Southey's Ballad on The Witch of Berkeley, 1799

The third thread in the history of my page from Nuremberg Chronicle (1493) involves Robert Southey (1774–1843). (See here and here for my previous posts.) In 1778, Southey wrote "A Ballad. Shewing how an old woman rode double, and who rode before her." The ballad—based on William of Malmesbury's story—appears in Poems By Robert Southey, The Second Volume (Bristol: Biggs and Cottle for T. N. Longman, 1799), 143–60 (Pennsylvania State University copy, here).

Southey mentions his ballad in a letter to Charles Watkin Williams Wynn (17 December 1798; see here):

I mentioned to [Joseph] Cottle what [Mathew] Lewis wished about my Ballads,* for the copyright is his. He referred it entirely to me, but seemed convinced that to let them be printed elsewhere would injure the sale materially. I thought so too, so he must not have the Old Woman [i.e., the ballad]. In my next I will send you the wood cut, the Devil is done as well as if the Pious Painter had made the drawing from the life.

*seemingly, that Lewis wanted Southey's "Ballad" to appear in his Tales of Wonder, which it did! See Tales of Wonder (1801), 1.164–74 (Harvard University copy here).

The woodcut that Southey mentions in his letter was reproduced in his Poems (it is not clear who the artist was who copied the image. As you can see above, at bottom left, the image is signed "M [and] W Fecit") and appears at the start of his ballad, followed by a lengthy quote, in Latin, from Roger of Wendover, "De quadam muliere sortilega, et ejus miserabili morte" [Of a certain witch, and her miserable death]—for which, see my first post here. Southey mis-ascribes the Latin to the mythical Mathew of Westminster, then comments: "This story is also related by Olaus Magnus, and in the Nuremberg Chronicle, from which the wooden cut is taken"

* * * * *

Although Southey was Poet Laureate for thirty years, he is not very highly regarded and his ballad—which is certainly entertaining—seems to have attracted little attention from critics. The attention that Southey does receive today is often negative. Wikipedia attempts to gloss over his conservative toadying, but it is impossible to ignore his wrong-headedness. In the same letter quoted above, Southey describes Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere"—a ballad infinitely better than his own—as "nonsense". And he famously advised Charlotte Brontë that "Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life."

Christopher J. P. Smith A Quest for Home: Reading Robert Southey (1997), 289–92 (here) contains a few pages of discussion on this ballad. Smith, disregarding Southey's own statement, mis-describes his ballad as an "adaptation of a story from Olaus Magnus" and then mis-represents it as "another supernatural revenge, a fashionable abduction story, like … Lenore of Bürger" (289). Smith concludes his helpful discussion by noting that Southey's "The Surgeon's Warning" is a parody of this "lively, episodic tale" (292), from which, it seems, Southey didn't take his own ballad too seriously. And probably didn't expect his readers to do so either.

* * * * *

Shewing How An Old Woman Rode Double,
And Who Rode Before Her.

The Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal,
  And the Old Woman knew what he said,
And she grew pale at the Raven's tale,
  And sicken'd and went to her bed.

Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed.
  The Old Woman of Berkeley said,
The monk my son, and my daughter the nun
  Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.

The monk her son, and her daughter the nun,
  Their way to Berkeley went,
And they have brought with pious thought
  The holy sacrament.

The old Woman shriek'd as they entered her door,
  Twas fearful her shrieks to hear,
Now take the sacrament away
  For mercy, my children dear!

Her lip it trembled with agony,
  The sweat ran down her brow,
I have tortures in store for evermore,
  Oh! spare me my children now!

Away they sent the sacrament,
  The fit it left her weak,
She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes
  And faintly struggled to speak.

All kind of sin I have rioted in
  And the judgment now must be,
But I secured my childrens souls,
  Oh! pray my children for me.

I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes,
  The fiends have been my slaves,
I have nointed myself with infants fat,
  And feasted on rifled graves.

And the fiend will fetch me now in fire
  My witchcrafts to atone,
And I who have rifled the dead man's grave
  Shall never have rest in my own.

Bless I intreat my winding sheet
  My children I beg of you!
And with holy water sprinkle my shroud
  And sprinkle my coffin too.

And let me be chain'd in my coffin of stone
  And fasten it strong I implore
With iron bars, and let it be chain'd
  With three chains to the church floor.

And bless the chains and sprinkle them,
  And let fifty priests stand round,
Who night and day the mass may say
  Where I lie on the ground.

And let fifty choristers be there
  The funeral dirge to sing,
Who day and night by the taper's light
  Their aid to me may bring.

Let the church bells all both great and small
  Be toll'd by night and day,
To drive from thence the fiends who come
  To bear my corpse away.

And ever have the church door barr'd
  After the even song,
And I beseech you children dear
  Let the bars and bolts be strong.

And let this be three days and nights
  My wretched corpse to save,
Preserve me so long from the fiendish throng
  And then I may rest in my grave.

