by Ian Mortimer
The key Acts defining witchcraft are those of 1604 in England and 1563 and 1649 in Scotland. The English Act, replacing an earlier piece of legislation, makes it a felony to conjure up evil spirits, to dig up a dead body for magical purposes or to practise any sort of witchcraft that results in the death of, or injury to, another person. People found guilty receive the death penalty. The same Act also prohibits relatively harmless supernatural services, such as using a witch to discover the whereabouts of lost items and to provoke someone to commit acts of ‘unlawful love’. These practices, and those leading to the death of cattle, result in the supposed witch being imprisoned for one year. If found guilty a second time, for even one of these minor crimes, the witch is hanged. The law in Scotland is slightly different. As they put it there: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’. Everyone found guilty of witchcraft is burnt at the stake, including necromancers, whose crime is nothing more sinister than trying to make contact with the spirits of the dead.14
As you will soon discover, the application of the law is extremely uneven, both geographically and over time. Generally speaking, the more remote an area, the greater the likelihood that the local people believe in witches, so witch hunts and trials in such regions are more common. The exception is Wales: over the whole period from 1563 to 1735, only thirty-four cases of witchcraft are reported there.15 In those parts of Britain that are prone to belief in witchcraft, accusations don’t proceed at a steady rate but in sudden bursts of paranoia. Take great care if you visit Scotland in the years 1661–2 and 1677–8, as major witch hunts are then under way. In total, just over a thousand men and women – about one-third of all those ever charged with witchcraft north of the border – are accused between 1660 and 1700.16 The English are less inclined to charge witches during this period. Between 1563 and 1735 they hold a similar number of trials as the Scots, but the vast majority of them pre-date 1660.
So what does a trial for witchcraft look like? Isobel Gowdie is perhaps the best-known self-confessed witch of all. She is a farmer’s wife from Auldearn in the north of Scotland. In 1662, the minister of her kirk, Henry Forbes, accuses her of attempting to harm him with witchcraft. She responds by making four voluntary confessions in front of him and the Scottish justices. She explains that she was out walking with a neighbour one day fifteen years earlier when she met the Devil. He gave her his mark on her shoulder and, while her neighbour held her firm, the Devil sucked blood from the mark, then spouted it into his hands and poured it over her head, baptising her ‘Janet’ in his own name. At their next meeting, she allowed the Devil to copulate with her. She found him a ‘very black, hairy man, very cold’, with cloven feet, and he lay very heavily upon her. His member was enormous – far larger than any normal man’s – and his semen was ‘as cold within her as spring well-water’. Later, when she joined a coven, he would copulate with each of the women within sight of all the others, without any shame. Her coven dug up the corpse of an unbaptised child in the graveyard at Nairn, hacked it up and mixed the pieces with their fingernails and toenails, grain and kale leaves, and then spread the potion on a dung-heap belonging to one of their enemies, to kill his crops. With the aid of her familiar spirit, ‘Janet’ ruined men’s harvests and soured their milk. She admitted turning herself into a hare, a jackdaw and a crow. She and her coven broke into the houses of the rich to eat their food and drink their wine, and when they emptied a barrel, they filled it with their piss. While flying on straws or broomsticks, she and other members of her coven shot people dead with special elf-arrows, given to them by the Devil himself. Because she hated Forbes but had failed to kill him, she asked the Devil if she could take another shot at him. She and her coven then made an incantation against him with the flesh and guts of toads. They made a clay image with which to kill a local laird’s male children, roasting the figure in a fire. They raised the wind and storms to do their bidding. And so on.17
Gowdie seems willing to confess to everything she can possibly think of that was associated with witchcraft. Taken together, it all reads as if she is laughing at the minister and justices for believing such a load of rubbish. However, her accomplices are arrested and they back up her story – from her diabolical baptism to her orgies with the Devil and her shooting of elf-arrows. I am not sure if she burns or not – no one I have spoken to is clear on the matter – but I would not be surprised: many women are burnt for much less. In 1661 Isobel Fergussone is arrested for committing adultery with the Devil in the form of her landlord’s half-brother, who flees to Ireland just afterwards. She is found to have the Devil’s mark on her. Her confession results in her being ordered to be executed by burning – although, in line with Scottish law, she is mercifully strangled on the pyre before the flames reach her body.18
In England, the cosmopolitan south-east sees relatively few accusations of witchcraft in this period. The attitude there is one of cautious disbelief. Monsieur Misson notes that people nail up horseshoes to keep witches at bay, adding: ‘it is true they laugh when they say this but they do not laugh at it altogether’.19 In the remote south-west, however, belief in witchcraft is still strong. As at Auldearn, 500 miles away, fairy lore is still firmly rooted in this part of the world, as well as the idea that old women can transmogrify themselves into cats and birds.20 As Willem Schellinks ventures into Cornwall in 1661, he nervously reports that he has heard that the region is alive with witches and sorcerers.21 And plenty of people are on hand to tell you from personal experience that he is not wrong.
