful picture drawn +by Clémangis. The nobles, so proudly arrayed in their +new armour, fall all the more heavily at Crécy, Poitiers, +Agincourt. All who survive end by being prisoners in +England. What a theme for ridicule! The citizens, the +very peasants make merry and shrug their shoulders. +This general absence of the lords gave, I fancy, no +small encouragement to the Sabbath gatherings which +had always taken place, but at this time might first +have grown into vast popular festivals.</p> + +<p>How mighty the power thus wielded by Satan’s +sweetheart, who cures, foretels, divines, calls up the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +souls of the dead; who can throw a spell upon you, +turn you into a hare or wolf, enable you to find a treasure, +and, best of all, ensure your being beloved! It +is an awful power which combines all others. How +could a stormy soul, a soul most commonly gangrened, +and sometimes grown utterly wayward, have helped +employing it to wreak her hate and revenge; sometimes +even out of a mere delight in malice and uncleanness?</p> + +<p>All that once was told the confessor, is now imparted +to her: not only the sins already done, but those also +which folk purpose doing. She holds each by her +shameful secret, by the avowal of her uncleanest desires. +To her they entrust both their bodily and mental ills; +the lustful heats of a blood inflamed and soured; the +ceaseless prickings of some sharp, urgent, furious +desire.</p> + +<p>To her they all come: with her there is no shame. +In plain blunt words they beseech her for life, for +death, for remedies, for poisons. Thither comes a +young woman, to ask through her tears for the means +of saving her from the fruits of her sin. Thither comes +the step-mother—a common theme in the Middle Ages—to +say that the child of a former marriage eats well +and lives long. Thither comes the sorrowing wife +whose children year by year are born only to die. And +now, on the other hand, comes a youth to buy at any +cost the burning draught that shall trouble the heart +of some haughty dame, until, forgetful of the distance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +between them, she has stooped to look upon her little +page.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In these days there are but two types, two forms of +marriage, both of them extreme and outrageous.</p> + +<p>The scornful heiress of a fief, who brings her husband +a crown or a broad estate, an Eleanor of Guyenne +for instance, will, under her husband’s very eyes, hold +her court of lovers, keeping herself under very slight +control. Let us leave romances and poems, to look at +the reality in its dread march onward to the unbridled +rage of the daughters of Philip the Fair, of the cruel +Isabella, who by the hands of her lovers impaled +Edward II. The insolence of the feudal women breaks +out diabolically in the triumphant two-horned bonnet +and other brazen-faced fashions.</p> + +<p>But in this century, when classes are beginning to +mingle slightly, the woman of a lower rank, when she +marries a lord, has to fear the hardest trials. So says +the truthful history of the humble, the meek, the +patient Griselda. In a more popular form it becomes +the tale of <i>Blue-Beard</i>, a tale which seems to me quite +earnest and historical. The wife so often killed and +replaced by him could only have been his vassal. He +would have reckoned wholly otherwise with the daughter +or sister of a baron, who might avenge her. If I +am not misled by a specious conjecture, we must believe +that this tale is of the fourteenth century, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +not of those preceding, in which the lord would never +have deigned to take a wife below himself.</p> + +<p>Specially remarkable in the moving tale of <i>Griselda</i> +is the fact, that throughout her heavy trials, she never +seeks support in being devout or in loving another. +She is evidently faithful, chaste, and pure. It never +comes into her mind to love elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Of the two feudal women, the Heiress and Griselda, +it is peculiarly the first who has her household of gentlemen, +her courts of love, who shows favour to the +humblest lovers, encouraging them, delivering, as +Eleanor did, the famous sentence, soon to become quite +classical: “There can be no love between married +folk.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon a secret hope, but hot and violent withal, +arises in more than one young heart. If he must give +himself to the Devil, he will rush full tilt on this +adventurous intrigue. Let the castle be never so surely +closed, one fine opening is still left for Satan. In a +game so perilous, what chance of success reveals itself? +Wisdom answers, None. But what if Satan said, Yes?</p> + +<p>We must remember how great a distance feudal pride +set between the nobles themselves. Words are misleading: +one <i>cavalier</i> might be far below another.</p> + +<p>The knight banneret, who brought a whole army of +vassals to his king’s side, would look with utter scorn +from one end of his long table on the poor <i>lackland</i> +knights seated at the other. How much greater his scorn +for the simple varlets, grooms, pages, &c., fed upon his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +leavings! Seated at the lowermost end of the tables +close to the door, they scraped the dishes sent down to +them, often empty, from the personages seated above +beside the hearth. It never would cross the great +lord’s mind, that those below would dare to lift eyes of +fancy towards their lovely mistress, the haughty heiress +of a fief, sitting near her mother, “crowned by a +chaplet of white roses.” Whilst he bore with wondrous +patience the love of some stranger knight, +appointed by his lady to bear her colours, he would +have savagely punished the boldness of any servant +who looked so high. Of this kind was the raging +jealousy shown by the Lord of Fayel, who was stirred +to deadly wrath, not because his wife had a lover, but +because that lover was one of his household, the castellan +or simple constable of his castle of Coucy.</p> + +<p>The deeper and less passable seemed the gulf between +the great heiress, lady of the manor, and the +groom or page who, barring his shirt, had nothing, not +even his coat, but what belonged to his master, the +stronger became love’s temptation to overleap that +gulf.</p> + +<p>The youth was buoyed up by the very impossibility. +At length, one day that he managed to get out of the +tower, he ran off to the Witch and asked her advice. +Would a philtre serve as a spell to win her? Or, failing +that, must he make an express covenant? He never +shrank at all from the dreadful idea of yielding himself +to Satan. “We will take care for that, young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +man: but hie thee up again; you will find some +change already.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The change, however, is in himself. He is stirred by +some ineffable hope, that escapes in spite of him from +a deep downcast eye, scored by an ever-darting flame. +Somebody, we may guess who, having eyes for him +alone, is moved to throw him, as she passes, a word of +pity. Oh, rapture! Kind Satan! Charming, adorable +Witch!</p> + +<p>He cannot eat nor drink until he has been to see the +latter again. Respectfully kissing her hand, he almost +falls at her feet. Whatever she may ask him, whatever +she may bid him do, he will obey her. That moment, +if she wishes it, he will give her his golden chain, will +give her the ring upon his finger, though he had it +from a dying mother. But the Witch, in her native +malice, in her hatred of the Baron, feels an especial +comfort in dealing him a secret blow.</p> + +<p>Already a vague anxiety disturbs the castle. A +dumb tempest, without lightning or thunder, broods +over it, like an electric vapour on a marsh. All is +silence, deep silence; but the lady is troubled. She +suspects that some supernatural power has been at +work. For why indeed be thus drawn to this youth, +more than to some one else, handsomer, nobler, renowned +already for deeds of arms? There is something +toward, down yonder! Has that woman cast a +spell upon her, or worked some hidden charm? The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +more she asks herself these questions, the more her +heart is troubled.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Witch has something to wreak her malice upon +at last. In the village she was a queen; but now the +castle comes to her, yields itself up to her on that side +where its pride ran the greatest risk. For us this +passion has a peculiar interest, as the rush of one soul +towards its ideal against every social harrier, against the +unjust decree of fate. To the Witch, on her side, it +holds out the deep, keen delight of humbling the lady’s +pride, and revenging perhaps her own wrongs; the +delight of serving the lord as he served his vassals, of +levying upon him, through the boldness of a mere +child, the firstfruits of his outrageous wedding-rights. +Undoubtedly, in these intrigues where the Witch had to +play her part, she often acted from a depth of levelling +hatred natural to a peasant.</p> + +<p>Already it was something gained to have made the +lady stoop to love a menial. We should not be misled +by such examples as John of Saintré and Cherubin. +The serving-boy filled the lowest offices in the household. +The footman proper did not then exist, while on +the other hand, few, if any maidservants lived in +military strongholds. Young hands did everything, +and were not disgraced thereby. The service, specially +the body-service of the lord and lady, honoured and +raised them up. Nevertheless, it often placed the +highborn page in situations sorrowful enough, prosaic,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +not to say ridiculous. The lord never distresses himself +about that. And the lady must indeed be charmed +by the Devil, not to see what every day she saw, her +well-beloved employed in servile and unsuitable tasks.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In the Middle Ages the very high and the very low +are continually brought together. That which is hidden +by the poems, we can catch a glimpse of otherwhere. +With those ethereal passions, many gross things were +clearly blended.</p> + +<p>All we know of the charms and philtres used by the +witches is very fantastic, not seldom marked by malice, +and recklessly mixed up with things that seem to us +the least likely to have awakened love. By these +methods they went a long way without the husband’s +perceiving in his blindness the game they made of +him.</p> + +<p>These philtres were of various kinds. Some were +for exciting and troubling the senses, like the stimulants +so much abused in the East. Others were dangerous, +and often treacherous draughts to whose illusions +the body would yield itself without the will. Others +again were employed as tests when the passion was +defied, when one wished to see how far the greediness +of desire might derange the senses, making them +receive as the highest and holiest of favours, the most +disagreeable services done by the object of their love.</p> + +<p>The rude way in which a castle was constructed, +with nothing in it but large halls, led to an utter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +sacrifice of the inner life. It was long enough before +they took to building in one of the turrets a closet or +recess for meditation and the saying of prayers. The +lady was easily watched. On certain days set or +waited for, the bold youth would attempt the stroke, +recommended him by the Witch, of mingling a philtre +with her drink.</p> + +<p>This, however, was a dangerous matter, not often tried. +Less difficult was it to purloin from the lady things +which escaped her notice, which she herself despised. +He would treasure up the very smallest paring of a +nail; he would gather up respectfully one or two +beautiful hairs that might fall from her comb. These +he would carry to the Witch, who often asked, as our +modern sleep-wakers do, for something very personal +and strongly redolent of the person, but obtained +without her leave; as, for instance, some threads torn +out of a garment long worn and soiled with the traces +of perspiration. With much kissing, of course, and +worshipping, the lover was fain reluctantly to throw +these treasures into the fire, with a view to gathering +up the ashes afterwards. By and by, when she came +to look at her garment, the fine lady would remark the +rent, but guessing at the cause, would only sigh and +hold her tongue. The charm had already begun to +work.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Even if she hesitated from regard for her marriage-vow, +certain it is that life in a space so narrow, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +they were always in each other’s sight, so near and yet +so far, became a downright torment. And even when +she had once shown her weakness, still before her husband +and others equally jealous the moments of happiness +would assuredly be rare. Hence sprang many a +foolish outbreak of unsatisfied desire. The less they +came together, the more deeply they longed to do so. +A disordered fancy sought to attain that end by means +grotesque, unnatural, utterly senseless. So by way of +establishing a means of secret correspondence between +the two, the Witch had the letters of the alphabet +pricked on both their arms. If one of them wanted to +send a thought to the other, he brightened and brought +out by sucking the blood-red letters of the wished-for +word. Immediately, so it is said, the corresponding +letters bled on the other’s arm.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in these mad fits they would drink each +of the other’s blood, so as to mingle their souls, it was +said, in close communion. The devouring of Coucy’s +heart, which the lady “found so good that she never +ate again,” is the most tragical instance of these +monstrous vows of loving cannibalism. But when the +absent one did not die, but only the love within him, +then the lady would seek counsel of the Witch, begging +of her the means of holding him, of bringing him +back.</p> + +<p>The incantations used by the sorceress of Theocritus +and Virgil, though employed also in the Middle Ages, +were seldom of much avail. An attempt was made to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +win back the lover by a spell seemingly copied from +antiquity, by means of a cake, of a <i>confarreatio</i><a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> like +that which, both in Asia and Europe, had always been +the holiest pledge of love. But in this case it is not +the soul only, it is the flesh also they seek to bind; +there must be so true an identity established between +the two, that, dead to all other women, he shall live +only for her. It was a cruel ceremony on the woman’s +side. “No haggling, madam,” says the Witch. +Suddenly the proud dame grows obedient, even to +letting herself be stripped bare: for thus indeed it +must be.</p> + +<p>What a triumph for the Witch! And if this lady +were the same as she who had once made her “run the +gauntlet,” how meet the vengeance, how dread the requital +now! But it is not enough to have stripped her +thus naked. About her loins is fastened a little shelf, +on which a small oven is set for the cooking of the cake. +“Oh, my dear, I cannot bear it longer! Make haste, +and relieve me.”</p> + +<p>“You must bear it, madam; you must feel the heat. +When the cake is done, he will be warmed by you, +by your flame.”</p> + +<p>It is over; and now we have the cake of antiquity, of +the Indian and the Roman marriage, but spiced and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>warmed up by the lecherous spirit of the Devil. She +does not say with Virgil’s wizard,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But she takes him the cake, steeped, as it were, in the +other’s suffering, and kept warm by her love. He has +hardly bitten it when he is overtaken by an odd +emotion, by a feeling of dizziness. Then as the blood +rushes up to his heart he turns red and hot. Passion +fastens anew on him, and inextinguishable desire.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> One form of wedding among the Romans, in which the +bride-cake was broken between the pair, in token of their +union.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> “Hither, ye spells of mine, bring Daphnis home from the +city!”—<i>Virgil</i>, Eclogue viii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> I am wrong in saying inextinguishable. Fresh philtres +were often needed; and the blame of this must lie with the +lady, from whom the Witch in her mocking, malignant rage +exacted the most humiliating observances.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE REBELS’ COMMUNION—SABBATHS—THE BLACK +MASS.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">We</span> must now speak of the <i>Sabbaths</i>; a word which at +different times clearly meant quite different things. +Unhappily, we have no detailed accounts of these +gatherings earlier than the reign of Henry IV.<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> By +that time they were nothing more than a great lewd +farce carried on under the cloak of witchcraft. But +these very descriptions of a thing so greatly corrupted +are marked by certain antique touches that tell of the +successive periods and the different forms through +which it had passed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>We may set out with this firm idea that, for many +centuries, the serf led the life of a wolf or a fox; that +he was <i>an animal of the night</i>, moving about, I may +say, as little as possible in the daytime, and truly +living in the night alone.</p> + +<p>Still, up to the year 1000, so long as the people +made their own saints and legends, their daily life was +not to them uninteresting. Their nightly Sabbaths were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>only a slight relic of paganism. They held in fear and +honour the Moon, so powerful over the good things of +earth. Her chief worshippers, the old women, burn +small candles to <i>Dianom</i>—the Diana of yore, whose +other names were Luna and Hecate. The Lupercal +(or wolf-man) is always following the women and +children, disguised indeed under the dark face of +ghost Hallequin (Harlequin). The Vigil of Venus was +kept as a holiday precisely on the first of May. On +Midsummer Day they kept the Sabaza by sacrificing +the he-goat of Bacchus Sabasius. In all this there was +no mockery; nothing but a harmless carnival of serfs.</p> + +<p>But about the year 1000 the church is well-nigh +shut against the peasant through the difference between +his language and hers. By 1100 her services became +quite unintelligible. Of the mysteries played at the +church-doors, he has retained chiefly the comic side, the +ox and the ass, &c. On these he makes Christmas +carols, which grow ever more and more burlesque, +forming a true Sabbatic literature.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Are we to suppose that the great and fearful risings +of the twelfth century had no influence on these +mysteries, on this night-life of the <i>wolf</i>, the <i>game bird</i>, +the <i>wild quarry</i>. The great sacraments of rebellion +among the serfs, when they drank of each other’s +blood, or ate of the ground by way of solemn pledge,<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> +may have been celebrated at the Sabbaths. The “Marseillaise” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>of that time, sung by night rather than day, +was perhaps a Sabbatic chant:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Nous sommes hommes commes ils sont!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tout aussi grand cœur nous avons!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tout autant souffrir nous pouvons!”<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But the tombstone falls again in 1200. Seated +thereon the Pope and the King, with their enormous +weight, have sealed up man. Has he now his old life +by night? More than ever. The old pagan dances +must by this time have waxed furious. Our negroes +of the Antilles, after a dreadful day of heat and hard +work, would go and dance away some four leagues off. +So it was with the serf too. But with his dances there +must have mingled a merriment born of revenge, +satiric farces, burlesques and caricatures of the baron +and the priest: a whole literature of the night indeed, +that knew not one word of the literature of the day, +that knew little even of the burgher Fabliaux.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Of such a nature were the Sabbaths before 1300. +Before they could take the startling form of open +warfare against the God of those days, much more was +needed still, and especially these two things: not only +a descending into the very depths of despair, but also +<i>an utter losing of respect for anything</i>.</p> + +<p>To this pass they do not come until the fourteenth +century, under the Avignon popes, and during the +Great Schism; when the Church with two heads +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>seems no longer a church; when the king and all his +nobles, being in shameful captivity to the English, are +extorting the means of ransom from their oppressed +and outraged people. Then do the Sabbaths take the +grand and horrible form of the <i>Black Mass</i>, of a +ritual upside down, in which Jesus is defied and +bidden to thunder on the people if He can. In +the thirteenth century this devilish drama was still +impossible, through the horror it would have caused. +And later again, in the fifteenth, when everything, +even suffering itself, had become exhausted, so fierce +an outburst could not have issued forth; so monstrous +an invention no one would have essayed. It could only +have belonged to the age of Dante.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It took place, I fancy, at one gush; an explosion as +it were of genius raving, bringing impiety up to the +height of a great popular passion-fit. To understand +the nature of these bursts of rage, we must remember +that, far from imagining the fixedness of God’s laws, +a people brought up by their own clergy to believe +and depend on miracles, had for ages past been hoping +and waiting for nothing else than a miracle which +never came. In vain they demanded one in the +desperate hour of their last worst strait. Heaven +thenceforth appeared to them as the ally of their +savage tormentors, nay, as itself a tormentor too.</p> + +<p>Thereon began the <i>Black Mass</i> and the <i>Jacquerie</i>.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> +<p>In the elastic shell of the Black Mass, a thousand +variations of detail may afterwards have been inserted; +but the shell itself was strongly made and, in my +opinion, all of one piece.</p> + +<p>This drama I succeeded in reproducing in my +“History of France,” in the year 1857. There +was small difficulty in casting it anew in its four +acts. Only at that time I left in it too many of the +grotesque adornments which clothed the Sabbath of a +later period; nor did I clearly enough define what +belonged to the older shell, so dark and dreadful.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Its date is strongly marked by certain savage tokens +of an age accursed, and yet more by the ruling place +therein assigned to woman, a fact most characteristic +of the fourteenth century.</p> + +<p>It is strange to mark how, at that period, the +woman who enjoys so little freedom still holds her +royal sway in a hundred violent fashions. At this +time she inherits fiefs, brings her kingdoms to the +king. On the lower levels she has still her throne, +and yet more in the skies. Mary has supplanted +Jesus. St. Francis and St. Dominic have seen the +three worlds in her bosom. By the immensity of her +grace she washes away sin; ay, and sometimes helps +the sinner,—as in the story of a nun whose place the +Virgin took in the choir, while she herself was gone +to meet her lover.</p> + +<p>Up high, and down very low, we see the woman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +Beatrice reigns in heaven among the stars, while John +of Meung in the <i>Romaunt of the Rose</i> is preaching the +community of women. Pure or sullied, the woman is +everywhere. We might say of her what Raymond +Lulle said of God: “What part has He in the world? +The whole.”</p> + +<p>But alike in heaven and in poetry the true heroine +is not the fruitful mother decked out with children; +but the Virgin, or some barren Beatrice, who dies +young.</p> + +<p>A fair English damsel passed over into France, it is +said, about the year 1300, to preach the redemption of +women. She looked on herself as their Messiah.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In its earliest phase the Black Mass seemed to +betoken this redemption of Eve, so long accursed of +Christianity. The woman fills every office in the +Sabbath. She is priestess, altar, pledge of holy communion, +by turns. Nay, at bottom, is she not herself +as God?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Many popular traits may be found herein, and yet +it comes not wholly from the people. The peasant +who honoured strength alone, made small account of +the woman; as we see but too clearly in our old laws +and customs. From him the woman would not have +received the high place she holds here. It is by her +own self the place is won.</p> + +<p>I would gladly believe that the Sabbath in its then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +shape was woman’s work, the work of such a desperate +woman as the Witch was then. In the fourteenth +century she saw open before her a horrible career of +torments lighted up for three or four hundred years +by the stake. After 1300 her medical knowledge is +condemned as baleful, her remedies are proscribed as +if they were poisons. The harmless drawing of lots, +by which lepers then thought to better their luck, +brought on a massacre of those poor wretches. Pope +John XXII. ordered the burning of a bishop suspected +of Witchcraft. Under a system of such blind repression +there was just the same risk in daring little as in +daring much. Danger itself made people bolder; and +the Witch was able to dare anything.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Human brotherhood, defiance of the Christian +heaven, a distorted worship of nature herself as God—such +was the purport of the Black Mass.</p> + +<p>They decked an altar to the arch-rebel of serfs, <i>to +Him who had been so wronged</i>, the old outlaw, unfairly +hunted out of heaven, “the Spirit by whom earth was +made, the Master who ordained the budding of the +plants.” Such were the names of honour given him +by his worshippers, the <i>Luciferians</i>, and also, according +to a very likely opinion, by the Knights of the Temple.</p> + +<p>The greatest miracle of those unhappy times is, the +greater abundance found at the nightly communion of +the brotherhood, than was to be found elsewhere by +day. By incurring some little danger the Witch levied<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +her contributions from those who were best off, and +gathered their offerings into a common fund. Charity +in a Satanic garb grew very powerful, as being a crime, +a conspiracy, a form of rebellion. People would rob +themselves of their food by day for the sake of the +common meal at night.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Figure to yourself, on a broad moor, and often near +an old Celtic cromlech, at the edge of a wood, this +twofold scene: on one side a well-lit moor and a great +feast of the people; on the other, towards yon wood, +the choir of that church whose dome is heaven. What +I call the choir is a hill commanding somewhat the +surrounding country. Between these are the yellow +flames of torch-fires, and some red brasiers emitting a +fantastic smoke. At the back of all is the Witch, +dressing up her Satan, a great wooden devil, black and +shaggy. By his horns, and the goatskin near him, he +might be Bacchus; but his manly attributes make him +a Pan or a Priapus. It is a darksome figure, seen +differently by different eyes; to some suggesting only +terror, while others are touched by the proud melancholy +wherein the Eternally Banished seems absorbed.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Act First. The magnificent <i>In troit</i> taken by Christendom +from antiquity, that is, from those ceremonies +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>where the people in long train streamed under the +colonnades on their way to the sanctuary, is now taken +back for himself by the elder god upon his return to +power. The <i>Lavabo</i>, likewise borrowed from the +heathen lustrations, reappears now. All this he claims +back by right of age.</p> + +<p>His priestess is always called, by way of honour, the +Elder; but she would sometimes have been young. +Lancre tells of a witch of seventeen, pretty, and +horribly savage.</p> + +<p>The Devil’s bride was not to be a child: she must +be at least thirty years old, with the form of a Medea, +with the beauty that comes of pain; an eye deep, +tragic, lit up by a feverish fire, with great serpent +tresses waving at their will: I refer to the torrent of +her black untamable hair. On her head, perhaps, you +may see the crown of vervein, the ivy of the tomb, the +violets of death.</p> + +<p>When she has had the children taken off to their +meal, the service begins: “I will come before thine +altar; but save me, O Lord, from the faithless and +violent man (from the priest and the baron).”</p> + +<p>Then come the denial of Jesus, the paying of homage +to the new master, the feudal kiss, like the greetings +of the Temple, when all was yielded without reserve, +without shame, or dignity, or even purpose; the denial +of an olden god being grossly aggravated by a seeming +preference for Satan’s back.</p> + +<p>It is now his turn to consecrate his priestess. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +wooden deity receives her in the manner of an olden +Pan or Priapus. Following the old pagan form she +sits a moment upon him in token of surrender, like +the Delphian seeress on Apollo’s tripod. After receiving +the breath of his spirit, the sacrament of his +love, she purifies herself with like formal solemnity. +Thenceforth she is a living altar.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Introit over, the service is interrupted for the +feast. Contrary to the festive fashion of the nobles, +who all sit with their swords beside them, here, in this +feast of brethren, are no arms, not even a knife.</p> + +<p>As a keeper of the peace, each has a woman with +him. Without a woman no one is admitted. Be she +a kinswoman or none, a wife or none; be she old or +young, a woman he must bring with him.</p> + +<p>What were the drinks passed round among them? +Mead, or beer, or wine; strong cider or perry? The +last two date from the twelfth century.</p> + +<p>The illusive drinks, with their dangerous admixture +of belladonna, did they already appear at that board? +Certainly not. There were children there. Besides, +an excess of commotion would have prevented the +dancing.</p> + +<p>This whirling dance, the famous <i>Sabbath-round</i>, was +quite enough to complete the first stage of drunkenness. +They turned back to back, their arms behind them, +not seeing each other, but often touching each other’s +back. Gradually no one knew himself, nor whom he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +had by his side. The old wife then was old no more. +Satan had wrought a miracle. She was still a woman, +desirable, after a confused fashion beloved.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Act Second. Just as the crowd, grown dizzy together, +was led, both by the attraction of the women +and by a certain vague feeling of brotherhood, to +imagine itself one body, the service was resumed at the +<i>Gloria</i>. The altar, the host, became visible. These +were represented by the woman herself. Prostrate, in +a posture of extreme abasement, her long black silky +tresses lost in the dust; she, this haughty Proserpine, +offered up herself. On her back a demon officiated, +saying the <i>Credo</i>, and making the offering.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a></p> + +<p>At a later period this scene came to be immodest. +But at this time, amidst the calamities of the fourteenth +century, in the terrible days of the Black Plague, and +of so many a famine, in the days of the Jacquerie and +those hateful brigands, the Free Lances,—on a people +thus surrounded by danger, the effect was more than +serious. The whole assembly had much cause to fear +a surprise. The risk run by the Witch in this bold proceeding +was very great, even tantamount to the forfeiting +of her life. Nay, more; she braved a hell of suffering, +of torments such as may hardly be described. Torn +by pincers, and broken alive; her breasts torn out; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>her skin slowly singed, as in the case of the wizard +bishop of Cahors; her body burned limb by limb on a +small fire of red-hot coal, she was like to endure an +eternity of agony.</p> + +<p>Certainly all were moved when the prayer was +spoken, the harvest-offering made, upon this devoted +creature who gave herself up so humbly. Some wheat +was offered to the <i>Spirit of the Earth</i>, who made wheat +to grow. A flight of birds, most likely from the +woman’s bosom, bore to the <i>God of Freedom</i> the +sighs and prayers of the serfs. What did they ask? +Only that we, their distant descendants, might become +free.<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a></p> + +<p>What was the sacrament she divided among them? +Not the ridiculous pledge we find later in the reign of +Henry IV., but most likely that <i>confarreatio</i> which we +saw in the case of the philtres, the hallowed pledge of +love, a cake baked on her own body, on the victim who, +perhaps, to-morrow would herself be passing through +the fire. It was her life, her death, they ate there. +One sniffs already the scorching flesh.</p> + +<p>Last of all they set upon her two offerings, seemingly +of flesh; two images, one of <i>the latest dead</i>, the +other of the newest-born in the district. These shared +in the special virtue assigned to her who acted as altar +and Host in one, and on these the assembly made a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>show of receiving the communion. Their Host would +thus be threefold, and always human. Under a +shadowy likeness of the Devil the people worshipped +none other than its own self.</p> + +<p>The true sacrifice was now over and done. The +woman’s work was ended, when she gave herself up to +be eaten by the multitude. Rising from her former +posture, she would not withdraw from the spot until +she had proudly stated, and, as it were, confirmed the +lawfulness of her proceedings by an appeal to the +thunderbolt, by an insolent defiance of the discrowned +God.</p> + +<p>In mockery of the <i>Agnus Dei</i>, and the breaking of +the Christian Host, she brought a toad dressed up, and +pulled it to pieces. Then rolling her eyes about in a +frightful way she raised them to heaven, and beheading +the toad, uttered these strange words: “Ah, +<i>Philip</i>,<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> if I had you here, you should be served in the +same manner!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>No answer being outwardly given to her challenge, +no thunderbolt hurled upon her head, they imagine +that she has triumphed over the Christ. The nimble +band of demons seized their moment to astonish the +people with various small wonders which amazed and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>overawed the more credulous. The toads, quite +harmless in fact, but then accounted poisonous, were +bitten and torn between their dainty teeth. They +jumped over large fires and pans of live coal, to amuse +the crowd and make them laugh at the fires of Hell.</p> + +<p>Did the people really laugh after a scene so tragical, +so very bold? I know not. Assuredly there was no +laughing on the part of her who first dared all this. +To her these fires must have seemed like those of the +nearest stake. Her business rather lay in forecasting +the future of that devilish monarchy, in creating the +Witch to be.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> The least bad of these is by Lancre, a man of some wit, +whose evident connection with some young witches gave him +something to say. The accounts of the Jesuit Del Rio and +the Dominican Michaëlis are the absurd productions of two +credulous and silly pedants.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> At the battle of Courtray. See also Grimm and my +<i>Origines</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“We are fashioned of one clay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Big as theirs our hearts are aye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We can bear as much as they.”—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> The Peasants’ war which raged in France in 1364.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> This is taken from Del Rio, but is not, I think, peculiar to +Spain. It is an ancient trait, and marked by the primitive +inspiration.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> This important fact of the woman being her own altar, is +known to us by the trial of La Voisin, which M. Ravaisson, +Sen., is about to publish with the other <i>Papers of the Bastille</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> This grateful offering of wheat and birds is peculiar to +France. In Lorraine, and no doubt in Germany, black beasts +were offered, as the black cat, the black goat, or the black bull.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> Lancre, 136. Why “Philip,” I cannot say. By Satan +Jesus is always called John or <i>Janicot</i> (Jack). Was she speaking +of Philip of Valois, who brought on the wasting hundred +years’ war with England?</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE SEQUEL—LOVE AND DEATH—SATAN DISAPPEARS.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">And</span> now the multitude is made free, is of good cheer. +For some hours the serf reigns in short-lived freedom. +His time indeed is scant enough. Already the sky is +changing, the stars are going down. Another moment, +and the cruel dawn remits him to his slavery, brings +him back again under hostile eyes, under the shadow +of the castle, beneath the shadow of the church; back +again to his monotonous toiling, to the old unending +weariness of heart, governed as it were by two bells, +whereof one keeps saying “Always,” the other +“Never.” Anon they will be seen coming each out +of his own house, heavily, humbly, with an air of calm +composure.</p> + +<p>Let them at least enjoy the one short moment! Let +each of these disinherited, for once fulfil his fancy, for +once indulge his musings. What soul is there so +all unhappy, so lost to all feeling, as never to have one +good dream, one fond desire; never to say, “If this +would only happen!”</p> + +<p>The only detailed accounts we have, as I said before, +are modern, belonging to a time of peace and well-doing, +when France was blooming afresh, in the latter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +years of Henry VI., years of thriving luxury, entirely +different from that dark age when the Sabbath was first +set going.</p> + +<p>No thanks to Mr. Lancre and others, if we refrain +from pourtraying the Third Act as like the Church-Fair +of Rubens, a very miscellaneous orgie, a great +burlesque ball, which allowed of every kind of union, +especially between near kindred. According to those +authors, who would make us groan with horror, the +main end of the Sabbath, the explicit doctrine taught +by Satan, was incest; and in those great gatherings, +sometimes of two thousand souls, the most startling +deeds were done before the whole world.</p> + +<p>This is hard to believe; and the same writers tell of +other things which seem quite opposed to a view so +cynical. They say that people went to those meetings +only in pairs, that they sat down to the feast by twos, +that even if one person came alone, she was assigned a +young demon, who took charge of her, and did the +honours of the feast. They say, too, that jealous lovers +were not afraid to go thither in company with the +curious fair.</p> + +<p>We also find that the most of them came by +families, children and all. The latter were sent off +only during the first act, not during the feast, nor the +services, nor yet while this third act was going on; a +fact which proves that some decency was observed. +Moreover, the scene was twofold. The household +groups stayed on the moor in a blaze of light. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +only beyond the fantastic curtain of torch-smoke that +the darker spaces, where people could roam in all +directions, began.</p> + +<p>The judges, the inquisitors, for all their enmity, are +fain to allow the existence here of a general spirit of +peace and mildness. Of the three things that startle +us in the feasts of nobles, there is not one here; no +swords, no duels, no tables reeking blood. No faithless +gallantries here bring dishonour on some intimate +friend. Unknown, unneeded here, for all they say, is +the unclean brotherhood of the Temple; in the Sabbath, +woman is everything.</p> + +<p>The question of incest needs explaining. All +alliances between kinsfolk, even those most allowable +in the present day, were then regarded as a crime. +The modern law, which is charity itself, understands +the heart of man and the well-being of families.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> It +allows the widower to marry his wife’s sister, the best +mother his children could have. Above all, it allows +a man to wed his cousin, whom he knows and may +trust fully, whom he has loved perhaps from childhood, +his playfellow of old, regarded by his mother +with special favour as already the adopted of her own +heart. In the Middle Ages all this was incestuous.</p> + +<p>The peasant being fondest of his own family was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>driven to despair. It was a monstrous thing for him +to marry a cousin, even in the sixth degree. It was +impossible for him to get married in his own village +where the question of kinship stood so much in his +way. He had to look for a wife elsewhere, afar off. +But in those days there was not much intercourse or +acquaintance between different places, and each hated +its own neighbours. On feast days one village would +fight another without knowing the reason why, as may +sometimes still be seen in countries never so thinly +peopled. No one durst go seek a wife in the very spot +where men had been fighting together, where he himself +would have been in great danger.</p> + +<p>There was another difficulty. The lord of the young +serf forbade his marrying in the next lordship. Becoming +the serf of his wife’s lord he would have been +wholly lost to his own. Thus he was debarred by the +priest from his cousin, by the lord from a stranger; +and so it happened that many did not marry at all.</p> + +<p>The result was just what they pretended to avoid. +In the Sabbath the natural sympathies sprang forth +again. There the youth found again her whom he +had known and loved at first, her whose “little husband” +he had been called at ten years old. Preferring +her as he certainly did, he paid but little heed to +canonical hindrances.</p> + +<p>When we come to know the Mediæval Family better, +we give up believing the declamatory assumptions of a +general mingling together of the people forming so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +great a crowd. On the contrary, we feel that each +small group is so closely joined together, as to be +utterly barred to the entrance of a stranger.</p> + +<p>The serf was not jealous towards his own kin, but +his poverty and wretchedness made him exceedingly +afraid of worsening his lot by multiplying children +whom he could not support. The priest and the lord +on their part wished to increase the number of their +serfs—wanted the woman to be always bearing; and +the strangest sermons were often delivered on this +head,<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> varied sometimes with threats and cruel reproaches. +All the more resolute was the prudence of +the man. The woman, poor creature, unable to bear +children fit to live on such conditions, bearing them +only to her sorrow, had a horror of being made big. +She never would have ventured to one of these night +festivals without being first assured, again and again, +that no woman ever came away pregnant.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> + +<p>They were drawn thither by the banquet, the +dancing, the lights, the amusements; in nowise by +carnal pleasure. The last thing they cared for was to +heighten their poverty, to bring one more wretch into +the world, to give another serf to their lord.</p> + + +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 0em; font-size: 150%">*<span style="padding-left: 2.5em">*</span><span style="padding-left: 2.5em">*</span><span style="padding-left: 2.5em">*</span><span style="padding-left: 2.5em">*</span></p> + + + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p><p>Cruel indeed was the social system of those days. +Authority bade men marry, but rendered marriage +nearly impossible, at once by the excessive misery of +most, and the senseless cruelty of the canonical prohibitions.</p> + +<p>The result was quite opposed to the purity thus +preached. Under a show of Christianity existed the +patriarchate of Asia alone.</p> + +<p>Only the firstborn married. The younger brothers +and sisters worked under him and for him. In the +lonely farms of the mountains of the South, far from +all neighbours and every woman, brothers and sisters +lived together, the latter serving and in all ways belonging +to the former; a way of life analogous to that +in Genesis, to the marriages of the Parsees, to the +customs still obtaining in certain shepherd tribes of +the Himalayas.</p> + +<p>The mother’s fate was still more revolting. She +could not marry her son to a kinswoman, and thus +secure to herself a kindly-affected daughter-in-law. +Her son married, if he could, a girl from a distant +village, an enemy often, whose entrance proved baneful +either to the children of a former marriage, or to the +poor mother, who was often driven away by the stranger +wife. You may not think it, but the fact is certainly +so. At the very least she was ill-used; banished from +the fireside, from the very table.</p> + +<p>There is a Swiss law forbidding the removal of the +mother from her place by the chimney-corner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was exceedingly afraid of her son’s marrying. +But her lot was little happier if he did not marry. +None the less servant was she of the young master of +the house, who succeeded to all his father’s rights, +even to that of beating her. This impious custom +I have seen still followed in the South: a son of +five-and-twenty chastising his mother when she got +drunk.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>How much greater her suffering in those days of +savagery! Then it was rather he who came back from +the feast half-drunken, hardly knowing what he was +about. But one room, but one bed, was all they had +between them. She was by no means free from fear. +He had seen his friends married, and felt soured thereat. +Thenceforth her way is marked by tears, by utter +weakness, by a woful self-surrender. Threatened by +her only God, her son, heart-broken at finding herself +in a plight so unnatural, she falls desperate. She tries +to drown all her memories in sleep. At length comes +an issue for which neither of them can fairly account, +an issue such as nowadays will often happen in the +poorer quarters of large towns, where some poor woman +is forced, frightened, perhaps beaten, into bearing +every outrage. Thus conquered, and, spite of her +scruples, far too resigned, she endured thenceforth a +pitiable bondage; a life of shame and sorrow, and +abundant anguish, growing with the yearly widening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +difference between their several ages. The woman of +six-and-thirty might keep watch over a son of twenty +years: but at fifty, alas! or still later, where would he +be? From the great Sabbath where thronged the people +of far villages, he would be bringing home a strange +woman for his youthful mistress, a woman hard, heartless, +devoid of ruth, who would rob her of her son, her +seat by the fire, her bed, of the very house which she +herself had made.</p> + +<p>To believe Lancre and others, Satan accounted the +son for praiseworthy, if he kept faithful to his mother, +thus making a virtue of a crime. If this be true, we +must assume that the woman was protected by a woman, +that the Witch sided with the mother, to defend her +hearth against a daughter-in-law who, stick in hand, +would have sent her forth to beg.</p> + +<p>Lancre further maintains that “never was good +Witch, but she sprang from the love of a mother for +her son.” In this way, indeed, was born the Persian +soothsayer, the natural fruit, they say, of so hateful a +mystery; and thus the secrets of the magical art were +kept confined to one family which constantly renewed +itself.</p> + +<p>An impious error led them to imitate the harmless +mystery of the husbandman, the unceasing vegetable +round whereby the corn resown in the furrow, brings +forth its corn.</p> + +<p>The less monstrous unions of brother with sister, so +common in the East, and in Greece, were cold and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +rarely fruitful. They were wisely abandoned; nor +would people ever have returned to them, but for that +rebellious spirit which, being aroused by absurd restrictions, +flung itself foolishly into the opposite +extreme. Thus from unnatural laws, hatred begot +unnatural customs.</p> + +<p>A cruel, an accursed time, a time big with despair!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>We have been long discoursing; but the dawn is +well-nigh come. In a moment the hour will strike for +the spirits to take themselves away. The Witch feels +her dismal flowers already withering on her brow. +Farewell, her royalty, perhaps her life! Where would +they be, if the day still found her there?</p> + +<p>Of Satan, what shall she make? A flame, a cinder? +He asks for nothing better; knowing well, in his craftiness, +that the only way to live and to be born again, +is first to die.</p> + +<p>And will he die, he who as the mighty summoner of +the dead, granted to them that mourn their only joy +on earth, the love they had lost, the dream they had +cherished? Ah, no! he is very sure to live.</p> + +<p>Will he die, he that mighty spirit who, finding +Creation accurst, and Nature lying cold upon the +ground, flung thither like a dirty foster-child from off +the Church’s garment, gathered her up and placed her +on his bosom? In truth it cannot be.