Maps of Knowledge

Looking for magic in Medieval and Renaissance German society can be difficult at times. The difficulty does not lie in a lack of magic, but rather, in the disunity between the societies recognized as being Germanic. This disunity makes the quest for such history much more expansive. Thus, one must expand their definition of what it meant to be German in these eras to all the lands that the various German peoples inhabited. Taking this expanded view, one realizes that Germanic influence spread from Greenland in the north to the Mediterranean in the south, and from the British Isles in the west to the Caspian in the east in the Medieval period. This area encompasses a wide range of cultures and thoughts that influenced Medieval and Renaissance German culture. This milieu forced the various Germanic peoples into conflicts with peoples from cultures as disparate as the Celtics, with their gods inhabiting every pebble and twig insight, to Mamelukes, who had accepted the monotheism of Islam. The Medieval and Renaissance eras found German society immersed in conflicts over who would be the cultural heart of Europe, thus it is logical that the church sought to conquer the souls of heathen European cultures, and to bring them under the heal of the Trinity. However, as those that bore the cloth were often the middle-born son of their family, their battle was to spill ink upon the page, as they were dissuaded from shedding blood on the battlefield. In this paper, we will explore the historiography of those who battled over canon, rather than with cannons, and how they framed the conversation around magic in German society during the Medieval and Renaissance eras.

To understand the historiography of magic in the Germanic regions during the Medieval and Renaissance eras, we will be looking at works by historians from the early twentieth to the early twenty-first century. In his article, Albertus, Magnus or Magus? Magic, Natural Philosophy, and Religious Reform in the Late Middle Ages, David J. Collins recounts how the life of Albertus Magnus often sabotaged later attempts by the Jesuits to have Albertus canonized in the Catholic church. In contrast, E.J. Kylie’s article, The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface, explores how St. Boniface’s conversion of the Germans of the North Atlantic coast and subsequent martyrdom at the hands of the Frisians made him a shoo-in for canonization. In, The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons, Wilfrid Bonser takes us down a Medieval rabbit hole where we see the first-hand effects of the invading Anglo-Saxon society on the local Celtic traditions in Medieval Ireland. Looking at G. Ronald Murphy’s article, Magic in the Heliand gives us a peek into the magical elements in the ninth-century poem, Heliand. In her article, Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Tara Nummedal discusses the “profound links between the divine order and their manipulations of nature.”1 In, Man As Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, Rolf Schulte treats us to the trials of men accused of lycanthropy and witchcraft in the Renaissance. The motivations for these trials centered around the reality that livestock, in particular sheep, were the main agricultural commodity due to the inarable land of the Low Countries. In, The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft, Hans Peter Broedel discusses how medieval German society used The Malleus in constructing the category “witch” in late-fifteenth-century Germany.2 Stephen A. Mitchell takes a different tact in, Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, in which he distills how the ideas represented in Norse mythology affected Scandinavian perceptions of witchcraft in the Middle Ages, and how that influences the scholarship on the subject today. In Jonathan B. Durrant’s, Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany, he gives insight into how gender and age influenced accusations of witchcraft near the end of the Renaissance era. In, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women, Caroline Walker Bynum demonstrates how food “became a fundamental economic and religious concern”, especially for those burdened with self-hatred, as “those individuals—especially women—who were unable to assert control over their own lives.”3 Thus, even amongst the titles of papers concerning magic in Medieval and Renaissance German society, we see the varying ideas of what magic was and how it should be treated.

