Papal Pest Control At The River Adige

In The Malleus Maleficarum (published 1487), the text’s authors informed readers, “There is a common report current in the districts of the River Etsch, as also in other places, that by the permission of God a swarm of locusts came and devoured all the vines, green leaves and crops” (Part II. Qn 2. Ch 1). As the quote described, the Italian lands around the River Etsch (more commonly known as the Adige River) reportedly suffered a plague of locusts on a biblical scale. Inhabited districts around the river were in such danger of famine that the Catholic Church felt it had to get involved to defeat the army of diabolical insects.

In order to solve the locust problem, Rome allegedly sent a high-ranking holy man to the region. The clergyman, whose name was kept anonymous in the Malleus Maleficarum, allegedly could perform special miracles connected in some way or other to the Keys of Heaven (or Saint Peter), a central symbol in the imagery of the Catholic Church.  As the story goes, the unnamed priest formulated a plan to rid the Adige River region of locusts by carrying out a complex ceremony that combined the might of the Keys, the Papal power of excommunication, and the rite of exorcism, all amplified by certain chants. According to The Malleus Maleficarum, the locusts “were suddenly put to flight and dispersed by means of this kind of excommunication and cursing” (Part II. Qn 2. Ch 1). With the holy shooing complete, so the folkloric tale claims, the locusts were defeated and the people in the Adige River region were saved.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Swarm of Locusts by Emil Schmidt (1839–1909), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

The Tragic Battle Of Two Witches During The Pontificate of Nicholas V

A certain Germanic bishop arrived in Rome during the pontificate of Pope Nicholas V (r. 1447-1455) and had quite an adventure while he stayed in the holy city. His story was recorded by the Inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, in their infamous Malleus Maleficarum (published around 1487). According to the Inquisitors, the German bishop reportedly fell in love with a Roman ‘girl’ (their description) and he decided to make her his concubine. In exchange for accompanying him back to the seat of his German bishopric, he offered to house her somewhere with nice accommodations and access to servants and wealth. When the bishop shared this plan with his lady love, the girl agreed, but made one condition—she wanted her mother to be allowed to live with her in the bishop’s diocese. The bishop and his paramour came to an agreement and the girl (and her mother) apparently set off for German lands while the bishop finished his business in Rome.

Although the bishop likely wanted to keep a low profile at this point, it only took one day for his life to erupt into scandal and drama. On the next night after the holy man and his concubine had made their arrangement, the bishop fell seriously ill. He was in great discomfort, and felt so hot in the throat and chest that he constantly requested chilled water to cool himself down. The bishop’s advisors and caretakers were shocked by the suddenness of the ailment and they quickly became convinced that something nefarious was afoot. If the illness was not caused by poison, then they were sure the only other cause could be witchcraft. When the bishop was still ill after three day’s time, and normal medical practices were showing no signs of bringing him back to health, the bishop’s servants began to consider more radical methods for a cure. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, the bishop’s servants brought in a local healer, who was considered a benevolent witch.