</p> + +<p>Will he die, he the one great physician of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +Middle Ages, of a world that, falling sick, was saved +by his poisons and bidden, poor fool, to live?</p> + +<p>As the gay rogue is sure of living, he dies wholly at +his ease. He shuffles out of himself, cleverly burns up +his fine goatskin, and disappears in a blaze of dawn.</p> + +<p>But <i>she</i> who made Satan, who made all things, good +or ill, whose countenance was given to so many forms +of love, of devotion, and of crime,—to what end will +she come? Behold her all lonely on her waste moorland.</p> + +<p>She is not, as they say, the dread of all. Many +will bless her. More than one have found her beautiful, +would sell their share in Paradise to dare be near +her. But all around her is a wide gulf. They who +admire, are none the less afraid of this all-powerful +Medea, with her fair deep eyes, and the thrilling +adders of her dark overflowing hair.</p> + +<p>To her thus lonely for ever, for evermore without +love, what is there left? Nothing but the Demon +who had suddenly disappeared.</p> + +<p>“’Tis well, good Devil, let us go. I am utterly +loath to stay here any more. Hell itself is far preferable. +Farewell to the world!”</p> + +<p>She must live but a very little longer, to play out the +dreadful drama she had herself begun. Near her, +ready saddled by the obedient Satan, stood a huge +black horse, the fire darting from his eyes and nostrils. +She sprang upon him with one bound.</p> + +<p>They follow her with their eyes. The good folk say<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +with alarm, “What is to become of her?” With a +frightful burst of laughter, she goes off, vanishing +swift as an arrow. They would like much to know +what becomes of the poor woman, but that they +never will.<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> Of course the allusion here, as shown in the next following +sentence, is to French law in particular. As for the marriage +of cousins, there is much to say on both sides of the +question.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> The ingenious M. Génin has very recently collected the +most curious information on this point.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> Boguet, Lancre, and other authors, are agreed on this +question.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> See the end of the Witch of Berkeley, as told by William +of Malmesbury.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II.</h2> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_I_2" id="CHAPTER_I_2"></a>CHAPTER I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE WITCH IN HER DECLINE—SATAN MULTIPLIED AND +MADE COMMON.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Devil’s delicate fondling, the lesser Witch, begotten +of the Black Mass after the greater one’s disappearance, +came and bloomed in all her malignant +cat-like grace. This woman is quite the reverse of the +other: refined and sidelong in manner, sly and purring +demurely, quick also at setting up her back. There is +nothing of the Titan about her, to be sure. Far from +that, she is naturally base; lewd from her cradle and +full of evil daintinesses. Her whole life is the expression +of those unclean thoughts which sometimes in +a dream by night may assail him who would shrink +with horror from any such by day.</p> + +<p>She who is born with such a secret in her blood, +with such instinctive mastery of evil, she who has +looked so far and so low down, will have no religion, +no respect for anything or person in the world; none +even for Satan, since he is a spirit still, while she has +a particular relish for all things material.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>In her childhood she spoiled everything. Tall and +pretty she startled all by her slovenly habits. With +her Witchcraft becomes a mysterious cooking up of +some mysterious chemistry. From an early date she +delights to handle repulsive things, to-day a drug, to-morrow +an intrigue. Among diseases and love-affairs +she is in her element. She will make a clever go-between, +a bold and skilful empiric. War will be made +against her as a fancied murderer, as a woman who +deals in poisons. And yet she has small taste for such +things, is far from murderous in her desires. Devoid +of goodness, she yet loves life, loves to work cures, to +prolong others’ lives. She is dangerous in two ways: +on the one hand by selling receipts for barrenness, and +even for abortion; while on the other, her headlong +libertine fancy leads her to compass a woman’s fall +with her cursed potions, to triumph in the wicked +deeds of love.</p> + +<p>Different, indeed, is this one from the other! She +is a manufacturer: the other was the ungodly one, the +demon, the great rebellion, the wife, we might almost +say, the mother of Satan; for out of her and her inward +strength he grew up. But this one is the Devil’s +daughter notwithstanding. Two things she derives +from him, her uncleanness, her love of handling life. +These are her allotted walk, in these she is quite an +artist; an artist already trading in her lore, and we +are admitted into the business.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was said that she would perpetuate herself by the +incest from which she sprang. But she has no need +of that: numberless little ones will she beget without +help from another. In less than fifty years, at the +opening of the fifteenth century, under Charles VI., a +mighty contagion was spread abroad. Whoever +thought he had any secrets or any receipts, whoever +fancied himself a seer, whoever dreamed and travelled +in his dreams, would call himself a pet of Satan. +Every moonstruck woman adopted the awful name of +Witch!</p> + +<p>A perilous, profitable name, cast at her in their +hatred by people who alternately insult and implore +the unknown power. It is none the less accepted, nay, +is often claimed. To the children who follow her, to +the woman who, with threatening fists, hurl the name +at her like a stone, she turns round, saying proudly, +“’Tis true, you have said well!”</p> + +<p>The business improves, and men are mingled in it. +Hence another fall for the art. Still the least of the +witches retains somewhat of the Sibyl. Those other +frowsy charlatans, those clownish jugglers, mole-catchers, +ratkillers, who throw spells over beasts, who +sell secrets which they have not, defiled these times +with the stench of a dismal black smoke, of fear and +foolery. Satan grows enormous, gets multiplied without +end. ’Tis a poor triumph, however, for him. He +grows dull and sick at heart. Still the people keep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +flowing towards him, bent on having no other God +than he. Himself only is to himself untrue.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In spite of two or three great discoveries, the fifteenth +century is, to my thinking, none the less a century +tired out, a century of few ideas.</p> + +<p>It opened right worthily with the Sabbath Royal of +St. Denis, the wild and woful ball given by Charles VI. +in the abbey so named, to commemorate the burial of +Du Guesclin, which had taken place so many years +before. For three days and nights was Sodom wallowing +among the graves. The foolish king, not yet +grown quite an idiot, compelled his royal forefathers +to share in the ball, by making their dry bones dance +in their biers. Death, becoming a go-between whether +he would or no, lent a sharp spur to the voluptuous +revel. Then broke out those unclean fashions of an +age when ladies made themselves taller by wearing the +Devil’s horned-bonnet, and gloried in dressing as if +they were all with child.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> To this fashion they clung +for the next forty years. The younger folk on their +side, not to be behind in shamelessness, eclipsed them +in the display of naked charms. The woman wore +Satan on her forehead in the shape of a horned head-dress: +on the feet of the bachelor and the page he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>was visible in the tapering scorpion-like tips of their +shoes. Under the mask of animals they represented +the lowest side of brute nature. The famous child +stealer, Retz, here took his first flight in villany. The +great feudal ladies, unbridled Jezebels, with less sense +of shame in them than the men, scorned all disguise +whatever; displayed themselves with face uncovered. +In their sensual rages, in their mad parade of debauchery, +the king, the whole company might see the +bottomless pit itself yawning for the life, the feeling, +the body, and the soul of each.</p> + +<p>Out of such doings come forth the conquered of +Agincourt, a poor generation of effete nobles, in whose +miniatures you shiver to see the falling away of their +sorry limbs, as shown through the treacherous tightness +of their clothes.<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Much to be pitied is the Witch who, when the great +lady came home from that royal feast, became her +bosom-counsellor and agent charged with the doing of +impossible things.</p> + +<p>In her own castle, indeed, the lady is almost, if not +all alone, amidst a crowd of single men. To judge +from romances you would think she delighted in girding +herself with an array of fair girls. Far otherwise +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>are we taught by history and common sense. Eleanor +is not so silly as to match herself against Rosamond. +With all their own rakishness, those queens and great +ladies could be frightfully jealous; witness she who is +said by Henry Martin to have caused the death of a +girl admired by her husband, under the outrageous +handling of his soldiery. The power wielded by the +lady’s love depends, we repeat, on her being alone. +Whatever her age and figure, she becomes the dream +of all. The Witch takes mischievous delight in making +her abuse her goddesship, in tempting her to make +game of the men she humbles and befools. She goes +to all lengths of boldness, even treating them like very +beasts. Look at them being transformed! Down on +all fours they tumble, like fawning monkeys, absurd +bears, lewd dogs, or swine eager to follow their contemptuous +Circé.</p> + +<p>Her pity rises thereat? Nay, but she grows sick +of it all, and kicks those crawling beasts with her foot. +The thing is impure, but not heinous enough. An +absurd remedy is found for her complaint. These +others being so nought, she is to have something yet +more nought—namely, a little sweetheart. The advice +is worthy of the Witch. Love’s spark shall be lighted +before its time in some young innocent, sleeping the +pure sleep of childhood! Here you have the ugly +tale of little John of Saintré, pink of cherubim, and +other paltry puppets of the Age of Decay.</p> + +<p>Through all those pedantic embellishments and sentimental<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +moralizings, one clearly marks the vile cruelty +that lies below. The fruit was killed in the flower. +Here, in a manner, is the very “eating of children,” +which was laid so often to the Witch’s charge. Anyhow, +she drained their lives. The fair lady who +caresses one in so tender and motherly a way, what is +she but a vampire, draining the blood of the weak? +The upshot of such atrocities we may gather from +the tale itself. Saintré becomes a perfect knight, but +so utterly frail and weak as to be dared and defied by +the lout of a peasant priest, in whom the lady, become +better advised, has seen something that will suit her +best.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Such idle whimsies heighten the surfeit, the mad +rage of an empty mind. Circé among her beasts grows +so weary and heartsick that she would be a beast herself. +She fancies herself wild, and locks herself up. +From her tower she casts an evil eye towards the +gloomy forest. She fancies herself a prisoner, and +rages like a wolf chained fast. “Let the old woman +come this moment: I want her. Run!” Two minutes +later again: “What! is she not come yet?”</p> + +<p>At last she is come. “Hark you: I have a sore +longing—invincible, as you know—to choke you, to +drown you, or to give you up to the bishop, who +already claims you. You have but one way of escape, +that is, to satisfy another longing of mine by changing +me into a wolf. I feel wretchedly bored, weary of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +keeping still. I want, by night at least, to run free +about the forest. Away with stupid servants, with +dogs that stun me with their noise, with clumsy horses +that kick out and shy at a thicket.”</p> + +<p>“But if you were caught, my lady——”</p> + +<p>“Insolent woman! You would rather die, then?”</p> + +<p>“At least you have heard the story of the woman-wolf, +whose paw was cut off.<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> But, oh! how sorry I +should be.”</p> + +<p>“That is my concern. I will hear nothing more, +I am in a hurry—have been barking already. What +happiness, to hunt all by myself in the clear moonlight; +by myself to fasten on the hind, or man likewise +if he comes near me; to attack the tender children, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>and, above all, to set my teeth in the women; ay, the +women, for I hate them all—not one like yourself. +Don’t start, I won’t bite you—you are not to my taste, +and besides, you have no blood in you! ’Tis blood I +crave—blood!”</p> + +<p>She can no longer refuse. “Nothing easier, my +lady. To-night, at nine o’clock, you will drink this. +Lock yourself up, and then turning into a wolf, while +they think you are still here, you can scour the +forest.”</p> + +<p>It is done; and next morning the lady finds herself +worn out and depressed. In one night she must have +travelled some thirty leagues. She has been hunting +and slaying until she is covered with blood. But the +blood, perhaps, comes from her having torn herself +among the brambles.</p> + +<p>A great triumph and danger also for her who has +wrought this miracle. From the lady, however, whose +command provoked it, she receives but a gloomy welcome. +“Witch, ’tis a fearful power you have; I +should never have guessed it. But now I fear and +dread you. Good cause, indeed, they have to hate +you. A happy day will it be when you are burnt. I +can ruin you when I please. One word of mine about +last night, and my peasants would this evening whet +their scythes upon you. Out, you black-looking, hateful +old hag!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p><hr /> + +<p>The great folk, her patrons, launch her into strange +adventures. For what can she refuse to her terrible +protectors, when nothing but the castle saves her from +the priest, from the faggot? If the baron, on his return +from a crusade, being bent on copying the manners +of the Turks, sends for her, and orders her to +steal him a few children, what can she do? Raids +such as those grand ones in which two thousand pages +were sometimes carried off from Greek ground to enter +the seraglio, were by no means unknown to the +Christians; were known from the tenth century to the +barons of England, at a later date to the knights of +Rhodes and Malta. The famous Giles of Retz, the +only one brought to trial, was punished, not for having +stolen his small serfs, a crime not then uncommon, but +for having sacrificed them to Satan. She who actually +stole them, and was ignorant, doubtless, of their future +lot, found herself between two perils: on the one hand +the peasant’s fork and scythe; on the other, those +torments which awaited her, when recusant, within the +tower. Retz’s terrible Italian would have made nothing +of pounding her in a mortar.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a></p> + +<p>On all sides the perils and the profits went together. +A position more frightfully corrupting could not have +been found. The Witches themselves did not deny the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>absurd powers imputed to them by the people. They +averred that by means of a doll stuck over with needles +they could weave their spells around whomever they +pleased, making him waste away until he died. They +averred that mandragora, torn from beneath the +gallows by the teeth of a dog, who invariably died +therefrom, enabled them to pervert the understanding; +to turn men into beasts, to give women over to idiotcy +and madness. Still more dreadful was the furious +frenzy caused by the Thorn-apple, or Datura, which +made men dance themselves to death, and go through +a thousand shameful antics, without their own knowledge +or remembrance.<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Hence there grew up against them a feeling of +boundless hatred, mingled with as extreme a fear. +Sprenger, who wrote the <i>Hammer for Witches</i>, relates +with horror how, in a season of snow, when all the +roads were broken up, he saw a wretched multitude, +wild with terror, and spell-bound by evils all too real, +fill up all the approaches to a little German town. +“Never,” says he, “did you behold so mighty a pilgrimage +to our Lady of Grace, or her of the wilderness. +All these people, who hobbled, crawled, and stumbled +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>among the quagmires, were on their way to the Witch, +to beseech the grace of the Devil upon themselves. +How proud and excited must the old woman have felt +at seeing so large a concourse prostrate before her +feet!”<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> Even in a very mystic theme, in a work of such genius as +the <i>Lamb</i> of Van Eyck (says John of Bruges), all the Virgins +seem big. It was only the quaint fashion of the fifteenth +century.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> This wasting away of a used-up, enervated race, mars the +effect of all those splendid miniatures of the Court of Burgundy, +the Duke of Berry, &c. No amount of clever handling could +make good works of art out of subjects so very pitiable.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Among the great ladies imprisoned in their castles, this +dreadful fancy was not rare. They hungered and thirsted for +freedom, for savage freedom. Boguet mentions how, among +the hills of Auvergne, a hunter one night drew his sword upon +a she-wolf, but missing her, cut off her paw. She fled away +limping. He came to a neighbouring castle to seek the hospitality +of him who dwelt there. The gentleman, on seeing him, +asked if he had had good sport. By way of answer he thought +to draw out of his pouch the she-wolf’s paw; but what was his +amazement to find instead of the paw a hand, and on one of +the fingers a ring, which the gentleman recognized as belonging +to his wife! Going at once in search of her, he found her hurt +and hiding her fore-arm. To the arm which had lost its hand +he fitted that which the hunter had brought him, and the lady +was fain to own that she it was, who in the likeness of a wolf +had attacked the hunter, and afterwards saved herself by leaving +a paw on the battle-field. The husband had the cruelty to +give her up to justice, and she was burnt.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> See my <i>History of France</i>, and still more the learned and +careful account by the lamented Armand Guéraud: <i>Notice sur +Gilles de Rais</i>, Nantes, 1855. We there find that the purveyors +of that horrible child’s charnel-house were mostly men.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> Pouchet, on the <i>Solaneæ and General Botany</i>. Nysten, +<i>Dictionary of Medicine</i>, article <i>Datura</i>. The robbers employed +these potions but too often. A butcher of Aix and his wife, +whom they wanted to rob of their money, were made to drink +of some such, and became so maddened thereby, that they +danced all one night naked in a cemetery.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> The Witch delighted in causing the noble and the great to +undergo the most outrageous trials of their love. We know +that queens and ladies of rank (in Italy even to the last century) +held their court at times the most forbidding, and exacted +the most unpleasant services from their favourites. There was +nothing too mean, too repulsive, for the domestic brute—the +<i>cicisbeo</i>, the priest, the half-witted page—to undergo, in the +stupid belief that the power of a philtre increased with its +nastiness. This was sad enough when the ladies were neither +young, nor beautiful, nor witty. But what of that other astounding +fact, that a Witch, who was neither a great lady, nor +young, nor fair, but poor, and perhaps a serf, clad only in dirty +rags, could still by her malice, by the strange power of her +raging lewdness, by some bewitchingly treacherous spell, +stupefy the gravest personages, and abase them to so low a +depth? Some monks of a monastery on the Rhine, wherein, +as in many other German convents, none but a noble of four +hundred years’ standing could gain admission, sorrowfully +owned to Sprenger that they had seen three of their brethren +bewitched in turn, and a fourth killed by a woman, who boldly +said, “I did it, and will do so again: they cannot escape me, +for they have eaten,” &c. (Sprenger, <i>Malleus maleficarum</i>, +<i>quæstio</i>, vii. p. 84.) “The worst of it is,” says Sprenger, “that +we have no means of punishing or examining her: <i>so she lives +still</i>.”</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_II_2" id="CHAPTER_II_2"></a>CHAPTER II.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE HAMMER FOR WITCHES.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> witches took small care to hide their game. +Rather they boasted of it; and it was, indeed, from +their own lips that Sprenger picked up the bulk of the +tales that grace his handbook. It is a pedantic work, +marked out into the absurd divisions and subdivisions +employed by the followers of St. Thomas Aquinas; +but a work sincere withal, and frank-spoken, written +by a man so thoroughly frightened by this dreadful +duel between God and the Devil, wherein God <i>generally</i> +allows the Devil to win, that the only remedy he can +discern is to pursue the latter fire in hand, and burn +with all speed those bodies which he had chosen for his +dwelling-place.</p> + +<p>Sprenger’s sole merit is the fact of his having written +a complete book, which crowns a mighty system, a +whole literature. To the old <i>Penitentiaries</i>, handbooks +of confessors for the inquisition of sin, succeeded +the <i>Directories</i> for the inquisition of heresy, the greatest +sin of all. But for Witchcraft, the greatest of all +heresies, special handbooks or directories were appointed. +Hammers for Witches, to wit. These handbooks, +continually enriched by the zeal of the Dominicans,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +attained perfection in the <i>Malleus</i> of Sprenger, +the book by which he himself was guided during his +great mission to Germany, and which for a century +after served as a guide and light for the courts of the +Inquisition.</p> + +<p>How was Sprenger led to the study of these things? +He tells us that being in Rome, at a refectory where +the monks were entertaining some pilgrims, he saw +two from Bohemia; one a young priest, the other his +father. The father sighing prayed for a successful +journey. Touched with a kindly feeling Sprenger +asked him why he sorrowed. Because his son was +<i>possessed</i>: at great cost and with much trouble he had +brought him to the tomb of the saints, at Rome.</p> + +<p>“Where is this son of yours?” said the monk.</p> + +<p>“By your side.”</p> + +<p>“At this answer I shrank back alarmed. I scanned +the young priest’s figure, and was amazed to see him +eat with so modest an air, and answer with so much +gentleness. He informed me that, on speaking somewhat +sharply to an old woman, she had laid him under +a spell, and that spell was under a tree. What tree? +The Witch steadily refused to say.”</p> + +<p>Sprenger’s charity led him to take the possessed +from church to church, from relic to relic. At every +halting-place there was an exorcism, followed by furious +cries, contortions, jabbering in every language, and +gambols without number: all this before the people, +who followed the pair with shuddering admiration.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +The devils, so abundant in Germany, were scarcer +among the Italians. For some days Rome talked of +nothing else. The noise made by this affair doubtless +brought the Dominican into public notice. He studied, +collected all the <i>Mallei</i>, and other manuscript handbooks, +and became a first-rate authority in the processes +against demons. His <i>Malleus</i> was most likely +composed during the twenty years between this adventure +and the important mission entrusted to Sprenger +by Pope Innocent VIII., in 1484.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>For that mission to Germany a clever man was +specially needed; a man of wit and ability, who might +overcome the dislike of honest German folk for the +dark system it would be his care to introduce. In the +Low Countries Rome had suffered a rude check, which +brought the Inquisition into vogue there, and consequently +closed France against it: Toulouse alone, +as being the old Albigensian country, having endured +the Inquisition. About the year 1460 a Penitentiary<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> +of Rome, being made Dean of Arras, thought to strike +an awe-inspiring blow at the <i>Chambers of Rhetoric</i>, +literary clubs which had begun to handle religious +questions. He had one of these Rhetoricians burnt for +a wizard, and along with him some wealthy burgesses, +and even a few knights. The nobles were angry at +this near approach to themselves: the public voice was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>raised in violent outcry. The Inquisition was cursed +and spat upon, especially in France. The Parliament +of Paris roughly closed its doors upon it; and thus by +her awkwardness did Rome lose her opportunity of +establishing that Reign of Terror throughout the North.</p> + +<p>About 1484 the time seemed better chosen. The +Inquisition had grown to so dreadful a height in +Spain, setting itself even above the king, that it seemed +already confirmed as a conquering institution, able to +move forward alone, to make its way everywhere, and +seize upon everything. In Germany, indeed, it was +hindered by the jealous antagonism of the spiritual +princes, who, having courts of their own, and holding +inquisitions by themselves, would never agree to accept +that of Rome. But the position of these princes +towards the popular movements by which they were +then so greatly disquieted, soon rendered them more +manageable. All along the Rhine, and throughout +Swabia, even on the eastern side towards Salzburg, the +country seemed to be undermined. At every moment +burst forth some fresh revolt of the peasantry. A vast +underground volcano, an invisible lake of fire, showed +itself, as it were, from place to place, in continual +spouts of flame. More dreaded than that of Germany, +the foreign Inquisition appeared at a most seasonable +hour for spreading terror through the country, and +crushing the rebellious spirits, by roasting, as the +wizards of to-day, those who might else have been the +insurgents of to-morrow. It was a beautiful <i>derivative</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +an excellent popular weapon for putting down the +people. This time the storm got turned upon the +Wizards, as in 1349, and on many other occasions it +had been launched against the Jews.</p> + +<p>Only the right man was needed. He who should +be the first to set up his judgment-seat in sight of the +jealous courts of Mentz and Cologne, in presence of +the mocking mobs of Strazburg or Frankfort, must +indeed be a man of ready wit. He would need great +personal cleverness to atone for, to cause a partial +forgetfulness of his hateful mission. Rome, too, has +always plumed herself on choosing the best men for +her work. Caring little for questions, and much for +persons, she thought rightly enough that the successful +issue of her affairs depended on the special character +of her several agents abroad. Was Sprenger the right +man? He was a German to begin with, a Dominican +enjoying beforehand the support of that dreaded order +through all its convents, through all its schools. Need +was there of a worthy son of the schools, a good disputant, +of a man well skilled in the <i>Sum</i>,<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> grounded +firm in his St. Thomas, able at any moment to quote +texts. All this Sprenger certainly was: and best of +all, he was a fool.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“It has been often said that <i>diabolus</i> comes from +<i>dia</i>, ‘two,’ and <i>bolus</i>, ‘a pill or ball,’ because devouring +alike soul and body, he makes but one pill, one mouthful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>of the two. But”—he goes on to say with the +gravity of <i>Sganarelle</i>—“in Greek etymology <i>diabolus</i> +means ‘shut up in a house of bondage,’ or rather +‘flowing down’ (Teufel?), that is to say, falling, +because he fell from heaven.”</p> + +<p>Whence comes the word sorcery (<i>maléfice</i>)? From +<i>maleficiendo</i>, which means <i>male de fide sentiendo</i>.<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> A +curious etymology, but one that will hold a great deal. +Once trace a resemblance between witchcraft and evil +opinions, and every wizard becomes a heretic, every +doubter a wizard. All who think wrongly can be +burnt for wizards. This was done at Arras; and they +long to establish the same rule, little by little, everywhere +else.</p> + +<p>Herein lies the once sure merit of Sprenger. A +fool, but a fearless one, he boldly lays down the most +unwelcome theses. Others would have striven to shirk, +to explain away, to diminish, the objections that might +be made. Not he, however. From the first page he +puts plainly forward, one by one, the natural manifest +reasons for not believing in the Satanic miracles. To +these he coldly adds: “<i>They are but so many heretical +mistakes</i>.” And without stopping to refute those +reasons, he copies you out the adverse passages found +in the Bible, St. Thomas, in books of legends, in the +canonists, and the scholiasts. Having first shown you +the right interpretation, he grinds it to powder by +dint of authority.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> +<p>He sits down satisfied, calm as a conqueror; seeming +to say, “Well, what say you now? Will you +dare use your reason again? Go and doubt away +then; doubt, for instance, that the Devil delights in +setting himself between wife and husband, although +the Church and all the canonists repeatedly admit this +reason for a divorce!”</p> + +<p>Of a truth this is unanswerable: nobody will breathe +so much as a whisper in reply. Since Sprenger heads +his handbook for judges by declaring the slightest +doubt <i>heretical</i>, the judge stands bound accordingly; +he feels that he cannot stumble, that if unhappily he +should ever be tempted by an impulse of doubt or +humanity, he must begin by condemning himself and +delivering his own body to the flames.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The same method prevails everywhere: first the +sensible meaning, which is then confronted openly, +without reserve, by the negation of all good sense. +Some one, for instance, might be tempted to say that +as love is in the soul, there is no need to account for it +by the mysterious working of the Devil. That is +surely specious, is it not?</p> + +<p>“By no means,” says Sprenger.</p> + +<p>“I mark a difference. He who cuts wood does not +cause it to burn: he only does so indirectly. The +woodcutter is Love; see Denis the Areopagite, +Origen, John of Damascus. Therefore, love is but the +indirect cause of love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>What a thing, you see, to have studied! No weak +school could have turned out such a man. Only Paris, +Louvain, or Cologne, had machinery fit to mould the +human brain. The school of Paris was mighty: for +dog-Latin who can be matched with the <i>Janotus</i> of +Gargantua?<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> But mightier yet was Cologne, glorious +queen of darkness, whence Hutten drew the type of +his <i>Obscuri viri</i>, that thriving and fruitful race of +obscurantists and ignoramuses.<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></p> + +<p>This massive logician, so full of words, so devoid of +meaning, sworn foe of nature as well as reason, takes +his seat with a proud reliance on his books and gown, +on his dirt and dust. On one side of his judgement-table +lies the <i>Sum</i>, on the other the <i>Directory</i>. Beyond +these he never goes: at all else he only smiles. +On such a man as he there is no imposing: he is not +the man to utter anent astrology or alchemy nonsense +not so foolish but that others might be led thereby to +observe truly. And yet Sprenger is a freethinker: he +is sceptical about old receipts! Albert the Great may +aver, that some sage in a spring of water will suffice to +raise a storm, but Sprenger only shakes his head. +Sage indeed! Tell that to others, I beg. For all my +little experience, I see herein the craft of One who +would put us on the wrong scent, that cunning Prince +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>of the Air; but he will fare ill, for he has to deal +with a doctor more subtle than the Subtle One +himself.</p> + +<p>I should have liked to see face to face this wonderful +specimen of a judge, and the people who were brought +before him. The creatures that God might bring +together from two different worlds would not be more +unlike, more strange to each other, more utterly wanting +in a common language. The old hag, a skeleton +in tatters, with an eye flashing forth evil things, a +being thrice cooked in hell-fire; and the ill-looking +hermit shepherd of the Black Forest or the upper +Alpine wastes—such are the savages offered to the +leaden gaze of a scholarling, to the judgement of a +schoolman.</p> + +<p>Not long will they let him toil in his judgment-seat. +They will tell all without being tortured. Come the +torture will indeed, but afterwards, by way of complement +and crown to the law-procedure. They explain +and relate to order whatever they have done. The +Devil is the Witch’s bedfellow, the shepherd’s intimate +friend. She, for her part, smiles triumphantly, feels a +manifest joy in the horror of those around.</p> + +<p>Truly, the old woman is very mad, and equally so +the shepherd. Are they foolish? Not at all, but far +otherwise. They are refined, subtle, skilled in growing +herbs, and seeing through walls. Still more clearly do +they see those monumental ass’s ears that overshadow +the doctor’s cap. Clearest of all is the fear he has of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +them, for in vain does he try to bear him boldly; he +does nought but tremble. He himself owns that, if +the priest who adjures the demon does not take care, +the Devil will change his lodging only to pass into the +priest himself, feeling all the more proud of dwelling in +a body dedicated to God. Who knows but these +simple Devils of Witches and shepherds might even +aspire to inhabit an inquisitor? He is far from easy +in mind when in his loudest voice he says to the old +woman, “If your master is so mighty, why do I not +feel his blows?”</p> + +<p>“And, indeed I felt them but too strongly,” says +the poor man in his book. “When I was in Ratisbon, +how often he would come knocking at my windowpanes! +How often he stuck pins in my cap! A +hundred visions too did I have of dogs, monkeys,” &c.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The dearest delight of that great logician, the Devil, +is, by the mouth of the seeming old woman, to push +the doctor with awkward arguments, with crafty questions, +from which he can only escape by acting like +the fish who saves himself by troubling the water and +turning it black as ink. For instance, “The Devil +does no more than God allows him: why, then, punish +his tools?” Or again, “We are not free. As in the +case of Job, the Devil is allowed by God to tempt and +beset us, to urge us on by blows. Should we, then, +punish him who is not free?” Sprenger gets out of +that by saying, “We are free beings.” Here come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +plenty of texts. “You are made serfs only by covenant +with the Evil One.” The answer to this would +be but too ready: “If God allows the Evil One to +tempt us into making covenants, he renders covenants +possible,” &c.</p> + +<p>“I am very good,” says he, “to listen to yonder +folk. He is a fool who argues with the Devil.” So +say all the rest likewise. They all cheer the progress +of the trial: all are strongly moved, and show in +murmurs their eagerness for the execution. They +have seen enough of men hanged. As for the Wizard +and the Witch, ’twill be a curious treat to see those two +faggots crackling merrily in the flames.</p> + +<p>The judge has the people on his side, so he is not +embarrassed. According to his <i>Directory</i> three witnesses +would be enough. Are not three witnesses +readily found, especially to witness a falsehood? In +every slanderous town, in every envious village teeming +with the mutual hate of neighbours, witnesses abound. +Besides, the <i>Directory</i> is a superannuated book, a century +old. In that century of light, the fifteenth, all +is brought to perfection. If witnesses are wanting, +we are content with the <i>public voice</i>, the general +clamour.<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> +<p>A genuine outcry, born of fear; the piteous cry of +victims, of the poor bewitched. Sprenger is greatly +moved thereat. Do not fancy him one of those unfeeling +schoolmen, the lovers of a dry abstraction. +He has a heart: for which very reason he is so ready +to kill. He is compassionate, full of lovingkindness. +He feels pity for yon weeping woman, but lately pregnant, +whose babe the witch had smothered by a look. +He feels pity for the poor man whose land she wasted +with hail. He pities the husband, who though himself +no wizard, clearly sees his wife to be a witch, and +drags her with a rope round her neck before Sprenger, +who has her burnt.</p> + +<p>From a cruel judge escape was sometimes possible; +but from our worthy Sprenger it was hopeless. His +humanity is too strong: it needs great management, a +very large amount of ready wit, to avoid a burning at +his hands. One day there was brought before him the +plaint of three good ladies of Strasburg who, at one +same hour of the same day, had been struck by an arm +unseen. Ah, indeed! They are fain to accuse a man +of evil aspect, of having laid them under a spell. On +being brought before the inquisitor, the man vows +and swears by all the saints that he knows nothing +about these ladies, has never so much as seen them. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>The judge is hard of believing: nor tears nor oaths +avail aught with him. His great compassion for the +ladies made him inexorable, indignant at the man’s +denials. Already he was rising from his seat. The +man would have been tortured into confessing his +guilt, as the most innocent often did. He got leave +to speak, and said: “I remember, indeed, having +struck some one yesterday at the hour named; but +whom? No Christian beings, but only three cats +which came furiously biting at my legs.” The judge, +like a shrewd fellow, saw the whole truth of the +matter; the poor man was innocent; the ladies were +doubtless turned on certain days into cats, and the +Evil One amused himself by sending them at the legs +of Christian folk, in order to bring about the ruin of +these latter by making them pass for wizards.</p> + +<p>A judge of less ability would never have hit upon +this. But such a man was not always to be had. It +was needful to have always handy on the table of the +Inquisition a good fool’s guide, to reveal to simple and +inexperienced judges the tricks of the Old Enemy, the +best way of baffling him, the clever and deep-laid +tactics employed with such happy effect by the great +Sprenger in his campaigns on the Rhine. To that +end the <i>Malleus</i>, which a man was required to carry +in his pocket, was commonly printed in small 18mo, +a form at that time scarce. It would not have been +seemly for a judge in difficulties to open a folio on the +table before his audience. But his handbook of folly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +he might easily squint at from the corner of his eye, +or turn over its leaves as he held it under the table.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>This <i>Malleus</i> (or Mallet), like all books of the same +class, contains a singular avowal, namely, that the +Devil is gaining ground; in other words, that God is +losing it; that mankind, after being saved by Christ, +is becoming the Devil’s prey. Too clearly indeed does +he step forward from legend to legend. What a way +he has made between the time of the Gospels, when he +was only too glad to get into the swine, and the days +of Dante, when, as lawyer and divine, he argues +with the saints, pleads his cause, and by way of closing +a successful syllogism, bears away the soul he was +fighting for, saying, with a triumphant laugh, “You +didn’t know that I was a logician!”</p> + +<p>In the earlier days of the Middle Ages he waits till +the last pangs to seize the soul and bear it off. Saint +Hildegarde, about 1100, thinks that “<i>he cannot enter +the body of a living man</i>, for else his limbs would fly +off in all directions: it is but the shadow and the +smoke of the Devil which pass therein.” That last +gleam of good sense vanishes in the twelfth century. +In the thirteenth we find a suppliant so afraid of being +caught alive that he has himself watched day and +night by two hundred armed men.</p> + +<p>Then begins a period of increasing terror, in which +men trust themselves less and ever less to God’s protection. +The Demon is no longer a stealthy sprite, no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +longer a thief by night, gliding through the gloom. +He becomes the fearless adversary, the daring ape of +Heaven, who in broad daylight mimics God’s creation +under God’s own sun. Is it the legends tell us this? +Nay, it is the greatest of the doctors. “The Devil,” says +Albert the Great, “transforms all living things.” St. +Thomas goes yet further. “All changes that may +occur naturally by means of seeds, can be copied by +the Devil.” What an astounding concession, which +coming from the mouth of so grave a personage, means +nothing short of setting up one Creator face to face +with another! “But in things done without the +germinal process,” he adds, “such as the changing of +men into beasts or the resurrection of the dead, there +the Devil can do nothing.” Thus to God is left the +smaller part of His work! He may only perform +miracles, a kind of action alike singular and infrequent. +But the daily miracle of life is not for Him alone: His +copyist, the Devil, shares with Him the world of +nature!</p> + +<p>For man himself, whose weak eyes see no difference +between nature as sprung from God and nature as +made by the Devil, here is a world split in twain! A +dreadful uncertainty hangs over everything. Nature’s +innocence is gone. The clear spring, the pale flower, +the little bird, are these indeed of God, or only treacherous +counterfeits, snares laid out for man? Back! all +things look doubtful! The better of the two creations, +being suspiciously like the other, becomes eclipsed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +conquered. The shadow of the Devil covers up the +day, spreads over all life. To judge by appearances +and the fears of men, he has ceased to share the world; +he has taken it all to himself.</p> + +<p>So matters stand in the days of Sprenger. His +book teems with saddest avowals of God’s weakness. +“These things,” he says, “are done with God’s leave.” +To permit an illusion so entire, to let people believe that +God is nought and the Devil everything, is more than +mere <i>permission</i>; is tantamount to decreeing the damnation +of countless souls whom nothing can save from +such an error. No prayers, no penances, no pilgrimages, +are of any avail; nor even, so it is said, the sacrament +of the altar. Strange and mortifying avowal! The +very nuns who have just confessed themselves, declare +<i>while the host is yet in their mouths</i>, that even then +they feel the infernal lover troubling them without fear +or shame, troubling and refusing to leave his hold. +And being pressed with further questions, they add, +through their tears, that he has a body <i>because he has +a soul</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Manichees of old, and the more modern Albigenses, +were charged with believing in the Power of +Evil struggling side by side with Good, with making +the Devil equal to God. Here, however, he is more +than equal; for if God through His holy sacrament has +still no power for good, the Devil certainly seems superior.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am not surprised at the wondrous sight then offered +by the world. Spain with a darksome fury, Germany +with the frightened pedantic rage certified in the +<i>Malleus</i>, assail the insolent conqueror through the +wretches in whom he chooses to dwell. They burn, +they destroy the dwellings in which he has taken up +his abode. Finding him too strong for men’s souls, +they try to hunt him out of their bodies. But what is +the good of it all? You burn one old woman and he +settles himself in her neighbour. Nay, more; if +Sprenger may be trusted, he fastens sometimes on the +exorcising priest, and triumphs over his very judge.</p> + +<p>Among other expedients, the Dominicans advised +recourse to the intercession of the Virgin, by a continual +repeating of the <i>Ave Maria</i>. Sprenger, for his +part, always averred that such a remedy was but a +momentary one. You might be caught between two +prayers. Hence came the invention of the rosary, the +chaplet of beads, by means of which any number of +aves might be mumbled through, whilst the mind was +busied elsewhere. Whole populations adopted this first +essay of an art thereafter to be used by Loyola in his +attempt to govern the world, an art of which his +<i>Exercises</i> furnish the ingenious groundwork.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>All this seems opposed to what was said in the foregoing +chapter as to the decline of Witchcraft. The +Devil is now popular and everywhere present. He +seems to have come off conqueror: but has he gained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +by his victory? What substantial profit has he reaped +therefrom?</p> + +<p>Much, as beheld in his new phase of a scientific +rebellion which is about to bring forth the bright +Renaissance. None, if beheld under his old aspect, as +the gloomy Spirit of Witchcraft. The stories told of +him in the sixteenth century, if more numerous, more +widespread than ever, readily swing towards the grotesque. +People tremble, but they laugh withal.<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Officer charged with the absolution of penitents.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> A mediæval text-book on theology.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> “Thinking ill of the faith.”—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> A character in Rabelais. “Date nobis clochas nostras, &c.”—<i>Gargantua</i>, +ch. 19.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> Ulrich von Hutten, friend of Luther, and author of the +witty <i>Epistolæ obscurorum virorum</i>.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> Faustin Hélie, in his learned and luminous <i>Traité de +l’Instruction Criminelle</i> (vol. i. p. 398), has clearly explained the +manner in which Pope Innocent III., about 1200, suppressed +the safeguards theretofore required in any prosecution, especially +the risk incurred by prosecutors of being punished for +slander. Instead of these were established the dismal processes +of <i>Denunciation and Inquisition</i>. The frightful levity +of these latter methods is shown by Soldan. Blood was shed +like water.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> See my <i>Memoirs of Luther</i>, concerning the Kilcrops, &c.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_III_2" id="CHAPTER_III_2"></a>CHAPTER III.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>CENTURY OF TOLERATION IN FRANCE: REACTION.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Church forfeited the wizard’s property to the +judge and the prosecutor. Wherever the Canon Law +was enforced the trials for witchcraft waxed numerous, +and brought much wealth to the clergy. Wherever +the lay tribunals claimed the management of these +trials they grew scarce and disappeared, at least for +a hundred years in France, from 1450 to 1550.</p> + +<p>The first gleam of light shot forth from France in +the middle of the fifteenth century. The inquiry made +by Parliament into the trial of Joan of Arc, and her +after reinstalment, set people thinking on the intercourse +of spirits, good and bad; on the errors, also, of +the spiritual courts. She whom the English, whom +the greatest doctors of the Council of Basil pronounced +a Witch, appeared to Frenchmen a saint and sibyl. Her +reinstalment proclaimed to France the beginning of an +age of toleration. The Parliament of Paris likewise +reinstalled the alleged Waldenses of Arras. In 1498 +it discharged as mad one who was brought before it as +a wizard. None such were condemned in the reigns +of Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p><hr /> + +<p>On the contrary, Spain, under the pious Isabella +(1506) and the Cardinal Ximenes, began burning +witches. In 1515, Geneva, being then under a Bishop, +burned five hundred in three months. The Emperor +Charles V., in his German Constitutions, vainly sought +to rule, that “Witchcraft, as causing damage to goods +and persons, is a question for <i>civil</i>, not ecclesiastic +law.” In vain did he do away the right of confiscation, +except in cases of treason. The small prince-bishops, +whose revenues were largely swelled by trials +for witchcraft, kept on burning at a furious rate. In +one moment, as it were, six hundred persons were +burnt in the infinitesimal bishopric of Bamberg, and +nine hundred in that of Wurtzburg. The way of +going to work was very simple. Begin by using torture +against the witnesses; create witnesses for the prosecution +by means of pain and terror; then, by dint of +excessive kindliness, draw from the accused a certain +avowal, and believe that avowal in the teeth of proven +facts. A witch, for instance, owns to having taken +from the graveyard the body of an infant lately dead, +that she might use it in her magical compounds. Her +husband bids them go the graveyard, for the child is +there still. On being disinterred, the child is found +all right in his coffin. But against the witness of his +own eyes the judge pronounces it <i>an appearance</i>, a +cheat of the Devil. He prefers the wife’s confession +to the fact itself; and she is burnt forthwith.