To further explore the competition between magic, how it was practiced, and by whom and their motivations, we first look at two saints. The first is Saint Boniface, the apostle to the Germanic peoples of the west of the Elbe river and continuing to the Atlantic. The targets of Saint Boniface’s conversion mission were primarily the Chatti, lying in western Germany, and later, the Frisians whose descendants still cling to the northwest coast of the Netherlands and northern Germany today. According to E.J. Kylie’s article, The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface, the Germans of this area had already been partially civilized as, “war and hunting were already replaced by agriculture as the primary occupation of man.”4 Soon after this, Kylie goes on to extol how much the Romans influenced the Germans to turn to agriculture. It was this idea of Roman culture “civilizing” heathens of the north that took Saint Boniface to the Germans. We see this when Kylie briefly mentions how the Slav's and Franks' practices acted to “retard progress and Christianity.”5 This was particularly disturbing to historians like Kylie, writing in 1905, as the Romans and Christianity were still seen as the height of Western culture. However, according to Kylie, one of Boniface’s greatest challenges was his priests. This was due to many priests carrying on the practice of making sacrifices to Wodan by offering human lives and eating the flesh of sacrificial animals offered to the gods.6 Another major hurdle for Boniface was the differing cultural values. As Kylie notes, when offered a baptism, King Radbod declined the offer as he preferred to be in Hell with his ancestors, rather than in Heaven “with a few beggars.”7 With this, it became apparent to Saint Boniface that in order to appeal to Germans, he would have to demonstrate the superior strength of the Christian deity over their gods.8 It is unfortunate that such works passed as scholarship amongst Kylie and his contemporaries, as The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface serves as more of a testament to the narrow view of what Western civilization was at the turn of the nineteenth century, rather than providing a good scholarship that one could learn what the seventh century was like for the average Germanic person fighting off forced conversion. For a work that fits this description, we must turn to more modern scholars like, David J. Collins.

It is the superior strength of the Christian god that one could say Albertus Magnus was attempting to channel in his alchemical practices. However, unlike other sacraments, Magnus’s practices verged on the heretical, as he was a Catholic priest. Throughout his article, David J. Collins notes that Magnus trafficked in such dangerously suspicious practices that continued to weigh down attempts to canonize Albert the Magician. This was not only due to Magnus’s studies, but what his studies said about the man. The Catholic Chuch considered Magnus's suspected use of his learned knowledge to practice magic as a corruption of his role as a priest. Collins notes that it was the “several disedifying stories circulating about Albert” that led some to believe that he may have been taking on feminine roles while performing his alchemy and astronomy.9 According to Collins, Magnus's use of magic for seduction was a controversial issue, because of the association of women using seduction magic to commune with the devil. This was disturbing to the church, as it was a common belief that women were incapable of making their own decisions, thus a man of some sort must be in charge of a woman. Thus, Collins demonstrates the church's suspicion that Albertus had not only crossed gender roles but also may have been communing with the devil, via his practices of seduction magic. And to not outdo himself, Magnus went so far as to disguise “himself as a woman so as to apprentice to a midwife.”10 This was how he managed to produce such expert writings on embryology, gynecology, and obstetrics.

It is from the superior scholarship of Collins in Albertus, Magnus, or Magus? Magic, Natural Philosophy, and Religious Reform in the Late Middle Ages, that readers are better able to understand the how and why it took so long for Albertus Magnus to be canonized. As throughout Albertus, Magnus or Magus? Magic, Natural Philosophy, and Religious Reform in the Late Middle Ages, Collins demonstrates Albertus’s proclivity towards femininity and magical practices that were in direct conflict with the Catholic Church’s teachings were what dragged down all previous attempts to canonize the unorthodox saint. However, despite all objections, Albertus Magnus would be canonized in 1931.

It was, according to Wilfrid Bonser, not mere objections that prevented the Irish from accepting Catholicism, when their Anglo-Saxon neighbors did, but rather the earlier Romanization that had occurred in England that had primed the Anglo-Saxons to be more receptive to the ideas presented by Christianity.11 This was because, as Bonser notes, “the Irish culture was wholly different from that of Anglo-Saxons.”12 The main marker for this distinction between the Germanic minds of the Anglo-Saxons and the Irish, as Bonser notes, was that the Anglo-Saxons had “never attained to such flights of imagination as did the Irish.”13 However, Bonser observes that the Anglo-Saxons as warrior people, were most receptive to the magical charms that Christianity could imbue them with. In this, the Anglo-Saxons prized above all else the charms that would render them invisible to their enemies.14 Another form of sympathetic magic the Anglo-Saxons prized were ceremonies for “protecting one’s acres from witchcraft, which has a mixture of Christian and pagan elements in it.”15 Despite the extensive research and energy Bonser put into his work, The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons, it is very light on the Anglo-Saxons. Much lighter than one would expect from a subject mentioned in the title of a paper. This is coupled with Bonser veering off on pages 286-288 to list phrases that are in a language incomprehensible to the average reader, even in 1926. This use of an incomprehensible text, with no explanation, was a hallmark of earlier scholarship when the vast majority of scholars were polyglots. Thus, this article serves as a prime example of why the majority of people in the past found history a difficult subject to study unless they were a part of the academic community. It is this kind of academic writing that has now been abandoned, in favor of writing that is usually more accessible to the average reader. And in turn, this allows academics to exit the echo chamber, and more fully embrace the world and all of its nuance. And yet, while The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons is informative, one is left with the feeling of an incomplete work.