The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down
  And her eyes grew deadly dim,
Short came her breath and the struggle of death
  Did loosen every limb.

They blest the old woman's winding sheet
  With rites and prayers as due,
With holy water they sprinkled her shroud
  And they sprinkled her coffin too.

And they chain'd her in her coffin of stone
  And with iron barr'd it down,
And in the church with three strong chains
  They chain'd it to the ground.

And they blest the chains and sprinkled them,
  And fifty priests stood round,
By night and day the mass to say
  Where she lay on the ground.

And fifty choristers were there
  To sing the funeral song,
And a hallowed taper blazed in the hand
  Of all the sacred throng.

To see the priests and choristers
  It was a goodly sight,
Each holding, as it were a staff,
  A taper burning bright.

And the church bells all both great and small
  Did toll so loud and long,
And they have barr'd the church door hard
  After the even song.

And the first night the taper's light
  Burnt steadily and clear,
But they without a hideous rout
  Of angry fiends could hear;

A hideous roar at the church door
  Like a long thunder peal,
And the priests they pray'd and the choristers sung
  Louder in fearful zeal.

Loud toll'd the bell, the priests pray'd well,
  The tapers they burnt bright,
The monk her son, and her daughter the nun
  They told their beads all night.

The cock he crew, away they flew
  The fiends from the herald of day,
And undisturb'd the choristers sing
  And the fifty priests they pray.

The second night the taper's light
  Burnt dismally and blue,
And every one saw his neighbour's face   
  Like a dead man's face to view.

And yells and cries without arise
  That the stoutest heart might shock,
And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring
  Over a mountain rock.   

The monk and nun they told their beads
  As fast as they could tell,
And aye as louder grew the noise
  The faster went the bell.

Louder and louder the choristers sung
  As they trembled more and more,
And the fifty priests prayed to heaven for aid,
  They never had prayed so before.

The cock he crew, away they flew
  The fiends from the herald of day,
And undisturb'd the choristers sing
  And the fifty priests they pray.

The third night came and the tapers flame
  A hideous stench did make,
And they burnt as though they had been dipt
  In the burning brimstone lake.

And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean.
  Grew momently more and more,
And strokes as of a battering ram
  Did shake the strong church door.

The bellmen they for very fear
  Could toll the bell no longer,
And still as louder grew the strokes
  Their fear it grew the stronger.

The monk and nun forgot their beads,
  They fell on the ground dismay'd,
There was not a single saint in heaven
  Whom they did not call to aid.

And the choristers song that late was so strong
  Grew a quaver of consternation,
For the church did rock as an earthquake shock
  Uplifted its foundation.

And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast
  That shall one day wake the dead,
The strong church door could bear no more
  And the bolts and the bars they fled.

And the taper's light was extinguish'd quite,
  And the choristers faintly sung,
And the priests dismay'd, panted and prayed
  Till fear froze every tongue.

And in He came with eyes of flame
  The Fiend to fetch the dead,
And all the church with his presence glowed
  Like a fiery furnace red.

He laid his hand on the iron chains
  And like flax they moulder'd asunder,
And the coffin lid that was barr'd so firm
  He burst with his voice of thunder.

And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise
  And come with her master away,
And the cold sweat stood on the cold cold corpse,
  At the voice she was forced to obey.

She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,
  Her dead flesh quivered with fear,
And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave
  Never did mortal hear.

She followed the fiend to the church door,
  There stood a black horse there,
His breath was red like furnace smoke,
  His eyes like a meteor's glare.

The fiendish force flung her on the horse
  And he leapt up before,
And away like the lightning's speed they went
  And she was seen no more.

They saw her no more, but her cries and shrieks
  For four miles round they could hear,
And children at rest at their mother's breast,
  Started and screamed with fear.

De Castigatione Maleficarum; Or: The Punishment of Witches

The next thread in the history of my page from Nuremberg Chronicle (1493) involves Vincent of Beauvais [aka Vincentius Burgundus] (d. 1264?) and Olaus Magnus (d.1557). (For my first post on this page, see here.)

Vincent of Beauvais was an encyclopaedist. His vast Speculum Maius [Great Mirror] (1244) is in three parts, one of which is the still-enormous Speculum Historiale [Mirror of History]. I have not been able to find online a copy of the relevant parts of the Speculum Historiale, but Olaus Magnus quotes William of Malmesbury's 1125 story concerning "a certain wicked woman" via Vincent of Beauvais in his Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus [History of the Northern Peoples] (1555), Book 3, ch.21.

(Book 3 of the Historia is on the subject of "De superstitiosa cultura dæmonum populorum Aquilonarium" [The superstitious worship of demons by the Scandinavians or Popular superstitions and demon worship of the Scandinavians], chapter 21 is on "De castigatione maleficarum" [the punishment of witches or, the castigation of malefactors].)