<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> +<p>So far did matters go among these worthy prince-bishops, +that after a while, Ferdinand II., the most +bigoted of all emperors, the emperor of the Thirty +Years’ War, was fain to interfere, to set up at Bamberg +an imperial commissary, who should maintain the +law of the empire, and see that the episcopal judge did +not begin the trial with tortures which settled it beforehand, +which led straight to the stake.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Witches were easily caught by their confessions, +sometimes without the torture. Many of them were +half mad. They would own to turning themselves into +beasts. The Italian women often became cats, and +gliding under the doors, sucked, they said, the blood +of children. In the land of mighty forests, in Lorraine +and on the Jura, the women, of their own accord, +became wolves, and, if you could believe them, devoured +the passers by, even when nobody had passed by. +They were burnt. Some girls, who swore they had +given themselves to the Devil, were found to be +maidens still. They, too, were burnt. Several seemed +in a great hurry, as if they wanted to be burnt. Sometimes +it happened from raging madness, sometimes +from despair. An Englishwoman being led to the +stake, said to the people, “Do not blame my judges. +I wanted to put an end to my own self. My parents +kept aloof from me in their dread. My husband had +disowned me. I could not have lived on without disgrace. +I longed for death, and so I told a lie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>The first words of open toleration against silly +Sprenger, his frightful Handbook, and his Inquisitors, +were spoken by Molitor, a lawyer of Constance. He +made this sensible remark, that the confessions of +witches should not be taken seriously, because it was +the very Father of Lies who spoke by their mouths. +He laughed at the miracles of Satan, affirming them +to be all illusory. In an indirect way, such jesters +as Hutten and Erasmus dealt violent blows at the +Inquisition, through their satires on the Dominican +idiots. Cardan<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> said, straightforwardly, “In order +to obtain forfeit property, the same persons acted as +accusers and judges, and invented a thousand stories +in proof.”</p> + +<p>That apostle of toleration, Chatillon, who maintained +against Catholics and Protestants both, that +heretics should not be burnt, though he said nothing +about wizards, put men of sense in a better way. +Agrippa,<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> Lavatier, above all, Wyer<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a>] the illustrious +physician of Clèves, rightly said that if those wretched +witches were the Devil’s plaything, we must lay the +blame on the Devil, not on them; must cure, instead +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>of burning them. Some physicians of Paris soon +pushed incredulity so far as to maintain that the +possessed and the witches were simply knaves. This +was going too far. Most of them were sufferers under +the sway of an illusion.</p> + +<p>The dark reign of Henry II. and Diana of Poitiers +ends the season of toleration. Under Diana, they burn +heretics and wizards again. On the other hand, Catherine +of Medici, surrounded as she was by astrologers +and magicians, would have protected the latter. Their +numbers increased amain. The wizard Trois-Echelles, +who was tried in the reign of Charles IX., reckons +them at a hundred thousand, declaring all France to be +one Witch.</p> + +<p>Agrippa and others affirm, that all science is contained +in magic. In white magic undoubtedly. But +the fears of fools and their fanatic rage, put little +difference between them. In spite of Wyer, in spite +of those true philosophers, Light and Toleration, a +strong reaction towards darkness set in from a quarter +whence it was least expected. Our magistrates, who for +nearly a century, had shown themselves enlightened +and fair-dealing, now threw themselves into the +Spanish Catholicon<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> and the fury of the Leaguists,<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> +until they waxed more priest-like than the priests +themselves. While scouting the Inquisition from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>France, they matched, and well-nigh eclipsed it by +their own deeds: the Parliament of Toulouse alone +sending four hundred human bodies at one time to the +stake. Think of the horror, the black smoke of all +that flesh, of the frightful melting and bubbling of the +fat amidst those piercing shrieks and yells! So +accursed, so sickening a sight had not been seen, since +the Albigenses were broiled and roasted.</p> + +<p>But this is all too little for Bodin, lawyer of Angers, +and a violent adversary to Wyer. He begins by saying +that the wizards in Europe are numerous enough to +match Xerxes’ army of eighteen hundred thousand +men. Then, like Caligula, he utters a prayer, that +these two millions might be gathered together, so as +he, Bodin, could sentence and burn them all at one +stroke.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The new rivalry makes matters worse. The gentry +of the Law begin to say that the priest, being too +often connected with the wizard, is no longer a safe +judge. In fact, for a moment, the lawyers seem to be +yet more trustworthy. In Spain, the Jesuit pleader, +Del Rio; in Lorraine, Remy (1596); Boguet (1602) on +the Jura; Leloyer (1605) in Anjou; are all matchless +persecutors, who would have made Torquemada<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> himself +die of envy.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> +<p>In Lorraine there seemed to be quite a dreadful +plague of wizards and visionaries. Driven to despair +by the constant passing of troops and brigands, the +multitude prayed to the Devil only. They were drawn +on by the wizards. A number of villagers, frightened +by a twofold dread of wizards on the one hand, and +judges on the other, longed to leave their homes and +flee elsewhither, if Remy, Judge of Nancy, may be +believed. In the work he dedicated (1596) to the +Cardinal of Lorraine, he owns to having burnt eight +hundred witches, in sixteen years. “So well do I deal +out judgements,” he says, “that last year sixteen +slew themselves to avoid passing through my hands.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The priests felt humbled. Could they have done +better than the laity? Nay, even the monkish lords of +Saint Claude asked for a layman, honest Boguet, to sit +in judgment on their own people, who were much +given to witchcraft. In that sorry Jura, a poor land +of firs and scanty pasturage, the serf in his despair +yielded himself to the Devil. They all worshipped the +Black Cat.</p> + +<p>Boguet’s book had immense weight. This Golden +Book, by the petty judge of Saint Claude, was +studied as a handbook by the worshipful members of +Parliament. In truth, Boguet is a thorough lawyer, +is even scrupulous in his own way. He finds fault<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +with the treachery shown in these prosecutions; will +not hear of barristers betraying their clients, of judges +promising pardon only to ensure the death of the +accused. He finds fault with the very doubtful tests to +which the witches were still exposed. “Torture,” +he says, “is needless: it never makes them yield.” +Moreover, he is humane enough to have them strangled +before throwing them to the flames, always except the +werewolves, “whom you must take care to burn alive.” +He cannot believe that Satan would make a compact +with children: “Satan is too sharp; knows too well +that, under fourteen years, any bargain made with +a minor, is annulled by default of years and due discretion.” +Then the children are saved? Not at all; +for he contradicts himself, and holds, moreover, that +such a leprosy cannot be purged away without burning +everything, even to the cradles. Had he lived, he would +have come to that. He made the country a desert: +never was there a judge who destroyed people with so +fine a conscience.</p> + +<p>But it is to the Parliament of Bourdeaux that the +grand hurrah for lay jurisdiction is sent up in Lancre’s +book on <i>The Fickleness of Demons</i>. The author, a +man of some sense, a counsellor in this same Parliament, +tells with a triumphant air of his fight with the +Devil in the Basque country, where, in less than three +months, he got rid of I know not how many witches, +and, better still, of three priests. He looks compassionately<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +on the Spanish Inquisition, which at Logroño, +not far off, on the borders of Navarre and Castille, +dragged on a trial for two years, ending in the poorest +way by a small <i>auto-da-fé</i>, and the release of a whole +crowd of women.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> For this and other facts regarding Germany, see Soldan.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> A famous Italian physician, who lived through the greater +part of the sixteenth century.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> Cornelius Agrippa, of Cologne, born in 1486, sometime +Secretary of the Emperor Maximilian, and author of two works +famous in their day, <i>Vanity of the Sciences</i>, and <i>Occult Philosophy</i>.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> A friend of Sir Philip Sydney, who sent for him when +dying.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> Catholicon, or purgative panacea: <i>i. e.</i> the Inquisition.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> The wars of the Catholic League against Henry of Navarre +began in 1576.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> The infamous Spanish Inquisitor, who died at the close of +the fifteenth century, after sixteen years of untold atrocities +against the heretics of Spain.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_IV_2" id="CHAPTER_IV_2"></a>CHAPTER IV.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE WITCHES OF THE BASQUE COUNTRY: 1609.<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a></h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">That</span> strong-handed execution of the priests shows +M. Lancre to have been a man of independent spirit. +In politics he is the same. In his book on <i>The Prince</i> +(1617), he openly declares “the law to be above the +King.”</p> + +<p>Never was the Basque character better drawn than +in his book on <i>The Fickleness of Demons</i>. In +France, as in Spain, the Basque people had privileges +which almost made them a republic. On our side they +owed the King no service but that of arms: at the first +beat of drum they were bound to gather two thousand +armed men commanded by Basque captains. They +were not oppressed by their clergy, who seldom prosecuted +wizards, being wizards themselves. The priests +danced, wore swords, and took their mistresses to the +Witches’ Sabbath. These mistresses acted as their sextonesses +or <i>bénédictes</i>, to keep the churches in order. +The parson quarrelled with nobody, offered the White +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>Mass to God by day, the Black by night to the Devil, +and sometimes, according to Lancre, in the same +church.</p> + +<p>The Basques of Bayonne and St. Jean de Luz, a +race of men quaint, venturesome, and fabulously bold, +left many widows, from their habit of sailing out into +the roughest seas to harpoon whales. Leaving their +wives to God or the Devil, they threw themselves in +crowds into the Canadian settlements of Henry IV. +As for the children, these honest worthy sailors would +have thought about them more, if they had been clear +as to their parentage. But on their return home they +would reckon up the months of their absence, and +they never found the reckoning right.</p> + +<p>The women, bold, beautiful, imaginative, spent their +day seated on tombs in the grave-yards, talking of the +Sabbath, whither they expected to go in the evening. +This was their passion, their craze.</p> + +<p>They are born witches, daughters of the sea and of +enchantment. They sport among the billows, swimming +like fish. Their natural master is the Prince of +the Air, King of Winds and Dreams, the same who inspired +the Sibyl and breathed to her the future.</p> + +<p>The judge who burns them is charmed with them, +nevertheless. “When you see them pass,” says he, +“their hair flowing in the breeze about their shoulders, +they walk so trim, so bravely armed in that +fair head-dress, that the sun playing through it as +through a cloud, causes a mighty blaze which shoots<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +forth hot lightning-flashes. Hence the fascination of +their eyes, as dangerous in love as in witchcraft.”</p> + +<p>This amiable Bordeaux magistrate, the earliest +sample of those worldly judges who enlivened the +gown in the seventeenth century, plays the lute between +whiles, and even makes the witches dance before +sending them to the stake. And he writes well, far +more clearly than anyone else. But for all that, one +discovers in his work a new source of obscurity, inherent +to those times. The witches being too numerous +for the judge to burn them all, the most of them +have a shrewd idea that he will show some indulgence +to those who enter deepest into his thoughts and +passions! What passions? you ask. First, his love of +the frightfully marvellous, a passion common enough; +the delight of feeling afraid; and also, if it must be +said, the enjoyment of unseemly pleasures. Add to +these a touch of vanity: the more dreadful and enraged +those clever women show the Devil to be, the greater +the pride taken by the judge in subduing so mighty +an adversary. He arrays himself as it were in his +victory, enthrones himself in his foolishness, triumphs +in his senseless twaddling.</p> + +<p>The prettiest thing of this kind is the report of the +procedure in the Spanish <i>auto-da-fé</i> of Logroño, as +furnished to us by Llorente. Lancre, while quoting +him jealously and longing to disparage him, owns to +the surpassing charm of the festival, the splendour of +the sight, the moving power of the music. On one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +platform were the few condemned to the flames, on +another a crowd of reprieved criminals. The confession +of a repentant heroine who had dared all things, +is read aloud. Nothing could be wilder. At the +Sabbaths they ate children made into hash, and by way +of second course, the bodies of wizards disentombed. +Toads dance, and talk and complain lovingly of their +mistresses, getting them scolded by the Devil. The +latter politely escorts the witches home, lighting them +with the arm of a child who died unchristened, &c.</p> + +<p>Among our Basques witchcraft put on a less fantastic +guise. It seems that at this time the Sabbath was +only a grand feast to which all, the nobles included, +went for purposes of amusement. In the foremost line +would be seen persons in veils and masks, by some +supposed to be princes. “Once on a time,” says +Lancre, “none but idiots of the Landes appeared +there: now people of quality are seen to go.” To entertain +these local grandees, Satan sometimes created a +<i>Bishop of the Sabbath</i>. Such was the title he gave the +young lord Lancinena, with whom the Devil in person +was good enough to open the ball.</p> + +<p>So well supported, the witches held their sway, +wielding over the land an amazing terrorism of the +fancy. Numbers regarded themselves as victims, and +became in fact seriously ill. Many were stricken with +epilepsy, and barked like dogs. In one small town of +Acqs were counted as many as forty of these barkers. +The Witch had so fearful a hold upon them, that one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +lady being called as witness, began barking with uncontrollable +fury as the Witch, unawares to herself, +drew near.</p> + +<p>Those to whom was ascribed so terrible a power +lorded it everywhere. No one would dare shut his +door against them. One magistrate, the criminal +assessor of Bayonne, allowed the Sabbath to be held in +his own house. Urtubi, Lord of Saint Pé, was forced +to hold the festival in his castle. But his head was +shaken to that degree, that he imagined a witch was +sucking his blood. Emboldened, however, by his fear, +he, with another gentleman, repaired to Bordeaux, and +persuaded the Parliament to obtain from the King the +commissioning of two of its members, Espagnet and +Lancre, to try the wizards in the Basque country. This +commission, absolute and without appeal, worked with +unheard-of vigour; in four months, from May to +August, 1609, condemned sixty or eighty witches, and +examined five hundred more, who, though equally +marked with the sign of the Devil, figured in the +proceedings as witnesses only.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It was no safe matter for two men and a few +soldiers to carry on these trials amongst a violent, hot-headed +people, a multitude of wild and daring sailors’ +wives. Another source of danger was in the priests, +many of whom were wizards, needing to be tried by +the lay commissioners, despite the lively opposition of +the clergy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the judges appeared, many persons saved +themselves in the hills. Others boldly remained, +saying, it was the judges who would be burnt. So +little fear had the witches themselves, that before the +audience they would sink into the Sabbatic slumber, +and affirm on awaking that, even in court, they had +enjoyed the blessedness of Satan. Many said, they +only suffered from not being able to prove to him how +much they burned to suffer for his sake.</p> + +<p>Those who were questioned said they could not +speak. Satan rising into their throats blocked up their +gullets. Lancre, who wrote this narrative, though the +younger of the commissioners, was a man of the world. +The witches guessed that, with a man of his sort, there +were means of saving themselves. The league between +them was broken. A beggar-girl of seventeen, La +Murgui, or Margaret, who had found witchcraft +gainful, and, while herself almost a child, had brought +away children as offerings to the Devil, now betook +herself, with another girl, Lisalda, of the same age, to +denouncing all the rest. By word of mouth or in +writing she revealed all; with the liveliness, the noise, +the emphatic gestures of a Spaniard, entering truly or +falsely into a hundred impure details. She frightened, +amused, wheedled her judges, drawing them after her +like fools. To this corrupt, wanton, crazy girl, they +entrusted the right of searching about the bodies of +girls and boys, for the spot whereon Satan had set his +mark. This spot discovered itself by a certain numbness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +by the fact that you might stick needles into it +without causing pain. While a surgeon thus tormented +the elder ones, she took in hand the young, +who, though called as witnesses, might themselves be +accused, if she pronounced them to bear the mark. It +was a hateful thing to see this brazen-faced girl made +sole mistress of the fate of those wretched beings, commissioned +to prod them all over with needles, and able +at will to assign those bleeding bodies to death!</p> + +<p>She had gotten so mighty a sway over Lancre, as to +persuade him that, while he was sleeping in Saint Pé, +in his own house, guarded by his servants and his +escort, the Devil came by night into his room, to say +the Black Mass; while the witches getting inside his +very curtains, would have poisoned him, had he not +been well protected by God Himself. The Black Mass +was offered by the Lady of Lancinena, to whom Satan +made love in the very bedroom of the judge. We can +guess the likely aim of this wretched tale: the beggar +bore a grudge against the lady, who was good-looking, +and, but for this slander, might have come to bear +sway over the honest commissioner.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Lancre and his colleague taking fright, went forward; +never dared to draw back. They had their royal +gallows set up on the very spots where Satan had held +a Sabbath. People were alarmed thereat, deeming them +strongly backed by the arm of royalty. Impeachments +hailed about them. The women all came in one long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +string to accuse each other. Children were brought +forward to impeach their mothers. Lancre gravely +ruled that a child of eight was a good, sufficient, reputable +witness!</p> + +<p>M. d’Espagnet could give but a few moments to +this matter, having speedily to show himself in the +Estates of Béarn. Lancre being pushed unwittingly +forward by the violence of the younger informers, who +would have fallen into great danger, if they had failed +to get the old ones burnt, threw the reins on the neck +of the business, and hurried it on at full gallop. A +due amount of witches were condemned to the stake. +These, too, on finding themselves lost, ended by impeaching +others. When the first batch were brought +to the stake, a frightful scene took place. Executioner, +constables, and sergeants, all thought their last hour +was come. The crowd fell savagely upon the carts, +seeking to force the wretches to withdraw their accusations. +The men put daggers to their throats: their +furious companions were like to finish them with their +nails.</p> + +<p>Justice, however, got out of the scrape with some +credit; and then the commissioners went on to the +harder work of sentencing eight priests whom they had +taken up. The girls’ confessions had brought these +men to light. Lancre speaks of their morals like one +who knew all about them of himself. He rebukes +them, not only for their gay proceedings on Sabbath +nights, but, most of all, for their sextonesses and female<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +churchwardens. He even repeats certain tales about +the priests having sent off the husbands to Newfoundland, +and brought back Devils from Japan who gave +up the wives into their hands.</p> + +<p>The clergy were deeply stirred: the Bishop of +Bayonne would have made resistance. His courage +failing him, he appointed his vicar-general to act as +judge-assistant in his own absence. Luckily the Devil +gave the accused more help than their Bishop. He +opened all the doors, so that one morning five of the +eight were found missing. The commissioners lost no +time in burning the three still left to them.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>This happened about August, 1609. The Spanish +inquisitors at Logroño did not crown their proceedings +with an <i>auto-da-fé</i> before the 8th November, 1610. +They had met with far more trouble than our own +countrymen, owing to the frightful number of persons +accused. How burn a whole people? They sought +advice of the Pope, of the greatest doctors in Spain. +The word was given to draw back. Only the wilful +who persisted in denying their guilt, were to be burnt; +while they who pleaded guilty should be let go. The +same method had already been used to rescue priests +in trials for loose living. According to Llorente, it +was deemed sufficient, if they owned their crime, and +went through a slight penance.</p> + +<p>The Inquisition, so deadly to heretics, so cruel to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +Moors and Jews, was much less so to wizards. These, +being mostly shepherds, had no quarrel with the +Church. The rejoicings of goatherds were too low, if +not too brutish, to disturb the enemies of free thought.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Lancre wrote his book mainly to show how much +the justice of French Parliaments and laymen excelled +the justice of the priests. It is written lightly, merrily, +with flowing pen. It seems to express the joy felt by +one who has come creditably out of a great risk. It +is a gasconading, an over-boastful joy. He tells with +pride how, the Sabbath following the first execution of +the witches, their children went and wailed to Satan, +who replied that their mothers had not been burnt, +but were alive and happy. From the midst of the +crowd the children thought they heard their mothers’ +voices saying how thoroughly blest they were. Satan +was frightened nevertheless. He absented himself for +four Sabbaths, sending a small commonplace devil in +his stead. He did not show himself again till the +22nd July. When the wizards asked him the reason +of his absence, he said, “I have been away, pleading +your cause against <i>Little John</i>,” the name by which he +called Jesus. “I have won the suit, and they who are +still in prison will not be burnt.”</p> + +<p>The lie was given to the great liar. And the conquering +magistrate avers that, while the last witch was +burning, they saw a swarm of toads come out of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +head. The people fell on them with stones, so that +she was rather stoned than burnt. But for all their +attacks, they could not put an end to one black toad +which escaped from flames, sticks, and stones, to hide, +like the Devil’s imp it was, in some spot where it could +never be found.<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> The Basques of the Lower Pyrenees, the Aquitani of Cæsar, +belonged to the old Iberian race which peopled Western Europe +before the Celtic era.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> For a more detailed account of these Basque Witches, the +English reader may turn to Wright’s <i>Narratives of Sorcery and +Magic</i>. Bentley, 1851.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_V_2" id="CHAPTER_V_2"></a>CHAPTER V.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>SATAN TURNS PRIEST.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Whatever</span> semblance of Satanic fanaticism was still +preserved by the witches, it transpires from the narratives +of Lancre and other writers of the seventeenth +century, that the Sabbath then was mainly an affair of +money. They raised contributions almost by force, +charged something for right of entrance, and extracted +fines from those who stayed away. At Brussels and in +Picardy, they had a fixed scale of payment for rewarding +those who brought new members into the brotherhood.</p> + +<p>In the Basque country no mystery was kept up. +The gatherings there would amount to twelve thousand +persons, of all classes, rich or poor, priests and gentlemen. +Satan, himself a gentleman, wore a hat upon +his three horns, like a man of quality. Finding his +old seat, the druidic stone, too hard for him, he treats +himself to an easy well-gilt arm-chair. Shall we say +he is growing old? More nimble now than when he +was young, he frolics about, cuts capers, and leaps +from the bottom of a large pitcher. He goes through +the service head downwards, his feet in the air.</p> + +<p>He likes everything to go off quite respectably, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +spares no cost in his scenic arrangements. Besides +the customary flames, red, yellow, and blue, which +entertain the eye, as they show forth or hide the +flickering shadows, he charms the ear with strange +music, mainly of little bells that tickle the nerves with +something like the searching vibrations of musical-glasses. +To crown this splendour Satan bids them +bring out his silver plate. Even his toads give themselves +airs, become fashionable, and, like so many lordlings, +go about in green velvet.</p> + +<p>The general effect is that of a large fair, of a great +masked ball with very transparent disguises. Satan, +who understands his epoch, opens the ball with the +Bishop of the Sabbath; or the King and Queen: offices +devised in compliment to the great personages, wealthy +or well-born, who honour the meeting by their presence.</p> + +<p>Here may be seen no longer the gloomy feast of rebels, +the baleful orgie of serfs and boors, sharing by night +the sacrament of love, by day the sacrament of death. +The violent Sabbath-round is no more the one only +dance of the evening. Thereto are now added the +Moorish dances, lively or languishing, but always +amorous and obscene, in which girls dressed up for the +purpose, like <i>La Murgui</i> or <i>La Lisalda</i>, feigned and +showed off the most provoking characters. Among +the Basques these dances formed, we are told, the invincible +charm which sent the whole world of women, +wives, daughters, widows—the last in great numbers—headlong +into the Sabbath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>Without such amusements and the accompanying +banquet, one could hardly understand this general rage +for these Sabbaths. It is a kind of love without love; +a feast of barrenness undisguised. Boguet has settled +that point to a nicety. Differing in one passage, +where he dismisses the women as afraid of coming +to harm, Lancre is generally at one with Boguet, besides +being more sincere. The cruel and foul researches he +pursues on the very bodies of witches, show clearly +that he deemed them barren, and that a barren passive +love underlay the Sabbath itself.</p> + +<p>The feast ought therefore to have been a dismal one, +if the men had owned the smallest heart.</p> + +<p>The silly girls who went to dance and eat were victims +in every way. But they were resigned to everything +save the prospect of bearing children. They +bore indeed a far heavier load of wretchedness than the +men. Sprenger tells of the strange cry, which even in +his day burst forth in the hour of love, “May the +Devil have the fruits!” In his day, moreover, people +could live for two <i>sous</i> a day, while in the reign of +Henry IV., about 1600, they could barely live for +twenty. Through all that century the desire, the need +for barrenness grew more and more.</p> + +<p>Under this growing dread of love’s allurements the +Sabbath would have become quite dull and wearisome, +had not the conductresses cleverly made the most of its +comic side, enlivening it with farcical interludes. Thus, +the opening scene in which Satan, like the Priapus of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +olden times, bestowed his coarse endearments on the +Witch, was followed by another game, a kind of chilly +purification, which the sorceress underwent with much +grimacing, and a great show of unpleasant shuddering. +Then came another swinish farce, described by Lancre +and Boguet, in which some young and pretty wife +would take the Witch’s place as Queen of the Sabbath, +and submit her body to the vilest handling. A farce +not less repulsive was the “Black Sacrament,” performed +with a black radish, which Satan would cut +into little pieces and gravely swallow.</p> + +<p>The last act of all, according to Lancre, or at least +according to the two bold hussies who made him their +fool, was an astounding event to happen in such +crowded meetings. Since witchcraft had become +hereditary in whole families, there was no further need +of openly divulging the old incestuous ways of producing +witches, by the intercourse of a mother with +her son. Some sort of comedy perhaps was made out +of the old materials, in the shape of a grotesque Semiramis +or an imbecile Ninus. But the more serious +game, which doubtless really took place, attests the +existence of great profligacy in the upper walks of +society: it took the form of a most hateful and +barbarous hoax.</p> + +<p>Some rash husband would be tempted to the spot, +so fuddled with a baleful draught of datura or belladonna, +that, like one entranced, he came to lose all +power of speech and motion, retaining only his sight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +His wife, on the other hand, being so bewitched with +erotic drinks as to lose all sense of what she was doing, +would appear in a woeful state of nature, letting herself +be caressed under the indignant eyes of one who could +no longer help himself in the least. His manifest +despair, his bootless efforts to unshackle his tongue, +and set free his powerless limbs, his dumb rage and +wildly rolling eyes, inspired beholders with a cruel joy, +like that produced by some of Molière’s comedies. +The poor woman, stung with a real delight, yielded +herself up to the most shameful usage, of which on +the morrow neither herself nor her husband would +have the least remembrance. But those who had seen +or shared in the cruel farce, would they, too, fail to +remember?</p> + +<p>In such heinous outrages an aristocratic element +seems traceable. In no way do they remind us of the +old brotherhood of serfs, of the original Sabbath, which, +though ungodly, and foul enough, was still a free +straightforward matter, in which all was done readily +and without constraint.</p> + +<p>Clearly, Satan, depraved as he was from all time, +goes on spoiling more and more. A polite, a crafty +Satan is he now become, sweetly insipid, but all the +more faithless and unclean. It is a new, a strange +thing to see at the Sabbaths, his fellowship with priests. +Who is yon parson coming along with his <i>Bénédicte</i>, +his sextoness, he who jobs the things of the Church, +saying the White Mass of mornings, the Black at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +night? “Satan,” says Lancre, “persuades him to make +love to his daughters in the spirit, to debauch his fair +penitents.” Innocent magistrate! He pretends to be +unaware that for a century back the Devil had been +working away at the Church livings, like one who +knew his business! He had made himself father-confessor; +or, if you would rather have it so, the father-confessor +had turned Devil.</p> + +<p>The worthy M. de Lancre should have remembered +the trials that began in 1491, and helped perchance to +bring the Parliament of Paris into a tolerant frame of +mind. It gave up burning Satan, for it saw nothing +of him but a mask.</p> + +<p>A good many nuns were conquered by his new +device of borrowing the form of some favourite confessor. +Among them was Jane Pothierre, a holy +woman of Quesnoy, of the ripe age of forty-five, but +still, alas! all too impressible. She owns her passion +to her ghostly counsellor, who loth to listen to her, +flies to Falempin, some leagues off. The Devil, who +never sleeps, saw his advantage, and perceiving her, +says the annalist, “goaded by the thorns of Venus, he +slily took the shape of the aforesaid ‘Father,’ and +returning every night to the convent, was so successful +in befooling her, that she owned to having received +him 434 times.”<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> Great pity was felt for her on her +repenting; and she was speedily saved from all need +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>of blushing, being put into a fine walled-tomb built for +her in the Castle of Selles, where a few days after she +died the death of a good Catholic. Is it not a deeply +moving tale? But this is nothing to that fine business +of Gauffridi, which happened at Marseilles while +Lancre was drawing up deeds at Bayonne.</p> + +<p>The Parliament of Provence had no need to envy the +success attained by that of Bordeaux. The lay authorities +caught at the first occasion of a trial for witchcraft +to institute a reform in the morals of the clergy. +They sent forth a stern glance towards the close-shut +convent-world. A rare opportunity was offered by the +strange concurrence of many causes, by the fierce +jealousies, the revengeful longings which severed priest +from priest. But for those mad passions which ere +long began to burst forth at every moment, we should +have gained no insight into the real lot of that great +world of women who died in those gloomy dwellings; +not one word should we have heard of the things that +passed behind those parlour gratings, within those +mighty walls which only the confessor could overleap.</p> + +<p>The example of the Basque priest, whom Lancre +presents to us as worldly, trifling, going with his sword +upon him, and his deaconess by his side, to dance all +night at the Sabbath, was not one to inspire fear. It +was not such as he whom the Inquisition took such +pains to screen, or towards whom a body so stern for +others, proved itself, for once, indulgent. It is easy to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +see through all Lancre’s reticences the existence of +<i>something else</i>. And the States-General of 1614, +affirming that priests should not be tried by priests, +are also thinking of <i>something else</i>. This very mystery +it is which gets torn in twain by the Parliament +of Provence. The director of nuns gaining the +mastery over them and disposing of them, body and +soul, by means of witchcraft,—such is the fact which +comes forth from the trial of Gauffridi; at a later date +from the dreadful occurrences at Loudun and Louviers; +and also in the scenes described by Llorente, Ricci, and +several more.</p> + +<p>One common method was employed alike for reducing +the scandal, for misleading the public, for +hiding away the inner fact while it was busied with +the outer aspects of it. On the trial of a priestly +wizard, all was done to juggle away the priest by +bringing out the wizard; to impute everything to the +art of the magician, and put out of sight the natural +fascination wielded by the master of a troop of women +all abandoned to his charge.</p> + +<p>But there was no way of hushing up the first affair. +It had been noised abroad in all Provence, in a land +of light, where the sun pierces without any disguise. +The chief scene of it lay not only in Aix and Marseilles, +but also in Sainte-Baume, the famous centre of pilgrimage +for a crowd of curious people, who thronged +from all parts of France to be present at a deadly +duel between two bewitched nuns and their demons.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +The Dominicans, who attacked the affair as inquisitors, +committed themselves by the noise they made about it +through their partiality for one of these nuns. For +all the care Parliament presently took to hurry the +conclusion, these monks were exceedingly anxious to +excuse her and justify themselves. Hence the important +work of the monk Michaëlis, a mixture of truth +and fable; wherein he raises Gauffridi, the priest he had +sent to the flames, into the Prince of Magicians, not +only in France, but even in Spain, Germany, England, +Turkey, nay, in the whole inhabited earth.</p> + +<p>Gauffridi seems to have been a talented, agreeable +man. Born in the mountains of Provence, he had +travelled much in the Low Countries and the East. +He bore the highest character in Marseilles, where he +served as priest in the Church of Acoules. His bishop +made much of him: the most devout of the ladies +preferred him for their confessor. He had a wondrous +gift, they say, of endearing himself to all. Nevertheless, +he might have preserved his fair reputation had +not a noble lady of Provence, whom he had already +debauched, carried her blind, doting fondness to the +extent of entrusting him, perhaps for her religious +training, with the care of a charming child of twelve, +Madeline de la Palud, a girl of fair complexion and +gentle nature. Thereon, Gauffridi lost his wits, and +respected neither the youth nor the holy ignorance, the +utter unreserve of his pupil.</p> + +<p>As she grew older, however, the young highborn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +girl discovered her misfortune, in loving thus beneath +her, without hope of marriage. To keep his hold on +her, Gauffridi vowed he would wed her before the +Devil, if he might not wed her before God. He soothed +her pride by declaring that he was the Prince of Magicians, +and would make her his queen. He put on +her finger a silver ring, engraved with magic characters. +Did he take her to the Sabbath, or only make +her believe she had been there, by confusing her with +strange drinks and magnetic witcheries? Certain it +is, at least, that torn by two different beliefs, full of +uneasiness and fear, the girl thenceforth became mad +at certain times, and fell into fits of epilepsy. She +was afraid of being carried off alive by the Devil. She +durst no longer stay in her father’s house, and took +shelter in the Ursuline Convent at Marseilles.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> Massée, <i>Chronique du Monde</i>, 1540; and the Chroniclers +of Hainault, &c.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VI_2" id="CHAPTER_VI_2"></a>CHAPTER VI.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>GAUFFRIDI: 1610.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> order of Ursuline nuns seemed to be the calmest, +the least irrational of them all. They were not wholly +idle, but found some little employment in the bringing +up of young girls. The Catholic reaction which, aiming +at a higher flight of ecstasy than was possible +at that time even in Spain, had foolishly built a +number of convents, Carmelite, Bernardine, and Capuchin, +soon found itself at the end of its motive-powers. +The girls of whom people got rid by shutting +them up so strictly therein, died off immediately, and +their swift decease led to frightful statements of the +cruelty shown by their families. They perished, +indeed, not by their excessive penances, but rather of +heart-sickness and despair. After the first heats of +zeal were over, the dreadful disease of the cloister, +described by Cassieu as dating from the fifteenth +century, that crushing, sickening sadness which came +on of an afternoon—that tender listlessness which +plunged them into a state of unutterable exhaustion, +speedily wore them away. A few among them would +turn as if raging mad, choking, as it were, with the +exceeding strength of their blood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>A nun who hoped to die decently, without bequeathing +too large a share of remorse to her kindred, was +bound to live on about ten years, the mean term of life +in the cloister. She needed to be let gently down; +and men of sense and experience felt that her days +could only be prolonged by giving her something to do, +by leaving her not quite alone. St. Francis of Sales<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> +founded the Visitandine order, whose duty it was to +visit the sick in pairs. Cæsar of Bus and Romillion, +who had established the Teaching Priests in connection +with the Oratorians<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a>, afterwards ordained what might +be called the Teaching Sisters, the Ursulines, who +taught under the direction of the said priests. The +whole thing was under the supervision of the bishops, +and had very little of the monastic about it: the nuns +were not shut up again in cloisters. The Visitandines +went out; the Ursulines received, at any rate, their +pupils’ kinsfolk. Both of them had connection with +the world under guardians of good repute. The result +was a certain mediocrity. Though the Oratorians and +the Doctrinaries numbered among them persons of +high merit, the general character of the order was +uniformly moderate, commonplace; it took care never +to soar too high. Romillion, founder of the Ursulines, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>was an oldish man, a convert from Protestantism, who +had roamed everywhere, and come back again to his +starting point. He deemed his young Provencials +wise enough already, and counted on keeping his little +flock on the slender pasturage of an Oratorian faith, +at once monotonous and rational. And being such, it +came in time to be utterly wearisome. One fine morning +all had disappeared.</p> + +<p>Gauffridi, the mountaineer of Provence, the travelled +mystic, the man of strong feelings and restless mind, +had quite another effect upon them, when he came +thither as Madeline’s ghostly guide. They felt a certain +power, and by those who had already passed out of +their wild, amorous youth, were doubtless assured that +it was nothing less than a power begotten of the +Devil. All were seized with fear, and more than one +with love also. Their imaginations soared high; their +heads began to turn. Already six or seven may be seen +weeping, shrieking, yelling, fancying themselves caught +by the Devil. Had the Ursulines lived in cloisters, +within high walls, Gauffridi, being their only director, +might one way or another have made them all agree. +As in the cloisters of Quesnoy, in 1491, so here also it +might have happened that the Devil, who gladly takes +the form of one beloved, had under that of Gauffridi +made himself lover-general to the nuns. Or rather, +as in those Spanish cloisters named by Llorente, he +would have persuaded them that the priestly office +hallowed those to whom the priest made love, that to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +sin with him, was only to be sanctified. A notion, indeed, +ripe through France, and even in Paris, where the +mistresses of priests were called “the hallowed ones.”<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a></p> + +<p>Did Gauffridi, thus master of all, keep to Madeline +only? Did not the lover change into the libertine? +We know not. The sentence points to a nun who +never showed herself during the trial, but reappeared +at the end, as having given herself up to the Devil and +to him.</p> + +<p>The Ursuline convent was open to all visitors. The +nuns were under the charge of their Doctrinaries, men +of fair character, and jealous withal. The founder +himself was there, indignant, desperate. How woeful +a mishap for the rising order, just as it was thriving +amain and spreading all over France! After all its +pretensions to wisdom, calmness, good sense, thus +suddenly to go mad! Romillion would have hushed +up the matter if he could. He caused one of his +priests to exorcise the maidens. But the demons +laughed the exorciser to scorn. He who dwelt in the +fair damsel, even the noble demon Beelzebub, Spirit +of Pride, never deigned to unclose his teeth.</p> + +<p>Among the possessed was one sister from twenty to +twenty-five years old, who had been specially adopted +by Romillion; a girl of good culture, bred up in controversy; +a Protestant by birth, but left an orphan, to +fall into the hands of the Father, a convert like herself +from Protestantism. Her name, Louisa Capeau, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>sounds plebeian. She showed herself but too clearly +a girl of exceeding wit, and of a raging passion. Her +strength, moreover, was fearful to see. For three +months, in addition to the hellish storm within, she +carried on a desperate struggle, which would have +killed the strongest man in a week.</p> + +<p>She said she had three devils: Verrine, a good +Catholic devil, a volatile spirit of the air; Leviathan, a +wicked devil, an arguer and a Protestant; lastly, +another, acknowledged by her to be the spirit of +uncleanness. One other she forgot to name, the +demon of jealousy.</p> + +<p>She bore a savage hate to the little fair-faced damsel, +the favoured rival, the proud young woman of rank. +This latter, in one of her fits, had said that she went +to the Sabbath, where she was made queen, and received +homage, and gave herself up, but only to the prince—“What +prince?” To Louis Gauffridi, prince of magicians.</p> + +<p>Pierced by this revelation as by a dagger, Louisa +was too wild to doubt its truth. Mad herself, she +believed the mad woman’s story in order to ruin her. +Her own devil was backed by all the jealous demons. +The women all exclaimed that Gauffridi was the very +king of wizards. The report spread everywhere, that +a great prize had been taken, a priest-king of magicians, +even the prince of universal magic. Such was +the dreadful diadem of steel and flame which these +feminine demons drove into his brow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everyone lost his head, even to old Romillion himself. +Whether from hatred of Gauffridi, or fear of the +Inquisition, he took the matter out of the bishop’s +hands, and brought his two bewitched ones, Louisa and +Madeline, to the Convent of Sainte-Baume, whose prior +was the Dominican Michaëlis, papal inquisitor in the +Pope’s domain of Avignon, and, as he himself pretended, +over all Provence. The great point was to get +them exorcised. But as the two women were obliged +to accuse Gauffridi, the business ended in making him +fall into the hands of the Inquisition.</p> + +<p>Michaëlis had to preach on Advent Sunday at Aix, +before the Parliament. He felt how much so striking +a drama would exalt him. He grasped at it with all +the eagerness of a barrister in a Criminal Court, when +a very dramatic murder, or a curious case of adultery +comes before him.</p> + +<p>The right thing in matters of this sort was, to spin +out the play through Advent, Christmas, Lent, and +burn no one before the Holy Week, the vigil, as it +were, of the great day of Easter. Michaëlis kept +himself for the last act, entrusting the bulk of the +business to a Flemish Dominican in his service, Doctor +Dompt, from Louvain, who had already exorcised, was +well-skilled in fooleries of that nature.</p> + +<p>The best thing the Fleming could do, was to do +nothing. In Louisa, he found a terrible helpmate, +with thrice as much zeal in her as the Inquisition +itself, unquenchable in her rage, of a burning eloquence,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +whimsical, and sometimes very odd, but always +raising a shudder; a very torch of Hell.</p> + +<p>The matter was reduced to a public duel between the +two devils, Louisa and Madeline.</p> + +<p>Some simple folk who came thither on a pilgrimage +to Sainte-Baume, a worthy goldsmith, for instance, +and a draper, both from Troyes, in Champagne, were +charmed to see Louisa’s devil deal such cruel blows at +the other demons, and give so sound a thrashing to the +magicians. They wept for joy, and went away thanking +God.</p> + +<p>It is a terrible sight, however, even in the dull wording +of the Fleming’s official statement, to look upon +this unequal strife; to watch the elder woman, the +strong and sturdy Provencial, come of a race hard as +the flints of its native Crau, as day after day she stones, +knocks down, and crushes her young and almost +childish victim, who, wasted with love and shame, has +already been fearfully punished by her own distemper, +her attacks of epilepsy.</p> + +<p>The Fleming’s volume, which, with the additions +made by Michaëlis, reaches to four hundred pages in +all, is one condensed epitome of the invectives, threats, +and insults spewed forth by this young woman in five +months; interspersed with sermons also, for she used +to preach on every subject, on the sacraments, on the +next coming of Antichrist, on the frailty of women, +and so forth. Thence, on the mention of her devils, +she fell into the old rage, and renewed twice a-day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +the execution of the poor little girl; never taking +breath, never for one minute staying the frightful +torrent, until at least the other in her wild distraction, +“with one foot in hell”—to use her own words—should +have fallen into a convulsive fit, and begun +beating the flags with her knees, her body, her swooning +head.