The healer examined the sickly bishop, and, according to the Malleus Maleficarum, she told her patient, “Your illness has been caused by a spell of witchcraft, and you can only be healed by another spell, which will transfer the illness from you to the witch who caused it, so that she will die” (Part II, question 2, intro). The healer-witch’s words apparently convinced the bishop, and, as he evidently did not think that, nature, medicine, or God would protect him from his illness, he decided that the good witch’s counterspell was his only option. Yet, as the bishop was still in Rome, he resolved to leave his fate in the hands of the pope. Therefore, the bishop sent word to Pope Nicholas V, informing him of his situation and the possible magical cure. The Malleus Maleficarum described the pope’s alleged reaction: “Now the Holy Father loved him [the bishop] very dearly, and when he learned that he could only be healed by the death of the witch, he agreed to permit the lesser of two evils, and signed this permission with his seal” (Part II, question 2, intro). With the support of the Vicar of Christ on his side, the bishop eagerly hired the services of the healer-witch and allowed her to cast her counterspell.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned young concubine had apparently caught whatever illness was plaguing the bishop, and her symptoms began to show at this very inopportune moment. The phrase, ‘correlation does not imply causation’ was incredibly underutilized by witch-hunters, and, unsurprisingly, everyone privy to the bishop’s condition and cure quickly came to believe that the girl was made ill by the healer’s counter-spell, and therefore had to be a witch. When the bishop recovered enough strength to travel, he went to meet with the sickly girl he once intended to have as a concubine. Now, however, he was convinced that she was a witch, and his ultimate goal in meeting with her was to convince her to repent for her alleged witchcraft. As the bishop’s illness and the healer-witch’s convincing words had brought her life to ruin, the Roman girl understandably was irate when she saw the bishop—after all, her short time spent with him had given her a deadly illness and a scandalized reputation. The Malleus Maleficarum described the tense interaction: “the Bishop went out of compassion to visit the girl; but when he entered the room, she received him with horrible execrations, crying out: May you and she who wrought your cure be damned for ever!” (Part II, question 2, intro). The illness, unfortunately, affected the girl much worse than it had the bishop. She reportedly did not recover from whatever it was that afflicted her and faced an unpleasant death. As the Malleus Maleficarum unpityingly stated, she “died miserably. But the Bishop returned home with joy and thankfulness” (Part II, question 2, intro). The bishop did, however, die at some point before the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum around 1487.

Interestingly, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger realized that others might use this story as an excuse to make contracts with witches. Therefore, at the end of the story, they were obligated to remind the reader that witchcraft is bad, and that holy water, blessed salts, and exorcisms are better cures than the practices of folk healers. Ultimately, however, they could not come up with a convincing reason as to why the pope and a bishop could hire a witch without consequence, whereas a peasant might hire a witch and face severe or fatal repercussions. Nevertheless, they did attempt an explanation, which resulted in this awkward passage: “Here it is to be noted that a privilege granted to one does not constitute a precedent for all, and the dispensation of the Pope in this case does not argue that it is lawful in all cases” (Part II, question 2, intro).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Combination of a painting with Pope Nicholas V by Antonio Montúfar (active 1614-1629) with a painting of Shakespearean witches by Daniel Gardner (1750–1805), both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971). 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nicholas-V-pope 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11058a.htm 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/philosophy-and-religion/roman-catholic-popes-and-antipopes/nicholas-v

The Bizarre Tale Of A Coblenz Man Who Was Allegedly Bewitched With A Pelvic-Thrusting Curse

Tall tales and stories from folklore can always be a bit peculiar, but the stories become even more bizarre when they are interwoven with supernatural themes and ideologies. Such is the case with tales formed by medieval witch-hunters, whose stories of nefarious sorceresses and powerful wizards (presented in a matter-of-fact way) often leaves the modern reader quite befuddled. Yet, some tales are stranger than others, and even the most desensitized perusers of witch stories can come across tales so odd that it shocks them out of their scholarly trance. Thankfully, not all of these shocking stories have to be tragic or bloody—some of them can be stupefying through sheer weirdness. One odd tale of a cursed man from Coblenz (modern Koblenz, Germany) fits that latter category perfectly.

The 15th-century Inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, recorded the peculiar story in their influential text, The Malleus Maleficarum (published around 1487). Unfortunately for us (but fortunately for those involved), the Inquisitors systematically kept all names in their record of the event anonymous. The only thing that the authors labeled in their telling of the story was the name of the town in which the incident took place—Coblenz. A fair warning: the witch tale is quite sexual in nature, as was hinted in the title of this article. We will, however, try to present the untasteful aspects of the story as tastefully as possible.

