A mirror for witches

by Esther Forbes

5

We are informed that there is no marriage nor giving in marriage in Heaven, but in Hell it well may be otherwise.

She never saw her fiend by day. He came at dead of night. He went by cock crow (yet, as already pointed out, sometimes delaying this same crowing). He ruled by love and not by terror. She gave him soul and body, both as act of impious homage, and of true love. So a month wore away—the month of June.

At every turn and in every way he comforted and charmed her. She confessed to him how greatly she dreaded that day, which he said must now soon come, when he would be summoned back to Hell. She begged him to take her with him—for without him she had no use for this dull earth. She begged him to slay her now, and thus, her spirit released, she would take her way with him to Hell, and there live with him, once more with her parents—whom the French burned in Brittany. So she fitted his hands to her throat. He would not. He only promised her again and again that when she lay dying he himself would come to her once more, and stand at her bed’s head. He promised her a short life, and life everlasting.

So this young woman, who had often shown a need for true religion, found great comfort in a false one. It was a fiend that fed, it would seem, her soul’s hunger. By him and by the hopes of Hell she was comforted, as the true Christian is by his Lord and the hopes of Paradise. She became reconciled to life, to death, to adversity, loneliness, and despair.

There was no problem that he could not answer for her, no doubt he did not lay. For instance, she was distressed to think that when her true life should begin (that is, when she died and entered Hell) she would not see the kind foster father, but would undoubtedly encounter his disagreeable wife. No, explained the demon, she was wrong, for he knew that Jared Bilby was already there, well and at peace. He had committed mortal sin by saving her when a child, for she was already a witch, and it is mortal sin to save a witch. ‘But at the time he did not know I was a witch. I do not think he ever believed it.’ The demon said that made no difference. Mortal sin was mortal sin, but Satan, grateful to him for saving the life of Doll, had never carried out the cruel sentence which had been meted out to him at the Awful Judgement Seat. Doll wanted to know what this sentence was. He said it was of so revolting a nature he could not tell her. His words made her hate Jehovah, and she felt Satan was a kinder ‘god.’

The demon went on to assure her that Mrs. Hannah would undoubtedly be given place in Heaven. She was a pious woman, always at meeting, lecture, and prayer. There were already millions of just such vixens singing miserable psalms, badly out of tune, about the golden streets. If she did in some way get sent down to Hell, he promised they would all get together and make it hot for her. They couldn’t endure such ugly scolds in Hell. Doll was surprised. ‘She is not ugly. She is remarkably handsome.’ The devil was surprised. He said he had supposed from what he heard that she must be very ugly.

There was now only one thing with which she could vex herself, for her demon comforted her at every turn. Sometimes as he held her in his arms she moaned a little and pulled away. He begged her to tell him. He was her true love. Let her tell him and he would help. Then she told him that she knew that upon occasions fiends do actually marry mortal women. He laughed at her, and tried to turn her fancy from such homely thoughts. She would not be turned. He said witches and women talked alike, and yet he did not refuse to marry her.

With the commendable and proper thought of marriage in her head, she sought out Goody Greene (whom she had seen but little of late). She walked with her through the woods, helping her gather that bitter flower which the Indians call the jug-woman’s-baby. The old woman was tired and the two sat upon a stone. From where they sat Doll could see the birch woods, the rough pastures, where by night she met her devil.

‘Dear Goody, tell me as you used to tell the story of the goblin or infernal who came to a maid’s window on a May eve and wed her in a respectful and seemly manner. Why cannot devils always do so? It is sad to think that a loving wench—betrayed by love—may become but the doxy of the devil.’ She was near tears—although now she never had tears to shed.

The old woman told the story of Fair Jennifer of Bageley Wood. She had a demon lover—a black and scaly fellow, cold to touch as serpent or any ice or iron. He came to her window three times, calling her to get up and come to him. She lay disobedient upon her bed. Then on the third occasion he entered her chamber by the chimney hole, bearing in his hands green branches, and he was dressed in green leaves. Jennifer and the demon walked around and around the bed. He promised to be her loving husband until death, to avenge her of her enemies, and she promised to be his obedient wife until death and after death, and to deny God and Christ Jesus. Then upon the hearth she made him a cake, and in the cake they put blood drawn from the veins of both their arms. They ate this cake and were man and wife. His name was Karlycuke. But Fair Jennifer of Bageley Wood has been dead three hundred years. Such a thing cannot happen to-day. Doll thought otherwise, but kept her own counsel. Nor was she wrong.

On the way back to the hut on the waste land, Doll asked her how it was she could always remember these old stories. The woman said she had told them many, many times. ‘To other children, as once you told them to me?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘to other children.’ Then she set down her basket and put her arms about Doll. She said once she had a son, but she would say no more of him and Doll guessed he was a long time dead.

One night, a night of full moon, Doll woke and found the fiend there in the room beside her bed. He signed her to silence, but Doll, who had many times by night stolen out of the house, knew that Hannah in her attic room slept soundly. All that the black and scaly fiend did for Jennifer, he now did for his love, and more. He set his imp upon the bedpost for a witness, and on the whole nothing could have been more seemly. There was no hearth in Doll’s chamber. They could bake no cake. He pricked his wrist and her wrist, and each drank a little from the other’s veins. This slight cut upon her wrist never healed, as would a normal cut. It was red and angry to the day she died. Thus does Nature (which usually essays to heal) shrink from the lips of Hell.

It was the last of June, and the summer solstice (for on that day he married her) was passed. The leaves broadened into summer and the night air no longer held the rhapsody of spring. Now Doll had always known that he must leave her, but it hurt her to find that he could go without farewell. She comforted herself with the memory of his sweet love and her hopes for the future.