As you can see above, Olaus Magnus offers the following brief introduction to the story:

Lest the Northern Witches should seem to be quoted here only as having been made sad examples of, there occurs in Vincentius's History, book 25, cap. 26, a story of an English woman, who having been baffled by the magic art, was carried into the air with horrid shouts by the Dæmons, after she had endured severe torments. The words run thus: When a certain woman living at Berkeley, a small village in England, a Fortune-teller and a Sorceress … [Vincent quotes William of Malmesbury's story]

[Ne videantur septentrionales maleficiae solum hic ad tristia spectacula adduci, occurrit Vincen. in Spe. Hist. lib. 25, cap. 26, afferens Anglicanam fœminam arte magica illusam, a Dæmonibus post dira tormenta, ad aera cum clamoribus horrendis fuisse rapta. Cujus verba hæc sunt: Mulier quædam apud Berkeleiam Angliæ villam auguratrix et malefica … etc.]

[I am indebted to Edward Athenry Whyte for both the Latin and the translation of the above passage from Olaus Magnus and Vincent of Beauvais (Whyte will be the subject of another post).]

* * * * *

Anyway, the following illustration of William of Malmesbury's story appears in the 1555 edition of Olaus Magnus' text (taken from the National Library of Norway copy here; other copies online include Ghent University copy here and Lyon Public Library copy here).

According to Jane P. Davidson, The Witch In Northern European Art, 1470–1750 (1987), 27–28:

The first edition of the Historia … is a lavish, beautifully bound and printed book which was illustrated throughout with engravings of the deeds of witches and demons. The iconography of these illustrations conforms to the descriptions in Olaus Magnus' text. … p. 126 shows a female witch being carried off by a demon who is astride an enchanted horse. Clearly this witch has met with a bad end, as she seems very reluctant to accompany the devil. She is not on her way to a sabbat, but rather to hell. The caption reads "De castigatione maleficarum."

Davidson goes on to explain that a second edition (1567) was illustrated by "the Master C.G." who, as you can see below, masterfully copied the illustrations in the first edition (1555).

Although there are other illustrated editions of Olaus Magnus' Historia, I was unable to find other online editions which illustrate this story.

* * * * *

The Historia was quickly translated into English by John Streater as: A Compendious History of the Goths, Swedes and Vandals and other Northern Nations (London: J. Streater, 1658) [Wing M257 (34 copies on ESTC here)]. Streater titles Book 3 of the Historia as The Superstitious Worship of Devils, used by the People of the North, William of Malmesbury's story appears as chapter 20 (rather than 21), and is titled The punishment for Witches (on pp.50–51).

Since Streater's translation is not available online, I will transcribe the text here:

LEST the Northern Witches should seem alone here to be led to sad spectacles, Vincentius in Spec. Hist. l. 25, c. 26, comes and tells us that an English woman, deluded by Magical Art, after cruel torments, was carryed by the Devils into the Ayr with horrid cries. His words are these:
  There was a certain Woman in Bethelia [sic], a Village in England, that was a South-sayer and a Witch who one day, when she was eating, heard her chough, that she took great pleasure in, to speak something more loud than it was wont to do: When the Mistriss heard this, her knife fell out of her hand, and she grew pale in her face; and lamenting, she said very often: This day is my Plough come to the last Furrow; this day shall I hear and receive great hurt.
  As she yet spake, a Messenger came to her, saying; This day is thy Son dead, and all thy Family died suddenly. This heard, she sank down, wounded with continual grief, and she commanded all her children that were alive to be brought to her, which were a Fryer and a Nun; to whom she sighing, said thus: I by my miserable destiny, ever was a servant to the Divel in my actions, I am the Sink of all Vice, and the Mistriss of enticements: I onely confided in your Religion, and I despaired to my self: But now, because I know the Divel shall have me to torment me, who perswaded me to offend, I beseech you, by the bowels of your Mother, that you will attempt to ease my torments; for you cannot revoke the Sentence of Damnation passed upon my soul: Werefore sow up my body in a Stags skin, and put it into a Chest of Stone, and fasten the cover with Iron and Lead, and bind about the stone with three great chains. If I ly three nights thus in safety, you shall bury me the fourth day: though I fear the Earth will not receive me, by reason of my Witchchrafts; let there be Psalms sung for me fifty nights, and Mass said for me as many dayes. They did as she bad them, but it nothing availed; for the two first nights, when the Clerks and Queristers sand Psalms about her body, all the Devils easily breaking the Church door that was fastened with a mighty bar, tore in pieces two of the chains; but the middle chain which was made stronger, held fast. The third night, about Cock-crowing, all the Monastery seemed to be lifted from the Foundation, with a noise of Enemies coming; one of them was more terrible to look on, and taller than the rest; and he striking the Church-door with great force, brake them into fritters, and came proudly to the Coffin, and in arrogant gesture, and calling her by her name, commanded her to rise. When she answered, that she could not for her bands.
  Thou shalt, saith he, be unbounded, but to thy greater mischief: And he forthwith brake the Chain, the rest of the Devils could not do, as if it had been Flax, and he kicked off the cover of the Grave with his foot; and taking her by the hand before them, he drew her forth at the Church-doors, where there was prepared a black horse, which proudly neighed, that had Hooks of Iron all over him, that stuck forth: Upon this Horse was this miserable woman set, and she presently disappeared from the beholders eyes, with all her company. But there were cryes heard almost four miles, of this miserable wretch calling for help.

