Agrippa had occasion one time to be absent for a few days from his residence in Louvain. During his absence he intrusted his wife with the key of his museum, but with an earnest injunction that no one on any account should be allowed to enter it; Agrippa happened at that time to have a boarder in his house, a young fellow of insatiable curiosity, who constantly importuned his hostess, till at length he obtained from her the forbidden key. The first thing that attracted his attention was a book of spells and incantations. He spread the volume before him, and, thinking no harm, began to read aloud. He had not long continued this occupation, when a knock was heard at the door of the chamber. The youth took no notice, but continued reading. Presently there followed a second and a louder knock, which somewhat alarmed the reader. The space of a minute having elapsed, and no answer been made, the door opened and a demon entered. “For what purpose am I called?” said the unwelcome visitor in a stern voice: “What is it you demand to have done?” The youth was seized with the greatest alarm and struck speechless. The demon then rushed upon him, seized him by the throat, and strangled him, indignant no doubt in having been interrupted in some more interesting pursuit to no purpose.
At the expected time Agrippa came home, and to his great surprise found a number of devils capering about, and playing strange antics on the roof of his house. By his art he caused them to desist from their gambols, of which he demanded the cause. The chief of them then related to him what he had done, how he had been disturbed and insulted, and how he had thought proper to revenge himself. Agrippa became much alarmed at the probable consequences of this unfortunate adventure, and he ordered the demon, without loss of time, to reanimate his victim, and walk about the streets with him, that the public might behold him alive. The infernal spirit reluctantly obeyed, and went forth with the student in the marketplace and promenades. This excursion over, however, he maliciously allowed his companion to fall down, when life once more flitted from his body. For a time it was thought that the student had been killed by a sudden attack of illness; but, presently, the marks of strangulation became evident, and the truth came out. Agrippa was thus suddenly obliged to quit the town, and seek refuge in a distant state.
It was further related of this supposed wizard, that he was always accompanied by a familiar spirit in the shape of a black dog; and that when he lay on his deathbed he was earnestly exhorted to repent of his sins. Struck with remorse, he took hold of the dog, and removed from his neck a collar studded with cabalistic nails, exclaiming, “Begone, wretched animal, that has been the cause of my perdition!” and lo! the dog immediately ran away, and, plunging into the river Soane, disappeared. It is to be regretted that historians do not relate whether the water hissed or not when the canine devil took his last leap.
It merits notice, that the mystic and medicinal celebrity of various substances have to this hour survived the traditions of their superstitious origin; coral, for instance, which was considered as possessed of the power of keeping off evil spirits, and rendering effete the malefices of the evil eye, was constantly worn as an amulet; and Paracelsus informs us that it should be worn round the necks of infants, as an admirable preservative against fits, sorcery, charms, and poisons. We still find necklaces of this substance suspended by fond mothers and nurses round the necks of infants. In the West Indies these chaplets are worn by the negroes as a magic protection against Obiism, and they even affirm that the colour of the coral is affected by the state of health of the wearer, and becomes paler when he is ill.
The irrational belief in the mysterious powers of certain remedies went so far in former days, that when they were applied to the weapon that had inflicted an injury, their indirect sympathetic action was considered as effectual as if they had been used to heal the wound. The sympathetic powder of Sir Kenelm Digby, which was nothing else but pulverized green vitriol, was eulogized in a discourse pronounced by its inventor, at Montpellier, in 1658. Our James I. purchased this wonderful discovery from Sir Kenelm, who pretended that he had obtained it from a Carmelite friar, who had learned it in America and Persia. This superstitious practice is alluded to by Walter Scott, in the “Lay of the Last Minstrel:”
But she has ta’en the broken lance,
And wash’d it from the clotted gore,
And salved the splinter o’er and o’er.
Dryden has also illustrated this absurdity in his “Enchanted Island,” where Ariel says,
Anoint the sword which pierced him, with this
Weapon-salve, and wrap it close from air
Till I have time to visit it again.
Sir Kenelm’s sympathetic powder was applied in the same manner; the weapon being covered with ointment and dressed three times a day. But it was not mentioned that at the same time the wound was to be brought together, and bound up with clean linen bandages for seven days. This wonderful cure was then simply the process of what surgeons call healing by first intention, which means uniting the lips of the wound without suppuration. Dr. Paris apprehends that this secret was suggested to the worthy knight by the cures operated by the rust of the spear of Telephus, which, according to Homer, healed the injuries it had occasioned; and this rust was most probably verdigris.
To this day the Irish peasantry, and even many of the superior classes, firmly believe in the malevolent and destructive effect of the evil eye, when cast upon man or beast. Hence the absurd custom that prevails, especially in the western provinces, of adding “God bless it,” to any expression of admiration; and if perchance a Sassenagh traveller exclaimed “What a sweet child!” or, “What a fine cow!” without the adjunctive benediction, he would be suspected of malefice, and the priest forthwith summoned to save the devoted victim of sorcery. In Scotland dairy-maids drive cattle with a switch of the mountain ash, or roan-tree, considered as held sacred since the days of Druidism; and in some districts the sheep and lambs are made to pass through a hoop of its wood on the first day of May.