</p> + +<p>It must be acknowledged that Louisa herself is a +trifle mad: no amount of mere knavishness would +have enabled her to maintain so long a wager. But +her jealousy points with frightful clearness to every +opening by which she may prick or rend the sufferer’s +heart.</p> + +<p>Everything gets turned upside down. This Louisa, +possessed of the Devil, takes the sacrament whenever +she pleases. She scolds people of the highest +authority. The venerable Catherine of France, the +oldest of the Ursulines, came to see the wonder, asked +her questions, and at the very outset caught her telling +a flagrant and stupid falsehood. The impudent woman +got out of the mess by saying in the name of her evil +spirit, “The Devil is the Father of Lies.”</p> + +<p>A sensible Minorite who was present, took up the +word and said, “Now, thou liest.” Turning to the +exorcisers, he added, “Cannot ye make her hold her +tongue?” Then he quoted to them the story of one +Martha, a sham demoniac of Paris. By way of answer, +she was made to take the communion before him. The +Devil communicate, the Devil receive the body of God!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +The poor man was bewildered; humbled himself before +the Inquisition. They were too many for him, so +he said not another word.</p> + +<p>One of Louisa’s tricks was to frighten the bystanders, +by saying she could see wizards among them; +which made every one tremble for himself.</p> + +<p>Triumphant over Sainte-Baume, she hits out even +at Marseilles. Her Flemish exorciser, being reduced +to the strange part of secretary and bosom-counsellor +to the Devil, writes, under her dictation, five letters: +first, to the Capuchins of Marseilles, that they may +call upon Gauffridi to recant; second, to the same +Capuchins, that they may arrest Gauffridi, bind him +fast with a stole, and keep him prisoner in a house of +her describing; thirdly, several letters to the moderate +party, to Catherine of France, to the Doctrinal Priests, +who had declared against her; and then this lewd, +outrageous termagant ends with insulting her own +prioress: “When I left, you bade me be humble and +obedient. Now take back your own advice.”</p> + +<p>Her devil Verrine, spirit of air and wind, whispered +to her some trivial nonsense, words of senseless pride +which harmed friends and foes, and the Inquisition +itself. One day she took to laughing at Michaëlis, +who was shivering at Aix, preaching in a desert while +all the world was gone to hear strange things at Sainte-Baume. +“Michaëlis, you preach away, indeed, but +you get no further forward; while Louisa has reached, +has caught hold of the quintessence of all perfection.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>This savage joy was mainly caused by her having +quite conquered Madeline at last. One word had done +more for her than a hundred sermons: “Thou shalt +be burnt.” Thenceforth in her distraction the young +girl said whatever the other pleased, and upheld her +statements in the meanest way. Humbling herself +before them all, she besought forgiveness of her mother, +of her superior Romillion, of the bystanders, of Louisa. +According to the latter, the frightened girl took her +aside, and begged her to be merciful, not to chasten +her too much.</p> + +<p>The other woman, tender as a rock and merciful as +a hidden reef, felt that Madeline was now hers, to do +whatever she might choose. She caught her, folded +her round, and bedazed her out of what little spirit +she had left. It was a second enchantment; but all +unlike that by Gauffridi, a <i>possession</i> by means of +terror. The poor downtrodden wretch, moving under +rod and scourge, was pushed onward in a path of exquisite +suffering which led her to accuse and murder +the man she loved still.</p> + +<p>Had Madeline stood out, Gauffridi would have +escaped, for every one was against Louisa. Michaëlis +himself at Aix, eclipsed by her as a preacher, treated +by her with so much coolness, would have stopped the +whole business rather than leave the honour of it in +her hands.</p> + +<p>Marseilles supported Gauffridi, being fearful of seeing +the Inquisition of Avignon pushed into her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +neighbourhood, and one of her own children carried +off from her threshold. The Bishop and Chapter +were specially eager to defend their priest, maintaining +that the whole affair sprang from nothing but a rivalry +between confessors, nothing but the hatred commonly +shown by monks towards secular priests.</p> + +<p>The Doctrinaries would have quashed the matter. +They were sore troubled by the noise it made. Some +of them in their annoyance were ready to give up +everything and forsake their house.</p> + +<p>The ladies were very wroth, especially Madame +Libertat, the lady of the Royalist leader who had given +Marseilles up to the King.</p> + +<p>The Capuchins whom Louisa had so haughtily commanded +to seize on Gauffridi, were, like all other of +the Franciscan orders, enemies of the Dominicans. +They were jealous of the prominence gained for these +latter by their demoniac friend. Their wandering life, +moreover, by throwing them into continual contact +with the women, brought them a good deal of moral +business. They had no wish to see too close a scrutiny +made into the lives of clergymen; and so they also +took the side of Gauffridi. Demoniacs were not so +scarce, but that one was easily found and brought +forward at the first summons. Her devil, obedient to +the rope-girdle of St. Francis, gainsaid everything said +by the Dominicans’ devil: it averred—and the words +were straightway written down—that “Gauffridi was +no magician at all, and could not therefore be arrested.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>They were not prepared for this at Sainte-Baume. +Louisa seemed confounded. She could only manage +to say that apparently the Capuchins had not made +their devil swear to tell the truth: a sorry reply, +backed up, however, by the trembling Madeline, who, +like a beaten hound that fears yet another beating, was +ready for anything, ready even to bite and tear. +Through her it was that Louisa at such a crisis inflicted +an awful bite.</p> + +<p>She herself merely said that the Bishop was offending +God unawares. She clamoured against “the +wizards of Marseilles” without naming any one. But +the cruel, the deadly word was spoken at her command +by Madeline. A woman who had lost her child two +years before, was pointed out by her as having throttled +it. Afraid of being tortured, she fled or hid herself. +Her husband, her father, went weeping to Sainte-Baume, +hoping of course to soften the inquisitors. But +Madeline durst not unsay her words; so she renewed +the charge.</p> + +<p>No one now could feel safe. As soon as the Devil +came to be accounted God’s avenger, from the moment +that people under his dictation began writing the +names of those who should pass through the fire, every +one had before him, day and night, the hideous nightmare +of the stake.</p> + +<p>To withstand these bold attempts of the Papal Inquisition, +Marseilles ought to have been backed up by +the Parliament of Aix. Unluckily she knew herself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +to be little liked at Aix. That small official town of +magistrates and nobles was always jealous of the wealth +and splendour of Marseilles, the Queen of the South. +On the other hand, the great opponent of Marseilles, +the Papal Inquisitor, forestalled Gauffridi’s appeal to +the Parliament by carrying his own suit thither first. +This was a body of utter fanatics, headed by some heavy +nobles, whose wealth had been greatly increased in a +former century by the massacre of the Vaudois. As +lay judges, too, they were charmed to see a Papal Inquisitor +set the precedent of acknowledging that, in a +matter touching a priest, in a case of witchcraft, the +Inquisition could not go beyond the preliminary inquiry. +It was just as though the inquisitors had formally +laid aside their old pretensions. The people of +Aix, like those of Bordeaux before them, were also +bitten by the flattering thought, that these lay-folk +had been set up by the Church herself as censors and +reformers of the priestly morals.</p> + +<p>In a business where all would needs be strange and +miraculous, not least among those marvels was it to +see so raging a demon grow all at once so fair-spoken +towards the Parliament, so politic and fine-mannered. +Louisa charmed the Royalists by her praises of the late +King. Henry IV.—who would have thought it?—was +canonized by the Devil. One morning, without +any invitation, he broke forth into praises of “that +pious and saintly King who had just gone up to +heaven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Such an agreement between two old enemies, the +Parliament and the Inquisition, which latter was +thenceforth sure of the secular arm, its soldiers, and +executioner; this and the sending of a commission to +Sainte-Baume to examine the possessed, take down +their statements, hear their charges, and impannel a +jury, made up a frightful business indeed. Louisa +openly pointed out the Capuchins, Gauffridi’s champions, +and proclaimed “their coming punishment +<i>temporally</i>” in their bodies, and in their flesh.</p> + +<p>The poor Fathers were sorely bruised. Their devil +would not whisper one word. They went to find the +Bishop, and told him that indeed they might not +refuse to bring Gauffridi forward at Sainte-Baume, in +obedience to the secular power; but afterwards the +Bishop and Chapter could claim him back, and replace +him under the shelter of episcopal justice.</p> + +<p>Doubtless they had also reckoned on the agitation +that would be shown by the two young women at the +sight of one they loved; on the extent to which even +the terrible Louisa might be shaken by the reproaches +of her own heart.</p> + +<p>That heart indeed woke up at the guilty one’s approach: +for one moment the furious woman seemed to +grow tender. I know nothing more fiery than her +prayer for God to save the man she has driven to +death: “Great God, I offer thee all the sacrifices that +have been offered since the world began, that will be +offered until it ends. All, all, for Lewis. I offer thee<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +all the tears of every saint, all the transports of every +angel. All, all, for Lewis. Oh, that there were yet +more souls to reckon up, that so the oblation might +be all the greater! It should be all for Lewis. O +God, the Father of Heaven, have pity on Lewis! O +God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have pity on +Lewis!” &c.</p> + +<p>Bootless pity! baneful as well as bootless! Her +real desire was that the accused <i>should not harden his +heart</i>, should plead guilty. In that case by our laws +he would most assuredly be burnt.</p> + +<p>She herself, in short, was worn out, unable to do +anything more. The inquisitor Michaëlis was so +humbled by a victory he could not have gained without +her, so wroth with the Flemish exorciser who had +become her obedient follower, and let her see into all +the hidden springs of the tragedy, that he came simply +to crush Louisa, and save Madeline by substituting +the one for the other, if he could, in this popular +drama. This move of his implies some skill, and +a knowing eye for scenery. The winter and the +Advent season had been wholly taken up with the acting +of that awful sibyl, that raging bacchante. In +the milder days of a Provencial spring, in the season +of Lent, he would bring upon the scene a more moving +personage, a demon all womanly, dwelling in a sick +child, in a fair-haired frightened girl. The nobles and +the Parliament of Provence would feel an interest in a +little lady who belonged to an eminent house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + +<p>Far from listening to his Flemish agent, Louisa’s +follower, Michaëlis shut the door upon him when he +sought to enter the select council of Parliament-men. +A Capuchin who also came, on the first words spoken +by Louisa, cried out, “Silence, accursed devil!”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Gauffridi had arrived at Sainte-Baume, +where he cut a sorry figure. A man of sense, but +weak and blameworthy, he foreboded but too truly how +that kind of popular tragedy would end; and in +coming to a strait so dreadful, he saw himself forsaken +and betrayed by the child he loved. He now +entirely forsook himself. When he was confronted +with Louisa, she seemed to him like a judge, like one +of those cruel and subtle schoolmen who judged the +causes of the Church. To all her questions concerning +doctrine, he only answered <i>yes</i>, assenting even to +points most open to dispute; as, for instance, to the +assumption “that the Devil in a court of justice might +be believed on his word and his oath.”</p> + +<p>This lasted only a week, from the 1st to the 8th +January. The clergy of Marseilles demanded Gauffridi +back. His friends, the Capuchins, declared that they +had found no signs of magic in his room. Four canons +of Marseilles came with authority to take him, and +carried him away home.</p> + +<p>If Gauffridi had fallen very low, his adversaries had +not risen much. Even the two inquisitors, Michaëlis +and the Fleming, were in shameful variance with each +other. The partiality of the former for Madeline, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +the latter for Louisa, went beyond mere words, leading +them into opposite lines of action. That chaos of +accusations, sermons, revelations, which the Devil had +dictated by the mouth of Louisa, the Fleming who +wrote it down maintained to be the very word of God, +and expressed his fear that somebody might tamper +with the same. He owned to a great mistrust of his +chief, Michaëlis, who, he was sore afraid, would so +amend the papers in behalf of Madeline, as to ensure +the ruin of Louisa. To guard them to the best of his +power, he shut himself up in his room and underwent +a regular siege. Michaëlis, with the Parliament-men +on his side, could only get at the manuscript by using +the King’s name and breaking the door open.</p> + +<p>Louisa, afraid of nothing, sought to array the Pope +against the King. The Fleming carried an appeal to +the legate at Avignon, against his chief, Michaëlis. +But the Papal Court had a prudent fear of causing +scandal by letting one inquisitor accuse another. Lacking +its support, the Fleming had no resource but to +submit. To keep him quiet Michaëlis gave him back +his papers.</p> + +<p>Those of Michaëlis, forming a second report, dull +and nowise comparable with the former, are full of +nought but Madeline. They played music to try and +soothe her: care was taken to note down when she ate, +and when she did not eat. Too much time indeed was +taken up about her, often in a way but little edifying. +Strange questions are put to her touching the Magician,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +and what parts of his body might bear the mark +of the Devil. She herself was examined. This would +have to be done at Aix by surgeons and doctors; but +meanwhile, in the height of his zeal, Michaëlis examined +her at Sainte-Baume, and put down the issue +of his researches. No matron was called to see her. The +judges, lay and monkish, agreeing in this one matter, +and having no fear of each other’s overlooking, seem +to have quietly passed over this contempt of outward +forms.</p> + +<p>In Louisa, however, they found a judge. The bold +woman branded the indecency as with hot iron. “They +who were swallowed up by the Flood never behaved so +ill!... Even of thee, O Sodom, the like was never +said!”</p> + +<p>She also averred that Madeline was given over to +uncleanness. This was the saddest thing of all. In +her blind joy at being alive, at escaping the flames, or +else from some cloudy notion that it was her turn now +to act upon her judges, the poor simpleton would sing +and dance at times with a shameful freedom, in a coarse, +indecent way. The old Doctrinal father, Romillion, +blushed for his Ursuline. Shocked to remark the admiration +of the men for her long hair, he said that such +a vanity must be taken from her, be cut away.</p> + +<p>In her better moments she was gentle and obedient.</p> + +<p>They would have liked to make her a second Louisa; +but her devils were vain and amorous; not, like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +other’s, eloquent and raging. When they wanted her +to preach, she could only utter sorry things. Michaëlis +was fain to play out the piece by himself. As chief +inquisitor, and bound greatly to outdo his Flemish +underling, he avowed that he had already drawn out of +this small body a host of six thousand, six hundred, +and sixty devils: only a hundred still remained. By +way of convincing the public, he made her throw up +the charm or spell which by his account she had swallowed, +and he drew it from her mouth in some slimy +matter. Who could hold out any longer? Assurance +itself stood stupefied and convinced.</p> + +<p>Madeline was in a fair way to escape: the only +hindrance was herself. Every moment she would be +saying something rash, something to arouse the misgivings +of her judges, and urge them beyond all +patience. She declared that everything to her recalled +Gauffridi, that everywhere she saw him present. Nor +would she hide from them her dreams of love. “To-night,” +she said, “I was at the Sabbath. To my statue +all covered with gilding the magicians offered their +homage. Each of them, in honour thereof, made oblation +of some blood drawn from his hands with a lancet. +<i>He</i> was also there, on his knees, a rope round his neck, +beseeching me to go back and betray him not. I held +out. Then said he, ‘Is there anyone here who would +die for her?’ ‘I,’ said a young man, and he was +sacrificed by the magician.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>At another time she saw him, and he asked her only +for one of her fine fair locks. “And when I refused, +he said, ‘Only the half of one hair.’”</p> + +<p>She swore, however, that she never yielded. But +one day, the door happening to be open, behold our +convert running off at the top of her speed to rejoin +Gauffridi!</p> + +<p>They took her again, at least her body. But her +soul? Michaëlis knew not how to catch that again. +Luckily he caught sight of her magic ring, which was +taken off, cut up, destroyed, and thrown into the fire. +Fancying, moreover, that this perverseness on the part +of one so gentle was due to unseen wizards who found +their way into her room, he set there a very substantial +man at arms, with a sword to slash about him everywhere, +and cut the invisible imps into pieces.</p> + +<p>But the best physic for the conversion of Madeline +was the death of Gauffridi. On the 5th February, the +inquisitor went to Aix for his Lent preachings, saw the +judges, and stirred them up. The Parliament, swiftly +yielding to such a pressure, sent off to Marseilles an +order to seize the rash man, who, finding himself so +well backed by Bishop, Chapter, Capuchins, and all the +world, had fancied they would never dare so far.</p> + +<p>Madeline from one quarter, Gauffridi from another, +arrived at Aix. She was so disturbed that they were +forced to bind her. Her disorder was frightful, and all +were in great perplexity what to do. They bethought +them at least of one bold way of dealing with this sick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +child; one of those fearful tricks that throw a woman +into fits, and sometimes kill her outright. A vicar-general +of the archbishopric said that the palace contained +a dark narrow charnel-house, such as you may +see in the Escurial, and called in Spain a “rotting vat.”</p> + +<p>There, in olden days, old bones of unknown dead +were left to waste away. Into this tomb-like cave the +trembling girl was led. They exorcised her by putting +those chilly bones to her face. She did not die of +fright, but thenceforth gave herself up to their will and +pleasure; and so they got what they wanted, the death +of the conscience, the destruction of all that remained +to her of moral insight and free will.</p> + +<p>She became their pliant tool, ready to obey their +least desire, to flatter them, to try and guess beforehand +what would give them most pleasure. Huguenots were +brought before her: she called them names. Confronted +with Gauffridi, she told forth by heart her grievances +against him, better than the King’s own officers could +have done. This did not prevent her from squalling +violently, when she was brought to the church to excite +the people against Gauffridi, by making her devil blaspheme +in the magician’s name. Beelzebub speaking +through her said, “In the name of Gauffridi I abjure +God;” and again, at the lifting up of the Host, “Let +the blood of the just be upon me, in the name of +Gauffridi!”</p> + +<p>An awful fellowship indeed! This twofold devil +condemns one out of the other’s mouth; whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +Madeline says, is ascribed to Gauffridi. And the +scared crowd were impatient to behold the burning of +the dumb blasphemer, whose ungodliness so loudly +declared itself by the voice of the girl.</p> + +<p>The exorcisers then put to her this cruel question, +to which they themselves could have given the best +answer:—“Why, Beelzebub, do you speak so ill of +your great friend?” Her answer was frightful: “If +there be traitors among men, why not among demons +also? When I am with Gauffridi, I am his to do all +his will. But when you constrain me, I betray him +and turn him to scorn.”</p> + +<p>However, she could not keep up this hateful mockery. +Though the demon of fear and fawning seemed to +have gotten fast hold of her, there was room still for +despair. She could no longer take the slightest food; +and they who for five months had been killing her +with exorcisms and pretending to relieve her of six or +seven thousand devils, were fain to admit that she +longed only to die, and greedily sought after any means +of self-destruction. Courage alone was wanting to her. +Once she pricked herself with a lancet, but lacked the +spirit to persevere. Once she caught up a knife, and +when that was taken from her, tried to strangle herself. +She dug needles into her body, and then made +one last foolish effort to drive a long pin through her +ear into her head.</p> + +<p>What became of Gauffridi? The inquisitor, who +dwells so long on the two women, says almost nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +about him. He walks as it were over the fire. The +little he does say is very strange. He relates that +having bound Gauffridi’s eyes, they pricked him with +needles all over the body, to find out the callous places +where the Devil had made his mark. On the removal +of the bandage, he learned, to his horror and amazement, +that the needle had thrice been stuck into him +without his feeling it; so he was marked in three places +with the sign of Hell. And the inquisitor added, “If +we were in Avignon, this man should be burnt to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>He felt himself a lost man; and defended himself no +more. His only thought now was to see if he could +save his life through any of the Dominicans’ foes. He +wished, he said, to confess himself to the Oratorians. +But this new order, which might have been called the +right mean of Catholicism, was too cold and wary to +take up a matter already so hopeless and so far +advanced.</p> + +<p>Thereon he went back again to the Begging Friars, +confessing himself to the Capuchins, and acknowledging +all and more than all the truth, that he might +purchase life with dishonour. In Spain he would +assuredly have been enlarged, barring a term of +penance in some convent. But our Parliaments were +sterner: they felt bound to prove the greater purity of +the lay jurisdiction. The Capuchins, themselves a +little shaky in the matter of morals, were not the people +to draw the lightning down on their own body. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +surrounded Gauffridi, sheltered him, gave him comfort +day and night; but only in order that he might own +himself a magician, and so, because magic formed the +main head of his indictment, the seduction wrought +by a confessor to the great discredit of the clergy might +be left entirely in the background.</p> + +<p>So his friends the Capuchins, by dint of tender +caresses and urgent counsel, drew from him the fatal +confession which, by their showing, was to save his +soul, but which was very certain to hand his body over +to the stake.</p> + +<p>The man thus lost and done for, they made an end +with the girls whom it was not their part to burn. A +farcical scene took place. In a large gathering of the +clergy and the Parliament, Madeline was made to +appear, and, in words addressed to herself, her devil +Beelzebub was summoned to quit the place or else offer +some opposition. Not caring to do the latter, he went +off in disgrace.</p> + +<p>Then Louisa, with her demon Verrine, was made to +appear. But before they drove away a spirit so +friendly to the Church, the monks regaled the Parliamentaries, +who were new to such things, with the +clever management of this devil, making him perform +a curious pantomime. “How do the Seraphim, the +Cherubim, the Thrones, behave before God?” “A +hard matter this:” says Louisa, “they have no +bodies.” But on their repeating the command, she +made an effort to obey, imitating the flight of the one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +class, the fiery longing of the others; and ending with +the adoration, when she bowed herself before the +judges, falling prostrate with her head downwards. +Then was the far-famed Louisa, so proud and so untamable, +seen to abase herself, kissing the pavement, +and with outstretched arms laying all her length +thereon.</p> + +<p>It was a strange, frivolous, unseemly exhibition, by +which she was made to atone for her terrible success +among the people. Once more she won the assembly +by dealing a cruel dagger-stroke at Gauffridi, who +stood there strongly bound. “Where,” said they, “is +Beelzebub now, the devil who went out of Madeline?” +“I see him plainly at Gauffridi’s ear.”</p> + +<p>Have you had shame and horror enough? We +should like further to know what the poor wretch said, +when put to the torture. Both the ordinary and the +extraordinary forms were used upon him. His revelations +must undoubtedly have thrown light on the +curious history of the nunneries. Those tales the +Parliament stored up with greediness, as weapons that +might prove serviceable to itself; but it retained them +“under the seal of the Court.”</p> + +<p>The inquisitor Michaëlis, who was fiercely assailed +in public for an excess of animosity so closely resembling +jealousy, was summoned by his order to a meeting at +Paris, and never saw the execution of Gauffridi, who +was burnt alive four days afterwards, 30th April, +1611, at Aix.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + +<p>The name of the Dominicans, damaged by this trial, +was not much exalted by another case of <i>possession</i> +got up at Beauvais in such a way as to ensure them +all the honours of a war, the account of which they +got printed in Paris. Louisa’s devil having been reproached +for not speaking Latin, the new demoniac, +Denise Lacaille, mingled a few words of it in her gibberish. +They made a plenty of noise about her, often +displayed her in the midst of a procession, and even +carried her from Beauvais to Our Lady of Liesse. But +the matter kept quite cool. This Picard pilgrimage +lacked the horror, the dramatic force of the affair at +Sainte-Baume. This Lacaille, for all her Latin, had +neither the burning eloquence, nor the mettle, nor the +fierce rage, that marked the woman of Provence. The +only end of all her proceedings was to amuse the +Huguenots.</p> + +<p>What became of the two rivals, Madeline and +Louisa? The former, or at least her shadow, was kept +on Papal ground, for fear of her being led to speak +about so mournful a business. She was never shown +in public, save in the character of a penitent. She +was taken out among the poor women to cut wood, +which was afterwards sold for alms; the parents, whom +she had brought to shame, having forsworn and forsaken +her.</p> + +<p>Louisa, for her part, had said during the trial: “I +shall make no boast about it. The trial over, I shall +soon be dead.” But this was not to be. Instead of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +dying, she went on killing others. The murdering +devil within her waxed stormier than ever. She set +about revealing to the inquisitors the names, both +Christian and surnames, of all whom she fancied to +have any dealings with magic; among others a poor +girl named Honoria, “blind of both eyes,” who was +burnt alive.</p> + +<p>“God grant,” says Father Michaëlis, in conclusion, +“that all this may redound to His own glory and to +that of His Church!”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> St. Francis of Sales, famous for his successful missions +among the Protestants, and Bishop of Geneva in his later years, +died in 1622.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> The Brethren of the Oratory, founded at Rome in 1564.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> Lestoile, edit. Michaud, p. 561.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VII_2" id="CHAPTER_VII_2"></a>CHAPTER VII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE DEMONIACS OF LOUDUN—URBAN GRANDIER: +1632-1634.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the <i>State Memoirs</i>, written by the famous +Father Joseph, and known to us by extracts only—the +work itself having, no doubt, been wisely suppressed +as too instructive—the good Father explained how, in +1633, he had the luck to discover a heresy, a huge +heresy, in which ever so many confessors and directors +were concerned. That excellent army of Church-constables, +those dogs of the Holy Troop, the Capuchins, +had, not only in the wildernesses, but even in the +populous parts of France—at Chartres, in Picardy, +everywhere—got scent of some dreadful game; the +<i>Alumbrados</i> namely, or Illuminate, of Spain, who +being sorely persecuted there, had fled for shelter into +France, where, in the world of women, especially among +the convents, they dropped the gentle poison which +was afterwards called by the name of Molinos.<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a></p> + +<p>The wonder was, that the matter had not been +sooner known. Having spread so far, it could not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>have been wholly hidden. The Capuchins swore that +in Picardy alone, where the girls are weak and warmer-blooded +than in the South, this amorously mystic folly +owned some sixty thousand professors. Did all the +clergy share in it—all the confessors and directors? +We must remember, that attached to the official directors +were a good many laymen, who glowed with +the same zeal for the souls of women. One of them, +who afterwards made some noise by his talent and +boldness, is the author of <i>Spiritual Delights</i>, Desmarets +of Saint Sorlin.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Without remembering the new state of things, we +should fail to understand the all-powerful attitude of +the director towards the nuns, of whom he was now +a hundred-fold more the master than he had been in +days of yore.</p> + +<p>The reforming movement of the Council of Trent, +for the better enclosing of monasteries, was not much +followed up in the reign of Henry IV., when the nuns +received company, gave balls, danced, and so forth. In +the reign, however, of Louis XIII., it began afresh +with greater earnestness. The Cardinal Rochefoucauld, +or rather the Jesuits who drew him on, insisted on a +great deal of outward decency. Shall we say, then, +that all entrance into the convents was forbidden? +One man only went in every day, not only into the +house, but also, if he chose, into each of the cells; a +fact made evident from several known cases, especially<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +that of David at Louviers. By this reform, this closing +system, the door was shut upon the world at large, +on all inconvenient rivals, while the director enjoyed +the sole command of his nuns, the special right of +private interviews with them.</p> + +<p>What would come of this? The speculative might +treat it as a problem; not so practical men or physicians. +The physician Wyer tells some plain stories +to show what did come of it from the sixteenth century +onwards. In his Fourth Book he quotes a number +of nuns who went mad for love. And in Book +III. he talks of an estimable Spanish priest who, going +by chance into a nunnery, came out mad, declaring +that the brides of Jesus were his also, brides of the +priest, who was a vicar of Jesus. He had masses said +in return for the favour which God had granted him in +this speedy marriage with a whole convent.</p> + +<p>If this was the result of one passing visit, we may +understand the plight of a director of nuns when he +was left alone with them, and could take advantage of +the new restrictions to spend the day among them, +listening hour by hour to the perilous secret of their +languishings and their weaknesses.</p> + +<p>In the plight of these girls the mere senses are not +all in all. Allowance must be made for their listlessness +of mind; for the absolute need of some change in +their way of life; of some dream or diversion to relieve +their lifelong monotony. Strange things are happening +constantly at this period. Travels, events in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +Indies, the discovery of a world, the invention of +printing: what romance there is everywhere! While +all this goes on without, putting men’s minds into a +flutter, how, think you, can those within bear up +against the oppressive sameness of monastic life—the +irksomeness of its lengthy services, seasoned by +nothing better than a sermon preached through the +nose?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The laity themselves, living amidst so many distractions, +desire, nay insist, that their confessors shall absolve +them for their acts of inconstancy. The priests, +on their side, are drawn or forced on, step by step. +There grows up a vast literature, at once various and +learned, of casuistry, of the art of allowing all things; +a progressive literature, in which the indulgence of to-night +seems to become the severity of the morrow.</p> + +<p>This casuistry was meant for the world; that mysticism +for the convent. The annihilation of the person +and the death of the will form the great mystic principle. +The true moral bearings of that principle are +well shown by Desmarets. “The devout,” he says, +“having offered up and annihilated their own selves, +exist no longer but in God. <i>Thenceforth they can do +no wrong.</i> The better part of them is so divine that it +no longer knows what the other is doing.”<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> +<p>It might have been thought that the zealous Joseph +who had raised so loud a cry of alarm against these +corrupt teachers, would have gone yet further; that a +grand searching inquiry would have taken place; that +the countless host whose number, in one province +only, were reckoned at sixty thousand, would be found +out and closely examined. But not so: they disappear, +and nothing more is known about them. A few, it is +said, were imprisoned; but trial there was none: only +a deep silence. To all appearance Richelieu cared but +little about fathoming the business. In his tenderness +for the Capuchins he was not so blind as to follow their +lead in a matter which would have thrown the supervision +of all confessors into their hands.</p> + +<p>As a rule, the monks had a jealous dislike of the +secular clergy. Entire masters of the Spanish women, +they were too dirty to be relished by those of France; +who preferred going to their own priests or to some +Jesuit confessor, an amphious creature, half monk, +half worldling. If Richelieu had once let loose the pack +of Capuchins, Recollects, Carmelites, Dominicans, &c., +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>who among the clergy would have been safe? What +director, what priest, however upright, but had used, +and used amiss, the gentle language of the Quietists +towards their penitents?</p> + +<p>Richelieu took care not to trouble the clergy, while +he was already bringing about the General Assembly +from which he was soon to ask a contribution towards +the war. One trial alone was granted the monks, the +trial of a vicar, but a vicar who dealt in magic; a +trial wherein matters were allowed, as in the case of +Gauffridi, to get so entangled, that no confessor, no +director, saw his own likeness there, but everyone in +full security could say, “This is not I.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Thanks to these strict precautions the Grandier +affair is involved in some obscurity.<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> Its historian, +the Capuchin Tranquille, proves convincingly that +Grandier was a wizard, and, still more, a devil; and on +the trial he is called, as Ashtaroth might have been +called, <i>Grandier of the Dominations</i>. On the other +hand, Ménage is ready to rank him with great men +accused of magic, with the martyrs of free thought.</p> + +<p>In order to see a little more clearly, we must not set +Grandier by himself; we must keep his place in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>devilish trilogy of those times, in which he figured +only as a second act; we must explain him by the +first act, already shown to us in the dreadful business +of Sainte-Baume, and the death of Gauffridi; we must +explain him by the third act, by the affair at Louviers, +which copied Loudun, as Loudun had copied Sainte-Baume, +and which in its turn owned a Gauffridi and +an Urban Grandier.</p> + +<p>The three cases are one and selfsame. In each case +there is a libertine priest, in each a jealous monk, and +a frantic nun by whose mouth the Devil is made to +speak; and in all three the priest gets burnt at last.</p> + +<p>And here you may notice one source of light which +makes these matters clearer to our eyes than if we saw +them through the miry shades of a monastery in Spain +or Italy. In those lands of Southern laziness, the nuns +were astoundingly passive, enduring the life of the +seraglio and even worse.<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> Our French women, on the +contrary, gifted with a personality at once strong, +lively, and hard to please, were equally dreadful in +their jealousy and in their hate; and being devils indeed +without metaphor, were accordingly rash, blusterous, +and prompt to accuse. Their revelations were +very plain, so plain indeed at the last, that everyone +felt ashamed; and after thirty years and three special +cases, the whole thing, begun as it was through terror, +got fairly extinguished in its own dulness beneath +hisses of general disgust.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> +<p>It was not in Loudun, amidst crowds of Poitevins, +in the presence of so many scoffing Huguenots, in the +very town where they held their great national synods, +that one would have looked for an event so discreditable +to the Catholics. But these latter, living, as it were, in +a conquered country,<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> in the old Protestant towns, +with the greatest freedom, and thinking, not without +cause, of the people they had often massacred and but +lately overcome, were not the persons to say a word +about it. Catholic Loudun, composed of magistrates, +priests, monks, a few nobles, and some workmen, +dwelled aloof from the rest, like a true conquering settlement. +This settlement, as one might easily guess, +was rent in twain by the rivalry of the priests and the +monks.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The monks, being numerous and proud, as men specially +sent forth to make converts, kept the pick of the +pavement against the Protestants, and were confessing +the Catholic ladies, when there arrived from Bordeaux +a young vicar, brought up by the Jesuits, a man of +letters, of pleasing manners, who wrote well and spoke +better. He made a noise in the pulpit, and ere long +in the world. By birth a townsman of Mantes, of a +wrangling turn, he was Southern by education, with all +the readiness of a Bordelais, boastful and frivolous as a +Gascon. He soon managed to set the whole town by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>the ears, drawing the women to his side, while the +men were mostly against him. He became lofty, insolent, +unbearable, devoid of respect for everything. The +Carmelites he overwhelmed with jibes; he would rail +away from his pulpit against monks in general. They +choked with rage at his sermons. Proud and stately, +he went along the streets of Loudun like a Father of +the Church; but by night he would steal, with less of +bluster, down the byeways and through back-doors.</p> + +<p>They all surrendered themselves to his pleasure. +The wife of the Crown Counsel was aware of his +charms; still more so the daughter of the Public +Prosecutor, who had a child by him. This did not +satisfy him. Master of the ladies, this conqueror +pushed his advantage until he had gained the nuns.</p> + +<p>By that time the Ursulines abounded everywhere, +sisters devoted to education, feminine missionaries in a +Protestant land, who courted and pleased the mothers, +while they won over the little girls. The nuns of +Loudun formed a small convent of young ladies, poor +and well-born. The convent in itself was poor, the +nuns for whom it was founded, having been granted +nothing but their house, an old Huguenot college. +The prioress, a lady of good birth and high connections, +burned to exalt her nunnery, to enlarge it, make +it wealthier and wider known. Perhaps she would +have chosen Grandier, as being then the fashion, had she +not already gotten for her director a priest with very +different rootage in the country, a near kinsman of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +two chief magistrates. The Canon Mignon, as he was +called, held the prioress fast. These two were enraged +at learning through the confessional—the “Ladies +Superior” might confess their nuns—that the young +nuns dreamed of nothing but this Grandier, of whom +there was so much talk.</p> + +<p>Thereupon three parties, the threatened director, +the cheated husband, the outraged father, joined together +by a common jealousy, swore together the +destruction of Grandier. To ensure success, they only +needed to let him go on. He was ruining himself +quite fast enough. An incident that came to light +made noise enough almost to bring down the town.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The nuns placed in that old Huguenot mansion, +were far from easy in their minds. Their boarders, +children of the town, and perhaps also some of the +younger nuns, had amused themselves with frightening +the rest by playing at ghosts and apparitions. Little +enough of order was there among this throng of rich +spoilt girls. They would run about the passages at +night, until they frightened themselves. Some of +them were sick, or else sick at heart. But these fears +and fancies mingled with the gossip of the town, of +which they heard but too much during the day, until +the ghost by night took the form of Grandier himself. +Several said they saw him, felt him near them in the +night, and yielded unawares to his bold advances. +Was all this fancy, or the fun of novices? Had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +Grandier bribed the porteress or ventured to climb +the walls? This part of the business was never +cleared up.</p> + +<p>From that time the three felt sure of catching him. +And first, among the small folk under their protection, +they stirred up two good souls to declare that they +could no longer keep as vicar a profligate, a wizard, a +devil, a freethinker, who bent one knee in church +instead of two, who scoffed at rules and granted dispensations +contrary to the rights of the Bishop. A shrewd +accusation, which turned against him his natural defender, +the Bishop of Poitiers, and delivered him over +to the fury of the monks.</p> + +<p>To say truth, all this was planned with much skill. +Besides raising up two poor people as accusers, they +thought it advisable to have him cudgelled by a noble. +In those days of duelling a man who let himself be +cudgelled with impunity lost ground with the public, +and sank in the esteem of the women. Grandier deeply +felt the blow. Fond of making a noise in all cases, he +went to the King, threw himself on his knees, and besought +vengeance for the insult to his gown. From so +devout a king he might have gained it; but here there +chanced to be some persons who told the King that it +was all an affair of love, the fury of a betrayed husband +wreaking itself on his foe.</p> + +<p>At the spiritual court of Poitiers, Grandier was condemned +to do penance, to be banished from Loudun, +and disgraced as a priest. But the civil court took up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +the matter and found him innocent. He had still to +await the orders of him by whom Poitiers was spiritually +overruled, Sourdis, Archbishop of Bordeaux. +That warlike prelate, an admiral and brave sailor more +than a priest, shrugged his shoulders on hearing of +such peccadilloes. He acquitted the vicar, but at the +same time wisely recommended him to go and live +anywhere out of Loudun.</p> + +<p>This the proud man did not care to do. He wanted +to enjoy his triumph on the very field of battle, to +show off before the ladies. He came back to Loudun +in broad day, with mighty noise; the women all looking +out of window, as he went by with a laurel-branch +in his hand.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Not satisfied with that piece of folly, he began to +threaten, to demand reparation. Thus pushed and +imperilled in their turn, his enemies called to remembrance +the affair of Gauffridi, where the Devil, the +Father of Lies, was restored to his honours and accepted +in a court of justice as a right truthful witness, +worthy of belief on the side of the Church, worthy of +belief on the side of His Majesty’s servants. In despair +they invoked a devil and found one at their command. +He showed himself among the Ursulines.</p> + +<p>A dangerous thing; but then, how many were nearly +concerned in its success! The prioress saw her poor +humble convent suddenly attracting the gaze of the +Court, of the provinces, of all the world. The monks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +saw themselves victorious over their rivals the priests. +They pictured anew those popular battles waged +with the Devil in a former century, and often, as at +Soissons, before the church doors; the terror of the +people, and their joy at the triumph of the Good +Spirit; the confession drawn from the Devil touching +God’s presence in the Sacrament; and the humiliation +of the Huguenots at being refuted by the Demon himself.</p> + +<p>In these tragi-comedies the exorciser represented +God, or at any rate the Archangel, overthrowing the +dragon. He came down from the platform in utter +exhaustion, streaming with sweat, but victorious, to be +borne away in the arms of the crowd, amidst the +blessings of good women who shed tears of joy the +while.</p> + +<p>Therefore it was that in these trials a dash of witchcraft +was always needful. The Devil alone roused the +interest of the vulgar. They could not always see +him coming out of a body in the shape of a black +toad, as at Bordeaux in 1610. But it was easy to +make it up to them by a grand display of splendid +stage scenery. The affair of Provence owed much of +its success to Madeline’s desolate wildness and the +terror of Sainte-Baume. Loudun was regaled with +the uproar and the bacchanal frenzy of a host of exorcisers +distributed among several churches. Lastly, +Louviers, as we shall presently see, put a little new life +into this fading fashion by inventing midnight scenes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +in which the demons who possessed the nuns began +digging by the glimmer of torches, until they drew +forth certain charms from the holes wherein they had +been concealed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Loudun business began with the prioress and +a lay sister of hers. They had convulsive fits, and +talked infernal gibberish. Other of the nuns began +copying them, one bold girl especially taking up +Louisa’s part at Marseilles, with the same devil Leviathan, +the leading demon of trickery and evil speaking.</p> + +<p>The little town was all in a tremble. Monks of +every hue provided themselves with nuns, shared them +all round, and exorcised them by threes and fours. +The churches were parcelled out among them; the +Capuchins alone taking two for themselves. The +crowd go after them, swollen by all the women in the +place, and in this frightened audience, throbbing with +anxiety, more than one cries out that she, too, is feeling +the devils.<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> Six girls of the town are possessed. +And the bare recital of these alarming events begets +two new cases of possession at Chinon.</p> + +<p>Everywhere the thing was talked of, at Paris, at the +Court. Our Spanish queen,<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> who is imaginative and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>devout, sends off her almoner; nay more, sends her +faithful follower, the old papist, Lord Montague, who +sees, who believes everything, and reports it all to the +Pope. It is a miracle proven. He had seen the +wounds on a certain nun, and the marks made by the +Devil on the Lady Superior’s hands.</p> + +<p>What said the King of France to this? All his +devotion was turned on the Devil, on hell, on thoughts +of fear. It is said that Richelieu was glad to keep him +thus. I doubt it; the demons were essentially Spanish, +taking the Spanish side: if ever they talked politics, +they must have spoken against Richelieu. Perhaps +he was afraid of them. At any rate, he did them +homage, and sent his niece to prove the interest he +took in the matter.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Court believed, but Loudun itself did not. Its +devils, but sorry imitators of the Marseilles demons, +rehearsed in the morning what they had learnt the +night before from the well-known handbook of Father +Michaëlis. They would never have known what to +say but for the secret exorcisms, the careful rehearsal +of the day’s farce, by which night after night they +were trained to figure before the people.