Another Example of Full Page Slip-Cancellation

An article, which I started writing as a blog entry in 2009 (!), was published last year: “Cancelled Errata in John Buncle, Junior, Gentleman,” Script and Print, vol.38, no.2 (June 2014): 115–21 (here). The article describes a rather unusual problem confronting the bibliographer wishing to describe the collation of the first few gatherings of John Buncle, Junior, Gentleman (1776).

My article considered the problem in relation to the difficulty of accounting for all pages in the pagination and collation formula in such a situation (a single leaf having, in effect, four pages: two glued face-to-face). I invited comment and was delighted to receive careful consideration from a number of senior scholars in the field (which will be published soon), who concluded (among other things) that this was a rare example of a full-page slip-cancel.

Shef Rogers, the editor of Script and Print, has just directed my attention to another example of a full-page slip-cancel Format: an example of common duodecimo with an uncommon frontispiece: in Plays written by Mr John Gay (London: W. Strahan, T. Lowndes, 1772) [ESTC: t13746 (listing 57 copies here); reissued in 1772 as t13741 (listing 6 copies here) and in 1795 as t13742 (listing 10 copies here)].

E. Kenneth Giese (from the Special Collections & Archives Department of Goucher College in Baltimore, Maryland) explains that, in this book, you can see Peter the Great faintly showing through the frontispiece depicting John Gay (A1v):

One can also see and feel that the leaf with the frontispiece actually consists of two identical leaves of paper fused together, but it is impossible to see how the one was overlain atop the other […] When viewed normally the engraving behind Mr Gay is discernable only as a faint shadow embedded within the paper. At first glance I thought it had been offset from another sheet. Held up to direct light this shadow engraving can easily be identified as "Peter the Great / Czar of Moscovy"—a copper plate line engraving by John Hall (1739-1797). I suspect that the full sheet was first printed letterpress; that the wrong copperplate engraving was used when the sheet went through the rolling press, and that a leaf with the correct engraving—"the Cancellans", was pasted over "the Cancellandum" […] Not only are the chain lines seamlessly matched, so too are the laid lines! Because the fusion is perfect, the effect is magical.

Giese asks if "this copy-specific attribute" is unique. With 73 copies on ESTC, and a number available for sale online, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out. And, since there are three copies in Oz, one in the Parliamentary library here in Melbourne, I plan on answering out Giese's question. Stay tuned!

BTW: Copies that are available online, like this one from New York Public Library, and this one from the British Library, do not show the "faint shadow embedded within the paper," but that is because of the way in which the contrast has been fiddled with to make the ink stand out from the discoloured, off-white paper (which is intended to erase such faint shadows).

Items Published or Sold by Haywood at the Sign of Fame

Below are links to the small number of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century editions of works published or sold by Eliza Haywood that are on Google Books, The Internet Archive, etc. (The item numbers are from my Bibliography of Eliza Haywood (2004), updated in my "Eliza Haywood at the Sign of Fame" (2011).) This list is not complete, but I'll add items as I find them—which is quite infequently.

Da.4 [=De.3] The Ghost of Eustace Budgel Esqr. to the Man in Blue(1742) [British Museum]

Da.5.1 [=De.6.1] The Right Honourable, Sir Robert Walpole, (Now Earl of Orford) Vindicated (1742) [Bodleian Library] NEW

Da.9 [=Ab.66.1a] A Letter from H— G—g(1750) [Bodleian Library]
Da.9 [=Ab.66.1a] A Letter from H— G—g (1750) [Queen's University Library]

Db.2.1 The Humours of Whist. A Dramatic Satire, as acted every day at White’s and other Coffee-Houses and Assemblies (1743) [New York Public Library copy]

Db.3.1 or 2 A Voyage to Lethe by Capt. Samuel Cock, Sometime Commander of the Good Ship the Charming Sally (1741) [a fragment (pp.[39]–62); Bodleian Library]

Db.3.1 or 2 A Voyage to Lethe by Capt. Samuel Cock, Sometime Commander of the Good Ship the Charming Sally (1741; late 19C type facsimile) [Ohio State University copy; University of Michigan copy]

[last updated 2 October 2020]

The Witch of Berkeley: Devotee of Gluttony and Wantonness

In Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl’s Beautiful Creatures (2009), Amma warns Ethan "One day you're gonna pick a hole in the sky and the universe is gonna fall right through." Curiosity-driven or blue-sky research can feel a little like this. Something catches your eye, you pull at a thread, a tear opens up in the world and the universe falls in on you.