In 1682, three old women from Bideford are accused of witchcraft – their names being Susanna Edwards, Temperance Lloyd and Mary Trembles. A witness giving evidence against them, Dorcas Coleman, reports that she went to see a physician, Dr Beare, to discuss some pricking sensations she felt in her body. Dr Beare airily dismissed her, saying he could do nothing for her as she was bewitched. Dorcas says that she then sought out the cause of her bewitchment and found it was Susanna Edwards, for when she met Edwards, she found herself compelled to crawl towards her to draw blood with her nails – this apparently being the only way to break a witch’s spell. Another woman, Grace Thomas, also testifies that she felt pricking sensations, and blames Temperance for causing them. Temperance, who is eighty years of age and finding it difficult to deal with the onslaught of questioning in court, confirms that she did indeed cause the pricking by repeatedly piercing a piece of leather. Further questioning and more rumours of their evil doings bring the women’s defences down. Temperance confirms that she was led by the Devil in the form of a small black man, with whom she had had sex, to pinch Grace Thomas. On examination, she is found to have two teats, each about an inch long, near her pudenda. These are definitely the Devil’s marks, the court decides. Susanna Edwards is led to confess that she too has met the Devil in the form of a small boy and that, in that guise, he has sucked blood from her breast and had sex with her. Mary Trembles, who stands accused of hurting another woman by witchcraft, is also duped into confessing that she met the Devil in the shape of a lion and that he sucked her so hard that she screamed with pain. Thereafter the accusations flow: these women can travel invisibly, have killed a woman, made cows barren of milk and caused shipwrecks. In their confusion – and, frankly, who would not be confused by this welter of bitterness and bizarre accusation – the women do not deny all these things. They are found guilty by the mayor and taken to Exeter to face a judge, who confirms the verdict. All three are hanged on 25 August 1682.
From all this you may infer several things. Witchcraft is not as ubiquitous as some people claim. However, in those rural areas where it does persist, it is dangerous and frightening. Even a circuit judge from London, sitting in Exeter – one of the biggest and most prosperous cities in the kingdom – will uphold the law against witchcraft. It is not a matter of what you do and believe; it is more a case of what other people think of you, and what they believe. The implications of this are quite disconcerting. In the modern world, we assume that the truth is something we
share with all those around us. If something is a fact – that people cannot change into cats or jackdaws – then it is as true for you as it is for me. In the seventeenth century, things are not like that. Many people believe that the laws of nature affect us in different ways: that witches can do things we cannot. Thus the truth of how the world operates is something that divides people as much as it unites them. And, when it comes to witchcraft, there is no saying that your version of reality will prevail.