</p> + +<p>One sturdy magistrate, bailiff of the town, made a +stir: going himself to detect the knaves, he threatened +and denounced them. Such, too, was the tacit +opinion of the Archbishop of Bordeaux, to whom +Grandier appealed. He despatched a set of rules for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +the guidance at least of the exorcisers, for putting a +stop to their arbitrary doings; and, better still, he +sent his surgeon, who examined the girls, and found +them to be neither bewitched, nor mad, nor even sick. +What were they then? Knaves, to be sure.<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a></p> + +<p>So through the century keeps on this noble duel +between the Physician and the Devil, this battle of +light and knowledge with the dark shades of falsehood. +We saw its beginning in Agrippa and Wyer. Doctor +Duncan carried it bravely on at Loudun, and fearlessly +impressed on others the belief that this affair was +nothing but a farce.</p> + +<p>For all his alleged resistance, the Demon was frightened, +held his tongue, quite lost his voice. But people’s +passions had been too fiercely roused for the matter to +end there. The tide flowed again so strongly in favour +of Grandier, that the assailed became in their turn +assailants. An apothecary of kin to the accusers was +sued by a rich young lady of the town for speaking of +her as the vicar’s mistress. He was condemned to +apologise for his slander.</p> + +<p>The prioress was a lost woman. It would have been +easy to prove, what one witness afterwards saw, that +the marks upon her were made with paint renewed +daily. But she was kinswoman to one of the King’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>judges, Laubardemont, and he saved her. He was +simply charged to overthrow the strong places of +Loudun. He got himself commissioned to try Grandier. +The Cardinal was given to understand that the +accused was vicar and friend of the <i>Loudun shoemaker</i>,<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> +was one of the numerous agents of Mary +of Medici, had made himself his parishioner’s secretary, +and written a disgraceful pamphlet in her name.</p> + +<p>Richelieu, for his part, would have liked to show a +high-minded scorn of the whole business, if he could +have done so with safety to himself. The Capuchins +and Father Joseph had an eye to that also. Richelieu +would have given them a fine handle against him with +the King, had he displayed a want of zeal. One +Quillet, after much grave reflection, went to see the +Minister and give him warning. But the other, afraid +to listen, regarded him with so stern a gaze that the +giver of advice deemed it prudent to seek shelter in +Italy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Laubardemont arrived at Loudun on the 6th December, +1633, bringing along with him great fear, and +unbounded powers; even those of the King himself. +The whole strength of the kingdom became, as it were, +a dreadful bludgeon to crush one little fly.</p> + +<p>The magistrates were wroth; the civic lieutenant +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>warned Grandier that he would have to arrest him on +the morrow. The latter paid no heed to him, and was +arrested accordingly. In a moment he was carried off, +without form of trial, to the dungeons of Angers. Presently +he was taken back and thrown, where think +you? Into the house, the room of one of his enemies, +who had the windows walled up so as well-nigh to +choke him. The loathsome scrutiny of the wizard’s +body, in order to find out the Devil’s marks by sticking +needles all over it, was carried on by the hands of the +accusers themselves, who took their revenge upon him +beforehand in the foretaste thus given him of his future +punishment.</p> + +<p>They led him to the churches, confronted him with +the girls, who had got their cue from Laubardemont. +These Bacchanals, for such they became under the +fuddling effect of some drugs administered by the condemned +apothecary above-named, flung out in such +frantic rages, that Grandier was nearly perishing one +day beneath their nails.</p> + +<p>Unable to imitate the eloquence of the Marseilles +demoniac, they tried obscenity in its stead. It was a +hideous thing to see these girls give full vent in public +to their sensual fury, on the plea of scolding their +pretended devils. Thus indeed it was that they +managed to swell their audiences. People flocked to +hear from the lips of these women what no woman +would else have dared to utter.</p> + +<p>As the matter grew more hateful, so it also grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +more laughable. They were sure to repeat all awry +what little Latin was ever whispered to them. The +public found that the devils had never gone through +<i>their lower classes</i>. The Capuchins, however, coolly +said that if these demons were weak in Latin, they +were marvellous speakers of Iroquois and Tupinambi.<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<p>A farce so shameful, seen from a distance of sixty +leagues, from St. Germain or the Louvre, appeared +miraculous, awful, terrifying. The Court admired and +trembled. Richelieu to please them did a cowardly +thing. He ordered money to be paid to the exorcisers, +to the nuns.</p> + +<p>The height of favour to which they had risen, drove +the plotters altogether mad. Senseless words were +followed by shameful deeds. Pleading that the nuns +were tired, the exorcisers got them outside the town, +took them about by themselves. One of them, at least +to all appearance, returned pregnant. In the fifth or +sixth month all outward trace of it disappeared, and +the devil within her acknowledged how wickedly he +had slandered the poor nun by making her look so +large. This tale concerning Loudun we learn from the +historian of Louviers.<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a></p> + +<p>It is stated that Father Joseph, after a secret journey +to the spot, saw to what end the matter was coming, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>and noiselessly backed out of it. The Jesuits also +went, tried their exorcisms, did next to nothing, got +scent of the general feeling, and stole off in like +manner.</p> + +<p>But the monks, the Capuchins, were gone so far, +that they could only save themselves by frightening +others. They laid some treacherous snares for the +daring bailiff and his wife, seeking to destroy them, +and thereby quench the coming reaction of justice. +Lastly, they urged on the commissioners to despatch +Grandier. Things could be carried no further: the +nuns themselves were slipping out of their hands. +After that dreadful orgie of sensual rage and immodest +shouting in order to obtain the shedding of human +blood, two or three of them swooned away, were seized +with disgust and horror; vomited up their very selves. +Despite the hideous doom that awaited them if +they spoke the truth, despite the certainty of ending +their days in a dungeon, they owned in church that +they were damned, that they had been playing with +the Devil, and Grandier was innocent.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>They ruined themselves, but could not stay the +issue. A general protest by the town to the King +failed to stay it also. On the 18th August, 1634, +Grandier was condemned to the stake. So violent +were his enemies that, for the second time before +burning him, they insisted on having him stuck with +needles in order to find out the Devil’s marks. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +of his judges would have had even his nails torn out +of him, had not the surgeon withheld his leave.</p> + +<p>They were afraid of the last words their victim might +say on the scaffold. Among his papers there had +been found a manuscript condemning the celibacy of +priests, and those who called him a wizard themselves +believed him to be a freethinker. They remembered +the brave words which the martyrs of free thought had +thrown out against their judges; they called to mind +the last speech of Giordano Bruno, the bold defiance of +Vanini.<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a> So they agreed with Grandier, that if he +were prudent, he should be saved from burning, perhaps +be strangled. The weak priest, being a man of +flesh, yielded to this demand of the flesh, and promised +to say nothing. He spoke not a word on the road, +nor yet upon the scaffold. When he was fairly fastened +to the post, with everything ready, and the fire so +arranged as to enfold him swiftly in smoke and flames, +his own confessor, a monk, set the faggots ablaze without +waiting for the executioner. The victim, pledged to +silence, had only time to say, “So, you have deceived +me!” when the flames whirled fiercely upwards, and +the furnace of pain began, and nothing was audible +save the wretch’s screams.</p> + +<p>Richelieu in his Memoirs says little, and that with +evident shame, concerning this affair. He gives one +to believe that he only followed the reports that reached +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>him, the voice of general opinion. Nevertheless, by +rewarding the exorcisers, by throwing the reins to the +Capuchins, and letting them triumph over France, he +gave no slight encouragement to that piece of knavery. +Gauffridi, thus renewed in Grandier, is about to reappear +in yet fouler plight in the Louviers affair.</p> + +<p>In this very year, 1634, the demons hunted from +Poitou pass over into Normandy, copying again and +again the fooleries of Sainte-Baume, without any trace +of invention, of talent, or of imagination. The frantic +Leviathan of Provence, when counterfeited at Loudun, +loses his Southern sting, and only gets out of a scrape +by talking fluently to virgins in the language of Sodom. +Presently, alas! at Louviers he loses even his old +daring, imbibes the sluggish temper of the North, and +sinks into a sorry sprite.<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Molinos, born at Saragossa in 1627, died a prisoner to the +Inquisition in 1696. His followers were called Quietists.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> An old doctrine which often turns up again in the Middle +Ages. In the seventeenth century it prevails among the convents +of France and Spain. A Norman angel, in the Louviers +business, teaches a nun to despise the body and disregard the +flesh, after the example of Jesus, who bared himself for a +scourging before all the people. He enforces an utter surrendering +of the soul and the will by the example of the Virgin, +“who obeyed the angel Gabriel and conceived, without risk of +evil, for impurity could not come of a spirit.” At Louviers, +David, an old director of some authority, taught “that sin +could be killed by sin, as the better way of becoming innocent +again.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> The <i>History of the Loudun Devils</i>, by the Protestant Aubin, +is an earnest, solid book, confirmed by the <i>Reports</i> of Laubardemont +himself. That of the Capuchin Tranquille is a piece of +grotesquerie. The <i>Proceedings</i> are in the Great Library of Paris. +M. Figuier has given a long and excellent account of the whole +affair, in his <i>History of the Marvellous</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> See Del Rio, Llorente Ricci, &c.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> The capture of Rochelle, the last of the Huguenot strongholds +took place in 1628.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> The same hysteric contagion marks the “Revivals” of a +later period, down to the last mad outbreak in Ireland. The +translator hopes some day to work out the physical question +here stated.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> Anne of Austria, wife of Louis XIII.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> Not of necessity knaves, Mr. Michelet; at least not wilfully +so; but silly hysteric patients, of the spirit-rapping, +revivalist order, victims of nervous derangement, or undue +nervous sensibility.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> A woman named Hammon, of low birth, who entered the +service, and rose high in the good graces of Mary of Medici. +See Dumas’ <i>Celebrated Crimes</i>.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> Indians of the coast of Brazil.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> Esprit de Bosroger, p. 135.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> Both Neapolitans, burnt alive, the former at Venice in +1600, the latter at Toulouse in 1619.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> Wright and Dumas both differ from M. Michelet in their +view of Urban Grandier’s character. The latter especially, +regards him as an innocent victim to his own fearlessness and +the hate of his foes, among whom not the least deadly was +Richelieu himself, who bore him a deep personal grudge.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> +</div> + + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII_2" id="CHAPTER_VIII_2"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE DEMONIACS OF LOUVIERS—MADELINE BAVENT: +1633-1647.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">Had</span> Richelieu allowed the inquiry demanded by Father +Joseph into the doings of the Illuminate Confessors, +some strange light would have been thrown into the +depth of the cloisters, on the daily life of the nuns. +Failing that, we may still learn from the Louviers +story, which is far more instructive than those of Aix +and Loudun, that, notwithstanding the new means of +corruption furnished by Illuminism, the director still +resorted to the old trickeries of witchcraft, of apparitions, +heavenly or infernal, and so forth.<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a></p> + +<p>Of the three directors successively appointed to the +Convent of Louviers in the space of thirty years, David, +the first, was an Illuminate, who forestalled Molinos; +the second, Picart, was a wizard dealing with the Devil; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>and Boullé, the third, was a wizard working in the +guise of an angel.</p> + +<p>There is an excellent book about this business; it is +called <i>The History of Magdalen Bavent</i>, a nun of +Louviers; with her Examination, &c., 1652: Rouen.<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> +The date of this book accounts for the thorough +freedom with which it was written. During the wars +of the Fronde, a bold Oratorian priest, who discovered +the nun in one of the Rouen prisons, took courage +from her dictation to write down the story of her +life.</p> + +<p>Born at Rouen in 1607, Madeline was left an +orphan at nine years old. At twelve she was apprenticed +to a milliner. The confessor, a Franciscan, +held absolute sway in the house of this milliner, who +as maker of clothes for the nuns, was dependent on +the Church. The monk caused the apprentices, whom +he doubtless made drunk with belladonna and other +magical drinks, to believe that they had been taken to +the Sabbath and there married to the devil Dagon. +Three were already possessed by him, and Madeline at +fourteen became the fourth.</p> + +<p>She was a devout worshipper, especially of St. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>Francis. A Franciscan monastery had just been +founded at Louviers, by a lady of Rouen, widow of +lawyer Hennequin, who was hanged for cheating. She +hoped by this good deed of hers to help in saving her +husband’s soul. To that end she sought counsel of a +holy man, the old priest David, who became director +to the new foundation. Standing at the entrance of +the town, with a wood surrounding it, this convent, +born of so tragical a source, seemed quite gloomy and +poor enough for a place of stern devotion. David was +known as author of a <i>Scourge for Rakes</i>, an odd and +violent book against the abuses that defiled the +Cloister.<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> All of a sudden this austere person took +up some very strange ideas concerning purity. He +became an Adamite, preached up the nakedness of +Adam in his days of innocence. The docile nuns of +Louviers sought to subdue and abase the novices, to +break them into obedience, by insisting—of course in +summer-time—that these young Eves should return to +the plight of their common mother. In this state they +were sent out for exercise in some secluded gardens, +and were taken into the chapel itself. Madeline, who +at sixteen had come to be received as a novice, was too +proud, perhaps in those days too pure also, to submit +to so strange a way of life. She got an angry scolding +for having tried at communion to hide her bosom with +the altar-cloth.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> +<p>Not less unwilling was she to uncover her soul, to +confess to the Lady Superior, after the usual monastic +custom of which the abbesses were particularly fond. +She would rather trust herself with old David, who kept +her apart from the rest. He himself confided his own +ailments into her ear. Nor did he hide from her his +inner teaching, the Illuminism, which governed the +convent: “You must kill sin by being made humble +and lost to all sense of pride through sin.” Madeline +was frightened at the depths of depravity reached by +the nuns, who quietly carried out the teaching with +which they had been imbued. She avoided their company, +kept to herself, and succeeded in getting made +one of the doorkeepers.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>David died when she was eighteen. Old age prevented +his going far with the girl. But the vicar +Picart, who succeeded him, was furious in his pursuit +of her; at the confessional spoke to her only of his +love. He made her his sextoness, that he might meet +her alone in chapel. She liked him not; but the nuns +forbade her to have another confessor, lest she might +divulge their little secrets. And thus she was given +over to Picart. He beset her when she was sick almost +to death; seeking to frighten her by insisting that +from David he had received some infernal prescriptions. +He sought to win her compassion by feigning illness +and begging her to come and see him. Thenceforth +he became her master, upset her mind with magic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +potions, and worked her into believing that she had +gone with him to the Sabbath, there to officiate as altar +and victim. At length, exceeding even the Sabbath +usages and daring the scandal that would follow, he +made her to be with child.</p> + +<p>The nuns were afraid of one who knew the state of +their morals; and their interest also bound them to +him. The convent was enriched by his energy, his +good repute, the alms and gifts he attracted towards it +from every quarter. He was building them a large +church. We saw in the Loudun business by what +rivalries and ambitions these houses were led away, +how jealously they strove each to outdo the others. +Through the trust reposed in him by the wealthy, +Picart saw himself raised into the lofty part of benefactor +and second founder of the convent. “Sweetheart,” +he said to Madeline, “that noble church is +all my building! After my death you will see wonders +wrought there. Do you not agree to that?”</p> + +<p>This fine gentleman did not put himself out at +all regarding Madeline. He paid a dowry for her, and +made a nun of her who was already a lay-sister. Thus, +being no longer a doorkeeper, she could live in one of +the inner rooms, and there be brought to bed at her +convenience. By means of certain drugs, and practices +of their own, the convents could do without the help of +doctors. Madeline said that she was delivered several +times. She never said what became of the newly-born.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> + +<p>Picart being now an old man, feared lest Madeline +might in her fickleness fly off some day, and utter +words of remorse to another confessor. So he took a +detestable way of binding her to himself beyond recall, +by forcing her to make a will in which she promised +“to die when he died, and to be wherever he was.” +This was a dreadful thought for the poor soul. Must +she be drawn along with him into the bottomless pit? +Must she go down with him, even into hell? She +deemed herself for ever lost. Become his property, his +mere tool, she was used and misused by him for all +kinds of purposes. He made her do the most shameful +things. He employed her as a magical charm to +gain over the rest of the nuns. A holy wafer steeped +in Madeline’s blood, and buried in the garden, would +be sure to disturb their senses and their minds.</p> + +<p>This was the very year in which Urban Grandier was +burnt. Throughout France, men spoke of nothing +but the devils of Loudun. The Penitentiary of Evreux, +who had been one of the actors on that stage, carried +the dreadful tale back with him to Normandy. Madeline +fancied herself bewitched and knocked about by +devils; followed about by a lewd cat with eyes of fire. +By degrees, other nuns caught the disorder, which +showed itself in odd supernatural jerks and writhings. +Madeline had besought aid of a Capuchin, afterwards +of the Bishop of Evreux. The prioress was not sorry +for a step of which she must have been aware, for she +saw what wealth and fame a like business had brought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +to the Convent of Loudun. But for six years the +bishop turned a deaf ear to the prayer, doubtless +through fear of Richelieu, who was then at work on a +reform of the cloisters.</p> + +<p>Richelieu wanted to bring these scandals to an end. +It was not till his own death, and that of Louis XIII., +during the break-up which followed on the rule of the +Queen and Mazarin, that the priests again betook +themselves to working wonders, and waging war with +the Devil. Picart being dead, they were less shy of a +matter in which so dangerous a man might have +accused others in his turn. They met the visions of +Madeline, by looking out a visionary for themselves. +They got admission into the convent for a certain +Sister Anne of the Nativity, a girl of sanguine, +hysteric temperament, frantic at need and half-mad, +so far at least as to believe in her own lies. A kind +of dogfight was got up between the two. They +besmeared each other with false charges. Anne saw +the Devil quite naked, by Madeline’s side. Madeline +swore to seeing Anne at the Sabbath, along with the +Lady Superior, the Mother-Assistant, and the Mother +of the Novices. Besides this, there was nothing new; +merely a hashing up of the two great trials at Aix and +Loudun. They read and followed the printed narratives +only. No wit, no invention, was shown by +either.</p> + +<p>Anne, the accuser, and her devil Leviathan, were +backed by the Penitentiary of Evreux, one of the chief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +actors in the Loudun affair. By his advice, the Bishop +of Evreux gave orders to disinter the body of Picart, so +that the devils might leave the convent when Picart +himself was taken away from the neighbourhood. +Madeline was condemned, without a hearing, to be disgraced, +to have her body examined for the marks of the +Devil. They tore off her veil and gown, and made her +the wretched sport of a vile curiosity, that would have +pierced her till she bled again, in order to win the +right of sending her to the stake. Leaving to no one +else the care of a scrutiny which was in itself a torture, +these virgins acting as matrons, ascertained if she was +with child or no, shaved all her body, and dug their +needles into her quivering flesh, to find out the insensible +spots that betrayed the mark of the Devil. At +every dig they discovered signs of pain: if they had +not the luck to prove her a Witch, at any rate, they +could revel in her tears and cries.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But Sister Anne was not satisfied, until, on the mere +word of her own devil, Madeline, though acquitted by +the results of this examination, was condemned for the +rest of her life to an <i>In pace</i>. It was said that the +convent would be quieted by her departure; but such +was not the case. The Devil was more violent than +ever; some twenty nuns began to cry out, to prophesy, +to beat themselves.</p> + +<p>Such a sight drew thither a curious crowd from +Rouen, and even from Paris. Yvelin, a young Parisian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +surgeon, who had already seen the farce at Loudun, +came to see that of Louviers. He brought with him a +very clear-headed magistrate, the Commissioner of +Taxes at Rouen. They devoted unwearying attention +to the matter, settled themselves at Louviers, and +carried on their researches for seventeen days.</p> + +<p>From the first day they saw into the plot. A conversation +they had had with the Penitentiary of Evreux +on their entrance into the town, was repeated back to +them by Sister Anne’s demon, as if it had been a revelation. +The scenic arrangements were very bewitching. +The shades of night, the torches, the flickering and +smoking lights, produced effects which had not been +seen at Loudun. The rest of the process was simple +enough. One of the bewitched said that in a certain +part of the garden they would find a charm. They +dug for it, and it was found. Unluckily, Yvelin’s friend, +the sceptical magistrate, never budged from the side of +the leading actress, Sister Anne. At the very edge of +a hole they had just opened he grasped her hand, and +on opening it, found the charm, a bit of black thread, +which she was about to throw into the ground.</p> + +<p>The exorcisers, the penitentiary, priests, and Capuchins, +about the spot, were overwhelmed with confusion. +The dauntless Yvelin, on his own authority, began a +scrutiny, and saw to the uttermost depth of the affair.</p> + +<p>Among the fifty-two nuns, said he, there were six +<i>possessed</i>, but deserving of chastisement. Seventeen +more were victims under a spell, a pack of girls upset<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +by the disease of the cloisters. He describes it with +great precision: the girls are regular but hysterical, +blown out with certain inward storms, lunatics mainly, +and disordered in mind. A nervous contagion has +ruined them; and the first thing to do is to keep them +apart.</p> + +<p>He then, with the liveliness of Voltaire, examines the +tokens by which the priests were wont to recognize the +supernatural character of the bewitched. They foretel, +he allows, but only what never happens. They +translate, indeed, but without understanding; as when, +for instance, they render “<i>ex parte virginis</i>,” by “the +departure of the Virgin.” They know Greek before +the people of Louviers, but cannot speak it before the +doctors of Paris. They cut capers, take leaps of the +easiest kind, climb up the trunk of a tree which a child +three years old might climb. In short, the only thing +they do that is really dreadful and unnatural, is to use +dirtier language than men would ever do.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In tearing off the mask from these people, the surgeon +rendered a great service to humanity. For the +matter was being pushed further; other victims were +about to be made. Besides the charms were found some +papers, ascribed to David or Picart, in which this and +that person were called witches, and marked out for +death. Each one shuddered lest his name should be +found there. Little by little the fear of the priesthood +made its way among the people.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>The rotten age of Mazarin, the first days of the +weak Anne of Austria, were already come. Order and +government were no more. “But one phrase was left +in the language: <i>The Queen is so good.</i>” Her goodness +gave the clergy a chance of getting the upper +hand. The power of the laity entombed with Richelieu, +bishops, priests, and monks, were about to reign. The +bold impiety of the magistrate and his friend Yvelin +imperilled so sweet a hope. Groans and wailings went +forth to the Good Queen, not from the victims, but +from the knaves thus caught in the midst of their +offences. Up to the Court they went, weeping for the +outrage to their religion.</p> + +<p>Yvelin was not prepared for this stroke: he deemed +himself firm at Court, having for ten years borne the +title of Surgeon to the Queen. Before he returned +from Louviers to Paris, the weakness of Anne of +Austria had been tempted into granting another commission +named by his opponents, consisting of an old +fool in his dotage, one Diafoirus of Rouen, and his +nephew, both attached to the priesthood. These did +not fail to discover that the Louviers affair was supernatural, +transcending all art of man.</p> + +<p>Any other than Yvelin would have been discouraged. +The Rouen physicians treated with utter scorn this +surgeon, this barber fellow, this mere sawbones. The +Court gave him no encouragement. Still, he held on +his way in a treatise which will live yet. He accepts +this battle of science against priestcraft, declaring, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +Wyer did in the sixteenth century, that “in all such +matters the right judge is not the priest but the man +of science.” With great difficulty he found some one +bold enough to print, but no one willing to sell his +little work. So in broad daylight the heroic young +man set about distributing it with his own hands. +Placing himself on the Pont Neuf, the most frequented +spot in Paris, at the foot of Henry the Fourth’s statue, +he gave out copies of his memoir to the passers by. +At the end of it they found a formal statement of the +shameful fraud, how in the hand of the female demons +the magistrate had caught the unanswerable evidence +of their dishonour.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Return we to the wretched Madeline. Her enemy, +the Penitentiary of Evreux, by whose influence she had +been searched with needles, carried her off as his prey +to the heart of the episcopal dungeons in that town. +Below an underground passage dipped a cave, below +the cave a cell, where the poor human creature lay +buried in damps and darkness. Reckoning upon her +speedy death, her dread companions had not even the +kindness to give her a piece of linen for the dressing +of her ulcer. There, as she lay in her own filth, she +suffered alike from pain and want of cleanliness. The +whole night long she was disturbed by the running to +and fro of ravenous rats, those terrors of every prison, +who were wont to nibble men’s ears and noses.</p> + +<p>But all these horrors fell short of those which her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +tyrant, the Penitentiary, dealt out to her himself. Day +after day he would come into the upper vault and speak +to her through the mouth of her pit, threatening her, +commanding her, and making her, whether she would +or no, confess to this or that crime as having been +wrought by others. At length she ceased to eat. +Fearing that she might die at once, he drew her for +a while out of her <i>In Pace</i>, and laid her in the upper +vault. Then, in his rage against Yvelin’s memoir, he +cast her back into her sewer below.</p> + +<p>That glimpse of light, that short renewal and sudden +death of hope, gave the crowning impulse to her +despair. Her wound was closing, so that her strength +was greater. She was seized with a deep and violent +thirst for death. She swallowed spiders, but instead +of dying, only brought them up again. Pounded +glass she swallowed, but in vain. Finding an old bit +of sharp iron, she tried to cut her throat, but could +not. Then, as an easier way, she dug the iron into +her belly. For four hours she worked and bled, but +without success. Even this wound shortly began to +close. To crown all, the life she hated so returned to +her stronger than before. Her heart’s death was of +no avail.</p> + +<p>She became once more a woman; still, alas! an +object of desire, of temptation for her jailers, those +brutish varlets of the bishopric, who, notwithstanding +the horror of the place, and the unhappy creature’s +own sad and filthy plight, would come to make sport<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +of her, believing that they might do all their pleasure +against a Witch. But an angel succoured her, so she +said. From men and rats alike she defended herself. +But against herself, herself she could not protect. Her +prison corrupted her mind. She dreamed of the Devil, +besought him to come and see her, to restore to her the +shameful pleasures in which she had wallowed at +Louviers. He never deigned to come back. Once +more amidst this corruption of her senses, she fell +back on her old desire for death. One of the jailers +had given her a drug to kill the rats. She was just +going to swallow it herself, when an angel—an angel, +was it, or a devil?—stayed her hand, reserving her +for other crimes.</p> + +<p>Thenceforward—sunk into the lowest depths of vileness, +become an unspeakable cipher of cowardice and +servility—she signed endless lists of crimes which she +had never committed. Was she worth the trouble of +burning? Many had given up that idea, but the ruthless +Penitentiary clung to it still. He offered money +to a Wizard of Evreux, then in prison, if he would +bear such witness as might bring about the death of +Madeline.</p> + +<p>For the future, however, they could use her for other +purposes—to bear false witness, to become a tool for +any slander. Whenever they sought the ruin of any +man, they had only to drag down to Louviers or to +Evreux this accursed ghost of a dead woman, living +only to make others die. In this way she was brought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +out to kill with her words a poor man named Duval. +What the Penitentiary dictated to her, she repeated +readily: when he told her by what marks she should +know Duval, whom she had never seen, she pointed +him out and said she had seen him at the Sabbath. +Through her it fell out that he was burnt!</p> + +<p>She owned her dreadful crime, and shuddered to +think what answer she could make before God. She +was fallen into such contempt that no one now deigned +to look after her. The doors stood wide open: sometimes +she had the keys herself. But where now should +she go, object as she was of so much dread? Thenceforth +the world repelled her—cast her out: the only +world she had left was her dungeon.</p> + +<p>During the anarchy of Mazarin and his Good Lady +the chief authority remained with the Parliaments. +That of Rouen, hitherto the friendliest to the clergy, +grew wroth at last at their arrogant way of examining, +ordering, and burning people. A mere decree of the +Bishop had caused Picart’s body to be disinterred and +thrown into the common sewer. And now they were +passing on to the trial of Boullé, the curate, and supposed +abettor of Picart. Listening to the plaint of +Picart’s family, the Parliament sentenced the Bishop of +Evreux to replace him at his own expense in his tomb +at Louviers. They called up Boullé, undertook his +trial themselves, and at the same time sent for the +wretched Madeline from Evreux to Rouen.</p> + +<p>People were afraid that Yvelin and the magistrate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +who had caught the nuns in the very act of cheating, +would be made to appear. Hieing away to Paris, they +found the knave Mazarin ready to protect their knavish +selves. The whole matter was appealed to the King’s +Council—an indulgent court, without eyes or ears—whose +care it was to bury, hush up, bedarken everything +connected with justice.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, some honey-tongued priests had comforted +Madeline in her Rouen dungeon; they heard +her confessions, and enjoined her, by way of penance, +to ask forgiveness of her persecutors, the nuns of +Louviers. Thenceforth, happen what might, Madeline +could never more be brought in evidence against those +who had thus bound her fast. It was a triumph indeed +for the clergy, and the victory was sung by a +knave of an exorciser, the Capuchin Esprit de Bosroger, +in his <i>Piety Afflicted</i>, a farcical monument of +stupidity, in which he accuses, unawares, the very people +he fancies himself defending.</p> + +<p>The Fronde, as I said before, was a revolution for +honest ends. Fools saw only its outer form—its +laughable aspects; but at bottom it was a serious +business, a moral reaction. In August, 1647, with the +first breath of freedom, Parliament stepped forward +and cut the knot. It ordered, in the first place, the +destruction of the Louviers Sodom; the girls were to +be dispersed and sent back to their kinsfolk. In the +next, it decreed that thenceforth the bishops of the +province should, four times a-year, send special confessors<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +to the nunneries, to ascertain that such foul +abuses were not renewed.</p> + +<p>One comfort, however, the clergy were to receive. +They were allowed to burn the bones of Picart and the +living body of Boullé, who, after making public confession +in the cathedral, was drawn on a hurdle to the +Fish Market, and there, on the 21st August, 1647, +devoured by the flames. Madeline, or rather her corpse, +remained in the prisons of Rouen.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> It was very easy to cheat those who wished to be cheated. +By this time celibacy was harder to practise than in the Middle +Ages, the number of fasts and bloodlettings being greatly +reduced. Many died from the nervous plethora of a life so +cruelly sluggish. They made no secret of their torments, +owning them to their sisters, to their confessor, to the Virgin +herself. A pitiful thing, a thing to sorrow for, not to ridicule. +In Italy, a nun besought the Virgin for pity’s sake to grant +her a lover.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> I know of no book more important, more dreadful, or +worthier of being reprinted. It is the most powerful narrative +of its class. <i>Piety Afflicted</i>, by the Capuchin Esprit de +Bosroger, is a work immortal in the annals of tomfoolery. The +two excellent pamphlets by the doughty surgeon, Yvelin, the +<i>Inquiry</i> and the <i>Apology</i>, are in the Library of Ste. Genevieve.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> See Floquet; <i>Parliament of Normandy</i>, vol. v. p. 636.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_IX_2" id="CHAPTER_IX_2"></a>CHAPTER IX.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE DEVIL TRIUMPHS IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Fronde was a kind of Voltaire. The spirit of +Voltaire, old as France herself, but long restrained, +burst forth in the political, and anon in the religious, +world. In vain did the Great King seek to establish +a solemn gravity. Beneath it laughter went on.</p> + +<p>Was there nought else, then, but laughter and jesting? +Nay, it was the Advent of Reason. By means +of Kepler, of Galileo, Descartes, Newton, there was +now triumphantly enthroned the reasonable dogma of +faith in the unchangeable laws of nature. Miracle +dared no longer show itself, or, when it did dare, was +hissed down. In other and better words, the fantastic +miracles of mere whim had vanished, and in their +stead was seen the mighty miracle of the universe—more +regular, and therefore more divine.</p> + +<p>The great rebellion decidedly won the day. You +may see it working in the bold forms of those earlier +outbursts; in the irony of Galileo; in the absolute +doubt wherewith Descartes leads off his system. The +Middle Ages would have said, “’Tis the spirit of the +Evil One.”</p> + +<p>The victory, however, is not a negative one, but very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +affirmative and surely based. The spirit of nature +and the natural sciences, those outlaws of an elder +day, return in might irresistible. All idle shadows +are hunted out by the real, the substantial.</p> + +<p>They had said in their folly, “Great Pan is dead.” +Anon, observing that he was yet alive, they had made +him a god of evil: amid such a chaos they might well +be deceived. But, lo! he lives, and lives harmonious, +in the grand stability of laws that govern alike the +star and the deep-hidden mystery of life.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Of this period two things, by no means contradictory, +may be averred: the spirit of Satan conquers, +while the reign of witchcraft is at an end.</p> + +<p>All marvel-mongering, hellish or holy, is fallen very +sick at last. Wizards and theologians are powerless +alike. They are become, as it were, empirics, who +pray in vain for some supernatural change, some whim +of Providence, to work the wonders which science asks +of nature and reason only.</p> + +<p>For all their zeal, the Jansenists of this century +succeed only in bringing forth a miracle very small +and very ridiculous. Still less lucky are the rich and +powerful Jesuits, who cannot get a miracle done at +any price; who have to be satisfied with the visions of +a hysteric girl, Sister Mary Alacoque, of an exceedingly +sanguine habit, with eyes for nothing but blood. +In view of so much impotence, magic and witchcraft +may find some solace for themselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + +<p>While the old faith in the supernatural was thus declining, +priests and witches shared a common fate. In +the fears, the fancies of the Middle Ages, these two +were bound up together. Together they were still to +face the general laughter and disdain. When Molière +made fun of the Devil and his “seething cauldrons,” +the clergy were deeply stirred, deeming that the belief +in Paradise had fallen equally low.</p> + +<p>A government of laymen only, that of the great +Colbert, who was long the virtual King of France, +could not conceal its scorn for such old questions. It +emptied the prisons of the wizards whom the Rouen +Parliament still crowded into them, and, in 1672, forbade +the law courts from entertaining any prosecutions +for witchcraft. The Parliament protested, and gave +people to understand that by this denial of sorcery +many other things were put in peril. Any doubting +of these lower mysteries would cause many minds to +waver from their belief in mysteries of a higher sort.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The Sabbath disappears, but why? Because it +exists everywhere. It enters into the people’s habits, +becomes the practice of their daily life. The Devil, +the Witches, had long been reproached with loving +death more than life, with hating and hindering the +generative powers of nature. And now in the pious +seventeenth century, when the Witch is fast dying out, +a love of barrenness, and a fear of being fruitful, are +found to be, in very truth, the one prevalent disease.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> + +<p>If Satan ever read, he would have good cause for +laughter as he read the casuists who took him up +where he left off. For there was one difference at +least between them. In times of terror Satan made +provision for the famished, took pity on the poor. But +these fellows have compassion only for the rich. With +his vices, his luxury, his court life, the rich man is still +a needy miserable beggar. He comes to confession +with a humbly threatening air, in order to wrest from +his doctor permission to sin with a good conscience. +Some day will be told, by him who may have the +courage to tell it, an astounding tale of the cowardly +things done, and the shameful tricks so basely ventured +by the casuist who wished to keep his penitent. +From Navarro to Escobar the strangest bargains were +continually made at the wife’s expense, and some little +wrangling went on after that. But all this would not +do. The casuist was conquered, was altogether a +coward. From Zoccoli to Liguori—1670 to 1770—he +gave up banning Nature.</p> + +<p>The Devil, so it was said, showed two countenances +at the Sabbath: the one in front seemed threatening, +the other behind was farcical. Now that he has nothing +to do with it, he has generously given the latter +to the casuist.</p> + +<p>It must have amused him to see his trusty friends +settled among honest folk, in the serious households +swayed by the Church. The worldling who bettered +himself by that great resource of the day, lucrative<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +adultery, laughed at prudence, and boldly followed his +natural bent. Pious families, on the other hand, followed +nothing but their Jesuits. In order to preserve, +to concentrate their property, to leave each one wealthy +heir, they entered on the crooked ways of the new +spiritualism. Buried in a mysterious gloom, losing at +the faldstool all heed and knowledge of themselves, +the proudest of them followed the lesson taught by +Molinos: “In this world we live to suffer. But in +time that suffering is soothed and lulled to sleep by a +habit of pious indifference. We thus attain to a negation. +Death do you say? Not altogether. Without +mingling in the world, or heeding its voices, we get +thereof an echo dim and soft. It is like a windfall of +Divine Grace, so mild and searching; never more so +than in moments of self-abasement, when the will is +wholly obscured.”</p> + +<p>Exquisite depths of feeling! Alas, poor Satan! +how art thou left behind! Bend low, acknowledge, +and admire thy children!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The physicians who, having sprung from the popular +empiricism which men called witchcraft, were far more +truly his lawful children, were too forgetful of him +who had left them his highest patrimony, as being his +favoured heirs. They were ungrateful to the Witch, +who laid the way for themselves. Nay, they went +further than that. On this fallen king, their father +and creator, they dealt some hard strokes with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +whip. “<i>Thou, too, my son?</i>” They gave the jesters +cruel weapons against him.</p> + +<p>Even in the sixteenth century there were some to +scoff at the spirit who through all time, from the days of +the Sibyl to those of the Witch, had filled and troubled +the woman. They maintained that he was neither +God nor Devil, but only “the Prince of the Air,” as +the Middle Ages called him. Satan was nothing but +a disease!</p> + +<p><i>Possession</i> to them was only a result of the prison-like, +sedentary, dry, unyielding life of the cloister. As +for the 6500 devils in Gauffridi’s little Madeline, and +the hosts that fought in the bodies of maddened nuns at +Loudun and Louviers, these doctors called them physical +storms. “If Æolus can shake the earth,” said Yvelin, +“why not also the body of a girl?” La Cadière’s +surgeon, of whom more anon, had the coolness to say, +“it was nothing more than a choking of the womb.”</p> + +<p>Wonderful descent! Routed by the simplest remedies, +by exorcisms after Molière, the terror of the +Middle Ages would flee away and vanish utterly!</p> + +<p>This is too sweeping a reduction of the question. +Satan was more than that. The doctors saw neither +the height nor the depth of him; neither his grand +revolt in the form of science, nor that strange mixture +of impurity and pious intrigue, that union of +Tartuffe and Priapus, which he brought to pass about +the year 1700.</p> + +<p>People fancy they know something about the eighteenth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +century, and yet have never seen one of its +most essential features. The greater its outward civilization, +the clearer and fuller the light that bathed its +uppermost layers, so much the more hermetically +sealed lay all those widespread lower realms, of priests +and monks, and women credulous, sickly, prone to believe +whatever they heard or saw. In the years before +Cagliostro, Mesmer, and the magnetisers, who appeared +towards the close of the century, a good many priests +still worked away at the old dead witchcraft. They +talked of nothing but enchantments, spread the fear of +them abroad, and undertook to hunt out the devils +with their shameful exorcisms. Many set up for +wizards, well knowing how little risk they ran, now +that people were no longer burnt. They knew they +were sheltered by the milder spirit of their age, by the +tolerant teachings of their foes the philosophers, by +the levity of the great jesters, who thought that anything +could be extinguished with a laugh. Now it +was just because people laughed, that these gloomy +plot-spinners went their way without much fear. The +new spirit, that of the Regent namely, was sceptical +and easy-natured. It shone forth in the <i>Persian +Letters</i>, it shone forth everywhere in the all-powerful +journalist who filled that century, Voltaire. At any +shedding of human blood his whole heart rises indignant. +All other matters only make him laugh. Little +by little, the maxim of the worldly public seems to be, +“Punish nothing, and laugh at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>This tolerant spirit suffered Cardinal Tencin to appear +in public as his sister’s husband. This, too, it +was that ensured to the masters of convents the peaceful +possession of their nuns, who were even allowed to +make declarations of pregnancy, to register the births +of their children.<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> This tolerant temper made excuses +for Father Apollinaire, when he was caught in a shameful +piece of exorcism. That worthy Jesuit, Cauvrigny, +idol of the provincial convents, paid for his adventures +only by a recall to Paris, in other words—by fresh +preferment.</p> + +<p>Such also was the punishment awarded the famous +Jesuit, Girard, who was loaded with honours when he +should have got the rope. He died in the sweetest +savour of holiness. His was the most curious affair of +that century. It enables us to probe the peculiar methods +of that day, to realize the coarse jumble of jarring +machinery which was then at work. As a thing of +course, it was preluded by the dangerous suavities of +the Song of Songs. It was carried on by Mary +Alacoque, with a marriage of Bleeding Hearts spiced +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>with the morbid blandishments of Molinos. To these +Girard added the whisperings of Satan and the terrors +of enchantment. He was at once the Devil and the +Devil’s exorciser. At last, horrible to say, instead of +getting justice done to her, the unhappy girl whom he +sacrificed with so much cruelty, was persecuted to +death. She disappeared, shut up perhaps by a <i>lettre +de cachet</i>, and buried alive in her tomb.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> The noble Chapter of Canons of Pignan were sixteen in +number. In one year the provost received from the nuns sixteen +declarations of pregnancy. (See MS. History of Besse, +by M. Renoux.) One good fruit of this publicity was the decrease +of infanticide among the religious orders. At the price +of a little shame, the nuns let their children live, and doubtless +became good mothers. Those of Pignan put their babes out +to nurse with the neighbouring peasants, who brought them up +as their own.</p></div> +</div> + + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_X_2" id="CHAPTER_X_2"></a>CHAPTER X.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>FATHER GIRARD AND LA CADIERE: 1730.