As the story goes, a local man of Coblenz developed an incredibly embarrassing condition—the poor fellow somehow became a compulsive pelvic-thruster. This was not, so they said, some innocent dancing or suggestive teasing. Instead, the man would apparently just drop his trousers without any forewarning and start shagging the empty sky. Such adultery with the atmosphere and fornication with the firmament reportedly became a frequent habit for the man, and it no doubt greatly distressed his wife. The wife (also left unnamed) was said to have tried to intervene, but her efforts were to no avail. According to the Inquisitors, “he continues to do this repeatedly, nor have the cries and urgent appeals of his wife any effect in making him desist” (Part II, Qn 2, ch 1).

Although the episodes were reportedly habitual, one particular night saw the man’s incorporeal copulation reach a new level of strangeness. To his wife’s horror, the man apparently one evening made continuous love to the late-night air for as long as he had enough energy to keep his hips gyrating. The Malleus Maleficarum described the scene after he ended his uncanny orgy with the void: “after an incredible number of such bouts, the poor man at last sinks to the floor utterly exhausted” (Part II, Qn 2, ch 1). With the man’s state becoming worse, the wife or other concerned friends decided to bring in outside help in the form of witch-hunters and Inquisitors.

The afflicted man and the Inquisitors developed an odd theory about his condition. Both parties were convinced that witchcraft or demonic forces were afoot. Church authorities investigating his case proposed that he had been the victim of a succubus demon, and believed that a witch may have cast a spell on the man to help the demon reach its target. This theory was embraced by the Coblenz man, and he quickly accused “a certain woman” (again left unnamed) of casting a malignant spell on him. Fortunately for the woman, the Inquisitors apparently could not find any corroborating witnesses or evidence to substantiate the Coblenz man’s claim. She was lucky, for the authors of the Malleus Maleficarum seemed convinced of her guilt. To explain why the woman was not punished for witchcraft they wrote: “there are no laws or ministers of justice which can proceed to the avenging of so great a crime with no other warrant than a vague charge or a grave suspicion; for it is held that no one ought to be condemned unless he has been convicted by his own confession, or by the evidence of three trustworthy witnesses” (Part II, Qn 2, ch 1).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Peasant Wedding Dance painted by Pieter Brueghel the Younger or workshop (1564–1638), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

Medieval Archery-Enhancing Witchcraft

Most of the spells and witchcraft rituals mentioned in the 15th-century witch-hunting manual, The Malleus Maleficarum, consisted of damaging curses and ceremonies to augment weather. Yet, the book also claimed there were types of witchcraft that could be utilized by warriors in battle. In particular, magic-wielding archers apparently had access to a demonic ritual that could make every arrow meet its mark.

The ritual supposedly used by these diabolical archers can be found in part 2, question 2, chapter 16 of The Malleus Maleficarum. It was quite a simple procedure—the archer only needed to do some simple target practice. Yet, instead of shooting at normal archery targets, the ritual called for a crucifix to be set up at the end of the range. With the cross in place, the skilled wizard-archer needed only to successfully hit the crucifix with an arrow to produce a supernatural projectile.

After hitting the crucifix with a number of arrows, and possibly reciting some sacrilegious statement, the archer could finish the ritual by simply pulling the arrows out of the crucifix and sticking them back into his quiver. If the arrows still happened to not be magical at this point, there were apparently other criteria that less powerful wizards needed to meet, such as doing the ritual on Good Friday or giving not only their soul, but also their body, to the Devil before attempting the spell. According to the theory proposed by The Malleus Maleficarum, the odd ritual performed by the archer caused every arrow that had struck the crucifix to be connected with a guardian demon. This basically turned the arrows into medieval heat-seeking missiles. If the witch-archer launched a diabolical arrow from his bow, a guardian demon would ensure that the projectile dealt a killing blow to the intended target.

There were, however, a few limits that restrained the power of the witch-archers. For one, the demon-arrows were supposedly only effective against targets that were within eye-range of the archer. Additionally, there may have been a cap to the amount of evil arrows that the archers could produce in their ritual. The Malleus Maleficarum hinted that possibly only three or four cursed arrows could be made on any given day. Similarly, the demonic arrows could not be stockpiled to any effect, because after a wizard-archer shot three or four magical arrows, the spell would abruptly end and no other demonic arrows would work for the remainder of the day.

