[189] Métivier translates sorille as a term of reproach, derived probably from the Bas-Breton sorelh, wizard, sorelhés, witch.
[190] From Mrs. Charles Marquand, who had heard it from Denise Roberts’ first cousin.
The Transformed Wizard.
It is one of the greatest characteristics of wizards and witches that they have the power of assuming any form they please.
A man, who kept a large number of cows, observed that they were gradually pining away, that they failed to give the usual quantity of milk, and that no care that he could bestow on them availed aught in improving their condition. One or two of them had already died, and he feared that all the others would soon follow their example. The summer had set in, and at that season the cows are left out all night in the field, but when in the early morning the farmer went to look after them, he generally found them thoroughly exhausted, and looking as if they had been hard driven all night.
At last he began to suspect that the poor animals were under the influence of some spell, and he determined to watch, in order to discover, if possible, what means were used to bring the cows into the condition in which he found them. It seems rather a singular circumstance that wizards and witches, with all their cleverness, do not appear to be able at times to see things which are passing under their very eyes. Perhaps their eagerness to do mischief blinds them to the danger of discovery. At all events, the farmer, who had concealed himself, as soon as the daylight had well departed, in a cattle shed that stood in one corner of the field, remained undisturbed, with his eyes intently fixed on the cows, who were lying down, quietly chewing the cud.
About midnight his attention was attracted by a large black dog, which jumped over the hedge separating his field from that of a neighbour with whom he had lately had a quarrel. The dog approached the cows, stood up on his hind legs, and began to dance before them, cutting such capers and somersaults as the farmer had never seen before. No sooner had the cows seen the dog than they also stood upright, and imitated all his movements. The farmer crept stealthily out of the field, went home, loaded his gun with a silver coin, which he cut into slugs,—for it is a well known fact that no baser metal than silver will wound a sorcerer,—returned to the field, where he found the dance still going on as fast and furious as ever, and fired at the dog, which ran off howling, and limping on three legs.
The next day his neighbour was seen with his arm in a sling, and it was given out that, in returning from the town the previous evening, he had fallen accidentally over a heap of stones, and so broken it. The farmer had his own ideas, but wisely kept them to himself. His neighbour had had a lesson; he found that he had to deal with a resolute man; the cows were allowed to remain unmolested, and soon recovered their pristine health and strength. This is said to have occurred in Jersey.[191]
[191] From Reuben Wilkins.