In contrast to this, G. Ronald Murphy’s article, Magic in the Heliand, is an in-depth look at how magical elements permeated Medieval German society in the ninth century. As Murphy notes, “the Heliand does, however, I believe, reveal various distinct traces of German magic.”16 One of the main magical elements Murphy focuses on is the “magic helmet.” According to Murphy’s interpretation of the Heliand, the devil uses the magic helmet to conceal himself from Pilate’s wife. Despite the obvious nature of the magic helmet, Murphy does note that other cases of magic in the Heliandare more difficult to identify, as the author was careful to use ambiguous language to hide the magical elements in the Heliand. According to Murphy, the Heliand is a magical reinterpretation of the Last Supper.17 In the Heliand, Jesus is believed to use magic stones, with runic inscriptions to produce more wine for his guests, and it is this interpretation that takes on a distinctly German flair. Another point of interest in creating this Germanized Last Supper, is, as Murphy notes, the “magic helmets, swords, spear point, and stones, and especially ‘performative images,’ carved or natural images which can cause what they depict to happen to the viewer” are the most prized of the magical elements in the Heliand.18 Murphy notes that the magic helmet would have been valued for its ability to take on one’s enemies. The next most obvious element that Murphy lists are the multiplication of the loaves of bread and fishes. In the Germanic interpretation of the Last Supper, the apostle suddenly becomes aware “that the bread between their hands was growing.”19 This wildly different version of the Last Supper is due to German societies association with magic emanating from an external source, rather than the internal power that Jesus was believed to possess.

According to Murphy, German beliefs in magic stemmed from the perception that to use magic, one must be mahtig. Murphy informs us that this word does not merely mean its literal translation of strong, but it means one is strong and powerful in the use of magic. Thus, it is no surprise when Jesus multiplies the loaves and fish, he is interpreted to have mahtig. This is also an important element when the wine runs out. Jesus, rather than simply telling the steward to fill the jars with wine and draw from the jar as he does in the bible, in the Heliand Jesus says magical words over the jars to turn the water into wine.20 In the scene, Jesus specifically gives his orders quietly to his servants, as he does not want to reveal his magical powers. This is an important element, as Murphy notes because he says the words as he makes the sign of the cross over the water and uses his hands to stir the wine. This scene turns Jesus into a wizard of sorts. One that knows the spells and incantations to transform water into wine. However, Jesus is not above teaching his disciples his techniques.

The scene when the disciples ask Jesus to teach them the secret runes is a metaphor for his learned magic. Thus, as Jesus teaches his disciples his power, he turns the “Our Father” into a spell of performative magic. Murphy uses the word geruni (secret runes) to describe the use of the secret runes. As Murphy notes, they have “been found incised on spearheads and weapons to give them greater effectiveness.”21 This is because “the runes were a powerful gift to mankind from Woden and thus it is only fitting that Christ should give his followers strong magic runes as well”22 As Murphy notes, the five most powerful runic letters were P, A, T, E, and R, with R, considered the most powerful of the bunch. On pages 393-394, Murphy gives us a poem describing each letter’s various powers. At the end of the poem, gives us a distinctly German version of Our Father, that goes as such:

Therefore, no man should ever without cause draw forth the weapon’s edge (even though its gleam pleases him), rather he should always sing the Pater Noster and pray the Palm-tree with joy so that it will give him both life and [a strong] arm when his enemy comes.23

This corruption of the Our Father is easily understood when looking at the frequency with which Germanic people were engaging in warfare. Though Murphy does not make this connection, it makes sense in this context, as they were not the only people to pick up and run with the elements of Christianity that suited them. This process has been a part of Christianity from the beginning, as the Coptic, Greek, Syriac, and Armenian churches were formed on the basis that they all considered different elements of Christianity to be more important. More interesting yet, is the interpretation of creation in the Heliand. The creation of the world is achieved “through performative words, or rather through a performative word.”24 Thus, this Germanic understanding of the biblical creation story not only reflects on their culture, but in many ways ties them to larger ideas of religious syncretism, and the theory of the Collective Unconscious.