Read about an accused witch-archer named Puncker, HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Archer's arm guard (Bracer); Archery Equipment, c. 1752, in the MET museum, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum (part II, question 2, chapter 16) by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

The Tragic Witchcraft Trial Of Agnes And Anna Von Mindelheim

During the 15th century, a giant hailstorm wiped out approximately a mile of crops in a region of farmland near the city of Salzburg, Austria. When the affected farmlands produced incredibly low crop yields for a reported three years after the incident, the Inquisition was asked to launch an investigation into possible witchcraft. Among the team of inquisitors sent to inspect the case of the hailstorm was a professor from the nearby University of Salzburg named Heinrich Kramer. This inquisitor would later write about the outcome of the investigation in the infamous book he co-wrote on witchcraft—the Malleus Maleficarum.

After fifteen days of deliberation, the inquisitors concluded that witchcraft was, indeed, afoot. After the team examined possible suspects, two women in particular fell under the most suspicion. These were Agnes, a bath-woman, and a certain Anna von Mindelheim. The two women were reportedly arrested by magistrates on the same day and sent to two separate prisons. On the first day of their incarceration, the imprisoned women both professed their innocence of any crime, either against God or man. Yet, as often happened in witchcraft cases, once the inquisitors began to apply torture, the coerced testimonies of the women became quite bizarre.

The bath-woman, Agnes was the first of the two women to break under torture. Heinrich Kramer did not specify what painful contraptions or implements were used on Agnes, but whatever it was caused enough agony to make her confess to some of the stereotypical rumors prevalent about witches at the time. Abandoning her earlier claim of innocence, she now said that a demonic familiar told her to take a pail of water out to a field. When she arrived there with the water, Agnes found that she was not alone—sitting under some trees in the field was Anna von Mindelheim and also the arch-demon, Satan, himself.

With Agnes’ arrival on the scene, Satan allegedly arose from his spot under the tree and instructed Agnes to dig a hole in the ground. When the hole was completed, Agnes reported that she poured the water from the pail into the pit and then stirred the liquid with her finger. According to Agnes and the inquisitors, this ritual, combined with an invocation of the demons, supposedly caused the devastating hailstorm that ravaged the region. In addition to this story, Agnes also confessed under torture to having a sexual relationship with an incubi demon for over eighteen years.

As for Anna von Mindelheim, Heinrich Kramer did not go into much detail about her confession. Instead, he simply wrote that her testimony generally agreed with that of Agnes. After being suspended by her thumbs, with her feet not touching the ground, Anna von Mindelheim confessed to an array of common witchcraft stereotypes—meeting in a wooded field, manipulating weather by stirring a puddle, and having a long sexual relationship with a demon.

By the second day of the women’s imprisonment, the application of torture caused both Agnes and Anna to change their original plea of innocence to that of guilty. With the confessions in hand, inquisitors evidently did not deliberate or crosscheck the validity of the testimonies. Instead, Agnes and Anna von Mindelheim were executed by burning on the third day of their imprisonment.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image from a pamphlet on witchcraft, published by The Public Domain Review on Flickr, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and Flickr).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum (part II, question 1, chapter 15) by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Malleus-maleficarum#ref247983  

The Medieval Tale Of A Supposed Demon-Possessed Priest Who Stuck Out His Tongue Whenever He Neared A Church

Numerous stories of supposed witchcraft can be found in the pages of The Malleus Maleficarum, a 15th-century treatise on witchcraft and demonology. The authors of the text, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, were theologians, Dominican friars and inquisitors sanctioned by the unsavory Pope Innocent VIII (r. 1484-1492). In the book, they systematically described the abilities of witches and demons, recorded stories of witchcraft, provided believed remedies for those afflicted by spells, and even gave judicial advice on how to prosecute suspected witches. While the inquisitors based the bulk of their inferences on scripture and the words of saints, they also included some odd episodes from their own lives, in which they thought they witnessed scenes of witchcraft or demonic possession. One of these stories featured a devout priest who, despite his piety, was allegedly forced by a demon to stick his tongue out at churches.