What caught my eye recently was an item on eBay: a page from the Nuremberg Chronicle (1493), with a woodblock of a witch on it. I have a strong interest in the history of the depiction of witches, so I bought it. I am now intensely interested this image, its iconography, other versions of the image, the story behind the image, and the subsequent history of the story. I started with the thought that I would do a short blog post on this image. And so I pulled at this thread, and now I feel like I have picked a hole in the sky and the universe is gonna fall right through on my head.

There is no way of accounting for what I have found in the last few weeks in just a single post, so I will separate the threads of what I now have in hand into four or five posts. I am not sure it matters where I start, but the story "Of a certain witch, and her miserable death" is somewhere near the beginning. The story of The Witch of Berkeley appears under the year 1065 in William of Malmesbury’s Monachi De Gestis Regum Anglorum (1125; Chronicle of the kings of England, Bk.2, §204) and under the year 852 in Roger of Wendover's Flores Historiarum (ca. 1236; Flowers of History).

William of Malmesbury (d. 1143), "the foremost English historian of the 12th century," known for his strong documentation but somewhat-haphazard chronology, wrote his Chronicle in what was the second largest library in Europe at the time (see here). Critical editions of William's Chronicle attempt to identify his sources, but no source is known for the following story in the editions I have looked in (1840 edition by Sir Thomas Duffus Hardy here, 253–56; 1855 edition by I. P. Migne in the "Patrologia Latina" online here; 1887–89 edition by W. Stubbs, reprinted 1968 by Francis Edward Harrison, here, 156–58 [whole volume available in pdf here ]), and it is not clear what reason Roger had for dating it to 1065, when the "sanguinary" Pope Gregory the Sixth was taking possession of St. Peter’s.

Roger of Wendover (d. 1236), a medieval chronicler who worked in the famous library at St Albans Abbey, culled much of his history from previous writers but added, according to Wikipedia, "a full and lively narrative of contemporary events, from 1216 to 1235." Roger's Flores Historiarum is probably indebted to William but, possibly, both writers are indebted to earlier sources. William is the only source identified for the following story in the editions I have looked in (1841 edition by Henry Octavius Coxe here, 286–88; 1871 edition by Henry Richards Luard here, 381–83). It is not clear what reason Roger had for dating the story to 852, when Burgred became King of the Mercians and married princess Æthelswith, daughter of Æthelwulf, King of the West Saxons. Possibly, the story was four centuries old when recorded by Roger.

Below are translations of the relevant passages from William of Malmesbury and Roger of Wendover and the original the Latin text of each. The translations are taken from the relevant volumes of the Bohn’s Antiquarian Library series, namely:

William of Malmesbury, Chronicle of the kings of England. From the earliest period to the reign of King Stephen, tr. J. A. Giles (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1847), 230–32. (here).

Roger of Wendover, Flowers of History: Comprising the History of England from the Descent of the Saxons to A.D. 1235, formerly ascribed to Matthew Paris, tr. J. A. Giles (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1849), v.1, p.181–83 (here).

* * * * *

William of Malmesbury on "a certain wicked woman"

§204. About this time, a certain wicked woman, living in the town which is called Berkeley, devoted to gluttony and wantonness, and even in her old age putting no limit to her crimes and witchcraft, continued immodest to the day of her death. One day, when she was sitting at dinner, a jackdaw, which she kept as a pet, began to chatter something or other. And when the woman heard it, her knife fell from her hand, and her face began to grow pale; and uttering a groan, she said, "This day I shall meet with a great disaster, for my plough has this day come to its last furrow." And when she had said this, a messenger of woe came in; and when the woman had asked him why he came, "I bring you news," said he, "of the death of your son, and of the decease of his whole family, by a sudden destruction." And the woman, being greatly affected by this misfortune, immediately took to her bed, and became afflicted with a sore disease. And when she found that it was creeping down to her vitals, she wrote a letter to summon her surviving children to her, and they consisted of two, a monk and a nun. And when they came, she addressed them thus, with a voice broken by sobs: "My children," said she, "I, to my great sorrow, have always been a slave to the practice of demoniacal arts. I have been a sink of all vices, a teacher of all unholy allurements. And yet, amid all this wickedness, I have always had a hope founded on your religion, which has steadied my despairing soul, and I have looked forward to finding you my defenders against devils, and my protectors against my most cruel enemies. Now, therefore, since I have come to the end of my life, I entreat you, by the breast on which I bare you, that you will endearoar to relieve my torments. When I am dead sew me up in the hide of a stag, and then place me in a stone sarcophagus, and fasten the lid upon it with iron and lead; and then bind the stone round with three most powerful chains of iron, and employ fifty clerical singers of psalms to chaunt, and as many priests to celebrate masses for three days, and by these means to check the ferocious attacks of my adversaries. And if I lie in this way unmoved for three days, on the fourth day bury me in the ground." Accordingly, everything was done as she had commanded them. But, alack the day! neither prayers, nor tears, nor chains were of any avail. For though on the two first nights the choirs of psalm-singers were watching by the body, the demons came and broke open the door of the church, which was shut fast with a mighty bolt, and easily burst asunder the two outer chains; but the middle one, which was the strongest, remained uninjured; and on the third night there was, about cockcrow, a noise as of enemies marching up, and the whole monastery seemed to be moved from its foundations. Then one of the demons, who was more formidable in countenance than the rest, and more conspicuous for his stature, shook down the doors of the church with a violent assault, and dashed them to pieces. Clergy and laity were stupified, all their hair stood on end, and the singing of psalms ceased. And then the demon, with arrogant gestures, as it seemed, proceeded to the tomb, and calling gently on the name of the woman, commanded her to rise. And when she replied that she could not because of her chains, "You shall quickly," said he, "be released, to your own misfortune." And in a moment he burst the chain which had mocked the fierceness of the other demons, as if it had been an hempen string. He also pitched aside the lid of the sepulchre, and in the sight of them all, dragged the woman out of the church, where before the doors was seen a horse neighing proudly, with iron hoofs, and nails projecting from him on all sides, and the wretched woman was thrown upon him, and so disappeared from the eyes of the bystanders. But her horrible cries, imploring help, were heard for nearly four miles.