Despite the Heliand’s popularity, it by no means held a monopoly on the Germanic interpretation of the Christian faith. As Stephen A. Mitchell explores in, Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages, the Christianizing era for the Germanic peoples was a confusing time fraught with peril from both the church and those resistant to the church’s teachings. Yet, the Germanic interpretation of the magical elements within Christianity remained. As Mitchell notes,

the development of the church’s thinking about witchcraft—the ability to manipulate power due to an individual’s innate qualities, to acquire learning, or to a bargain with evil forces—increasingly saw this phenomenon in nearly Manichean terms, characterized by one scholar as the church’s ‘‘sharp binary division of the spiritual universe into opposing divine and demonic realms....”25

Despite their differing understandings of the duality built into Christianity, such a dualistic view was not incompatible with preexisting German thoughts on divinity. Unfortunately, when attempting to communicate this to the reader, Mitchell uses the phrase “Manichean terms”, which is too heavy a term for the average reader, as well as that Manichaeism was unfamiliar to most audiences. Mitchell backpaddles a bit when tries to explain that there was a ‘‘‘sharp binary division of the spiritual universe into opposing divine and demonic realms...’’’ within the church. The story of a god willing to sacrifice a part of himself would have meshed well with the story of Tyr and Fenrir. Additionally, the apocalyptic text of Revelations would appeal to a Norse raised on their end time tale of Ragnarök. It is odd to this author that Mitchell never seems to make this connection. Although, if one is fair, perhaps he considered it outside of the scholarship of this particular book.

However, despite this shortcoming, Mitchell does note that “for many centuries, the church regarded activities associated with witchcraft as mere superstition, a simple error that could be corrected through penance and other forms of contrition.”26 But this perception of magic as mere superstition would not last. As Mitchell notes early on “those who employed this kind of non-Christian magic were conceived of as part of an organized diabolical cult, worshippers of Satan who engaged in gruesome rites and activities and who were generally beyond salvation and subject to capital punishment.”27 The conception of a need to root out magic through punishment is seen in the pictures Mitchell chose to accompany his text on pages 182, 183, and 184. In the photos we see paintings depicting the punishment of the devils and their milk-stealing witch accomplice. This is due to the woman and the devils that are assisting her in stealing the milk “from the cows in the neighborhood to be used in the preparation of the butter.”28 This scene is a good example of what Mitchell notes as the Nordic world being “rich in resources for the student of medieval popular culture, perhaps especially where witchcraft is concerned.” In his historiography of witchcraft and magic in the Nordic middle ages, Mitchell demonstrates that magic, while often seen as a threat to the church, was also a threat to the cohesion of the community. As Mitchell notes “myths are alive, and they resonate in the lives of the individuals who hear, tell, know, and use them. In other words, they are more than just words on a page about the characters and tales from a society long since gone.”29 And while we may not realize it, we use myths every day in the modern world to either drive us apart or bind us together in the darkness of the world that we face.

The concept of myth and how its use as an “image of massed enemies threatening normal society, separating native and foreign traditions” fits well into the concepts of magic explored in, Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, by Tara Nummedal.30 In her article, Nummedal explores the confluence between alchemy as a magical practice and alchemy as a practical application. In this, she discusses how the church sought to discourage the practice of magical arts but was also willing to accept “the profits it brings in melting metals, in decocting, preparing, extracting, and distilling herbs, [and] roots.”31 According to Nummedal, the in-depth scholarly study of alchemy began with the circulation of alchemical texts around Europe, beginning in the twelfth century.32 Nummedal notes that while alchemists led the study of alchemy, “alchemists and theologians alike” all drew on different threads to establish the “numerous connections between alchemy and Christianity,” and have it fit into their preconceived notions of what was holy and what was profane.33

According to Nummedal, it was the fire of the crucible and the refinement of otherwise useless or corrupted material into something worthy of the glory of God that drew theologians to research alchemy. For it was in

the fire extracts and separates from a substance the other portions, and carries upward the spirit, the life, the sap, the strength, while the unclean matter, the dregs, remain at the bottom, like a dead and worthless carcass; even so God, at the day of judgment, will separate all things through the fire, the righteous from the ungodly. The Christians and righteous shall ascend upward into heaven, and there live everlastingly, but the wicked and the ungodly, as the dross and filth, shall remain in hell, and there be damned.34

Thus, Nummedal gives us a vision of the church forced to embrace alchemy, while also co-opting much of it for their gain. One church official that would surprise many to find had an interest in alchemical practices was Martin Luther.

