Translated by Michael Benedikt


She arose with nightfall; and, after lighting a candle, anointed herself from a little bottle;
then, after muttering a word or two, she was transported to the Sabbath revels.
--The Demonology of Sorcery, Jean Bodin


There were a dozen of them together there, sipping their soup from a coffin--each of them using as a spoon a dead man's forearm-bone.

The fireplace shone bright red with glowing coals, the candles mushroomed smoke, and their plates gave off the same odors that graves do in the springtime.

And when Maribas cackled or cried, it sounded like the groaning of a bow across the three remaining strings of a
broken violin.

Meanwhile, in the tallow glow, their ringleader spread out upon the table a book of ancient spells, onto which a fried fly fell forthwith.

That fly was still buzzing slightly when, dragging its great, soft, hairy belly, a spider scaled the page edges, and crawled into the margins of that magical tome.

But already the sorcerers and witches had flown off up the chimney-flue, several astraddle the broom, some astraddle
the fire-tongs--with Maribas alone, flying off on the handle of a frying-pan.