Now this story which I have related will not be incredible, if the dialogue of the blessed Gregory be read, in which he relates that a man who had been buried in a church, was turned out of doors by demons. Moreover, among the French, Charles Martel, a man of illustrious courage, who compelled the Saracens who had invaded Gaul, to return to Spain, is related, when he had ended his course of this life, to have been buried in the church of the blessed Denys. But because for the sake of the pay of his soldiers, he had tampered with his own patrimony, and also with the tithes of nearly all the churches of Gaul, he was carried away bodily out of the sepulchre, in a miserable manner, by malignant spirits, and has never been seen since to this very day.

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William of Malmesbury, "De muliere malefica a daemonibus ab ecclesia extracta"

§204. Hisdem diebus simile huic in Anglia contigit, non superno miraculo, sed inferno praestigio; quod cum retulero, non vacillabit fides historiae etsi mentes auditorum sint incredulae. Ego illud a tali viro audivi, qui se vidisse iuraret, cui erubescerem non credere. Mulier in Berkeleia mansitabat, maleficiis, ut post patuit, insueta, auguriorum veterum non inscia, gulae patrona, petulantiae arbitra, flagitiis non ponens modum, quod esset adhuc citra senium, vicino licet pede pulsans senectutis aditum. Haec cum quadam die convivaretur, cornicula quam in deliciis habebat vocalius solito nescio quid cornicata est: quo audito, dominae cultellus de manu excidit, simul et vultus expalluit; et, producto gemitu, "Hodie," ait, "ad ultimum sulcum meum pervenit aratrum; hodie audiam et accipiam grande incommodum." Cum dicto nuntius miseriarum intravit: percunctatus quid ita vultuosus adventaret, "Affero," inquit, "tibi ex villa illa," et nominavit locum, "filii obitum et totius familiae ex subita ruina interitum." Hoc dolore femina pectus saucia continuo decubuit; sentiensque morbum perrepere ad vitalia, superstites liberos, monachum et monacham, pernicibus invitavit epistolis. Advenientes voce singultiente alloquitur: "Ego, filii, quodam mea miserabili fato daemonicis semper artibus inservii; ego vitiorum omnium sentina, ego illecebrarum magistra fui. Erat tamen, inter haec mala, spes vestrae religionis quae miseram palparet animam; de me desperata, in vobis redinabar; vos proponebam propugnatores adversus daemones, tutores contra saevissimos hostes. Nunc igitur, quia ad finem vitae accessi, et illos habebo exactores in poena quos habui suasores in culpa, rogo vos per materna ubera, si qua fides, si qua pietas, ut mea saltem temptetis alleviare tormenta: et de anima quidem sententiam prolatam non revocabitis, corpus vero forsitan hoc modo servabitis. Insuite me corio cervino, deinde in sarcophago lapideo supinate, operculum plumbo et ferro constringite; super haec lapidem tribus catenis ferreis, magni scilicet ponderis, circumdate: psalmicines quinquaginta sint noctibus, eiusdemque numeri missae diebus, qui adversariorum excursus feroces levigent. Ita, si tribus noctibus secure iacuero, quarta die infodite matrem vestram humo; quanquam verear ne fugiat terra sinibus me recipere et fovere suis, quae totiens gravata est malitiis meis." Factum est ut praeceperat, illis magno studio incumbentibus. Sed, proh nefas! nil lacrymae valuere piae, nil vota, nil preces; tanta erat mulierculae malitia, tanta diaboli violentia. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum chori clericorum psalmos circa corpus concreparent, singuli daemones ostium ecclesiae, immani obice clausum, levi negotio defringentes, extremas catenas diruperunt; media, quae operosius elaborata erat, illibata duravit. Tertia nocte, circa gallicinium, strepitu advenientium hostium omne monasterium a fundamentis moveri visum: unus, ceteris et vultu terribilior et statura eminentior, ianuas maiori vi concussas in fragmenta deiecit. Deriguere clerici metu, "steteruntque comae et vox faucibus haesit." Hic arroganti, ut videbatur, gestu ad sarcophagum accessit, inclamatoque nomine, ut surgeret imperavit: qua respondente quod nequiret pro vinculis, "Solveris," inquit, "et malo tuo"; statimque catenam, quae ceterorum ferociam eluserat, nullo conamine ut stuppeum vinculum dirupit. Operculum etiam tumbae pede depulit: apprehensamque manu, palam omnibus, ab ecclesia extraxit: ubi prae fori bus equus, niger et superb us, hinniens videbatur, uncis ferreis per totum tergum protuberantibus; super quos misera imposita, mox ab oculis intuentium, cum toto sodalitio disparuit. Audiebantur tamen clamores per quatuor fere miliaria miserabiles suppetias orantis.