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Jesuits were unlucky. Powerful at Versailles, +where they ruled the Court, they had not the slightest +credit with Heaven. Not one tiny miracle could they +do. The Jansenists overflowed, at any rate, with +touching stories of miracles done. Untold numbers +of sick, infirm, halt, and paralytic obtained a momentary +cure at the tomb of the Deacon Pâris. Crushed by a +terrible succession of plagues, from the time of the +Great King to the Regency, when so many were reduced +to beggary, these unfortunate people went to +entreat a poor, good fellow, a virtuous imbecile, a +saint in spite of his absurdities, to make them whole. +And what need, after all, of laughter? His life is far +more touching than ridiculous. We are not to be +surprised if these good folk, in the emotion of seeing +their benefactor’s tomb, suddenly forgot their own +sufferings. The cure did not last, but what matter? +A miracle indeed had taken place, a miracle of devotion, +of lovingkindness, of gratitude. Latterly, with +all this some knavery began to mingle, but at that +time, in 1728, these wonderful popular scenes were +very pure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Jesuits would have given anything for the least +of the miracles they denied. For well-nigh fifty years +they worked away, embellishing with fables and anecdotes +their Legend of the Sacred Heart, the story of +Mary Alacoque. For twenty-five or thirty years they +had been trying to convince the world that their helpmate, +James II. of England, not content with healing +the king’s evil (in his character of King of France), +amused himself after his death in making the dumb to +speak, the lame to walk straight, and the squint-eyed +to see properly. They who were cured squinted worse +than ever. As for the dumb, it so chanced that she +who played this part was a manifest rogue, caught in +the very act of stealing. She roamed the provinces: +at every chapel of any renowned saint she was healed +by a miracle and received alms, and then began her +work again elsewhere.</p> + +<p>For getting wonders wrought the South was a better +country. There might be found a plenty of nervous +women, easy to excite, the very ones to make into +somnambulists, subjects of miracle, bearers of mystic +marks, and so forth.</p> + +<p>At Marseilles the Jesuits had on their side a bishop, +Belzunce, a bold, hearty sort of man, renowned in the +memorable plague,<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> but credulous and narrow-minded +withal; under whose countenance many a bold venture +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>might be made. Beside him they had placed a Jesuit +of Franche-Comté, not wanting in mind, whose austere +outside did not prevent his preaching pleasantly, in +an ornate and rather worldly style, such as the ladies +loved. A true Jesuit, he made his way by two different +methods, now by feminine intrigue, anon by his +holy utterances. Girard had on his side neither years +nor figure; he was a man of forty-seven, tall, withered, +weak-looking, of dirty aspect, and given to spitting +without end.<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> He had long been a tutor, even till he +was thirty-seven; and he preserved some of his college +tastes. For the last ten years, namely, ever since the +great plague, he had been confessor to the nuns. With +them he had fared well, winning over them a high +degree of power by enforcing a method seemingly +quite at variance with the Provencial temperament, by +teaching the doctrine and the discipline of a mystic +death, of absolute passiveness, of entire forgetfulness +of self. The dreadful crisis through which they had +just passed had deadened their spirits, and weakened +hearts already unmanned by a kind of morbid languor. +Under Girard’s leading, the Carmelites of Marseilles +carried their mysticism to great lengths; and first +among them was Sister Remusat, who passed for a +saint.</p> + +<p>In spite, or perhaps by reason, of this success, the +Jesuits took Girard away from Marseilles: they wanted +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>to employ him in raising anew their house at Toulon. +Colbert’s splendid institution, the Seminary for Naval +Chaplains, had been entrusted to the Jesuits, with the +view of cleansing the young chaplains from the influence +of the Lazarists, who ruled them almost everywhere. +But the two Jesuits placed in charge were +men of small capacity. One was a fool; the other, +Sabatier, remarkable, in spite of his age, for heat of +temper. With all the insolence of our old navy he +never kept himself under the least control. In +Toulon he was reproached, not for having a mistress, +nor yet a married woman, but for intriguing in a way +so insolent and outrageous as to drive the husband +wild. He sought to keep the husband specially alive +to his own shame, to make him wince with every kind +of pang. Matters were pushed so far that at last the +husband died outright.</p> + +<p>Still greater was the scandal caused by the Jesuits’ +rivals, the Observantines, who, having spiritual charge +of a sisterhood at Ollioules, made mistresses openly of +the nuns, and, not content with this, dared even to +seduce the little boarders. One Aubany, the Father +Guardian, violated a girl of thirteen; when her parents +pursued him, he found shelter at Marseilles.</p> + +<p>As Director of the Seminary for Chaplains, Girard +began, through his seeming sternness and his real +dexterity, to win for the Jesuits an ascendant over +monks thus compromised, and over parish-priests of +very vulgar manners and scanty learning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> + +<p>In those Southern regions, where the men are abrupt, +not seldom uncouth of speech and appearance, the +women have a lively relish for the gentle gravity of the +men of the North: they feel thankful to them for +speaking a language at once aristocratic, official, and +French.</p> + +<p>When Girard reached Toulon, he must already have +gained full knowledge of the ground before him. +Already had he won over a certain Guiol, who sometimes +came to Marseilles, where she had a daughter, a +Carmelite nun. This Guiol, wife of a small carpenter, +threw herself entirely into his hands, even more so +than he wanted. She was of ripe age, extremely vehement +for a woman of forty-seven, depraved and ready +for anything, ready to do him service of whatever kind, +no matter what he might do or be, whether he were a +sinner or a saint.</p> + +<p>This Guiol, besides her Carmelite daughter at Marseilles, +had another, a lay-sister to the Ursulines of +Toulon. The Ursulines, an order of teaching nuns, +formed everywhere a kind of centre; their parlour, the +resort of mothers, being a half-way stage between the +cloister and the world. At their house, and doubtless +through their means, Girard saw the ladies of the +town, among them one of forty years, a spinster, Mdlle. +Gravier, daughter of an old contractor for the royal +works at the Arsenal. This lady had a shadow who +never left her, her cousin La Reboul, daughter of a +skipper and sole heiress to herself; a woman, too, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +really meant to succeed her, though very nearly +her own age, being five-and-thirty. Around these +gradually grew a small roomful of Girard’s admirers, +who became his regular penitents. Among them were +sometimes introduced a few young girls, such as +La Cadière, a tradesman’s daughter and herself a +sempstress, La Laugier, and La Batarelle, the daughter +of a waterman. They had godly readings together, +and now and then small suppers. But they were +specially interested in certain letters which recounted +the miracles and ecstacies of Sister Remusat, who was +still alive; her death occurring in February, 1730. +What a glorious thing for Father Girard, who had led +her to a pitch so lofty! They read, they wept, they +shouted with admiration. If they were not ecstatic +yet, they were not far from being so. Already, to +please her kinswoman, would La Reboul throw herself +at times into a strange plight by holding her breath +and pinching her nose.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Among these girls and women the least frivolous +certainly was Catherine Cadière, a delicate, sickly girl +of seventeen, taken up wholly with devotion and +charity, of a mournful countenance, which seemed to +say that, young as she was, she had felt more keenly +than anyone else the great misfortunes of the time, +those, namely, of Provence and Toulon. This is easily +explained. She was born during the frightful famine +of 1709; and just as the child was growing into a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +maiden, she witnessed the fearful scenes of the great +plague. Those two events seemed to have left their +mark upon her, to have taken her out of the present +into a life beyond.</p> + +<p>This sad flower belonged wholly to Toulon, to the +Toulon of that day. To understand her better we +must remember what that town is and what it was.</p> + +<p>Toulon is a thoroughfare, a landing-place, the entrance +of an immense harbour and a huge arsenal. +The sense of this carries the traveller away, and prevents +his seeing Toulon itself. There is a town however +there, indeed an ancient city. It contains two +different sets of people, the stranger functionaries, and +the genuine Toulonnese, who are far from friendly to +the former, regarding them with envy, and often +roused to rebellion by the swaggering of the naval +officers. All these differences were concentred in the +gloomy streets of a town in those days choked up +within its narrow girdle of fortifications. The most +peculiar feature about this small dark town is, that it +lies exactly between two broad seas of light, between +the marvellous mirror of its roadstead and its glorious +amphitheatre of mountains, baldheaded, of a dazzling +grey, that blinds you in the noonday sun. All the +gloomier look the streets themselves. Such as do not +lead straight to the harbour and draw some light +therefrom, are plunged at all hours in deep gloom. +Filthy byeways, and small tradesmen with shops ill-furnished, +invisible to anyone coming for the day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +such is the general aspect of the place. The interior +forms a maze of passages in which you may find plenty +of churches, and old convents now turned into barracks. +Copious kennels, laden and foul with sewage +water, run down in torrents. The air is almost stagnant, +and in so dry a climate you are surprised at +seeing so much moisture.</p> + +<p>In front of the new theatre a passage called La +Rue de l’Hôpital leads from the narrow Rue Royale +into the narrow Rue des Cannoniers. It might almost +be called a blind alley. The sun, however, just looks +down upon it at noon, but, finding the place so dismal, +passes on forthwith, and leaves the passage to its +wonted darkness.</p> + +<p>Among these gloomy dwellings the smallest was that +of the Sister Cadière, a retail dealer, or huckster. +There was no entrance but by the shop, and only one +room on each floor. The Cadières were honest pious +folk, and Madame Cadière the mirror of excellence +itself. These good people were not altogether poor. +Besides their small dwelling in the town, they too, +like most of their fellow-townsmen, had a country-house +of their own. This latter is, commonly, a +mere hut, a little stony plot of ground yielding a +little wine. In the days of its naval greatness, under +Colbert and his son, the wondrous bustle in the harbour +brought some profit to the town. French money +flowed in. The many great lords who passed that +way brought their households along with them, an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +army of wasteful domestics, who left a good many +things behind them. All this came to a sudden end. +The artificial movement stopped short: even the +workmen at the arsenal could no longer get their +wages; shattered vessels were left unrepaired; and at +last the timbers themselves were sold.</p> + +<p>Toulon was keenly sensible of the rebound. At +the siege of 1707 it seemed as if dead. What, then, +was it in the dreadful year 1709, the 71st of Louis +XIV., when every plague at once, a hard winter, a +famine, and an epidemic, seemed bent on utterly destroying +France? The very trees of Provence were +not spared. All traffic came to an end. The roads +were covered with starving beggars. Begirt with +bandits who stopped up every outlet, Toulon quaked +for fear.</p> + +<p>To crown all, Madame Cadière, in this year of +sorrow, was with child. Three boys she had borne +already. The eldest stayed in the shop to help his +father. The second was with the Friar Preachers, and +destined to become a Dominican, or a Jacobin as they +were then called. The third was studying in the +Jesuit seminary as a priest to be. The wedded couple +wanted a daughter; Madame prayed to Heaven for a +saint. She spent her nine months in prayer, fasting, +or eating nought but rye bread. She had a daughter, +namely Catherine. The babe was very delicate and, +like her brothers, unhealthy. The dampness of an +ill-aired dwelling, and the poor nourishment gained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +from a mother so thrifty and more than temperate, had +something to do with this. The brothers had scrofulous +glands, and in her earlier years the little thing +suffered from the same cause. Without being altogether +ill, she had all the suffering sweetness of a sickly +child. She grew up without growing stronger. At +an age when other children have all the strength and +gladness of upswelling life in them, she was already +saying, “I have not long to live.”</p> + +<p>She took the small-pox, which left her rather marked. +I know not if she was handsome, but it is clear that +she was very winning, with all the charming contrasts, +the twofold nature of the maidens of Provence. Lively +and pensive, gay and sad, by turns, she was a good +little worshipper, but given to harmless pranks withal. +Between the long church services, if she went into the +country with girls of her own age, she made no fuss +about doing as they did, but would sing and dance +away and flourish her tambourine. But such days +were few. Most times her chief delight was to climb +up to the top of the house, to bring herself nearer +heaven, to obtain a glimpse of daylight, to look out, +perhaps, on some small strip of sea, or some pointed +peak in the vast wilderness of hills. Thenceforth to +her eyes they were serious still, but less unkindly than +before, less bald and leafless, in a garment thinly +strewn with arbutus and larch.</p> + +<p>This dead town of Toulon numbered 26,000 inhabitants +when the plague began. It was a huge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +throng cooped up in one spot. But from this centre +let us take away a girdle of great convents with their +backs upon the ramparts, convents of Minorites, +Ursulines, Visitandines, Bernardines, Oratorians, +Jesuits, Capuchins, Recollects; those of the Refuge, +the Good Shepherd, and, midmost of all, the enormous +convent of Dominicans. Add to these the parish +churches, parsonages, bishop’s palace, and it seems +that the clergy filled up the place, while the people +had no room at all, to speak of.<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a></p> + +<p>On a centre so closely thronged, we may guess how +savagely the plague would fasten. Toulon’s kind heart +was also to prove her bane. She received with generous +warmth some fugitives from Marseilles. These are just +as likely to have brought the plague with them, as certain +bales of wool to which was traced the first appearance +of that scourge. The chief men of the place were +about to fly, to scatter themselves over the country. +But the First Consul, M. d’Antrechaus, a man of heroic +soul, withheld them, saying, with a stern air, “And +what will the people do, sirs, in this impoverished town, +if the rich folk carry their purses away?” So he held +them back, and compelled all persons to stay where +they were. Now the horrors of Marseilles had been +ascribed to the mutual intercourse of its inhabitants. +D’Antrechaus, however, tried a system entirely the +reverse, tried to isolate the people of Toulon, by shutting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>them up in their houses. Two huge hospitals +were established, in the roadstead and in the hills. All +who did not come to these, had to keep at home on +pain of death. For seven long months D’Antrechaus +carried out a wager, which would have been held impossible, +the keeping, namely, and feeding in their own +houses, of a people numbering 26,000 souls. All that +time Toulon was one vast tomb. No one stirred save +in the morning, to deal out bread from door to door, +and then to carry off the dead. Most of the doctors +perished, and the magistrates all but D’Antrechaus. +The gravediggers also perished, and their places were +filled by condemned deserters, who went to work with +brutal and headlong violence. Bodies were thrown into +the tumbril, head downwards, from the fourth storey. +One mother, having just lost her little girl, shrunk +from seeing her poor wee body thus hurled below, and +by dint of bribing, managed to get it lowered the +proper way. As they were bearing it off, the child +came to; it lived still. They took her up again, and +she survived, to become the grandmother of the learned +M. Brun, who wrote an excellent history of the port.</p> + +<p>Poor little Cadière was exactly the same age as this +girl who died and lived again, being twelve years old, +an age for her sex so full of danger. In the general +closing of the churches, in the putting down of all +holidays, and chiefly of Christmas, wont to be so merry +a season at Toulon, the child’s fancy saw the end of all +things. It seems as though she never quite shook off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +that fancy. Toulon never raised her head again. She +retained her desert-like air. Everything was in ruins, +everyone in mourning; widowers, orphans, desperate +beings were everywhere seen. In the midst, a mighty +shadow, moved D’Antrechaus himself; he had seen all +about him perish, his sons, his brothers, and his colleagues; +and was now so gloriously ruined, that he was +fain to look to his neighbours for his daily meals. The +poor quarrelled among themselves for the honour of +feeding him.</p> + +<p>The young girl told her mother that she would never +more wear any of her smarter clothes, and she must, +therefore, sell them. She would do nothing but wait +upon the sick, and she was always dragging her to the +hospital at the end of the street. A little neighbour-girl +of fourteen, Laugier by name, who had lost her +father, was living with her mother in great wretchedness. +Catherine was continually going to them with +food and clothes, and anything she could get for them. +She begged her parents to defray the cost of +apprenticing Laugier to a dressmaker; and such was +her sway over them that they could not refuse to incur +so heavy an outlay. Her piety, her many little charms +of soul, rendered her all-powerful. She was impassioned +in her charity, giving not alms only, but love as +well. She longed to make Laugier perfect, rejoiced to +have her by her side, and often gave her half her bed. +The pair had been admitted among the <i>Daughters of +Saint Theresa</i>, the third order established by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +Carmelites. Mdlle. Cadière was their model nun, and +seemed at thirteen a Carmelite complete. Already she +devoured some books of mysticism borrowed from a +Visitandine. In marked contrast with herself seemed +Laugier, now a girl of fifteen, who would do nothing +but eat and look handsome. So indeed she was, and +on that account had been made sextoness to the chapel +of Saint Theresa. This led her into great familiarities +with the priests, and so, when her conduct called for +her expulsion from the congregation, another authority, +the vicar-general, flew into such a rage as to declare +that, if she were expelled, the chapel itself would be +interdicted.</p> + +<p>Both these girls had the temperament of their +country, suffering from great excitement of the nerves, +and from what was called flatulence of the womb. But +in each the result was entirely different; being very +carnal in the case of Laugier, who was gluttonous, lazy, +passionate; but wholly cerebral with regard to the pure +and gentle Catherine, who owing to her ailments or to +a lively imagination that took everything up into itself, +had no ideas concerning sex. “At twenty she was like +a child of seven.” For nothing cared she but praying +and giving of alms; she had no wish at all to marry. +At the very word “marriage,” she would fall a-weeping, +as if she had been asked to abandon God.</p> + +<p>They had lent her the life of her patroness, Catherine +of Genoa, and she had bought for herself <i>The Castle of +the Soul</i>, by St. Theresa. Few confessors could follow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +her in these mystic flights. They who spoke clumsily +of such things gave her pain. She could not keep +either her mother’s confessor, the cathedral-priest, or +another, a Carmelite, or even the old Jesuit Sabatier. +At sixteen she found a priest of Saint Louis, a highly +spiritual person. She spent days in church, to such a +degree that her mother, by this time a widow and +often in want of her, had to punish her, for all her +own piety, on her return home. It was not the girl’s +fault, however: during her ecstasies she quite forgot +herself. So great a saint was she accounted by the +girls of her own age, that sometimes at mass they +seemed to see the Host drawn on by the moving +power of her love, until it flew up and placed itself of +its own accord in her mouth.</p> + +<p>Her two young brothers differed from each other in +their feelings towards Girard. The elder, who lived +with the Friar Preachers, shared the natural dislike of +all Dominicans for the Jesuit. The other, who was +studying with the Jesuits in order to become a priest, +regarded Girard as a great man, a very saint, a man to +honour as a hero. Of this younger brother, sickly +like herself, Catherine was very fond. His ceaseless +talking about Girard was sure to do its work upon +her. One day she met the father in the street. He +looked so grave, but so good and mild withal, that a +voice within her said, “Behold the man to whose +guidance thou art given!” The next Saturday, when +she came to confess to him, he said that he had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +expecting her. In her amazed emotion she never +dreamed that her brother might have given him +warning, but fancied that the mysterious voice had +spoken to him also, and that they two were sharing the +heavenly communion of warnings from the world +above.</p> + +<p>Six months of summer passed away, and yet Girard, +who confessed her every Saturday, had taken no step +towards her. The scandal about old Sabatier had set +him on his guard. His own prudence would have +held him to an attachment of a darker kind for such a +one as the Guiol, who was certainly very mature, but +also ardent and a devil incarnate.</p> + +<p>It was Cadière who made the first advances towards +him, innocent as they were. Her brother, the giddy +Jacobin, had taken it into his head to lend a lady and +circulate through the town a satire called <i>The Morality +of the Jesuits</i>. The latter were soon apprised of this. +Sabatier swore that he would write to the Court for a +sealed order (lettre-de-cachet) to shut up the Jacobin. +In her trouble and alarm, his sister, with tears in her +eyes, went to beseech Father Girard for pity’s sake to +interfere. On her coming again to him a little later, +he said, “Make yourself easy; your brother has +nothing to fear; I have settled the matter for him.” +She was quite overcome. Girard saw his advantage. +A man of his influence, a friend of the King, a friend of +Heaven as well, after such proof of goodness as he had +just been giving, would surely have the very strongest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +sway over so young a heart! He made the venture, +and in her own uncertain language said to her, “Put +yourself in my hands; yield yourself up to me altogether.” +Without a blush she answered, in the fulness +of her angelic purity, “Yes;” meaning nought else +than to have him for her sole director.</p> + +<p>What were his plans concerning her? Would he +make her a mistress or the tool of his charlatanry? +Girard doubtless swayed to and fro, but he leant, I +think, most towards the latter idea. He had to make +his choice, might manage to seek out pleasures free +from risk. But Mdlle. Cadière was under a pious +mother. She lived with her family, a married brother +and the two churchmen, in a very confined house, whose +only entrance lay through the shop of the elder +brother. She went no whither except to church. +With all her simplicity she knew instinctively what +things were impure, what houses dangerous. The +Jesuit penitents were fond of meeting together at the +top of a house, to eat, and play the fool, and cry out, in +their Provencial tongue, “Vivent les <i>Jesuitons</i>!” A +neighbour, disturbed by their noise, went and found +them lying on their faces, singing and eating fritters, +all paid for, it was said, out of the alms-money. Cadière +was also invited, but taking a disgust to the +thing she never went a second time.</p> + +<p>She was assailable only through her soul. And +it was only her soul that Girard seemed to desire. +That she should accept those lessons of passive faith<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +which he had taught at Marseilles, this apparently was +all his aim. Hoping that example would do more for +him than precept, he charged his tool Guiol to escort +the young saint to Marseilles, where lived the friend of +Cadière’s childhood, a Carmelite nun, a daughter of +Guiol’s. The artful woman sought to win her trust by +pretending that she, too, was sometimes ecstatic. She +crammed her with absurd stories. She told her, for +instance, that on finding a cask of wine spoilt in her +cellar, she began to pray, and immediately the wine +became good. Another time she felt herself pierced by +a crown of thorns, but the angels had comforted her by +serving up a good dinner, of which she partook with +Father Girard.</p> + +<p>Cadière gained her mother’s leave to go with this +worthy Guiol to Marseilles, and Madame Cadière paid +her expenses. It was now the most scorching month—that +of August, 1729—in a scorching climate, when +the country was all dried up, and the eye could see +nothing but a rugged mirror of rocks and flintstone. +The weak, parched brain of a sick girl suffering from the +fatigues of travel, was all the more easily impressed by +the dismal air of a nunnery of the dead. The true +type of this class was the Sister Remusat, already a +corpse to outward seeming, and soon to be really dead. +Cadière was moved to admire so lofty a piece of perfection. +Her treacherous companion allured her with +the proud conceit of being such another and filling her +place anon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> + +<p>During this short trip of hers, Girard, who remained +amid the stifling heats of Toulon, had met with a dismal +fall. He would often go to the girl Laugier, who +believed herself to be ecstatic, and “comfort” her to +such good purpose that he got her presently with +child. When Mdlle. Cadière came back in the highest +ecstasy, as if like to soar away, he for his part was +become so carnal, so given up to pleasure, that he “let +fall on her ears a whisper of love.” Thereat she took +fire, but all, as anyone may see, in her own pure, saintly, +generous way; as eager to keep him from falling, as +devoting herself even to die for his sake.</p> + +<p>One of her saintly gifts was her power of seeing +into the depths of men’s hearts. She had sometimes +chanced to learn the secret life and morals of her confessors, +to tell them of their faults; and this, in their +fear and amazement, many of them had borne with +great humility. One day this summer, on seeing +Guiol come into her room, she suddenly said, “Wicked +woman! what have you been doing?”</p> + +<p>“And she was right,” said Guiol herself, at a later +period; “for I had just been doing an evil deed.” +Perhaps she had just been rendering Laugier the same +midwife’s service which next year she wished to render +Batarelle.</p> + +<p>Very likely, indeed, Laugier had entrusted to Catherine, +at whose house she often slept, the secret of +her good fortune, the love, the fatherly caresses of her +saint. It was a hard and stormy trial for Catherine’s<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +spirits. On the one side, she had learnt by heart +Girard’s maxim, that whatever a saint may do is holy. +But on the other hand, her native honesty and the +whole course of her education compelled her to believe +that over-fondness for the creature was ever a mortal +sin. This woeful tossing between two different doctrines +quite finished the poor girl, brought on within +her dreadful storms, until at last she fancied herself +possessed with a devil.</p> + +<p>And here her goodness of heart was made manifest. +Without humbling Girard, she told him she had a +vision of a soul tormented with impure thoughts and +deadly sin; that she felt the need of rescuing that +soul, by offering the Devil victim for victim, by agreeing +to yield herself into his keeping in Girard’s stead. +He never forbade her, but gave her leave to be possessed +for one year only.</p> + +<p>Like the rest of the town, she had heard of the +scandalous loves of Father Sabatier—an insolent passionate +man, with none of Girard’s prudence. The +scorn which the Jesuits—to her mind, such pillars of +the Church—were sure to incur, had not escaped her +notice. She said one day to Girard, “I had a vision +of a gloomy sea, with a vessel full of souls tossed by +a storm of unclean thoughts. On this vessel were +two Jesuits. Said I to the Redeemer, whom I saw in +heaven, ‘Lord, save them, and let me drown! The +whole of their shipwreck do I take upon myself,’ And +God, in His mercy, granted my prayer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>All through the trial, and when Girard, become her +foe, was aiming at her death, she never once recurred +to this subject. These two parables, so clear in meaning, +she never explained. She was too high-minded +to say a word about them. She had doomed herself to +very damnation. Some will say that in her pride she +deemed herself so deadened and impassive as to defy +the impurity with which the Demon troubled a man of +God. But it is quite clear that she had no accurate +knowledge of sensual things, foreseeing nought in +such a mystery save pains and torments of the Devil. +Girard was very cold, and quite unworthy of all this +sacrifice. Instead of being moved to compassion, he +sported with her credulity through a vile deceit. Into +her casket he slipped a paper, in which God declared +that, for her sake, He would indeed save the vessel. +But he took care not to leave so absurd a document +there: she would have read it again and again +until she came to perceive how spurious it was. The +angel who brought the paper carried it off the next +day.</p> + +<p>With the same coarseness of feeling Girard lightly +allowed her, all unsettled and incapable of praying as +she plainly was, to communicate as much as she pleased +in different churches every day. This only made her +worse. Filled already with the Demon, she harboured +the two foes in one place. With equal power they +fought within her against each other. She thought +she would burst asunder. She would fall into a dead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +faint, and so remain for several hours. By December +she could not move even from her bed.</p> + +<p>Girard had now but too good a plea for seeing her. +He was prudent enough to let himself be led by the +younger brother at least as far as her door. The sick +girl’s room was at the top of the house. Her mother +stayed discreetly in the shop. He was left alone as +long as he pleased, and if he chose could turn the key. +At this time she was very ill. He handled her +as a child, drawing her forward a little to the front of the +bed, holding her head, and kissing her in a fatherly +way.</p> + +<p>She was very pure, but very sensitive. A slight +touch, that no one else would have remarked, deprived +her of her senses: this Girard found out for himself, +and the knowledge of it possessed him with evil +thoughts. He threw her at will into this trance,<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> and +she, in her thorough trust in him, never thought of +trying to prevent it, feeling only somewhat troubled +and ashamed at causing such a man to waste upon her +so much of his precious time. His visits were very +long. It was easy to foresee what would happen at +last. Ill as she was, the poor girl inspired Girard with +a passion none the less wild and uncontrollable. One +freedom led to another, and her plaintive remonstrances +were met with scornful replies. “I am your master—your +god. You must bear all for obedience sake.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>At length, about Christmas-time, the last barrier of +reserve was broken down; and the poor girl awoke +from her trance to utter a wail which moved even him +to pity.</p> + +<p>An issue which she but dimly realized, Girard, as +better enlightened, viewed with growing alarm. Signs +of what was coming began to show themselves in her +bodily health. To crown the entanglement, Laugier +also found herself with child. Those religious meetings, +those suppers watered with the light wine of the +country, led to a natural raising of the spirits of a race +so excitable, and the trance that followed spread from +one to another. With the more artful all this was +mere sham; but with the sanguine, vehement Laugier +the trance was genuine enough. In her own little +room she had real fits of raving and swooning, especially +when Girard came in. A little later than Cadière she, +too became fruitful.</p> + +<p>The danger was great. The girls were neither in a +desert nor in the heart of a convent, but rather, as one +might say, in the open street: Laugier in the midst +of prying neighbours, Cadière in her own family. +The latter’s brother, the Jacobin, began to take +Girard’s long visits amiss. One day when Girard +came, he ventured to stay beside her as though to +watch over her safety. Girard boldly turned him out +of the room, and the mother angrily drove her son +from the house.</p> + +<p>This was very like to bring on an explosion. Of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +course, the young man, swelling with rage at this hard +usage, at this expulsion from his home, would cry +aloud to the Preaching Friars, who in their turn would +seize so fair an opening, to go about repeating the +story and stirring up the whole town against the +Jesuit. The latter, however, resolved to meet them +with a strangely daring move, to save himself by a +crime. The libertine became a scoundrel.</p> + +<p>He knew his victim, had seen the scrofulous traces +of her childhood, traces healed up but still looking +different from common scars. Some of these were on +her feet, others a little below her bosom. He formed +a devilish plan of renewing the wounds and passing +them off as “<i>stigmata</i>,” like those procured from +heaven by St. Francis and other saints, who sought +after the closest conformity with their pattern, the +crucified Redeemer, even to bearing on themselves +the marks of the nails and the spear-wound in the +side. The Jesuits were distressed at having nought +to show against the miracles of the Jansenists. Girard +felt sure of pleasing them by an unlooked-for miracle. +He could not but receive the support of his own order, +of their house at Toulon. One of them, old Sabatier, +was ready to believe anything: he had of yore been +Cadière’s confessor, and this affair would bring him +into credit. Another of these was Father Grignet, a +pious old dotard, who would see whatever they pleased. +If the Carmelites or any others were minded to have +their doubts, they might be taught, by warnings from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +a high quarter, to consult their safety by keeping +silence. Even the Jacobin Cadière, hitherto a stern +and jealous foe, might find his account in turning +round and believing in a tale which made his family +illustrious and himself the brother of a saint.</p> + +<p>“But,” some will say, “did not the thing come +naturally? We have instances numberless, and well-attested, +of persons really marked with the sacred +wounds.”</p> + +<p>The reverse is more likely. When she was aware +of the new wounds, she felt ashamed and distressed +with the fear of displeasing Girard by this return of +her childish ailments; for such she deemed the sores +which he had opened afresh while she lay unconscious +in the trance. So she sped away to a neighbour, one +Madame Truc, who dabbled in physic, and of her she +bought, as if for her youngest brother, an ointment to +burn away the sores.</p> + +<p>She would have thought herself guilty of a great sin, +if she had not told everything to Girard. So, however +fearful she might be of displeasing and disgusting +him, she spoke of this matter also. Looking at the +wounds, he began playing his comedy, rebuked her +attempt to heal them, and thus set herself against God. +They were the marks, he said, of Heaven. Falling on +his knees, he kissed the wounds on her feet. She +crossed herself in self-abasement, struggled long-time +against such a belief. Girard presses and scolds, +makes her show him her side, and looks admiringly at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +the wound. “I, too,” he said, “have a wound; +but mine is within.”</p> + +<p>And now she is fain to believe in herself as a living +miracle. Her acceptance of a thing so startling was +greatly quickened by the fact, that Sister Remusat was +just then dead. She had seen her in glory, her heart +borne upward by the angels. Who was to take her +place on earth? Who should inherit her high gifts, +the heavenly favours wherewith she had been crowned? +Girard offered her the succession, corrupting her +through her pride.</p> + +<p>From that time she was changed. In her vanity +she set down every natural movement within her as +holy. The loathings, the sudden starts of a woman +great with child, of all which she knew nothing, were +accounted for as inward struggles of the Spirit. As +she sat at table with her family on the first day of +Lent, she suddenly beheld the Saviour, who said, “I +will lead thee into the desert, where thou shalt share +with Me all the love and all the suffering of the holy +Forty Days.” She shuddered for dread of the suffering +she must undergo. But still she would offer up +her single self for a whole world of sinners. Her +visions were all of blood; she had nothing but blood +before her eyes. She beheld Jesus like a sieve running +blood. She herself began to spit blood, and lose it in +other ways. At the same time her nature seemed +quite changed. The more she suffered, the more +amorous she grew. On the twentieth day of Lent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +she saw her name coupled with that of Girard. Her +pride, raised and quickened by these new sensations, +enabled her to comprehend the <i>special sway</i> enjoyed +by Mary, the Woman, with respect to God. She felt +<i>how much lower angels are</i> than the least of saints, +male or female. She saw the Palace of Glory, and +mistook herself for the Lamb. To crown these illusions +she felt herself lifted off the ground, several feet into +the air. She could hardly believe it, until Mdlle. +Gravier, a respectable person, assured her of the fact. +Everyone came, admired, worshipped. Girard brought +his colleague Grignet, who knelt before her and wept +with joy.</p> + +<p>Not daring to go to her every day, Girard often made +her come to the Jesuits’ Church. There, before the +altar, before the cross, he surrendered himself to a +passion all the fiercer for such a sacrilege. Had she +no scruples? did she still deceive herself? It seems as +if, in the midst of an elation still unfeigned and earnest, +her conscience was already dazed and darkened. +Under cover of her bleeding wounds, those cruel favours +of her heavenly Spouse, she began to feel some curious +compensations....</p> + +<p>In her reveries there are two points especially touching. +One is the pure ideal she had formed of a faithful +union, when she fancied that she saw her name +and that of Girard joined together for ever in the Book +of Life. The other is her kindliness of heart, the +charmingly childlike nature which shines out through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +all her extravagances. On Palm Sunday, looking at +the joyous party around their family table, she wept +three hours together, for thinking that “on that very +day no one had asked Jesus to dinner.”</p> + +<p>Through all that Lent, she could hardly eat anything: +the little she took was thrown up again. The last +fifteen days she fasted altogether, until she reached the +last stage of weakness. Who would have believed that +against this dying girl, to whom nothing remained but +the mere breath, Girard could practise new barbarities? +He had kept her sores from closing. A new one was +now formed on her right side. And at last, on Good +Friday, he gave the finishing touch to his cruel +comedy, by making her wear a crown of iron-wire, +which pierced her forehead, until drops of blood rolled +down her face. All this was done without much +secresy. He began by cutting off her long hair and +carrying it away. He ordered the crown of one +Bitard, a cagemaker in the town. She did not show +herself to her visitors with the crown on: they saw +the result only, the drops of blood and the bleeding +visage. Impressions of the latter, like so many <i>Veronicas</i>,<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> +were taken off on napkins, and doubtless given +away by Girard to people of great piety.</p> + +<p>The mother, in her own despite, became an abettor +in all this juggling. In truth, she was afraid of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>Girard; she began to find him capable of anything, +and somebody, perhaps the Guiol, had told her, in the +deepest confidence, that, if she said a word against him, +her daughter would not be alive twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>Cadière, for her part, never lied about the matter. +In the narrative taken down from her own lips of +what happened this Lent, she expressly tells of a +crown, with sharp points, which stuck in her head, and +made it bleed. Nor did she then make any secret of +the source whence came the little crosses she gave her +visitors. From a model supplied by Girard, they were +made to her order by one of her kinsfolk, a carpenter +in the Arsenal.</p> + +<p>On Good Friday, she remained twenty-four hours in +a swoon, which they called a trance; remained in +special charge of Girard, whose attentions weakened +her, and did her deadly harm. She was now three +months gone with child. The saintly martyr, the +transfigured marvel, was already beginning to fill out. +Desiring, yet dreading the more violent issues of +a miscarriage, he plied her daily with reddish powders +and dangerous drinks.</p> + +<p>Much rather would he have had her die, and so have +rid himself of the whole business. At any rate, he +would have liked to get her away from her mother, to +bury her safe in a convent. Well acquainted with +houses of that sort, he knew, as Picard had done in the +Louviers affair, how cleverly and discreetly such cases +as Cadière’s could be hidden away. He talked of it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +this very Good Friday. But she seemed too weak to +be taken safely from her bed. At last, however, four +days after Easter, a miscarriage took place.</p> + +<p>The girl Laugier had also been having strange +convulsive fits, and absurd beginnings of <i>stigmata</i>: +one of them being an old wound, caused by her +scissors when she was working as a seamstress, the +other an eruptive sore in her side. Her transports +suddenly turned to impious despair. She spat upon +the crucifix: she cried out against Girard, “that devil +of a priest, who had brought a poor girl of two-and-twenty +into such a plight, only to forsake her afterwards!” +Girard dared not go and face her passionate +outbreaks. But the women about her, being all in +his interest, found some way of bringing this matter +to a quiet issue.</p> + +<p>Was Girard a wizard, as people afterwards maintained? +They might well think so, who saw how +easily, being neither young nor handsome, he had +charmed so many women. Stranger still it was, that +after getting thus compromised, he swayed opinion to +such a degree. For a while, he seemed to have +enchanted the whole town.</p> + +<p>The truth was, that everyone knew the strength of +the Jesuits. Nobody cared to quarrel with them. It +was hardly reckoned safe to speak ill of them, even in +a whisper. The bulk of the priesthood consisted of +monklings of the Mendicant orders, who had no +powerful friends or high connections. The Carmelites<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +themselves, jealous and hurt as they were at losing +Cadière, kept silence. Her brother, the young Jacobin, +was lectured by his trembling mother into resuming +his old circumspect ways. Becoming reconciled to +Girard, he came at length to serve him as devotedly +as did his younger brother, even lending himself to a +curious trick by which people were led to believe that +Girard had the gift of prophecy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Such weak opposition as he might have to fear, +would come only from the very person whom he seemed +to have most thoroughly mastered. Submissive hitherto, +Cadière now gave some slight tokens of a coming +independence which could not help showing itself. On +the 30th of April, at a country party got up by the +polite Girard, and to which he sent his troop of young +devotees in company with Guiol, Cadière fell into deep +thought. The fair spring-time, in that climate so very +charming, lifted her heart up to God. She exclaimed +with a feeling of true piety, “Thee, Thee only, do I +seek, O Lord! Thine angels are not enough for me.” +Then one of the party, a blithesome girl, having, in the +Provencial fashion, hung a tambourine round her neck, +Cadière skipped and danced about like the rest; with +a rug thrown across her shoulders, she danced the +Bohemian measure, and made herself giddy with a +hundred mad capers.</p> + +<p>She was very unsettled. In May she got leave from +her mother to make a trip to Sainte-Baume, to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> +Church of St. Mary Magdalen, the chief saint of girls +on penance. Girard would only let her go under +charge of two faithful overlookers, Guiol and Reboul. +But though she had still some trances on the way, she +showed herself weary of being a passive tool to the +violent spirit, whether divine or devilish, that annoyed +her. The end of her year’s <i>possession</i> was not far off. +Had she not won her freedom? Once issued forth +from the gloom and witcheries of Toulon, into the open +air, in the midst of nature, beneath the full sunshine, +the prisoner regained her soul, withstood the stranger +spirit, dared to be herself, to use her own will. +Girard’s two spies were far from edified thereat. On +their return from this short journey, from the 17th +to the 22nd May, they warned him of the change. +He was convinced of it from his own experience. She +fought against the trance, seeming no longer wishful +to obey aught save reason.</p> + +<p>He had thought to hold her both by his power of +charming and through the holiness of his high office, +and, lastly, by right of possession and carnal usage. +But he had no hold upon her at all. The youthful +soul, which, after all, had not been so much conquered +as treacherously surprised, resumed its own nature. +This hurt him. Besides his business of pedant, his +tyranny over the children he chastised at will, over +nuns not less at his disposal, there remained within +a hard bottom of domineering jealousy. He determined +to snatch Cadière back by punishing this first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +little revolt, if such a name could be given to the +timid fluttering of a soul rising again from its long +compression. On the 22nd May she confessed to +him after her wont; but he refused to absolve her, +declaring her to be so guilty that on the morrow +he would have to lay upon her a very great penance +indeed.</p> + +<p>What would that be? A fast? But she was weakened +and wasted already. Long prayers, again, were +not in fashion with Quietist directors,—were in fact +forbidden. There remained the <i>discipline</i>, or bodily +chastisement. This punishment, then everywhere +habitual, was enforced as prodigally in convents as in +colleges. It was a simple and summary means of +swift execution, sometimes, in a rude and simple age, +carried out in the churches themselves. The <i>Fabliaux</i> +show us an artless picture of manners, where, after confessing +husband and wife, the priest gave them the +discipline without any ceremony, just as they were, +behind the confessional. Scholars, monks, nuns, were +all punished in the same way.<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> +<p>Girard knew that a girl like Cadière, all unused to +shame, and very modest—for what she had hitherto +suffered took place unknown to herself in her sleep—would +feel so cruelly tortured, so fatally crushed by +this unseemly chastisement, as utterly to lose what +little buoyancy she had. She was pretty sure too, if +we must speak out, to be yet more cruelly mortified +than other women, in respect of the pang endured by +her woman’s vanity. With so much suffering, and so +many fasts, followed by her late miscarriage, her body, +always delicate, seemed worn away to a shadow. All +the more surely would she shrink from any exposure +of a form so lean, so wasted, so full of aches. Her +swollen legs and such-like small infirmities would serve +to enhance her humiliation.</p> + +<p>We lack the courage to relate what followed. It +may all be read in those three depositions, so artless, +so manifestly unfeigned, in which, without being +sworn, she made it her duty to avow what self-interest +bade her conceal, owning even to things which were +afterwards turned to the cruellest account against +her.</p> + +<p>Her first deposition was made on the spur of the +moment, before the spiritual judge who was sent to +take her by surprise. In this we seem to be ever +hearing the utterances of a young heart that speaks as +though in God’s own presence. The second was taken +before the King—I should rather say before the magistrate +who represented him, the Lieutenant Civil and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +Criminal of Toulon. The last was heard before the +great assembly of the Parliament of Aix.