“But learned works have been written to prove the existence of it in late times—You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill and Sinclair?”
“True; and learned men have sometimes committed foolish actions; and certainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their talents undoubtedly were, showed no great wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effusions, which are nothing more than the overflowings of heated imaginations.”
My companion seeing I was not to be convinced by any arguments he could advance, but that, like the adder in holy writ, I was “deaf to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely,” thus addressed me:—“I was like you, sceptical on the subject of our present discourse; but the doubts I once entertained have long since vanished; and if you can attend patiently to a history I will relate, I think you will be convinced that witchcraft does exist; or at least has existed in very modern times.”
The stranger then related the story of
The Wise Woman of Littondale.
“In the year 17—, in a lonely gill, not far distant from Arncliffe, stood a solitary cottage: a more wretched habitation the imagination cannot picture. It contained a single apartment, inhabited by an old woman, called Bertha, who was throughout the valley accounted a wise woman, and a practiser of the ‘art that none may name.’ I was at that time very young, and unmarried; and, far from having any dread of her, would frequently talk to her, and was always glad when she called at my father’s house. She was tall, thin, and haggard; her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their sockets; and the hoarse masculine intonations of her voice were anything but pleasing. The reason I took such delight in the company of Bertha was this—she was possessed of much historical knowledge, and related events which had occurred two or three centuries ago, in a manner so minute and particular, that many a time I have been induced to believe she had been a spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha was undoubtedly of great age; but what that age was no one ever knew. I have frequently interrogated her on the subject, but always received an evasive answer to my inquiries.
“In the autumn, or rather in the latter end of the summer of 17—, I set out one evening to visit the cottage of the wise woman. I had never beheld the interior; and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was determined to see it. Having arrived at the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ‘Come in,’ said a voice, which I knew was Bertha’s. I entered; the old woman was seated on a three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed, ‘what brings you here? what can have induced you to pay a visit to old Bertha?’ I answered, ‘Be not offended; I have never before this evening viewed the interior of your cottage; and wishing to do so, have made this visit; I also wished to see you perform some of your incantations.’ I pronounced the last word ironically. Bertha observed it, and said, ‘Then you doubt my power, think me an impostor, and consider my incantations mere jugglery; you may think otherwise; but sit down by my humble hearth, and in less than half an hour you shall observe such an instance of my power as I have never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.’ I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now gazed around me, and minutely viewed the apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a caldron, and a sack, with the contents of which I was unacquainted, formed the whole stock of Bertha. The witch having sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, ‘Now for our incantations; behold me, but interrupt me not.’ She then with chalk drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burning embers; on this she fixed the caldron, which she had half filled with water.
“She then commanded me to take my station at the farther end of the circle, which I did accordingly. Bertha then opened the sack, and taking from it various ingredients, threw them into the ‘charmed pot.’ Amongst many other articles I noticed a skeleton head, bones of different sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred to the witch in Ovid—
Semina, floresque, et succos in coquit acres;
Addidit et exceptas lunâ pernocte pruinas,
Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas,
Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit,
Ora caputque novem cornicis sæcula passæ.’
While thus employed, she continued muttering some words in an unknown language; all I remember hearing was the word konig. At length the water boiled, and the witch, presenting me with a glass, told me to look through it at the caldron. I did so, and observed a figure enveloped in the steam; at the first glance I knew not what to make of it, but I soon recognised the face of N——, a friend and intimate acquaintance: he was dressed in his usual mode, but seemed unwell, and pale. I was astonished, and trembled. The figure having disappeared, Bertha removed the caldron, and extinguished the fire. ‘Now,’ said she, ‘do you doubt my power? I have brought before you the form of a person who is some miles from this place; was there any deception in the appearance? I am no impostor, though you have hitherto regarded me as such.’ She ceased speaking: I hurried towards the door, and said, ‘Good night.’ ‘Stop,’ said Bertha, ‘I have not done with you; I will show you something more wonderful than the appearance of this evening: to-morrow, at midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe bridge, and look at the water on the left side of it. Nothing will harm you; fear not.’