According to The Malleus Maleficarum, either Heinrich Kramer or James Sprenger had a bizarre encounter in Rome during the time of Pope Pius II (r. 1458-1464). At some point during that interval of years, Kramer or Sprenger (the authors did not specify) met two pilgrims from the town of Dachov, in Bohemia. It was a father and son duo, with the son being a promising young priest from that town. Yet, something was seriously wrong—the priest believed he was possessed by a demon.

The inquisitor claimed that the priest knew exactly why he had been possessed. Apparently, the youthful clergyman had tried to bring a powerful witch back to the path of righteousness, but she, in turn, cursed the priest by leaving an evil charm buried in the shade of a tree. The spell somehow made the priest vulnerable to demonic possession and he was subsequently invaded by an evil spirit, which would not leave until the witch’s charm was removed. As the priest doubted that he would locate the evil charm, he decided to seek help in Rome.

Interestingly, the inquisitor did not at first believe the priest to be possessed. The man was humble, polite and seemed completely normal during the interview with the inquisitor. Noticing the inquisitor’s disbelief, the priest said that the demon only interfered if he approached a church or pondered religious thoughts, making it impossible for the clergyman to prepare or deliver a sermon. After hearing this information, the inquisitor decided to take the possessed priest on a tour of Rome’s plentiful religious establishments.

The inquisitor brought the priest to some of the places thought to be most holy in the city of Rome, including the so-called Holy Pillar of the Scourging in the basilica of Saint Prassede all’esquilino and the supposed spot where Saint Peter was executed. When the possessed priest reached these venerated spots, he allegedly became wild and would stick out his tongue. When he was not wagging his tongue at the churches, the possessed clergyman would also scream. In one of the more peculiar scenes from the story, the priest even bit a pillar in the Church of St. Peter that supposedly originated from the Temple of Solomon. The inquisitor tried a few exorcisms at the above-mentioned holy sites, but he could not cure the priest.

Although the inquisitor found himself unfit to do the job, the possessed priest was apparently saved by a wandering bishop who entered Rome after being displaced by the expansion of the Ottoman Empire. The bishop supposedly succeeded in exorcising the demon after powering himself up with a forty day fast on bread and water.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (A discolored statue of a clergyman (via pixhere.com) in front of a smoky background (via pixabay.com), all [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Malleus-maleficarum#ref247983 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Innocent-VIII  

Eggs Were Apparently A Powerful Ingredient In Medieval Witchcraft

Two Roman Catholic inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, wrote a lengthy text that encompassed the church’s view of witchcraft and other demonic forces in 15th-century Europe. Their text, encouraged by the corrupt Pope Innocent VIII, was published around 1487 under the title, The Malleus Maleficarum. The infamous treatise served as the go-to guide for inquisitors and witch-hunters for several centuries.

In the book, the inquisitors wrote about their own experiences, as well as other stories that they heard from their fellow inquisition members. One of the recurring objects they found in supposed witchcraft spells and charms was a favorite culinary staple—the egg. Apparently, the churchmen (and the accused witches) believed that a chicken egg could be used to inflict a target with epilepsy.