</p> + +<p>Observe that all three, agreeing as they do wonderfully +together, were printed at Aix under the eye of +her enemies, in a volume where, as I shall presently +prove, an attempt was made to extenuate the guilt of +Girard, and fasten the reader’s gaze on every point +likely to tell against Cadière. And yet the editor +could not help inserting depositions like these, which +bear with crushing weight on the man he sought to +uphold.</p> + +<p>It was a monstrous piece of inconsistency on Girard’s +part. He first frightened the poor girl, and then +suddenly took a base, a cruel advantage of her fears.</p> + +<p>In this case no plea of love can be offered in extenuation. +The truth is far otherwise: he loved her +no more. And this forms the most dreadful part of +the story. We have seen how cruelly he drugged her; +we have now to see her utterly forsaken. He owed her +a grudge for being of greater worth than those other +degraded women. He owed her a grudge for having +unwittingly tempted him and brought him into danger. +Above all, he could not forgive her for keeping her +soul in safety. He sought only to tame her down, but +caught hopefully at her oft-renewed assurance, “I feel +that I shall not live.” Villanous profligate that he +was, bestowing his shameful kisses on that poor +shattered body whose death he longed to see!</p> + +<p>How did he account to her for this shocking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +antagonism of cruelty and caresses? Was it meant +to try her patience and obedience, or did he boldly +pass on to the true depths of Molinos’ teaching, that +“only by dint of sinning can sin be quelled”? Did +she take it all in full earnest, never perceiving that all +this show of justice, penitence, expiation, was downright +profligacy and nothing else?</p> + +<p>She did not care to understand him in the strange +moral crash that befell her after that 23rd May, under +the influence of a mild warm June. She submitted to +her master, of whom she was rather afraid, and with a +singularly servile passion carried on the farce of undergoing +small penances day by day. So little regard did +Girard show for her feelings that he never hid from +her his relations with other women. All he wanted +was to get her into a convent. Meanwhile she was +his plaything: she saw him, let him have his way. +Weak, and yet further weakened by the shame that +unnerved her, growing sadder and more sad at heart, +she had now but little hold on life, and would keep on +saying, in words that brought no sorrow to Girard’s +soul, “I feel that I shall soon be dead.”</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> The great plague of 1720, which carried off 60,000 people +about Marseilles. Belzunce is the “Marseilles’ good bishop” +of Pope’s line—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> See “The Proceedings in the Affair of Father Girard and +La Cadière,” Aix, 1733.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> See the work by M. d’Antrechaus, and the excellent +treatise by M. Gustave Lambert.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> A case of mesmerism applied to a very susceptible +patient.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> After the saint of that name, whose handkerchief received +the impress of Christ’s countenance.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> The Dauphin was cruelly flogged. A boy of fifteen, +according to St. Simon, died from the pain of a like infliction. +The prioress of the Abbey-in-the-Wood, pleaded before the King +against the “afflictive chastisement” threatened by her superior. +For the credit of the convent, she was spared the +public shame; but the superior, to whom she was consigned, +doubtless punished her in a quiet way. The immoral tendency +of such a practice became more and more manifest. Fear and +shame led to woeful entreaties and unworthy bargains.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_XI_2" id="CHAPTER_XI_2"></a>CHAPTER XI.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>CADIERE IN THE CONVENT: 1730.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Abbess of the Ollioules Convent was young for an +abbess, being only thirty-eight years old. She was +not wanting in mind. She was lively, swift alike in +love and in hatred, hurried away by her heart and her +senses also, endowed with very little of the tact and +the moderation needed for the governing of such a +body.</p> + +<p>This nunnery drew its livelihood from two sources. +On the one side, there came to it from Toulon two or +three nuns of consular families, who brought good +dowers with them, and therefore did what they +pleased. They lived with the Observantine monks who +had the ghostly direction of the convent. On the +other hand, these monks, whose order had spread to +Marseilles and many other places, picked up some +little boarders and novices who paid for their keep: a +contact full of danger and unpleasantness for the +children, as one may see by the Aubany affair.</p> + +<p>There was no real confinement, nor much internal +order. In the scorching summer nights of that +African climate, peculiarly oppressive and wearying in +the airless passes of Ollioules, nuns and novices went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +to and fro with the greatest freedom. The very same +things were going on at Ollioules in 1730 which we +saw in 1630 at Loudun. The bulk of nuns, well-nigh +a dozen out of the fifteen who made up the house, +being rather forsaken by the monks, who preferred +ladies of loftier position, were poor creatures, sick at +heart, and disinherited, with nothing to console them +but tattling, child’s play, and other school-girls’ tricks.</p> + +<p>The abbess was afraid that Cadière would soon see +through all this. She made some demur about taking +her in. Anon, with some abruptness, she entirely +changed her cue. In a charming letter, all the more +flattering as sent so unexpectedly from such a lady to +so young a girl, she expressed a hope of her leaving +the ghostly guidance of Father Girard. The girl +was not, of course, to be transferred to her Observantines, +who were far from capable of the charge. +The abbess had formed the bold, enlivening idea of +taking her into her own hands and becoming her sole +director.</p> + +<p>She was very vain. Deeming herself more agreeable +than an old Jesuit confessor, she reckoned on +making this prodigy her own, on conquering her without +trouble. She would have worked the young saint +for the benefit of her house.</p> + +<p>She paid her the marked compliment of receiving +her on the threshold, at the street-door. She kissed +her, caught her up, led her into the abbess’s own fine +room, and bade her share it with herself. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +charmed with her modesty, with her invalid grace, +with a certain strangeness at once mysterious and melting. +In that short journey the girl had suffered a +great deal. The abbess wanted to lay her down in +her own bed, saying she loved her so that she would +have them sleep together like sisters in one bed.</p> + +<p>For her purpose this was probably more than was +needful. It would have been quite enough to have the +saint under her own roof. She would now have too +much the look of a little favourite. The lady, however, +was surprised at the young girl’s hesitation, +which doubtless sprang from her modesty or her +humility; in part, perhaps, from a comparison of her +own ill-health with the young health and blooming +beauty of the other. But the abbess tenderly urged +her request.</p> + +<p>Under the influence of a fondling so close and so +continual, she deemed that Girard would be forgotten. +With all abbesses it had become the ruling fancy, the +pet ambition, to confess their own nuns, according to +the practice allowed by St. Theresa. By this pleasant +scheme of hers the same result would come out of +itself, the young woman telling her confessors only +of small things, but keeping the depths of her heart +for one particular person. Caressed continually by +one curious woman, at eventide, in the night, when +her head was on the pillow, she would have let out +many a secret, whether her own or another’s.</p> + +<p>From this living entanglement she could not free<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +herself at the first. She slept with the abbess. The +latter thought she held her fast by a twofold tie, by +the opposite means employed on the saint and on the +woman; that is, on the nervous, sensitive, and, through +her weakness, perhaps sensual girl. Her story, her +sayings, whatever fell from her lips, were all written +down. From other sources she picked up the meanest +details of her physical life, and forwarded the report +thereof to Toulon. She would have made her an idol, +a pretty little pet doll. On a slope so slippery the +work of allurement doubtless moved apace. But the +girl had scruples and a kind of fear. She made one +great effort, of which her weak health would have +made her seem incapable. She humbly asked leave +to quit that dove’s-nest, that couch too soft and delicate, +to go and live in common with the novices or the +boarders.</p> + +<p>Great was the abbess’s surprise; great her mortification. +She fancied herself scorned. She took a +spite against the thankless girl, and never forgave her.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>From the others Cadière met with a very pleasant +welcome. The mistress of the novices, Madame de +Lescot, a nun from Paris, refined and good, was a +worthier woman than the abbess. She seemed to +understand the other—to see in her a poor prey of fate, +a young heart full of God, but cruelly branded by +some eccentric spell which seemed like to hurry her onward +to disgrace, to some unhappy end. She busied herself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +entirely with looking after the girl, saving her from +her own rashness, interpreting her to others, excusing +those things which might in her be least excusable.</p> + +<p>Saving the two or three noble ladies who lived with +the monks and had small relish for the higher mysticism, +they were all fond of her, and took her for an +angel from heaven. Their tender feelings having little +else to engage them, became concentred in her and +her alone. They found her not only pious and wonderfully +devout, but a good child withal, kind-hearted, +winning, and entertaining. They were no longer listless +and sick at heart. She engaged and edified them +with her dreams, with stories true, or rather, perhaps, +unfeigned, mingled ever with touches of purest tenderness. +She would say, “At night I go everywhere, +even to America. Everywhere I leave letters bidding +people repent. To-night I shall go and seek you out, +even when you have locked yourselves in. We will all +go together into the Sacred Heart.”</p> + +<p>The miracle was wrought. Each of them at midnight, +so she said, received the delightful visit. They +all fancied they felt Cadière embracing them, and +making them enter the heart of Jesus. They were +very frightened and very happy. Tenderest, most +credulous of all, was Sister Raimbaud, a woman of +Marseilles, who tasted this happiness fifteen times in +three months, or nearly once in every six days.</p> + +<p>It was purely the effect of imagination. The proof +is, that Cadière visited all of them at one same moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +The abbess meanwhile was hurt, being roused +at the first to jealousy by the thought that she only +had been left out, and afterwards feeling assured that, +lost as the girl might be in her own dreams, she would +get through so many intimate friends but too clear an +inkling into the scandals of the house.</p> + +<p>These were scarcely hidden from her at all. But as +nothing came to Cadière save by the way of spiritual +insight, she fancied they had been told her in a revelation. +Here her kindliness shone out. She felt a large +compassion for the God who was thus outraged. And +once again she imagined herself bound to atone for the +rest, to save the sinners from the punishment they deserved, +by draining herself the worst cruelties which +the rage of devils would have power to wreak.</p> + +<p>All this burst upon her on the 25th June, the +Feast of St. John. She was spending the evening with +the sisters in the novices’ rooms. With a loud cry she +fell backward in contortions, and lost all consciousness.</p> + +<p>When she came to, the novices surrounded her, waiting +eager to hear what she was going to say. But the +governess, Madame Lescot, guessed what she would +say, felt that she was about to ruin herself. So she +lifted her up, and led her straight to her room, where +she found herself quite flayed, and her linen covered +with blood.</p> + +<p>Why did Girard fail her amidst these struggles inward +and from without? She could not make him +out. She had much need of support, and yet he never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +came, except for one moment at rare intervals, to the +parlour.</p> + +<p>She wrote to him on the 28th June, by her brothers; +for though she could read, she was scarcely +able to write. She called to him in the most stirring, +the most urgent tones, and he answers by putting her +off. He has to preach at Hyères, he has a sore throat, +and so on.</p> + +<p>Wonderful to tell, it is the abbess herself who brings +him thither. No doubt she was uneasy at Cadière’s +discovering so much of the inner life of the convent. +Making sure that the girl would talk of it to Girard, +she wished to forestal her. In a very flattering and +tender note of the 3rd July, she besought the Jesuit +to come and see herself first, for she longed, between +themselves, to be his pupil, his disciple, as humble +Nicodemus had been of Christ. “Under your guidance, +by the blessing of that holy freedom which my post +ensures me, I should move forward swiftly and noiselessly +in the path of virtue. The state of our young +candidate here will serve me as a fair and useful pretext.”</p> + +<p>A startling, ill-considered step, betraying some unsoundness +in the lady’s mind. Having failed to supplant +Girard with Cadière, she now essayed to supplant +Cadière with Girard. Abruptly, without the least preface, +she stepped forward. She made her decision, like +a great lady, who was still agreeable and quite sure of +being taken at her word, who would go so far as even +to talk of the <i>freedom</i> she enjoyed!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> + +<p>In taking so false a step she started from a true belief +that Girard had ceased to care much for Cadière. +But she might have guessed that he had other things +to perplex him in Toulon. He was disturbed by an +affair no longer turning upon a young girl, but on a +lady of ripe age, easy circumstances, and good standing; +on his wisest penitent, Mdlle. Gravier. Her forty years +failed to protect her. He would have no self-governed +sheep in his fold. One day, to her surprise and mortification, +she found herself pregnant, and loud was +her wail thereat.</p> + +<p>Taken up with this new adventure, Girard looked +but coldly on the abbess’s unforeseen advances. He +mistrusted them as a trap laid for him by the Observantines. +He resolved to be cautious, saw the abbess, +who was already embarrassed by her rash step, and +then saw Cadière, but only in the chapel where he +confessed her.</p> + +<p>The latter was hurt by his want of warmth. In +truth his conduct showed strange inconsistencies. He +unsettled her with his light, agreeable letters, full of +little sportive threats which might have been called +lover-like. And yet he never deigned to see her save +in public.</p> + +<p>In a note written the same evening she revenged +herself in a very delicate way. She said that when +he granted her absolution, she felt wonderfully dissevered +both from herself and from <i>every other +creature</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was just what Girard would have wanted. His +plots had fallen into a sad tangle, and Cadière was in +the way. Her letter enchanted him: far from being +annoyed with her, he enjoined her to keep dissevered. +At the same time, he hinted at the need he had for +caution. He had received a letter, he said, warning +him sharply of her faults. However, as he would set +off on the 6th July for Marseilles, he would see +her on the road.</p> + +<p>She awaited him, but no Girard came. Her agitation +was very great. It brought on a sharp fit of her +old bodily distemper. She spoke of it to her dear +Sister Raimbaud, who would not leave her, who slept +with her, against the rules. This was on the night of +the 6th July, when the heat in that close oven of +Ollioules was most oppressive and condensed. At four +or five o’clock, seeing her writhe in sharp suffering, +the other “thought she had the colic, and went to +fetch some fire from the kitchen.” While she was +gone, Cadière tried by one last effort to bring Girard +to her side forthwith. Whether with her nails she +had re-opened the wounds in her head, or whether she +had stuck upon it the sharp iron crown, she somehow +made herself all bloody. The pain transfigured her, +until her eyes sparkled again.</p> + +<p>This lasted not less than two hours. The nuns +flocked to see her in this state, and gazed admiringly. +They would even have brought their Observantines +thither, had Cadière not prevented them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> + +<p>The abbess would have taken good care to tell +Girard nothing, lest he should see her in a plight so +touching, so very pitiful. But good Madame Lescot +comforted the girl by sending the news to the father. +He came, but like a true juggler, instead of going up +to her room at once, had himself an ecstatic fit in the +chapel, staying there a whole hour on his knees, prostrate +before the Holy Sacrament. Going at length +upstairs, he found Cadière surrounded by all the nuns. +They tell him how for a moment she looked as if she +was at mass, how she seemed to open her lips to receive +the Host. “Who should know that better than +myself?” said the knave. “An angel had told me. +I repeated the mass, and gave her the sacrament from +Toulon.” They were so upset by the miracle, that +one of them was two days ill. Girard then addressed +Cadière with unseemly gaiety: “So, so, little glutton! +would you rob me of half my share?”</p> + +<p>They withdraw respectfully, leaving these two alone. +Behold him face to face with his bleeding victim, so +pale, so weak, but agitated all the more! Anyone +would have been greatly moved. The avowal expressed +by her blood, her wounds, rather than spoken words, +was likely to reach his heart. It was a humbling +sight; but who would not have pitied her? This +innocent girl could for one moment yield to +nature! In her short unhappy life, a stranger as she +was to the charms of sense, the poor young saint could +still show one hour of weakness! All he had hitherto<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> +enjoyed of her without her knowledge, became mere +nought. With her soul, her will, he would now be +master of everything.</p> + +<p>In her deposition Cadière briefly and bashfully +said that she lost all knowledge of what happened +next. In a confession made to one of her friends she +uttered no complaints, but let her understand the +truth.</p> + +<p>And what did Girard do in return for so charmingly +bold a flight of that impatient heart? He scolded +her. He was only chilled by a warmth which would +have set any other heart on fire. His tyrannous soul +wanted nothing but the dead, the merest plaything of +his will. And this girl, by the boldness of her first +move, had forced him to come. The scholar had +drawn the master along. The peevish pedant treated +the matter as he would have treated a rebellion at +school. His lewd severities, his coolly selfish pursuit +of a cruel pleasure, blighted the unhappy girl, who +now had nothing left her but remorse.</p> + +<p>It was no less shocking a fact, that the blood poured +out for his sake had no other effect than to tempt him +to make the most of it for his own purposes. In this, +perhaps his last, interview he sought to make so far +sure of the poor thing’s discretion, that, however +forsaken by him, she herself might still believe in +him. He asked if he was to be less favoured than +the nuns who had seen the miracle. She let herself +bleed before him. The water with which he washed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +away the blood he drank himself,<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> and made her +drink also, and by this hateful communion, he thought +to bind fast her soul.</p> + +<p>This lasted two or three hours, and it was now near +noon. The abbess was scandalized. She resolved to +go with the dinner herself, and make them open the +door. Girard took some tea: it being Friday, he +pretended to be fasting; though he had doubtless +armed himself well at Toulon. Cadière asked for +coffee. The lay sister who managed the kitchen was +surprised at this on such a day. But without that +strengthening draught she would have fainted away. +It set her up a little, and she kept hold of Girard +still. He stayed with her, no longer indeed locked +in, till four o’clock, seeking to efface the gloomy impression +caused by his conduct in the morning. By +dint of lying about friendship and fatherhood, he +somewhat reassured the susceptible creature, and +calmed her troubled spirits. She showed him the +way out, and, walking after him, took, childlike, two +or three skips for joy. He said, drily, “Little fool!”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>She paid heavily for her weakness. At nine of +that same night she had a dreadful vision, and was +heard crying out, “O God! keep off from me! get +back!” On the morning of the 8th, at mass she +did not stay for the communion, deeming herself, no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>doubt, unworthy, but made her escape to her own +room. Thereon arose much scandal. Yet so greatly +was she beloved, that one of the nuns ran after her, +and, telling a compassionate falsehood, swore she had +beheld Jesus giving her the sacrament with His own +hand.</p> + +<p>Madame Lescot delicately and cleverly wrote a legend +out of the mystic ejaculations, the holy sighs, the +devout tears, and whatever else burst forth from this +shattered heart. Strange to say, these women tenderly +conspired to shield a woman. Nothing tells more +than this in behalf of poor Cadière and her delightful +gifts. Already in one month’s time she had become +the child of all. They defended her in everything she +did. Innocent though she might be, they saw in her +only the victim of the Devil’s attacks. One kind sturdy +woman of the people, Matherone, daughter of the +Ollioules locksmith, and porteress herself to the convent, +on seeing some of Girard’s indecent liberties, +said, in spite of them, “No matter: she is a saint.” +And when he once talked of taking her from the +convent, she cried out, “Take away our Mademoiselle +Cadière! I will have an iron door made to keep her +from going.”</p> + +<p>Alarmed at the state of things, and at the use to +which it might be turned by the abbess and her monks, +Cadière’s brethren who came to her every day, took +courage to be beforehand; and in a formal letter +written in her name to Girard, reminded him of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +revelation given to her on the 25th June regarding +the morals of the Observantines. It was time, they +said, “to carry out God’s purposes in this matter,” +namely, of course, to demand an inquiry, to accuse +the accusers.</p> + +<p>Their excess of boldness was very rash. Cadière, +now all but dying, had no such thoughts in her head. +Her women-friends imagined that he who had caused +the disturbance would, perhaps, bring back the calm. +They besought Girard to come and confess her. A +dreadful scene took place. At the confessional she +uttered cries and wailings audible thirty paces off. The +curious among them found some amusement listening +to her, and were not disappointed. Girard was inflicting +chastisement. Again and again he said, “Be +calm, mademoiselle!” In vain did he try to absolve +her. She would not be absolved. On the 12th, she +had so sharp a pang below her heart, that she felt as +though her sides were bursting. On the 14th, she +seemed fast dying, and her mother was sent for. She +received the viaticum; and on the morrow made a +public confession, “the most touching, the most expressive +that had ever been heard. We were drowned +in tears.” On the 20th, she was in a state of heart-rending +agony. After that she had a sudden and +saving change for the better, marked by a very soothing +vision. She beheld the sinful Magdalen pardoned, +caught up into glory, filling in heaven the place which +Lucifer had lost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p> + +<p>Girard, however, could only ensure her discretion +by corrupting her yet further, by choking her remorse. +Sometimes he would come to the parlour and greet +her with bold embraces. But oftener he sent his +faithful followers, Guiol and others, who sought to +initiate her into their own disgraceful secrets, while +seeming to sympathise tenderly with the sufferings of +their outspoken friend. Girard not only winked at +this, but himself spoke freely to Cadière of such matters +as the pregnancy of Mdlle. Gravier. He wanted her +to ask him to Ollioules, to calm his irritation, to +persuade him that such a circumstance might be a +delusion of the Devil’s causing, which could perchance +be dispelled.</p> + +<p>These impure teachings made no way with Cadière. +They were sure to anger her brethren, to whom they +were not unknown. The letters they wrote in her name +are very curious. Enraged at heart and sorely wounded, +accounting Girard a villain, but obliged to make +their sister speak of him with respectful tenderness, +they still, by snatches, let their wrath become visible.</p> + +<p>As for Girard’s letters, they are pieces of laboured +writing, manifestly meant for the trial which might +take place. Let us talk of the only one which he did +not get into his hands to tamper with. It is dated +the 22nd July. It is at once sour and sweet, agreeable, +trifling, the letter of a careless man. The meaning of +it is thus:—</p> + +<p>“The bishop reached Toulon this morning, and will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> +go to see Cadière.... They will settle together what +to do and say. If the Grand Vicar and Father Sabatier +wish to see her, and ask to see her wounds, she +will tell them that she has been forbidden to do or +say aught.</p> + +<p>“I am hungering to see you again, to see the whole +of you. You know that I only demand <i>my right</i>. It +is so long since I have seen more than half of you (he +means to say, at the parlour grating). Shall I tire +you? Well, do you not also tire me?” And so on.</p> + +<p>A strange letter in every way. He distrusts alike +the bishop and the Jesuit, his own colleague, old +Sabatier. It is at bottom the letter of a restless +culprit. He knows that in her hands she holds his +letters, his papers, the means, in short, of ruining him. +The two young men write back in their sister’s name a +spirited answer—the only one that has a truthful sound. +They answer him line for line, without insult, but +with a roughness often ironical, and betraying the +wrath pent-up within them. The sister promises to +obey him, to say nothing either to the bishop or the +Jesuit. She congratulates him on having “boldness +enough to exhort others to suffer.” She takes up +and returns him his shocking gallantry, but in a +shocking way; and here we trace a man’s hand, the +hand of those two giddy heads.</p> + +<p>Two days after, they went and told her to decide on +leaving the convent forthwith. Girard was dismayed. +He thought his papers would disappear with her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> +The greatness of his terror took away his senses. He +had the weakness to go and weep at the Ollioules +parlour, to fall on his knees before her, and ask her if +she had the heart to leave him. Touched by his words, +the poor girl said “No,” went forward, and let him embrace +her. And yet this Judas wanted only to deceive +her, to gain a few days’ time for securing help from a +higher quarter.</p> + +<p>On the 29th there is an utter change. Cadière +stays at Ollioules, begs him to excuse her, vows submission. +It is but too clear that he has set some +mighty influences at work; that from the 29th threats +come in, perhaps from Aix, and presently from Paris. +The Jesuit bigwigs have been writing, and their courtly +patrons from Versailles.</p> + +<p>In such a struggle, what were the brethren to do? +No doubt they took counsel with their chiefs, who +would certainly warn them against setting too hard on +Girard as a <i>libertine confessor</i>; for thereby offence +would be given to all the clergy, who deemed confession +their dearest prize. It was needful, on the contrary; +to sever him from the priests by proving the +strangeness of his teaching, by bringing him forward +as a <i>Quietist</i>. With that one word they might lead +him a long way. In 1698, a vicar in the neighbourhood +of Dijon had been burnt for Quietism. They +conceived the idea of drawing up a memoir, dictated +apparently by their sister, to whom the plan was really +unknown, in which the high and splendid Quietism of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +Girard should be affirmed, and therefore in effect +denounced. This memoir recounted the visions she +had seen in Lent. In it the name of Girard was +already in heaven. She saw it joined with her own +in the Book of Life.</p> + +<p>They durst not take this memoir to the bishop. +But they got their friend, little Camerle, his youthful +chaplain, to steal it from them. The bishop read it, +and circulated some copies about the town. On the +21st August, Girard being at the palace, the bishop +laughingly said to him, “Well, father, so your name +is in the Book of Life!”</p> + +<p>He was overcome, fancied himself lost, wrote to +Cadière in terms of bitter reproach. Once more with +tears he asked for his papers. Cadière in great surprise +vowed that her memoir had never gone out of +her brother’s hands. But when she found out her +mistake, her despair was unbounded. The sharpest +pangs of body and soul beset her. Once she thought +herself on the point of death. She became like one +mad. “I long so much to suffer. Twice I caught +up the rod of penance, and wielded it so savagely as +to draw a great deal of blood.” In the midst of this +dreadful outbreak, which proved at once the weakness +of her head and the boundless tenderness of her conscience, +Guiol finished her by describing Girard as +nearly dead. This raised her compassion to the +highest pitch.</p> + +<p>She was going to give up the papers. And yet it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +was but too clear that these were her only safeguard +and support, the only proofs of her innocence, and the +tricks of which she had been made the victim. To +give them up was to risk a change of characters, to +risk the imputation of having herself seduced a saint, +the chance, in short, of seeing all the blame transferred +to her own side.</p> + +<p>But, if she must either be ruined herself or else ruin +Girard, she would far sooner accept the former result. +A demon, Guiol of course, tempted her in this very +way, with the wondrous sublimity of such a sacrifice. +God, she wrote, asked of her a bloody offering. She +could tell her of saints who, being accused, did not +justify, but rather accused themselves, and died like +lambs. This example Cadière followed. When Girard +was accused before her, she defended him, saying, +“He is right, and I told a falsehood.”</p> + +<p>She might have yielded up the letters of Girard +only; but in so great an outflowing of heart she +would have no haggling, and so gave him even copies +of her own.</p> + +<p>Thus at the same time he held these drafts +written by the Jacobin, and the copies made and sent +him by the other brother. Thenceforth he had nothing +to fear: no further check could be given him. +He might make away with them or put them back +again; might destroy, blot out, and falsify at pleasure. +He was perfectly free to carry on his forger’s work, +and he worked away to some purpose. Out of twenty-four<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +letters, sixteen remain; and these still read like +elaborately forged afterthoughts.</p> + +<p>With everything in his own hands, Girard could +laugh at his foes. It was now their turn to be afraid. +The bishop, a man of the upper world, was too well +acquainted with Versailles and the name won by the +Jesuits not to treat them with proper tenderness. He +even thought it safest to make Girard some small amends +for his unkind reproach about The Book of Life; and +so he graciously informed him that he would like to +stand godfather to the child of one of his kinsmen.</p> + +<p>The Bishops of Toulon had always been high lords. +The list of them shows all the first names of Provence, +and some famous names from Italy. From +1712 to 1737, under the Regency and Fleury, the +bishop was one of the La Tours of Pin. He was +very rich, having also the Abbeys of Aniane and +St. William of the Desert, in Languedoc. He behaved +well, it was said, during the plague of 1721. +However, he stayed but seldom at Toulon, lived quite +as a man of the world, never said mass, and passed +for something more than a lady’s man.</p> + +<p>In July he went to Toulon, and though Girard +would have turned him aside from Ollioules and +Cadière, he was curious to see her nevertheless. He +saw her in one of her best moments. She took his +fancy, seemed to him a pretty little saint; and so far +did he believe in her enlightenment from above, as to +speak to her thoughtlessly of all his affairs, his interests,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +his future doings, consulting her as he would +have consulted a teller of fortunes.</p> + +<p>In spite, however, of the brethren’s prayers he +hesitated to take her away from Ollioules and from +Girard. A means was found of resolving him. A +report was spread about Toulon, that the girl had +shown a desire to flee into the wilderness, as her +model saint, Theresa, had essayed to do at twelve years +old. Girard, they said, had put this fancy into her +head, that he might one day carry her off beyond the +diocese whose pride she was, and box-up his treasure +in some far convent, where the Jesuits, enjoying the +whole monopoly, might turn to the most account her +visions, her miracles, her winsome ways as a young +saint of the people. The bishop felt much hurt. He +instructed the abbess to give Mdlle. Cadière up to no +one save her mother, who was certain to come very +shortly and take her away from the convent to a +country-house belonging to the family.</p> + +<p>In order not to offend Girard, they got Cadière to +write and say that, if such a change incommoded him, +he could find a colleague and give her a second +confessor. He saw their meaning, and preferred disarming +jealousy by abandoning Cadière. He gave +her up on the 15th September, in a note most carefully +worded and piteously humble, by which he strove to +leave her friendly and tender towards himself. “If I +have sometimes done wrong as concerning you, you +will never at least forget how wishful I have been to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> +help you.... I am, and ever will be, all yours in +the Secret Heart of Jesus.”</p> + +<p>The bishop, however, was not reassured. He fancied +that the three Jesuits, Girard, Sabatier, and +Grignet, wanted to beguile him, and some day, with +some order from Paris, rob him of his little woman. +On the 17th September, he decided once for all to +send his carriage, a light fashionable <i>phaeton</i>, as it was +called, and have her taken off at once to her mother’s +country-house.</p> + +<p>By way of soothing and shielding her, of putting +her in good trim, he looked out for a confessor, and +applied first to a Carmelite who had confessed her +before Girard came. But he, being an old man, +declined. Some others also probably hung back. The +bishop had to take a stranger, but three months come +from the County (Avignon), one Father Nicholas, +prior of the Barefooted Carmelites. He was a man of +forty, endowed with brains and boldness, very firm +and even stubborn. He showed himself worthy of +such a trust by rejecting it. It was not the Jesuits he +feared, but the girl herself. He foreboded no good +therefrom, thought that the angel might be an angel +of darkness, and feared that the Evil One under the +shape of a gentle girl would deal his blows with all +the more baleful effect.</p> + +<p>But he could not see her without feeling somewhat +reassured. She seemed so very simple, so pleased +at length to have a safe, steady person, on whom she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +might lean. The continual wavering in which she +had been kept by Girard, had caused her the greatest +suffering. On the first day she spoke more than she +had done for a month past, told him of her life, her +sufferings, her devotions, and her visions. Night +itself, a hot night in mid-September, did not stop her. +In her room everything was open, the windows, and +the three doors. She went on even to daybreak, while +her brethren lay near her asleep. On the morrow she +resumed her tale under the vine-bower. The Carmelite +was amazed, and asked himself if the Devil +could ever be so earnest in praise of God.</p> + +<p>Her innocence was clear. She seemed a nice +obedient girl, gentle as a lamb, frolicsome as a puppy. +She wanted to play at bowls, a common game in those +country-places, nor did he for his part refuse to +join her.</p> + +<p>If there was a spirit in her, it could not at any rate +be called the spirit of lying. On looking at her closely +for a long time, you could not doubt that her wounds +now and then did really bleed. He took care to +make no such immodest scrutiny of them as Girard +had done, contenting himself with a look at the wound +upon her foot. Of her trances he saw quite enough. +On a sudden, a burning heat would diffuse itself +everywhere from her heart. Losing her consciousness, +she went into convulsions and talked wildly.</p> + +<p>The Carmelite clearly perceived that in her were +two persons, the young woman and the Demon. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +former was honest, nay, very fresh of heart; ignorant, +for all that had been done to her; little able to understand +the very things that had brought her into +such sore trouble. When, before confession, she spoke +of Girard’s kisses, the Carmelite roughly said, “But +those are very great sins.”</p> + +<p>“O God!” she answered, weeping, “I am lost +indeed, for he has done much more than that to me!”</p> + +<p>The bishop came to see. For him the country-house +was only the length of a walk. She answered his +questions artlessly, told him at least how things began. +The bishop was angry, mortified, very wroth. No +doubt he guessed the remainder. There was nought +to keep him from raising a great outcry against +Girard. Not caring for the danger of a struggle with +the Jesuits, he entered thoroughly into the Carmelite’s +views, allowed that she was bewitched, and added that +<i>Girard himself was the wizard</i>. He wanted to lay him +that very moment under a solemn ban, to bring him to +disgrace and ruin. Cadière prayed for him who had +done her so much wrong; vengeance she would not +have. Falling on her knees before the bishop, she +implored him to spare Girard, to speak no more of +things so sorrowful. With touching humility, she +said, “It is enough for me to be enlightened at last, to +know that I was living in sin.” Her Jacobin brother +took her part, foreseeing the perils of such a war, and +doubtful whether the bishop would stand fast.</p> + +<p>Her attacks of disorder were now fewer. The season<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +had changed. The burning summer was over. Nature +at length showed mercy. It was the pleasant +month of October. The bishop had the keen delight +of feeling that she had been saved by him. No longer +under Girard’s influence in the stifling air of Ollioules, +but well cared-for by her family, by the brave and +honest monk, protected, too, by the bishop, who never +grudged his visits, and who shielded her with his +steady countenance, the young girl became altogether +calm.</p> + +<p>For seven weeks or so she seemed quite well-behaved. +The bishop’s happiness was so great that +he wanted the Carmelite, with Cadière’s help, to look +after Girard’s other penitents, and bring them also +back to their senses. They should go to the country-house; +how unwillingly, and with how ill a grace we +can easily guess. In truth, it was strangely ill-judged +to bring those women before the bishop’s ward, a girl +so young still, and but just delivered from her own +ecstatic ravings.</p> + +<p>The state of things became ridiculous and sorely +embittered. Two parties faced each other, Girard’s +women and those of the bishop. On the side of the +latter were a German lady and her daughter, dear +friends of Cadière’s. On the other side were the +rebels, headed by the Guiol. With her the bishop +treated, in hopes of getting her to enter into relations +with the Carmelite, and bring her friends over to him. +He sent her his own clerk, and then a solicitor, an old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> +lover of Guiol’s. All this failing of any effect, the +bishop came to his last resource, determined to summon +them all to his palace. Here they mostly denied those +trances and mystic marks of which they had made +such boast. One of them, Guiol, of course, astonished +him yet more by her shamelessly treacherous +offer to prove to him, on the spot, that they had no +marks whatever about their bodies. They had deemed +him wanton enough to fall into such a snare. But he +kept clear of it very well, declining the offer with +thanks to those who, at the cost of their own modesty, +would have had him copy Girard, and provoke the +laughter of all the town.</p> + +<p>The bishop was not lucky. On the one hand, these +bold wenches made fun of him. On the other, his +success with Cadière was now being undone. She +had hardly entered her own narrow lane in gloomy +Toulon, when she began to fall off. She was just in +those dangerous and baleful centres where her illness +began, on the very field of the battle waged by the two +hostile parties. The Jesuits, whose rearguard everyone +saw in the Court, had on their side the crafty, +the prudent, the knowing. The Carmelite had none +but the bishop with him, was not even backed by his +own brethren, nor yet by the clergy. He had one +weapon, however, in reserve. On the 8th November, +he got out of Cadière a written power to reveal her +confession in case of need.</p> + +<p>It was a daring, dauntless step, which made Girard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +shudder. He was not very brave, and would have +been undone had his cause not been that of the Jesuits +also. He cowered down in the depths of their college. +But his colleague Sabatier, an old, sanguine, passionate +fellow, went straight to the bishop’s palace. He +entered into the prelate’s presence, like another Popilius, +bearing peace or war in his gown. He pushed +him to the wall, made him understand that a suit with +the Jesuits would lead to his own undoing; that he +would remain for ever Bishop of Toulon; would never +rise to an archbishopric. Yet further, with the freedom +of an apostle strong at Versailles, he assured +him that if this affair exposed the morals of a Jesuit, +it would shed no less light on the morals of a bishop. +In a letter, clearly planned by Girard, it was pretended +that the Jesuits held themselves ready in the background, +to hurl dreadful recriminations against the +prelate, declaring his way of life not only unepiscopal, +but <i>abominable</i> withal. The sly, faithless Girard and +the hot-headed Sabatier, swollen with rage and spitefulness, +would have pressed the calumnious charge. +They would not have failed to say that all this matter +was about a girl; that if Girard had taken care of her +when ill, the bishop had gotten her when she was well. +What a commotion would be caused by such a scandal +in the well-regulated life of the great worldly lord! +It were too laughable a piece of chivalry to make war +in revenge for the maidenhood of a weak little fool, +to embroil oneself for her sake with all honest people!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +The Cardinal of Bonzi died indeed of grief at Toulouse, +but that was on account of a fair lady, the +Marchioness of Ganges. The bishop, on his part, +risked his ruin, risked the chance of being overwhelmed +with shame and ridicule, for the child of a retail-dealer +in the Rue de l’Hôpital!</p> + +<p>Sabatier’s threatenings made all the greater impression, +because the bishop himself clung less firmly to +Cadière. He did not thank her for falling ill again; +for giving the lie to his former success; for doing +him a wrong by her relapse. He bore her a grudge +for having failed to cure her. He said to himself that +Sabatier was in the right; that he had better come to +a compromise. The change was sudden—a kind of +warning from above. All at once, like Paul on the +way to Damascus, he beheld the light, and became a +convert to the Jesuits.</p> + +<p>Sabatier would not let him go. He put paper before +him, and made him write and sign a decree forbidding +the Carmelite, his agent with Cadière, and another +forbidding her brother, the Jacobin.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> This communion of blood prevailed among the Northern +<i>Reiters</i>. See my <i>Origines</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2 class="chs"><a name="CHAPTER_XII_2" id="CHAPTER_XII_2"></a>CHAPTER XII.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>THE TRIAL OF CADIERE: 1730-1731.</h3> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">We</span> can guess how this alarming blow was taken by +the Cadière family. The sick girl’s attacks became +frequent and fearful. By a cruel chance they brought +on a kind of epidemic among her intimate friends. +Her neighbour, the German lady, who had trances +also, which she had hitherto deemed divine, now fell +into utter fright, and fancied they came from hell. +This worthy dame of fifty years remembered that she, +too, had often had unclean thoughts: she believed +herself given over to the Devil; saw nothing but +devils about her; and escaping from her own house in +spite of her daughter’s watchfulness, entreated shelter +from the Cadières. From that time the house became +unbearable; business could not be carried on. +The elder Cadière inveighed furiously against Girard, +crying, “He shall be served like Gauffridi: he, too, +shall be burnt!” And the Jacobin added, “Rather +would we waste the whole of our family estate!”</p> + +<p>On the night of the 17th November, Cadière +screamed, and was like one choking. They thought +she was going to die. The eldest Cadière, the tradesman, +lost his wits, and called out to his neighbours<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> +from the window, “Help! the Devil is throttling my +sister!” They came running up almost in their shirts. +The doctors and surgeons wanted to apply the cupping-glasses +to a case of what they called “suffocation +of the womb.” While some were gone to fetch these, +they succeeded in unlocking her teeth and making her +swallow a drop of brandy, which brought her to herself. +Meanwhile there also came to the girl some +doctors of the soul; first an old priest confessor to +Cadière’s mother, and then some parsons of Toulon. +All this noise and shouting, the arrival of the priests +in full dress, the preparations for exorcising, had +brought everyone out into the street. The newcomers +kept asking what was the matter. “Cadière has been +bewitched by Girard,” was the continual reply. We +may imagine the pity and the wrath of the people.</p> + +<p>Greatly alarmed, but anxious to cast the fear back +on others, the Jesuits did a very barbarous thing. +They returned to the bishop, ordered and insisted that +Cadière should be brought to trial; that the attack +should be made that very day; that justice should +make an unforeseen descent on this poor girl, as she +lay rattling in the throat after the last dreadful +seizure.</p> + +<p>Sabatier never left the bishop until the latter had +called his judge, his officer, the Vicar-general Larmedieu, +and his prosecutor or episcopal advocate, Esprit +Reybaud, and commanded them to go to work forthwith.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span></p> + +<p>By the Canon Law this was impossible, illegal. A +<i>preliminary inquiry was needed</i> into the facts, before +the judicial business could begin. There was another +difficulty: the spiritual judge had no right to make +such an arrest save for <i>a rejection of the Sacrament</i>. +The two church-lawyers must have made these objections. +But Sabatier would hear of no excuses. If +matters were allowed to drag in this cold legal way, he +would miss his stroke of terror.</p> + +<p>Larmedieu was a compliant judge, a friend of the +clergy. He was not one of your rude magistrates +who go straight before them, like blind boars, on the +high-road of the law, without seeing or respecting anyone. +He had shown great regard for Aubany, the +patron of Ollioules, during his trial; helping him to +escape by the slowness of his own procedure. Afterwards, +when he knew him to be at Marseilles, as if +that was far from France, in the <i>ultima thule</i> or <i>terra +incognita</i> of ancient geographers, he would not budge +any further. This, however, was a very different case: +the judge who was so paralytic against Aubany, had +wings, and wings of lightning, for Cadière. It was nine +in the morning when the dwellers in the lane saw with +much curiosity a grand procession arrive at the Cadières’ +door, with Master Larmedieu and the episcopal advocate +at the head, honoured by an escort of two clergymen, +doctors of theology. The house was invaded: +the sick girl was summoned before them. They made +her swear to tell the truth against herself; swear to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +defame herself by speaking out in the ears of justice +matters that touched her conscience and the confessional +only.</p> + +<p>She might have dispensed with an answer, for none +of the usual forms had been observed: but she would +not raise the question. She took the oath that was +meant to disarm and betray her. For, being once +bound thereby, she told everything, even to those +shameful and ridiculous details which it must be very +painful for any girl to acknowledge.</p> + +<p>Larmedieu’s official statement and his first examination +point to a clearly settled agreement between +him and the Jesuits. Girard was to be brought forward +as the dupe and prey of Cadière’s knavery. +Fancy a man of sixty, a doctor, professor, director of +nuns, being therewithal so innocent and credulous, +that a young girl, a mere child, was enough to draw +him into the snare! The cunning, shameless wanton +had beguiled him with her visions, but failed to draw +him into her own excesses. Enraged thereat, she +endowed him with every baseness that the fancy of a +Messalina could suggest to her!