Religion
You could be forgiven for thinking that Restoration society is less religious than it has ever been before. Many years have passed since the last heretic was burnt in England – Edward Wightman, way back in 1612 – and the law enforcing such burning is repealed in 1677. Compulsory church attendance is on the wane. Pepys sometimes goes to church alone, leaving his wife behind. In some places the poor are expected not to attend services at all. Increasingly the wealthy want to be seen in their finery in church, and don’t want to be reminded of those less fortunate than themselves. By this token, those who do attend are not necessarily there purely for the good of their souls. Pepys is not the only one to spend church services eyeing up the ladies. When Thomas Baskerville visits the Dutch church in Yarmouth, he notes that ‘thither the people go every afternoon to hear prayers and where their fine women may be seen’.22
Despite all these things, there are plenty of indicators that religious conviction is as strong as ever. You need only reflect on the fact that James II loses his throne on account of his promotion of his fellow Catholics to realise that faith continues to be of prime importance to many people. And this is by no means an unprecedented reaction. In 1661 Parliament introduces the Corporation Act, requiring everyone serving in a local administrative office in England to obtain a certificate confirming that he has attended an Anglican service within the last twelve months, and to swear oaths of allegiance to the king, recognising his supremacy in spiritual matters. When Charles II tries to introduce religious toleration for all in 1672, he is thwarted by the strength of Protestant feeling: the most he can achieve is to issue a Declaration of Indulgence, by which nonconformists are permitted to worship in licensed buildings, and Catholics in their own homes. Even this modest step in the direction of toleration is withdrawn the following year, when the king is forced to accept the Test Act. This requires every office-holder to swear three oaths: those of allegiance to the Crown and of the king’s supremacy in spiritual matters, and a third one asserting that the Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation is untrue. This bars the king’s own brother from holding office. If kings and dukes cannot stand against the tide of popular religious feeling, how can ordinary individuals hope to do so? In 1697 a Scottish student called Thomas Aikenhead is reported to have ridiculed the Old Testament as ‘Ezra’s Fables’ and to have declared that Christ learnt magic in Egypt so that he could perform miracles. On a cold night, after a few drinks, he jokes with some friends, ‘I wish I were in that place Ezra calls Hell so I could warm myself.’ His companions turn out not to be his friends. Thomas is arrested, tried and sentenced to death. He begs for mercy on the grounds that he is only eighteen years old and this is his first offence. But when the question is put to the Church of Scotland ministers, they urge that he be executed, as an example to others. He is hanged outside the walls of Edinburgh, watched by the ministers who condemned him.
Perhaps the clearest sign of the vitality of faith amongst the people generally is the number of dissenting churches and sects that exist after 1660. Edward Chamberlayne, writing in 1676, lists all those that he has heard of – Presbyterians, Independents, Anabaptists (or Baptists), Quakers, Fifth-Monarchy Men, Ranters, Adamites, Antinomians, Sabbatarians, Perfectionists and the Family of Love – and expresses the hope that all these ‘mushrooms of Christianity’, which sprang up under Cromwell, will soon vanish.23 Signor Magalotti and Monsieur Misson are similarly intrigued by the number of nonconformists in England and add yet more sects to Chamberlayne’s list. Among them are Muggletonians, followers of Lodowicke Muggleton, who teaches that God and Christ are one and the same thing; and Photinians, who believe that God and Christ are wholly independent of one other. In addition, Magalotti and Misson mention Arians, Brownists, Antiscripturists, Hederingtonians, Theaurian-Joanites, Seekers, Waiters, Reevists, Baronists, Wilkinsonians, Millenarians, Arminians, Socinians, Origenists, Levellers, Quintinists, Mennonites and Libertines.24 Had they looked further, they could have named even more.
In theory, almost all these sects should vanish in 1662, when the Act of Uniformity requires everyone to accept the new Book of Common Prayer, published that year. They don’t. More than two thousand dissenting clergymen are ejected from the Church of England, largely because they are opposed to the restoration of the rule of bishops. In Scotland, 270 ministers are similarly forced out of office. The ousted Scots clergy promptly hold a series of ‘conventicles’ – illegal religious meetings – and this ushers in a period of bloody persecution that is only resolved in 1689 when the Scottish Parliament abolishes the bishops in favour of a Presbyterian Church of Scotland. If society really were becoming more secular, clergymen on both sides of the border would simply accept the Act of Uniformity with a shrug of the shoulders. Their congregations too would accept the new Book of Common Prayer. But dissenting ministers and their followers are of one mind: their religion is more important than obeying the letter of the law. In the 1690s, in England alone, nonconformist ministers preach to more than 200,000 followers – more than 10 per cent of the adult population.25 If Restoration society seems less religious than it has ever been before, it is only because it immediately follows the Commonwealth, the most religious period we have seen for centuries.