The spell could supposedly be brought about in numerous ways. The inquisitors listed out only a few of these methods of delivery in part 2, question 1, chapter 12 of their text. According to them, cursing a victim with epilepsy could be achieved with as much ease as nefariously adding egg to a person’s food or drink. If a witch wanted to have a more dramatic flair, the spell could also apparently be done by breaking into a grave and leaving an egg with a dead body. Not all corpses were equal, though; the body of a witch would allegedly bring about the most powerful results.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Egg basket [Public Domain] via maxpixel.net).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Innocent-VIII 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/inquisition 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Malleus-maleficarum  

The Gardening Dispute In Innsbruck That Led To A Dramatic Accusation Of Witchcraft

Rivalries can spring up out of anything, even gardening. In witch-age Europe, a bizarre case of witchcraft erupted out of an argument between two green-thumbed women who happened to be neighbors in the city of Innsbruck. The inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, included the dramatic story in their infamous work, The Malleus Maleficarum (published 1487), a treatise on witchcraft, demons and other dark themes. Unfortunately, like most of the tales they told in their book, the story of the two gardeners was highly censored by the authors. They did not give a date for the story and referred to people embroiled in the tale only by their occupation or role. Nevertheless, even with such vital elements missing from the narrative, the tale still has enough drama to fill a soap opera plot.

As stated earlier, the incident occurred in Innsbruck. The authors did not state which Innsbruck, specifically, but Austria is probable, as an unnamed Archduke had an estate in the city. Somewhere in the municipality, there lived two women who had a shared passion—gardening. Although they both enjoyed nature, they did so in two very different ways. One of the two gardeners was a respected woman who had an equally respected husband. She expressed her love of nature by keeping a tidy greenhouse. Adjacent to this greenhouse was a large garden that was kept by a woman of ill repute who, according to rampant rumor, was in an ungodly affair with a local clay worker. By this point, it should already be apparent which of the two women would later be accused of witchcraft.

At an unknown date, the respected greenhouse owner discovered a gaudy sight. To her horror, an ugly path had been created, leading from her greenhouse into her neighbor’s garden. The authors of the Malleus Maleficarum did not mention how the path looked, or how it was constructed, but the end result was unpleasant and it damaged the respectable woman’s property. As the greenhouse owner stared at the monstrous path, the woman who maintained the neighboring garden wandered over and struck up a conversation. The garden owner asked directly if she was suspected of creating the path and causing the damage. When the greenhouse owner either remained silent or replied “no,” the keeper of the garden wandered back to her own property. As the woman of ill repute left, the greenhouse owner got the impression that the garden keeper was angry about something.

A few days later, the owner of the greenhouse became seriously ill. She felt pains throughout her torso—in her abdomen, her sides and her chest. When news spread about her pitiful state, the greenhouse owner received a peculiar visitor. It was the clay worker who was known to be in an affair with the woman who owned the garden. The clay worker apparently suspected that his lover could have caused the greenhouse owner’s illness. Therefore, he arrived at the sick woman’s home with supplies with which he could determine if the sickness was natural or supernatural. The clay worker, himself, seemed to have a bit of magical know-how, so he used divination to investigate if the greenhouse woman was a victim of witchcraft. He utilized a particular type of divination, called molybdomancy, which involved pouring molten lead into a water-filled bowl. After reading the shape of metal as it fell into the water, the clay worker confirmed everyone’s worst fears—it was witchcraft.

This suspicious clay worker apparently could divine that the witchcraft was brought about by magical charms, which the woman who kept the garden had allegedly planted around the greenhouse owner’s house. The clay worker led the sick woman’s husband to the threshold of the estate, where they found an ominous hole in the structure. The husband reached his hand into the space and felt a slick, semi-solid mass. When he pulled it out, the husband found in his hand a wax figure. What immediately stood out about the macabre doll was the two pins that were stuck all the way through the sides of the figure. The husband reached back into the hole and discovered that there was still more to be found. Along with the doll, he removed several bags that were filled with eerie ingredients, such as grains, seeds and pieces of bone.

Following the advice of the clay worker, the husband piled up the bags and the doll with some firewood and set it all ablaze. After the charms were incinerated, the owner of the greenhouse began to feel better. She no longer felt the pains in her torso. Even so, she still did not feel completely well and her family was concerned over her still-present lack of appetite. When the clay worker learned of the woman’s persisting ill health, he sadly concluded that he must have missed some of the witch’s hidden charms. The authors of the Malleus Maleficarum ended the tale there, not mentioning the ultimate fates of the greenhouse owner or the gardener accused of witchcraft.

