In the seventh chapter we read of the practice and progress of magic, as it is now explained to be a diabolical art; how it spread itself in the world, and by what degrees it grew up to the height which it has since attained.
The introduction to the second part of Defoe’s work is devoted to an exposition of the Black Art ‘as it really is,’ and sets forth ‘why there are several differing practices of it in the several parts of the world, and what those practices are; as, also, what is contained in it in general.’ He defines it as ‘a new general term for all the branches of that correspondence which mankind has maintained, or does, or can carry on, between himself and the devil, between this and the infernal world.’ And he enumerates these branches as: Divining, or Soothsaying; Observing of Times; Using Enchantment; Witchcraft; Charming, or Setting of Spells; Dealing with Familiar Spirits; Wizardising, or Sorcery; and Necromancy.
The first chapter treats of Modern Magic, or the Black Art in its present practice and perfection.
In the second chapter the scene is changed: as the devil acted at first with his Black Art without the magicians, so the magicians seem now to carry it on without the devil. This is written in Defoe’s best style of sober irony. ‘The magicians,’ he says, ‘were formerly the devil’s servants, but now they are his masters, and that to such a degree, that it is but drawing a circle, casting a few figures, muttering a little Arabic, and up comes the devil, as readily as the drawer at a tavern, with a D’ye call, sir? or like a Scotch caude [caddie?], with What’s your honour’s wull, sir? Nay, as the learned in the art say, he must come, he can’t help it: then as to tempting, he is quite out of doors. And I think, as the Old Parliament did by the bishops, we may e’en vote him useless. In a word, there is no manner of occasion for him: mankind are as froward as he can wish and desire of them; nay, some cunning men tell us we sin faster than the devil can keep pace with us: as witness the late witty and moderately wicked Lady ...., who blest her stars that the devil never tempted her to anything; he understood himself better, for she knew well enough how to sin without him, and that it would be losing his time to talk to her.’
Defoe furnishes an entertaining account of his conversation with a countryman, who had been to a magician at Oundle. Whether true or fictitious, the narrative shows that many of the favourite tricks performed at spiritualistic séances in our own time were well known in Defoe’s:
Countryman. I saw my old gentleman in a great chair, and two more in chairs at some distance, and three great candles, and a great sheet of white paper upon the floor between them; every one of them had a long white wand in their hands, the lower end of which touched the sheet of paper.
Defoe. And were the candles upon the ground too?
C. Yes, all of them.
D. There was a great deal of ceremony about you, I assure you.
C. I think so, too, but it is not done yet: immediately I heard the little door stir, as if it was opening, and away I skipped as softly as I could tread, and got into my chair again, and sat there as gravely as if I had never stirred out of it. I was no sooner set, but the door opened indeed, and the old gentleman came out as before, and turning to me, said, ‘Sit still, don’t ye stir;’ and at that word the other two that were with him in the room walked out after him, one after another, across the room, as if to go out at the other door where I came in; but at the further end of the room they stopped, and turned their faces to one another, and talked; but it was some devil’s language of their own, for I could understand nothing of it.