Ista incredibilia non judicabit qui legerit beati Gregorii Dialogum, qui refert in quarto libro nequam hominem, in ecclesia sepultum, a daemonibus foras ejectum. Apud Francos quoque non semel auditum est quod dicam: Karolum Martellum insignis fortitudinis virum, qui Saracenos, Gallias ingressos, Hispaniam redire compulit, exactis diebus suis in ecclesia sancti Dionysii sepultum; sed, quia patrimonia omnium pene monasteriorum Galliae pro mercede commilitonum mutilaverat, visibiliter a malignis spiritibus e sepulchro abreptum, ad hanc diem nusquam visum. Denique illud revelatum Aurelianensi episcopo, et per eum in vulgus seminatum.

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Roger of Wendover, "Of a certain witch, and her miserable death"

A. D. 852. […] In those days there lived in the village of Berkeley a certain woman, who was a witch, a lover of her belly, and given to lasciviousness, forsaking not her flagitious courses and her fortune-telling even in her old age, but remaining shameless even to her death. One day, as she sat at dinner a young raven, which she kept for her amusement, began to chatter I know not what; on which the woman let the knife drop from her hand, and turning pale in the face, began to cry, and exclaimed, "I shall hear of some heavy calamity to-day, for my plough is come to-day to the last furrow;" and no sooner had she so said, than there entered a messenger with doleful tidings. On her inquiring why he came, he replied, "I have to inform you that your son and all his family have been suddenly crushed to death." Struck with this sorrowful news, the woman immediately became very ill and took to her bed; and sensible that the disease was creeping on to her vitals, she sent a letter for her yet surviving children, the one a monk and the other a nun. On their arrival she addressed them with sobs after this manner, "My children, it has been my miserable fate, that I have all my life given myself to devilish practices, having been the sink of every vice, and the teacher of all manner of impurities. Yet, in the midst of my wickednesses, I placed my hope for the salvation of my perishing soul in your religion, trusting that you would be my defence against my adversaries, my guardians against my cruel foes. Now, therefore, that I am come to the end of my life, I beseech you by these breasts which have nourished you, that you do your endeavours to alleviate my torments. As soon as I am dead, sew me up in a deerskin, and then place me in a stone coffin, fastening well the lid with iron and lead, and binding it round with three very strong iron chains; after which, procure fifty ecclesiastics to sing psalms, and as many priests to celebrate masses for three days, that so the fierce attacks of my enemies may be repelled; and then, if I shall lie in security for three nights, on the fourth day bury me under ground." They did as she had directed; but, alas! neither prayers, nor tears, nor chains availed anything; for on the first two nights, while the quires were singing around the corpse, the devils came and burst open the church door, which was fastened with a huge bar, and broke with ease the chains that were about the extremities of the coffin; but the middle one was too strong for them, and remained entire. But on the third night, about cock-crowing, the whole of the monastery seemed to be shaken from its foundation by the noise of the approaching demons. One of the devils, who was more terrible in look and taller of stature than the rest, with a violent onset shivered the church-doors to fragments; the clergy and laity became stiff with fear, and their hair stood on end, and the singing of the psalms ceased. Then the demon, approaching the tomb with a haughty air, called the woman by her name which has not been recorded, and commanded her to rise; she replied that she could not for the fastenings. "There is now no hindrance," said he, and straightway he broke the chain which had baffled the efforts of the other devils, with as much ease as if it had been of tow; and then kicking off the lid of the coffin, he in the face of all dragged the woman forth from the church, where was seen before the doors a black steed, proudly neighing, with hoofs of iron, and completely caparisoned, upon which the wretched woman was thrown, and she quickly disappeared from the sight of the beholders; yet her fearful shrieks were heard for nearly four miles as she cried loudly for help.

