“THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE.”
It often happens that the devils are permitted to transform themselves into angels of light, or to assume the human form, in order to foster in human hearts whatever is wicked. So did it happen in France, when Valentine was bishop of Arles.
On the very borders of his diocese stood a knight’s castle, with lofty and strong battlements. The knight had travelled in many lands, and seen many nations that none others had looked upon or heard of. He was a good man, and a constant attendant on the services of the Church. His wife was very fair to look upon; her figure was light and tall; her face delicately white, and her eyes ever bright, and sparkling with almost unearthly brilliancy. Attracted by cries of distress, whilst on one of his distant pilgrimages, he had hastened into a dark wood, where he discovered this fair lady, almost denuded of her garments, bound to a tree, and being beaten with rods by two men of fierce countenances and powerful frames.
His sword flashed in the air as the knight rode against the men; with one blow he struck down the nearest of the lady’s torturers; with the second he pierced the breast of the other monster; whilst with a third stroke of his trenchant blade he cut in pieces the cords that bound the lady to the tree.
The lady’s tale was simple: she was the daughter of a powerful prince of a far-off land; had been seized by those in whose hands the knight discovered her; carried for days and months over seas and lands, and at last bound to the tree, and scourged because she would not yield to the desires of her tormentors. She knew not where her father’s kingdom lay, and its name was unknown even to the knight, though he had travelled far and often.
After a time, the knight married the lady of the wood; happy were they by their union, for he loved her dearly, and the lady seemed to return his love. One thing alone grieved the good knight. Every day that she came to the service of the Church, she stayed no longer than the beginning of the consecration of the elements of the Sacrament. Often and often had the good knight remonstrated with his wife on her conduct, and sought from her some reason for her action. There was ever some excuse, but it was always unsatisfactory.
One holiday the knight and the lady were at church. The priest was proceeding to the celebration of the Sacrament, and the lady rose as usual.
“Nay,” said the knight, forcibly arresting his wife’s departure; “nay, not for this once.”
The lady struggled, her eyes gleamed with redoubled brilliancy, and her whole body seemed wrung with violent pain.
“In the name of God, depart not,” said the knight.
That holy name was all-powerful. The bodily form of the lady melted away, and was seen no more; whilst, with a cry of anguish and of terror, an evil spirit of monstrous form rose from the ground, clave the chapel roof asunder, and disappeared in the air.
“Such stories might be multiplied by hundreds,” said Herbert. “Every country has its good and evil angels that live among men and assume their forms.”
“It illustrates the curious fact,” remarked Lathom, “that the earliest accusations of sorcery in Christian ages are connected with relapses from the faith of Christ. The Anglo-Saxon laws against witchcraft are levelled against those who still adhered to the heathen practices of their ancestors, or sought to combine the pure faith of the Bible with the superstitions of their ancestral idolatry.”
“Was not such the fact in the south of Europe?” said Herbert; “the still lingering worship of the gods and goddesses of the woods was visited as sorcery. The demons do but occupy their places under forms, and with opinions, gradually adapted to the religious opinions of the age.”
“Many a secret meeting for the worship of God has been made the foundation of the mysteries of a witch’s Sabbath,” said Lathom; “sorcery was a common charge against the early Christians when they met in their secret caves and hiding-places; it was an equally current accusation centuries afterwards, when the Albigenses and Waldenses held their religious assemblages in secret, for fear of the power of that Church whose teaching they seceded from.”
“The same charges were made, in Sweden and Scotland, in the seventeenth century, against witches, as four centuries before, so little changed is superstition,” said Herbert.
“We must beat a truce,” said Lathom, “and be content to leave the rest of our illustrations of natural magic, witchcraft, and demoniacal agency, until our next meeting.”
“Good-night, then,” said Thompson; “remember, the witches’ time of night approaches—
“‘The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad,
And so is the cat-a-mountain,
The ant and the mole, sit both in a hole,
And the frog peeps out of the fountain.’”