</p> + +<p>So far from giving grounds for any such idea, the +examination brings out the victim’s gentleness in a +very touching way. Evidently she accuses others only +through constraint, under the pressure of her oath +just taken. She is gentle towards her enemies, even +to the faithless Guiol who, in her brother’s words, had +betrayed her; had done her worst to corrupt her; had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +ruined her, last of all, by making her give up the +papers which would have insured her safety.</p> + +<p>The Cadière brothers were frightened at their sister’s +artlessness. In her regard for her oath she gave herself +up without reserve to be vilified, alas! for ever; +to have ballads sung about her; to be mocked by +the very foes of Jesuits and silly scoffing libertines.</p> + +<p>The mischief done, they wanted at least to have it +defined, to have the official report of the priests +checked by some more serious measure. Seeming +though she did to be the party accused, they made her +the accuser, and prevailed on Marteli Chantard, the +King’s Lieutenant Civil and Criminal, to come and +take her deposition. In this document, short and +clear, the fact of her seduction is clearly established; +likewise the reproaches she uttered against Girard for +his lewd endearments, reproaches at which he only +laughed; likewise the advice he gave her, to let herself +be possessed by the Demon; likewise the means +he used for keeping her wounds open, and so on.</p> + +<p>The King’s officer, the Lieutenant, was bound to +carry the matter before his own court. For the spiritual +judge in his hurry had failed to go through the +forms of ecclesiastic law, and so made his proceedings +null. But the lay magistrate lacked the courage for +this. He let himself be harnessed to the clerical +inquiry, accepted Larmedieu for his colleague, went +himself to sit and hear the evidence in the bishop’s +court. The clerk of the bishopric wrote it down, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> +not the clerk of the King’s Lieutenant. Did he +write it down faithfully? We have reason to doubt that, +when we find him threatening the witnesses, and going +every night to show their statements to the Jesuits.</p> + +<p>The two curates of Cadière’s parish, who were heard +first, deposed drily, not in her favour, yet by no +means against her, certainly not in favour of the +Jesuits. These latter saw that everything was going +amiss for them. Lost to all shame, at the risk of +angering the people, they determined to break all +down. They got from the bishop an order to imprison +Cadière and the chief witnesses she wanted to be heard. +These were the German lady and Batarelle. The girl +herself was placed in the Refuge, a convent-prison; +the ladies in a bridewell, the <i>Good-Shepherd</i>, where +mad women and foul streetwalkers needing punishment +were thrown. On the 26th November, Cadière +was dragged from her bed and given over to the Ursulines, +penitents of Girard’s, who laid her duly on some +rotten straw.</p> + +<p>A fear of them thus established, the witnesses might +now be heard. They began with two, choice and +respectable. One was the Guiol, notorious for being +Girard’s pander, a woman of keen and clever tongue, +who was commissioned to hurl the first dart and open +the wound of slander. The other was Laugier, the +little seamstress, whom Cadière had supported and for +whose apprenticeship she had paid. While she lay +with child by Girard, this Laugier had cried out against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> +him; now she washed away her fault by sneering at +Cadière and defiling her benefactress, but in a very +clumsy way, like the shameless wanton she was; +ascribing to her impudent speeches quite contrary to +her known habits. Then came Mdlle. Gravier and her +cousin Reboul—all the <i>Girardites</i>, in short, as they +were called in Toulon.</p> + +<p>But, do as they would, the light would burst forth +now and then. The wife of a purveyor in the house +where these Girardites met together, said, with cruel +plainness, that she could not abide them, that they +disturbed the whole house; she spoke of their noisy +bursts of laughter, of their suppers paid for out of the +money collected for the poor, and so forth.</p> + +<p>They were sore afraid lest the nuns should speak out +for Cadière. The bishop’s clerk told them, as if +from the bishop himself, that those who spoke evil +should be chastised. As a yet stronger measure, they +ordered back from Marseilles the gay Father Aubany, +who had some ascendant over the nuns. His affair +with the girl he had violated was got settled for him. +Her parents were made to understand that justice could +do nothing in their case. The child’s good name was +valued at eight hundred livres, which were paid on Aubany’s +account. So, full of zeal, he returned, a thorough +Jesuit, to his troop at Ollioules. The poor troop +trembled indeed, when this worthy father told them +of his commission to warn them that, if they did not +behave themselves, “they should be put to the torture.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>For all that, they could not get as much as they +wanted from these fifteen nuns. Two or three at +most were on Girard’s side, but all stated facts, especially +about the 7th July, which bore directly against +him.</p> + +<p>In despair the Jesuits came to an heroic decision, in +order to make sure of their witnesses. They stationed +themselves in an outer hall which led into the court. +There they stopped those going in, tampered with +them, threatened them, and, if they were against +Girard, coolly debarred their entrance by thrusting +them out of doors.</p> + +<p>Thus the clerical judge and the King’s officer were +only as puppets in the Jesuits’ hands. The whole town +saw this and trembled. During December, January, +and February, the Cadière family drew up and diffused +a complaint touching the way in which justice was +denied them and witnesses suborned. The Jesuits +themselves felt that the place would no longer hold +them. They evoked help from a higher quarter. This +seemed best available in the shape of a decree of the +Great Council, which would have brought the matter +before itself and hushed up everything, as Mazarin +had done in the Louviers affair. But the Chancellor +was D’Aguesseau; and the Jesuits had no wish to +let the matter go up to Paris. They kept it still in +Provence. On the 16th January, 1731, they got +the King to determine that the Parliament of Provence, +where they had plenty of friends, should pass sentence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> +on the inquiry which two of its councillors were conducting +at Toulon.</p> + +<p>M. Faucon, a layman, and M. de Charleval, a councillor +of the Church, came in fact and straightway +marched down among the Jesuits. These eager commissioners +made so little secret of their loud and +bitter partiality, as to toss out an order for Cadière’s +remand, just as they might have done to an accused +prisoner; whilst Girard was most politely called up +and allowed to go free, to keep on saying mass and +hearing confessions. And so the plaintiff was kept +under lock and key, in her enemies’ hands, exposed to +all manner of cruelty from Girard’s devotees.</p> + +<p>From these honest Ursulines she met with just such +a reception as if they had been charged to bring about +her death. The room they gave her was the cell of a +mad nun who made everything filthy. In the nun’s +old straw, in the midst of a frightful stench, she lay. +Her kinsmen on the morrow had much ado to get in a +coverlet and mattress for her use. For her nurse and +keeper she was allowed a poor tool of Girard’s, a lay-sister, +daughter to that very Guiol who had betrayed +her; a girl right worthy of her mother, capable of any +wickedness, a source of danger to her modesty, perhaps +even to her life. They submitted her to a course +of penance in her case specially painful, refusing her +the right of confessing herself or taking the sacrament. +She relapsed into her illness from the time she +was debarred the latter privilege. Her fierce foe, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> +Jesuit Sabatier, came into her cell, and formed a new +and startling scheme to win her by a bribe of the +holy wafer. The bargaining began. They offered +her terms: she should communicate if she would only +acknowledge herself a slanderer, unworthy of communicating. +In her excessive humbleness she might have +done so. But, while ruining herself, she would also +have ruined the Carmelite and her own brethren.</p> + +<p>Reduced to Pharisaical tricks, they took to expounding +her speeches. Whatever she uttered in a mystic +sense they feigned to accept in its material hardness. +To free herself from such snares she displayed, what +they had least expected, very great presence of mind.</p> + +<p>A yet more treacherous plan for robbing her of the +public sympathy and setting the laughers against her, +was to find her a lover. They pretended that she had +proposed to a young blackguard that they should set +off together and roam the world.</p> + +<p>The great lords of that day, being fond of having +children and little pages to wait on them, readily took +in the better-mannered of their peasant’s sons. In +this way had the bishop dealt with the boy of one of +his tenants. He washed his face, as it were; made +him tidy. Presently, when the favourite grew up, he +gave him the tonsure, dressed him up like an abbé, and +dubbed him his chaplain at the age of twenty. This +person was the Abbé Camerle. Brought up with the +footmen and made to do everything, he was, like many +a half-scrubbed country youth, a sly, but simple lout.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> +He saw that the prelate since his arrival at Toulon +had been curious about Cadière and far from friendly +to Girard. He thought to please and amuse his master +by turning himself, at Ollioules, into a spy on their +suspected intercourse. But after the bishop changed +through fear of the Jesuits, Camerle became equally +zealous in helping Girard with active service against +Cadière.</p> + +<p>He came one day, like another Joseph, to say that +Mdlle. Cadière had, like Potiphar’s wife, been tempting +him, and trying to shake his virtue. Had this been +true, it was all the more cowardly of him thus to +punish her for a moment’s weakness, to take so mean +an advantage of some light word. But his education +as page and seminarist was not such as to bring him +either honour or the love of women.</p> + +<p>She extricated herself with spirit and success, +covering him with shame. The two angry commissioners +saw her making so triumphant an answer, that +they cut the investigation short, and cut down the +number of her witnesses. Out of the sixty-eight she +summoned, they allowed but thirty-eight to appear. +Regardless alike of the delays and the forms of justice, +they hurried forward the confronting of witnesses. +Yet nothing was gained, thereby. On the 25th and +again on the 26th February, she renewed her crushing +declarations.</p> + +<p>Such was their rage thereat, that they declared their +regret at the want of torments and executioners in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> +Toulon, “who might have made her sing out a little.” +These things formed their <i>ultima ratio</i>. They were +employed, by the Parliaments through all that century. +I have before me a warm defence of torture,<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> written +in 1780, by a learned member of Parliament, who also +became a member of the Great Council; it was dedicated +to the King, Louis XVI., and crowned with the +flattering approval of His Holiness Pius VI.</p> + +<p>But, in default of the torture that would have made +her sing, she was made to speak by a still better +process. On the 27th February, Guiol’s daughter, the +lay-sister who acted as her jailer, came to her at an +early hour with a glass of wine. She was astonished: +she was not at all thirsty: she never drank wine, +especially pure wine, of a morning. The lay-sister, a +rough, strong menial, such as they keep in convents to +manage crazy or refractory women, and to punish +children, overwhelmed the feeble sufferer with remonstrances +that looked like threats. Unwilling as she +was, she drank. And she was forced to drink it all, +to the very dregs, which she found unpleasantly salt.</p> + +<p>What was this repulsive draught? We have already +seen how clever these old confessors of nuns were at +remedies of various kinds. In this case the wine +alone would have done for so weakly a patient. It +had been quite enough to make her drunk, to draw +from her at once some stammering speeches, which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>the clerk might have moulded into a downright falsehood. +But a drug of some kind, perhaps some +wizard’s simple, which would act for several days, was +added to the wine, in order to prolong its effects and +leave her no way of disproving anything laid to her +charge.</p> + +<p>In her declaration of the 27th February, how +sudden and entire a change! It is nothing but a +defence of Girard! Strange to say, the commissioners +make no remark on so abrupt a change. The +strange, shameful sight of a young girl drunk causes +no astonishment, fails to put them on their guard. +She is made to own that all which had passed between +herself and Girard was merely the offspring of her own +diseased fancy; that all she had spoken of as real, at +the bidding of her brethren and the Carmelite, was +nothing more than a dream. Not content with +whitening Girard, she must blacken her own friends, +must crush them, and put the halter round their necks.</p> + +<p>Especially wonderful is the clearness of her deposition, +the neat way in which it is worded. The +hand of the skilful clerk peeps out therefrom. It is +very strange, however, that now they are in so fair a +way, they do not follow it up. From the 27th to the +6th of March there is no further questioning.</p> + +<p>On the 28th, the poison having doubtless done its +work, and plunged her into a perfect stupor, or else a +kind of Sabbatic frenzy, it was impossible to bring +her forth. After that, while her head was still disordered,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> +they could easily give her other potions of +which she would know and remember nothing. What +happened during those six days seems to have been so +shocking, so sad for poor Cadière, that neither she +nor her brother had the heart to speak of it twice. +Nor would they have spoken at all, had not the +brethren themselves incurred a prosecution aiming at +their own lives.</p> + +<p>Having won his cause through Cadière’s falsehood, +Girard dared to come and see her in her prison, where +she lay stupefied or in despair, forsaken alike of earth +and heaven, and if any clear thoughts were left her, +possessed with the dreadful consciousness of having +by her last deposition murdered her own near kin. +Her own ruin was complete already. But another +trial, that of her brothers and the bold Carmelite, +would now begin. She may in her remorse have been +tempted to soften Girard, to keep him from proceeding +against them, above all to save herself from being put +to the torture. Girard, at any rate, took advantage of +her utter weakness, and behaved like the determined +scoundrel he really was.</p> + +<p>Alas! her wandering spirit came but slowly back to +her. It was on the 6th March that she had to face +her accusers, to renew her former admissions, to ruin +her brethren beyond repair. She could not speak; +she was choking. The commissioners had the kindness +to tell her that the torture was there, at her side; +to describe to her the wooden horse, the points of iron,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> +the wedges for jamming fast her bones. Her courage +failed her, so weak she was now of body. She submitted +to be set before her cruel master, who might +laugh triumphant now that he had debased not only +her body, but yet more her conscience, by making her +the murderess of her own friends.</p> + +<p>No time was lost in profiting by her weakness. +They prevailed forthwith on the Parliament of Aix to +let the Carmelite and the two brothers be imprisoned, +that they might undergo a separate trial for their lives, +as soon as Cadière should have been condemned.</p> + +<p>On the 10th March, she was dragged from the +Ursulines of Toulon to Sainte-Claire of Ollioules. +Girard, however, was not sure of her yet. He got +leave to have her conducted, like some dreaded highway +robber, between some soldiers of the mounted +police. He demanded that she should be carefully +locked up at Sainte-Claire. The ladies were moved to +tears at the sight of a poor sufferer who could not +drag herself forward, approaching between those drawn +swords. Everyone pitied her. Two brave men, M. +Aubin, a solicitor, and M. Claret, a notary, drew up +for her the deeds in which she withdrew her late confession, +fearful documents that record the threats of +the commissioners and of the Ursuline prioress, and +above all, the fact of the drugged wine she had been +forced to drink.</p> + +<p>At the same time these daring men drew up for the +Chancellor’s court at Paris a plea of error, as it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> +called, exposing the irregular and blameable proceedings, +the wilful breaches of the law, effected in the coolest +way, first by the bishop’s officer and the King’s Lieutenant, +secondly by the two commissioners. The +Chancellor D’Aguesseau showed himself very slack +and feeble. He let these foul proceedings stand; left +the business in charge of the Parliament of Aix, +sullied as it already seemed to be by the disgrace with +which two of its members had just been covering +themselves.</p> + +<p>So once more they laid hands on their victim, and +had her dragged, in charge as before of the mounted +police, from Ollioules to Aix. In those days people +slept at a public house midway. Here the corporal +explained that, by virtue of his orders, he would sleep +in the young girl’s room. They pretended to believe +that an invalid unable to walk, might flee away by +jumping out of window. Truly, it was a most villanous +device, to commit such a one to the chaste keeping +of the heroes of the <i>dragonnades</i>.<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> Happily, her +mother had come to see her start, had followed her in +spite of everything, and they did not dare to beat her +away with their butt-ends. She stayed in the room, +kept watch—neither of them, indeed, lying down—and +shielded her child from all harm.</p> + +<p>Cadière was forwarded to the Ursulines of Aix, who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>had the King’s command to take her in charge. But +the prioress pretended that the order had not yet come. +We may see here how savage a woman who was once +impassioned will grow, until she has lost all her +woman’s nature. She kept the other four hours at +her street-door, as if she were a public show. There +was time to fetch a mob of Jesuits’ followers, of honest +Church artizans, to hoot and hiss, while children might +help by throwing stones. For these four hours she +was in the pillory. Some, however, of the more dispassionate +passers-by asked if the Ursulines had +gotten orders to let them kill the girl. We may guess +what tender jailers their sick prisoner would find in +these good sisters!</p> + +<p>The ground was prepared with admirable effect. By a +spirited concert between Jesuit magistrates and plotting +ladies, a system of deterring had been set on foot. +No pleader would ruin himself by defending a girl +thus heavily aspersed. No one would digest the poisonous +things stored up by her jailers, for him who should +daily show his face in their parlour to await an interview +with Cadière. The defence in that case would +devolve on M. Chaudon, syndic of the Aix bar. He +did not decline so hard a duty. And yet he was so +uneasy as to desire a settlement, which the Jesuits +refused. Thereupon he showed what he really was, a +man of unswerving honesty, of amazing courage. He +exposed, with the learning of a lawyer, the monstrous +character of the whole proceeding. So doing, he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> +for ever embroil himself with the Parliament no less +than the Jesuits. He brought into sharp outline the +spiritual incest of the confessor, though he modestly +refrained from specifying how far he had carried his +profligacy. He also withheld himself from speaking +of Girard’s girls, the loose-lived devotees, as a matter +well-known, but to which no one would have liked to +bear witness. In short, he gave Girard the best case +he could by assailing him <i>as a wizard</i>. People laughed, +made fun of the advocate. He undertook to prove the +existence of demons by a series of sacred texts, beginning +with the Gospels. This made them laugh the +louder.</p> + +<p>The case had been cleverly disfigured by the turning +of an honest Carmelite into Cadière’s lover, and the +weaver of a whole chain of libels against Girard and +the Jesuits. Thenceforth the crowd of idlers, of +giddy worldlings, scoffers and philosophers alike, made +merry with either side, being thoroughly impartial as +between Carmelite and Jesuit, and exceedingly rejoiced +to see this battle of monk with monk. Those who +were presently to be called <i>Voltairites</i>, were even better +inclined towards the polished Jesuits, those men of the +world, than towards any of the old mendicant orders.</p> + +<p>So the matter became more and more tangled. +Jokes kept raining down, but raining mostly on the +victim. They called it a love-intrigue. They saw in +it nothing but food for fun. There was not a scholar +nor a clerk who did not turn a ditty on Girard and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> +pupil, who did not hash up anew the old provincial +jokes about Madeline in the Gauffridi affair, her six +thousand imps, their dread of a flogging, and the +wonderful chastening-process whereby Cadière’s devils +were put to flight.</p> + +<p>On this latter point the friends of Girard had no +difficulty in proving him clean. He had acted by his +right as director, in accordance with the common +wont. The rod is the symbol of fatherhood. He had +treated his penitent with a view to the healing of her +soul. They used to thrash demoniacs, to thrash the +insane and sufferers in other ways. This was the +favourite mode of hunting out the enemy, whether in +the shape of devil or disease. With the people it +was a very common idea. One brave workman of +Toulon, who had witnessed Cadière’s sad plight, +declared that a bull’s sinew was the poor sufferer’s +only cure.</p> + +<p>Thus strongly supported, Girard had only to act +reasonably. He would not take the trouble. His defence +is charmingly flippant. He never deigns even +to agree with his own depositions. He gives the lie +to his own witnesses. He seems to be jesting, and +says, with the coolness of a great lord of the Regency, +that if, as they charge him, he was ever shut up with +her, “it could only have happened nine times.”</p> + +<p>“And why did the good father do so,” would his +friends say, “save to watch, to consider, to search +out the truth concerning her? ’Tis the confessor’s<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> +duty in all such cases. Read the life of the most +holy Catherine of Genoa. One evening her confessor +hid himself in her room, waiting to see the wonders +she would work, and to catch her in the act miraculous. +But here, unhappily, the Devil, who never +sleeps, had laid a snare for this lamb of God, had +belched forth this devouring monster of a she-dragon, +this mixture of maniac and demoniac, to swallow him +up, to overwhelm him in a cataract of slander.”</p> + +<p>It was an old and excellent custom to smother +monsters in the cradle. Then why not later also? +Girard’s ladies charitably advised the instant using +against her of fire and sword. “Let her perish!” +cried the devotees. Many of the great ladies also +wished to have her punished, deeming it rather too bad +that such a creature should have dared to enter such a +plea, to bring into court the man who had done her +but too great an honour.</p> + +<p>Some determined Jansenists there were in the +Parliament, but these were more inimical to the +Jesuits than friendly to the girl. And they might +well be downcast and discouraged, seeing they had +against them at once the terrible Society of Jesus, the +Court of Versailles, the Cardinal Minister (Fleury), +and, lastly, the drawing-rooms of Aix. Should they +be bolder than the head of the law, the Chancellor +D’Aguesseau, who had proved so very slack? The +Attorney-General did not waver at all: being charged +with the indictment of Girard, he avowed himself his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> +friend, advised him how to meet the charges against +him.</p> + +<p>There was, indeed, but one question at issue, to +ascertain by what kind of reparation, of solemn +atonement, of exemplary chastening, the plaintiff thus +changed into the accused might satisfy Girard and +the Company of Jesus. The Jesuits, with all their +good-nature, affirmed the need of an example, in the +interests of religion, by way of some slight warning +both to the Jansenist Convulsionaries and the scribbling +philosophers who were beginning to swarm.</p> + +<p>There were two points by which Cadière might be +hooked, might receive the stroke of the harpoon.</p> + +<p>Firstly, she had borne false witness. But, then, by +no law could slander be punished with death. To +gain that end you must go a little further, and say, +“The old Roman text, <i>De famosis libellis</i>, pronounces +death on those who have uttered libels hurtful to the +Emperor or to <i>the religion</i> of the Empire. The +Jesuits represent that religion. Therefore, a memorial +against a Jesuit deserves the last penalty.”</p> + +<p>A still better handle, however, was their second. At +the opening of the trial the episcopal judge, the prudent +Larmedieu, had asked her if she had never <i>divined</i> +the secrets of many people, and she had answered yes. +Therefore they might charge her with the practice +named in the list of forms employed in trials for +witchcraft, as <i>Divination and imposture</i>. This alone +in ecclesiastic law deserved the stake. They might,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> +indeed, without much effort, call her a <i>Witch</i>, after the +confession made by the Ollioules ladies, that at one +same hour of the night she used to be in several cells +together. Their infatuation, the surprising tenderness +that suddenly came over them, had all the air of an +enchantment.</p> + +<p>What was there to prevent her being burnt? They +were still burning everywhere in the eighteenth century. +In one reign only, that of Philip V., sixteen +hundred people were burnt in Spain: one Witch was +burnt as late as 1782. In Germany one was burnt in +1751; in Switzerland one also in 1781. Rome was +always burning her victims, on the sly indeed, in the +dark holes and cells of the Inquisition.<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a></p> + +<p>“But France, at least, is surely more humane?” +She is very inconsistent. In 1718, a Wizard is burnt +at Bordeaux.<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> In 1724 and 1726, the faggots were +lighted in Grève for offences which passed as schoolboy +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span>jokes at Versailles. The guardians of the Royal +child, the Duke and Fleury, who are so indulgent to +the Court, are terrible to the town. A donkey-driver +and a noble, one M. des Chauffours, are burnt alive. +The advent of the Cardinal Minister could not be +celebrated more worthily than by a moral reformation, +by making a severe example of those who corrupted +the people. Nothing more timely than to pass some +terrible and solemn sentence on this infernal girl, +who made so heinous an assault on the innocent +Girard!</p> + +<p>Observe what was needed to wash that father clean. +It was needful to show that, even if he had done +wrong and imitated Des Chauffours, he had been the +sport of some enchantment. The documents were +but too plain. By the wording of the Canon Law, +and after these late decrees, somebody ought to be +burnt. Of the five magistrates on the bench, two +only would have burnt Girard. Three were against +Cadière. They came to terms. The three who +formed the majority would not insist on burning her, +would forego the long, dreadful scene at the stake, +would content themselves with a simple award of +death.</p> + +<p>In the name of these five, it was settled, pending +the final assent of Parliament, “That Cadière, +having first been put to the torture in both kinds, +should afterwards be removed to Toulon, and suffer +death by hanging on the Place des Prêcheurs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>This was a dreadful blow. An immense revulsion +of feeling at once took place. The worldlings, the +jesters ceased to laugh: they shuddered. Their love +of trifling did not lead them to slur over a result so +horrible. That a girl should be seduced, ill-used, +dishonoured, treated as a mere toy, that she should +die of grief, or of frenzy, they had regarded as right +and good; with all that they had no concern. But +when it was a case of punishment, when in fancy they +saw before them the woeful victim, with rope round her +neck, by the gallows where she was about to hang, their +hearts rose in revolt. From all sides went forth the +cry, “Never, since the world began, was there seen so +villanous a reversal of things; the law of rape administered +the wrong way, the girl condemned for having +been made a tool, the victim hanged by her seducer!”</p> + +<p>In this town of Aix, made up of judges, priests, +and the world of fashion, a thing unforeseen occurred: +a whole people suddenly rose, a violent popular movement +was astir. A crowd of persons of every class +marched in one close well-ordered body straight +towards the Ursulines. Cadière and her mother were +bidden to show themselves. “Make yourself easy, +mademoiselle,” they shouted: “we stand by you: +fear nothing!”</p> + +<p>The grand eighteenth century, justly called by +Hegel the “reign of mind,” was still grander as the +“reign of humanity.” Ladies of distinction, such as +the granddaughter of Mde. de Sévigné, the charming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> +Madame de Simiane, took possession of the young +girl and sheltered her in their bosoms.</p> + +<p>A thing yet prettier and more touching was it, to +see the Jansenist ladies, elsewhile so sternly pure, so +hard towards each other, in their austerities so severe, +now in this great conjuncture offer up Law on the +altar of Mercy, by flinging their arms round the poor +threatened child, purifying her with kisses on the +forehead, baptizing her anew in tears.</p> + +<p>If Provence be naturally wild, she is all the more +wonderful in these wild moments of generosity and +real greatness. Something of this was later seen in +the earliest triumphs of Mirabeau, when he had a +million of men gathered round him at Marseilles. +But here already was a great revolutionary scene, a +vast uprising against the stupid Government of the +day, and Fleury’s pets the Jesuits: a unanimous uprising +in behalf of humanity, of compassion, in +defence of a woman, a very child, thus barbarously +offered up. The Jesuits fancied that among their +own rabble, among their clients and their beggars, +they might array a kind of popular force, armed with +handbells and staves to beat back the party of +Cadière. This latter, however, included almost everyone. +Marseilles rose up as one man to bear in +triumph the son of the Advocate Chaudon. Toulon +went so far for the sake of her poor townswoman, as +to think of burning the Jesuit college.</p> + +<p>The most touching of all these tokens in Cadière’s<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> +favour, reached her from Ollioules. A simple boarder, +Mdlle. Agnes, for all her youthful shyness, followed the +impulse of her own heart, threw herself into the press +of pamphlets, and published a defence of Cadière.</p> + +<p>So widespread and deep a movement had its effect +on the Parliament itself. The foes of the Jesuits +raised their heads, took courage to defy the threats of +those above, the influence of the Jesuits, and the bolts +that Fleury might hurl upon them from Versailles.<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a></p> + +<p>The very friends of Girard, seeing their numbers +fall off, their phalanx grow thin, were eager for the +sentence. It was pronounced on the 11th October, +1731.</p> + +<p>In sight of the popular feeling, no one dared to +follow up the savage sentence of the bench, by getting +Cadière hanged. Twelve councillors sacrificed their +honour, by declaring Girard innocent. Of the twelve +others, some Jansenists condemned him to the flames +as a wizard; and three or four, with better reason, condemned +him to death as a scoundrel. Twelve being +against twelve, the President Lebret had to give the +casting vote. He found for Girard. Acquitted of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span>the capital crime of witchcraft, the latter was then +made over, as priest and confessor, to the Toulon +magistrate, his intimate friend Larmedieu, for trial in +the bishop’s court.</p> + +<p>The great folk and the indifferent ones were satisfied. +And so little heed was given to this award, that +even in these days it has been said that “both were +<i>acquitted</i>.” The statement is not correct. Cadière +was treated as a slanderer, was condemned to see her +memorials and other papers burnt by the hand of the +executioner.</p> + +<p>There was still a dreadful something in the background. +Cadière being so marked, so branded for the +use of calumny, the Jesuits were sure to keep pushing +underhand their success with Cardinal Fleury, and to +urge her being punished in some secret, arbitrary +way. Such was the notion imbibed by the town of +Aix. It felt that, instead of sending her home, Parliament +would rather <i>yield her up</i>. This caused so +fearful a rage, such angry menaces, against President +Lebret, that he asked to have the regiment of +Flanders sent thither.</p> + +<p>Girard was fleeing away in a close carriage, when +they found him out and would have killed him, had he +not escaped into the Jesuits’ Church. There the rascal +betook himself to saying mass. After his escape +thence he returned to Dôle, to reap honour and glory +from the Society. Here, in 1733, he died, <i>in the perfume +of holiness</i>. The courtier Lebret died in 1735.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span></p> + +<p>Cardinal Fleury did whatever the Jesuits pleased. +At Aix, Toulon, Marseilles, many were banished, or cast +into prison. Toulon was specially guilty, as having +borne Girard’s effigy to the doors of his <i>Girardites</i>, and +carried about the thrice holy standard of the Jesuits.</p> + +<p>According to the terms of the award, Cadière should +have been free to return home, to live again with her +mother. But I venture to say that she was never +allowed to re-enter her native town, that flaming +theatre wherein so many voices had been raised in +her behalf.</p> + +<p>If only to feel an interest in her was a crime deserving +imprisonment, we cannot doubt but that she +herself was presently thrown into prison; that the +Jesuits easily obtained a special warrant from Versailles +to lock up the poor girl, to hush up, to bury +with her an affair so dismal for themselves. They +would wait, of course, until the public attention was +drawn off to something else. Thereon the fatal clutch +would have caught her anew; she would have been +buried out of sight in some unknown convent, snuffed +out in some dark <i>In pace</i>.</p> + +<p>She was but one-and-twenty at the time of the +award, and she had always hoped to die soon. May +God have granted her that mercy!<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> Muyart de Vouglans, in the sequel to his <i>Loix Criminelles</i>, +1780.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> Alluding to the cruelties dealt on the Huguenots by the +French dragoons, at the close of Louis the Fourteenth’s +reign.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> This fact comes to us from an adviser to the Holy Office, +still living.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> I am not speaking of executions done by the people of +their own accord. A hundred years ago, in a village of Provence, +an old woman on being refused alms by a landowner, +said in her fury, “You will be dead to-morrow.” He was +smitten and died. The whole village, high and low, seized the +old woman, and set her on a bundle of vine-twigs. She was +burnt alive. The Parliament made a feint of inquiring, but +punished nobody.—[In 1751 an old couple of Tring, in Hertfordshire, +according to Wright, were tortured, kicked, and +beaten to death, on the plea of witchcraft, by a maddened +country mob.—<span class="smcap">Trans.</span>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> There is a laughable tale which expresses the state of +Parliament with singular nicety. The Recorder was reading +his comments on the trial, on the share the Devil might have +had therein, when a loud noise was heard. A black man fell +down the chimney. In their fright they all ran away, save +the Recorder only, who, being entangled in his robe, could not +move. The man made some excuse. It was simply a chimneysweep +who had mistaken his chimney.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> Touching this matter, Voltaire is very flippant: he scoffs +at both parties, especially the Jansenists. The historians of +our own day, MM. Cabasse, Fabre, Méry, not having read the +<i>Trial</i>, believe themselves impartial, while they are bearing +down the victim.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></h2> + + +<p class="noind"><span class="smcap">A woman</span> of genius, in a burst of noble tenderness, +has figured to herself the two spirits whose strife +moulded the Middle Ages, as coming at last to recognise +each other, to draw together, to renew their +olden friendship. Looking closer at each other, they +discern, though somewhat late, the marks of a common +parentage. How if they were indeed brethren, and +this long battle nought but a mistake? Their hearts +speak, and they are softened. The haughty outlaw +and the gentle persecutor have forgotten everything: +they dart forward and throw themselves into each +other’s arms.—(<i>Consuelo.</i>)</p> + +<p>A charming, womanly idea. Others, too, have +dreamed the same dream. The sweet Montanelli +turned it into a beautiful poem. Ay, who would not +welcome the delightful hope of seeing the battle here +hushed down and finished by an embrace so moving?</p> + +<p>What does the wise Merlin think of it? In the +mirror of his lake, whose depths are known to himself +only, what did he behold? What said he in the colossal +epic produced by him in 1860? Why, that Satan +will not disarm, if disarm he ever do, until the Day of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> +Judgment. Then, side by side, at peace with each +other, the two will fall asleep in a common death.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It is not so hard, indeed, to bend them into a kind +of compromise. The weakening, relaxing effects of so +long a battle allow of their mingling in a certain way. +In the last chapter we saw two shadows agreeing to +form an alliance in deceit; the Devil appearing as the +friend of Loyola, devotees and demoniacs marching +abreast, Hell touched to softness in the Sacred Heart.</p> + +<p>It is a quiet time now, and people hate each other +less than formerly. They hate few indeed but their +own friends. I have seen Methodists admiring +Jesuits. Those lawyers and physicians whom the +Church in the Middle Ages called the children of +Satan, I have seen making shrewd covenant with the +old conquered Spirit.</p> + +<p>But get we away from these pretences. They who +gravely propose that Satan should make peace and +settle down, have they thought much about the matter?</p> + +<p>There is no hindrance as regards ill-will. The dead +are dead. The millions of former victims sleep in +peace, be they Albigenses, Vaudois, or Protestants, +Moors, Jews, or American Indians. The Witch, +universal martyr of the Middle Ages, has nought to +say. Her ashes have been scattered to the winds.</p> + +<p>Know you, then, what it is that raises a protest, that +keeps these two spirits steadily apart, preventing them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> +from coming nearer? It is a huge reality, born five +hundred years ago; a gigantic creation accursed by +the Church, even that mighty fabric of science and +modern institutions, which she excommunicated stone +by stone, but which with every anathema has grown a +storey higher. You cannot name one science which +has not been itself a rebellion.</p> + +<p>There is but one way of reconciling the two spirits, +of joining into one the two churches. Demolish the +younger, that one which from its first beginning was +pronounced guilty and doomed as such. Let us, if +we can, destroy the natural sciences, the observatory, +the museum, the botanical garden, the schools of +medicine, and all the modern libraries. Let us burn +our laws, our bodies of statutes, and return to the +Canon Law.</p> + +<p>All these novelties came of Satan. Each step forward +has been a crime of his doing.</p> + +<p>He was the wicked logician who, despising the +clerical law, preserved and renewed that of jurists and +philosophers, grounded on an impious faith, on the +freedom of the will.</p> + +<p>He was that dangerous magician who, while men +were discussing the sex of angels and other questions +of like sublimity, threw himself fiercely on realities, +and created chemistry, physics, mathematics—ay, +even mathematics. He sought to revive them, and +that was rebellion. People were burnt for saying that +three made three.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span></p> + +<p>Medicine especially was a Satanic thing, a rebellion +against disease, the scourge so justly dealt by God. +It was clearly sinful to check the soul on its way +towards heaven, to plunge it afresh into life!</p> + +<p>What atonement shall we make for all this? How +are we to put down, to overthrow, this pile of insurrections, +whereof at this moment all modern life is +made up? Will Satan destroy his work, that he +may tread once more the way of angels? That work +rests on three everlasting rocks, Reason, Right, and +Nature.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>So great is the triumph of the new spirit, that he +forgets his battles, hardly at this moment deigns to +remember that he has won.</p> + +<p>It were not amiss to remind him of his wretched +beginnings, how coarsely mean, how rude and painfully +comic were the shapes he wore in the season of +persecution, when through a woman, even the unhappy +Witch, he made his first homely flights in science. +Bolder than the heretic, the half-Christian reasoner, +the scholar who kept one foot within the sacred circle, +this woman eagerly escaped therefrom, and under the +open sunlight tried to make herself an altar of rough +moorland stones.</p> + +<p>She has perished, as she was certain to perish. By +what means? Chiefly by the progress of those very +sciences which began with her, through the physician, +the naturalist, for whom she had once toiled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Witch has perished for ever, but not the Fay. +She will reappear in the form that never dies.</p> + +<p>Busied in these latter days with the affairs of men, +Woman has in return given up her rightful part, that +of the physician, the comforter, the healing Fairy. +Herein lies her proper priesthood—a priesthood that +does belong to her, whatever the Church may say.</p> + +<p>Her delicate organs, her fondness for the least detail, +her tender consciousness of life, all invite her to +become Life’s shrewd interpreter in every science of +observation. With her tenderly pitiful heart, her +power of divining goodness, she goes of her own +accord to the work of doctoring. There is but small +difference between children and sick people. For both +of them we need the Woman.</p> + +<p>She will return into the paths of science, whither, +as a smile of nature, gentleness and humanity will +enter by her side.</p> + +<p>The Anti-natural is growing dim, nor is the day far +off when its eclipse will bring back daylight to the +earth.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The gods may vanish, but God is still there. Nay, +but the less we see of them, the more manifest is He. +He is like a lighthouse eclipsed at moments, but +alway shining again more clearly than before.</p> + +<p>It is a remarkable thing to see Him discussed so +fully, even in the journals themselves. People begin +to feel that all questions of education, government,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span> +childhood, and womanhood, turn on that one ruling +and underlying question. As God is, so must the +world be.</p> + +<p>From this we gather that the times are ripe.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>So near, indeed, is that religious dayspring that I +seemed momently to see it breaking over the desert +where I brought this book to an end.</p> + +<p>How full of light, how rough and beautiful looked +this desert of mine! I had made my nest on a rock +in the mighty roadstead of Toulon, in a lowly villa +surrounded with aloe and cypress, with the prickly +pear and the wild rose. Before me was a spreading +basin of sparkling sea; behind me the bare-topt amphitheatre, +where, at their ease, might sit the Parliament +of the world.</p> + +<p>This spot, so very African, bedazzles you in the +daytime with flashings as of steel. But of a winter +morning, especially in December, it seemed full of a +divine mystery. I was wont to rise exactly at six +o’clock, when the signal for work was boomed from +the Arsenal gun. From six to seven I enjoyed a +delicious time of it. The quick—may I call it piercing?—twinkle +of the stars made the moon ashamed, +and fought against the daybreak. Before its coming, +and during the struggle between two lights, the +wonderful clearness of the air would let things be +seen and heard at incredible distances. Two leagues +away I could make everything out. The smallest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span> +detail about the distant mountains, a tree, a cliff, a +house, a bend in the ground, was thrown out with +the most delicate sharpness. New senses seemed to +be given me. I found myself another being, released +from bondage, free to soar away on my new wings. +It was an hour of utter purity, all hard and clear. +I said to myself, “How is this? Am I still a +man?”</p> + +<p>An unspeakable bluish hue, respected, left untouched +by the rosy dawn, hung round me like a sacred +ether, a spirit that made all things spiritual.</p> + +<p>One felt, however, a forward movement, through +changes soft and slow. The great marvel was drawing +nearer, to shine forth and eclipse all other things. It +came on in its own calm way: you felt no wish to +hurry it. The coming transfiguration, the expected +witcheries of the light, took not a whit away from the +deep enjoyment of being still under the divinity of +night, still, as it were, half-hidden, and slow to emerge +from so wonderful a spell.... Come forth, O Sun! +We worship thee while yet unseen, but will reap all +of good we yet may from these last moments of our +dream!</p> + +<p>He is about to break forth. In hope let us await +his welcome.</p> + +<p class="center" style="padding-top: 2em">THE END.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_LEADING_AUTHORITIES" id="LIST_OF_LEADING_AUTHORITIES"></a>LIST OF LEADING AUTHORITIES.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span></h2> + +<ul> +<li>Graesse, <i>Bibliotheca Magiæ</i>, Leipsic, 1843.</li> +<li><i>Magie Antique</i>—as edited by Soldan, A. Maury, &c.</li> +<li>Calcagnini, <i>Miscell., Magia Amatoria Antiqua</i>, 1544.</li> +<li>J. Grimm, <i>German Mythology</i>.</li> +<li><i>Acta Sanctorum.</i>—Acta SS. Ordinis S. Benedicti.</li> +<li>Michael Psellus, <i>Energie des Démons</i>, 1050.</li> +<li>Cæsar of Heisterbach, <i>Illustria Miracula</i>, 1220.</li> +<li><i>Registers of the Inquisition</i>, 1307-1326, in Limburch; and the extracts given by Magi, Llorente, Lamothe-Langon, &c.</li> +<li><i>Directorium.</i> Eymerici, 1358.</li> +<li>Llorente, <i>The Spanish Inquisition</i>.</li> +<li>Lamothe-Langon, <i>Inquisition de France</i>.</li> +<li><i>Handbooks of the Monk-Inquisitors of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries</i>: Nider’s <i>Formicarius</i>; Sprenger’s <i>Malleus</i>.</li> +<li>C. Bernardus’s <i>Lucerna</i>; Spina, Grillandus, &c.</li> +<li>H. Corn. Agrippæ <i>Opera</i>, Lyons.</li> +<li>Paracelsi <i>Opera</i>.</li> +<li>Wyer, <i>De Prestigiis Dæmonum</i>, 1569.</li> +<li>Bodin, <i>Démonomanie</i>, 1580.</li> +<li>Remigius, <i>Demonolatria</i>, 1596.</li> +<li>Del Rio, <i>Disquisitiones Magicæ</i>, 1599.</li> +<li>Boguet, <i>Discours des Sorciers</i>, Lyons, 1605.</li> +<li>Leloyer, <i>Histoire des Spectres</i>, Paris, 1605.</li> +<li>Lancre, <i>Inconstance</i>, 1612: <i>Incredulité</i>, 1622.</li> +<li>Michaëlis, <i>Histoire d’une Pénitente, &c.</i>, 1613.</li> +<li>Tranquille, <i>Relation de Loudun</i>, 1634.</li> +<li><i>Histoire des Diables de Loudun</i> (by Aubin), 1716.</li> +<li><i>Histoire de Madeleine Bavent</i>, de Louviers, 1652.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></li> +<li><i>Examen de Louviers. Apologie de l’Examen</i> (by Yvelin), 1643.</li> +<li><i>Procès du P. Girard et de la Cadière</i>; Aix, 1833.</li> +<li><i>Pièces relatives à ce Procès</i>; 5 vols., Aix, 1833.</li> +<li><i>Factum, Chansons, relatifs, &c.</i> MSS. in the Toulon Library.</li> +<li>Eugène Salverte, <i>Sciences Occultes</i>, with Introduction by Littré.</li> +<li>A. Maury, <i>Les Fées</i>, 1843; <i>Magie</i>, 1860.</li> +<li>Soldan, <i>Histoire des Procès de Sorcellerie</i>, 1843.</li> +<li>Thos. Wright, <i>Narratives of Sorcery, &c.</i>, 1851.</li> +<li>L. Figuier, <i>Histoire du Merveilleux</i>, 4 vols.</li> +<li>Ferdinand Denis, <i>Sciences Occultes: Monde Enchanté</i>.</li> +<li><i>Histoire des Sciences au Moyen Age</i>, by Sprenger, Pouchet, Cuvier, &c.</li> +</ul> + + + +<p class="end">Printed by Woodfall and Kinder, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of La Sorcière: The Witch of the Middle +Ages, by Jules Michelet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LA SORCIÈRE *** + +***** This file should be named 31420-h.htm or 31420-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/4/2/31420/ + +Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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