All this prompts me to suggest that you should keep four fundamental things in mind about religion in Restoration Britain:
1. Society is not growing less religious, but the channels of divine intervention are becoming more secular. People no longer expect their prayers to be answered directly by God; they increasingly believe that God will act through other individuals. Thus, if people are ill, they don’t expect a miracle, but they might pray that God will cure them through the auspices of a physician. Of course, this makes it all the more important that the physician from whom they seek help is of impeccable spiritual correctness. And that normally means he needs to be of the same religious disposition as them. Most God-fearing people will not believe that an atheist will be able to do them any good, whatever his medical qualifications.
2. Never forget that your fellow Christians are not necessarily your friends. And if you are not a Christian, you probably don’t have any friends.
3. It is a good idea to attend at least one service every Sunday. If you don’t, people will talk. If you fail to go for a whole month, you may be arrested on suspicion of being a Catholic.26 If that happens, you will need swiftly to obtain a certificate from a minister, confirming that you have taken communion in an Anglican church recently. It is safest just to go. Pepys isn’t very religious, yet he usually goes twice: once in the morning, to his parish church, and once after his Sunday dinner, to a church of his choice.
4. Choose your religious denomination very carefully. If you want to play it safe, stick to Anglicanism. Clasp the 1662 Book of Common Prayer to your chest, tell everyone that you despise Catholics, Quakers and atheists, curse the pope, praise the king, and commemorate the anniversary of Charles I’s execution each year on 30 January as the death of a martyr. Thus you may avoid the pitfalls of sectarian religion. However, if you are of an anti-establishment disposition and truly cannot abide the thought of attending a Protestant service, then read the following brief guide to radical Restoration sects carefully – to identify which beliefs are merely awkward and which are positively dangerous.
A BRIEF GUIDE TO RADICAL RESTORATION SECTS
Fanatics. We have all come across people in the modern world who are convinced that the end of the world is nigh, and who urge the rest of us to repent of our sins. The
y have their precursors in this period, and ordinary citizens call them ‘fanatics’. Pepys notes on Tuesday, 25 November 1663 that there is ‘great talk among people how some of the fanatics do say that the end of the world is at hand and that next Tuesday is to be the day – against which, whenever it shall be, God fit us all’.27
Fifth Monarchists. This sect believes that Christ’s return to Earth is imminent, and that they must prepare the way for the Fifth Monarchy of the prophecy of Daniel – when the Jews will be converted, the Turks destroyed, and Christ will again rule the Earth in glory. These people don’t approve of the return of Charles II and are even unhappier to see the restoration of the Church of England. On 6 January 1661, they take up arms under the leadership of a wine merchant called James Venner and stage a rebellion in the streets of London. When the Trained Bands of the militia confront them and demand to know whom they serve, they answer ‘King Jesus!’ and open fire. A two-day skirmish follows; about twenty men are killed on each side.
Quakers. In the 1660s, Quakers are the most hated and persecuted nonconformist sect of all. They are variously called ‘the most incorrigible sinners’, ‘heretics’, ‘a dangerous sort of people’, ‘a vessel of fanaticism’, ‘the fag-end of the Reformation with a sullen, meagre look’ and ‘clownish hypocrites’.28 They manage to enrage both the clergy and the wealthy by refusing to pay tithes and swear oaths of allegiance, and by declining to offer the usual marks of respect to their social superiors. Most shocking of all, they allow women to speak in their meetings. They are more threatening than Fifth Monarchists, on account of their numbers. Their founder, George Fox, only starts preaching in 1647 and spends several lengthy spells in prison, yet by 1660 there are more than 30,000 Quakers in England. In 1662 the Quaker Act is passed, making it illegal to refuse to take an oath of loyalty and prohibiting meetings of five or more members of the sect. Visit any prison and you will see Quakers solemnly sitting there in the cells. One hundred of them are rounded up in Southwark on a single day in August 1663. In 1668 a group of Quakers build a meeting house in London: if you join the stout of heart in going there, you will be arrested and fined £10 for each service you attend. It is not until the passing of the Toleration Act of 1689 that you can attend such meetings in peace.29