Now what I have related will not be considered incredible, if you read the dialogue of the blessed pope Gregory, where he narrates how a man, who had been buried in a church, was dragged out of it by devils; and among the Franks, Charles Martel, a man of singular courage, who compelled the Saracens who had entered Gaul to retire back into Spain, after he had ended his days, was buried, as it is said, in the church of the blessed Dionysius; but because he had invaded the patrimony of nearly all the churches of Gaul by applying the tithes to the payment of his soldiers, his body was miserably torn from the tomb by malignant spirits, and was never more seen unto this day.

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Roger of Wendover, "De quadam muliere sortilega, et ejus miserabili morte"

A. D. 852. […] Circa dies istos, mulier quædam malefica, in villâ quæ Berkeleia dicitur degens, gulæ amattix ac petulantiæ, flagitiis modum usque in senium et auguriis non ponens, usque ad mortem impudica permansit. Hæc die quadam cum sederet ad prandium, cornicula quam pro delitiis pascebat, nescio quid garrire cœpit; quo audito, mulieris cultellus de manu excidit, simul et facies pallescere cœpit, et emisso rugitu, hodie, inquit, accipiam grande incommodum, hodieque ad sulcum ultimum meum pervenit aratrum quo dicto, nuncius doloris intravit; muliere vero percunctatâ ad quid veniret, affero, inquit, tibi filii tui obitum & totius familiæ ejus ex subitâ ruinâ interitum. Hoc quoque dolore mulier permota, lecto protinus decubuit graviter infirmata; sentiensque morbum subrepere ad vitalia, liberos quos habuit superstites, monachum videlicet et monacham, per epistolam invitavit; advenientes autem voce singultiente alloquitur. Ego, inquit, o pueri, meo miserabili fato dæmoniacis semper artibus inservivi; ego omnium vitiorum sentina, ego illecebrarum omnium fui magistra. Erat tamen mihi inter hæc mala, spes vestræ religionis, quæ meam solidaret animam desperatam; vos expectabam propugnatores contra dæmones, tutores contra sævissimos hostes. Nunc igitur quoniam ad finem vitæ perveni, rogo vos per materna ubera, ut mea tentatis alleviare tormenta. Insuite me defunctam in corio cervino, ac deinde in sarcophago lapideo supponite, operculumque ferro et plumbo constringite, ac demum lapidem tribus cathenis ferreis et fortissimis circundantes, clericos quinquaginta psalmorum cantores, et tot per tres dies presbyteros missarum celebratores applicate, qui feroces lenigent adversariorum incursus. Ita si tribus noctibus secura jacuero, quartâ die me infodite humo. Factumque est ut præceperat illis. Sed, proh dolor! nil preces, nil lacrymæ, nil demum valuere catenæ. Primis enim duabus noctibus, cum chori psallentium corpori assistabant, advenientes Dæmones ostium ecclesiæ confregerunt ingenti obice clausum, extremasque cathenas negotio levi dirumpunt: media autem quæ fortior erat, illibata manebat. Tertiâ autem nocte, circa gallicinium, strepitu hostium adventantium, omne monasterium visum est a fundamento moveri. Unus ergo dæmonum, et vultu cæteris terribilior & staturâ eminentior, januas Ecclesiæ impetu violcuto concussas in fragmema dejecit. Divexerunt clerici cum laicis, metu steterunt omnium capilli, et psalmorum concentus defecit. Dæmon ergo gestu ut videbatur arroganti ad sepulchrum accedens, & nomen mulieris modicum ingeminans, surgere imperavit. Quâ respondente, quod nequiret pro vinculis, jam malo tuo, inquit, solveris; et protinus cathenam quæ cæterorum ferociam dæmonum deluserat, velut stuppeum vinculum rumpebat. Operculum etiatn sepulchri pede depellens, mulierem palam omnibus ab ecclesiâ extraxit, ubi præ foribus niger equus superbe hinniens videbatur, uncis ferreis et clavis undique confixus, super quem misera mulier projecta, ab oculis assistentium evanuit. Audiebantur tamen clamores per quatuor fere miliaria horribiles, auxilium postulantes.

Ista itaque quæ retuli incredibilia non erunt, si legatur beati Gregorii dialogus, in quo refert, hominem in ecclesiâ sepultam, a dæmonibus foras ejectum. Et apud Francos Carolus Martellus insignis vir fortudinis, qui Saracenos Galliam ingressos, Hispaniam redire compulit, exactis vitæ suæ diebus, in Ecclesiâ beati Dionysii legitur fuisse sepultus. Sed quia patrimonia, cum decimis omnium fere ecclesiarum Galliæ, pro stipendio commilitonum suorum mutilaverat, miserabiliter a malignis spiritibus de sepulchro corporaliter avulsus, usque in hodiernum diem nusquam comparuit.