The Malleus Maleficarum presented this dramatic tale as a spoken testimony supposedly delivered by the still-sick greenhouse owner to one of the inquisitors who wrote the book. If you would like to read the story in the inquisitors’ own words, it can be found in Part II, question 1, chapter 11 of the Malleus Maleficarum.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (A Visit to the Witch, by Edward Frederick Brewtnall  (1846–11–1902–11), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).
• http://historian-hut-articles.blogspot.com/2017/10/the-many-different-categories-of.html  

The Demonic Cats Of Witch-Age Strasburg

One of the more interesting tales of witchcraft contained in the Malleus Maleficarum, a book published by the inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger in 1487, occurred in an unknown town within the region of Strasburg. According to the inquisitors’ story (in Part II, question 1, chapter 9), a certain woodcutter was going about his business in a lumberyard when a random cat suddenly attacked. When the woodcutter tried to drive off the cat with his axe or a nearby stick, another vicious cat arrived to defend its fellow feline. The man continued to try to shoo away the cats, but every time he threatened one of the feral beasts, a new cat would arrive and join the attack. Before long, it was as if all of the cats in Strasburg had declared war on this unlucky woodworker.

According to the inquisitors, the unnamed worker defended himself against the swarm of cats for around an hour. He was the only person in the lumberyard, so the only protection he had was his axe, or whatever makeshift weapons he could find lying around. Three of the cats, in particular, seemed to be the leaders of the furry army. The woodcutter managed to maim all three leaders—one he hit over the head, another he struck on the legs, and the last he hit across the back. With the feline commanders injured, the frenzied swarm of cats scurried away, leaving the woodcutter once again alone in the lumberyard. When the man got over his shock, he resumed his work.

Not long after the woodcutter’s bizarre battle was over, two employees of the town magistrate arrived at the lumberyard and dragged the man off to a dungeon. The town judge never spoke to the man, but only stared him down with hatred from afar. Without telling the woodcutter what he had been accused of, the judge had the laborer discarded in the deepest and most unaccommodating cell in the local prison. The baffled woodcutter pleaded with the jailors for three days, claiming that he was innocent and that he wanted to speak with the judge. He apparently won over the jailors with his pitiable words, and they helped the woodcutter set up a meeting with the judge.

At the meeting, the judge wanted to hear nothing else but a confession. When the woodcutter continued to profess his innocence, the judge became thoroughly enraged. In an angry matter-of-fact tone, the judge accused the woodcutter of battering three respected women of Strasburg. When the suspect steadfastly rejected the charge, the judge stated the wounds that the woodcutter had inflicted on the respected matrons—he had beat one woman over the head, he had hit another woman across the legs, and the last he had bludgeoned on the back. The judge backed up the charges by saying that the women were alive and had testified against the woodcutter. They also had marks on their bodies to prove the assault.

When the judge finished his speech, the woodcutter then told his side of the story. He recounted how he was attacked by a swarm of ferocious cats and how the wounds on the three women eerily reminded the woodcutter of the three injuries he had inflicted on the leading cats during the attack in the lumberyard. When the woodcutter finished telling his story, the judge and magistrate reacted as if everything was clear and understandable. They concluded that the incident was a case of witchcraft and that the three respected matrons, were in fact detestable witches. As for the ultimate fate of the three women, the authors of the Malleus Maleficarum remained vague, but they insinuated that the three women were spared.

The inquisitors, however, did try to explain the incident with their theories on witchcraft. They concluded that the cats were demonic illusions and that the damage from the woodcutter’s blows was supernaturally transferred from the illusory cats to the bodies of the women, who were elsewhere in the city. As for motive, the inquisitors wrote that this particular alleged act of witchcraft was done to imprison an innocent man and, if the women were spared, to produce a crime that would go unpunished.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (My Wife's Lovers by Carl Kahler (1856–1906), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).