As Nummedal notes, “Martin Luther was not an alchemist, of course, but the reformer’s allusion to alchemy in discussing the Day of Judgment hints at how broadly the art resonated as a way of engaging religion in sixteenth-century Europe.”35 This was not Luther’s attempt to condone alchemy, rather, he like many others “sought to integrate their faith with their work in the laboratory or library” as a way of understanding their faith as an integral part of what separated Christians from others in the pursuit of bringing the natural and divine worlds together in a cohesive manner.36

Later in her article, Nummedal touches on the more recent scholarship on how alchemy was interpreted. When discussing the scholarship of magic, more recent is a relative term, as the study of magic and its history of it has been often the subject of ridicule. In her article, Nummedal pushes back on the notions of Margaret Atwood, Ethan Allen Hitchcock, and Arthur Waite who “interpreted all alchemy as intrinsically and uniquely spiritual.”37 Rather, she agrees with the scholarship of M. Principe and William R. Newman, that while alchemy and religion used each other to interpenetrate one another, and borrowed terms from each other, it is not a unique aspect of their system of belief. This becomes especially true when one has a broader understanding of the geographic reach of alchemical practices, as there were practitioners of such arts reaching outside of Europe, from the Middle East, and as far as China. But such a broad scope is beyond the frame of this paper, like Martin Luther, nor any other German theologian would be aware of the alchemical practices of the East. However, in the sixteenth century, the Catholic Church did begin to face opposing views on Christianity, along with their old foes amongst the Jewish community that acted as a counterbalance against Christian hegemony over the nature of God.

While Nummedal does not explicitly state it, the schism caused by Martin Luther’s 95 theses caused an unforeseen rift in Christianity. While some saw some of Luther’s propositions were necessary for the refinement in the crucible that was medieval and Renaissance Christianity, they also ignited a debate that had long laid dormant. The debate lies in two subjects, mainly how the average person interacts with the Bible, and also the relationship between Christians and Jews that were living in Europe. One of Martin Luther’s theses advocated for the Bible to be written in the native tongues of Europe, thus allowing more access to the script by the layperson. This in turn created the Protestant Reformation, Lutheranism, and all other sects that followed. Yet, as Nummedal notes, this did not address the issues of alchemy. In particular, it did not address the issue of Catholic priests adopting the practices of Kabbalism. And thus, like the word being changed to Cabala, they risked being corrupted by such practices, while also attempting to draw themselves closer to God. This was most feared by the Jesuits who, “in general were cautious about alchemy, fearing that the desire for gold could easily imperil alchemists’ souls, even leading them to call upon the help of demons for help in the laboratory.”38 As Nummedal notes, this fear led to the focus on confessional identity becoming the most prevalent mark for Catholics, as it became important to distinguish between outgroups and in groups in the late medieval and early Renaissance periods. Towards the close of her article, Nummedal encourages the reader to be careful and focused when approaching alchemy and to “avoid vague and anachronistic generalizations.”39 Unfortunately, those that wrote the script that the next author analyzes did not hold such beliefs, in fact, one could say that those that wrote The Malleus Maleficarum wanted to exaggerate many vague and anachronistic generalizations.

In, The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft, Hans Peter Broedel focuses on how Heinrich Kramer, also known by his Latinized name Henry Institoris, created The Malleus Maleficarum “sometime in 1485–86” Germany to serve as the legal basis on which to convict people of witchcraft.40 At the time Henry Institoris “was well into his fifties, in other words, by medieval standards, he was already an old man.” Yet, despite his advanced age for the time, a colleague, Georg Golser, noted that he was “‘completely childish on account of his age.’”41 According to Broedel, Institoris enlisted the of Jacob Sprenger. As Broedel notes, Institoris did so, because Sprenger “was a man far more distinguished and far less contentious than Institoris; second, both as an academic and within the Dominican Order, Sprenger’s career was exemplary.”42 This was due to Sprenger having previously “established himself as an outstanding scholar” of theology.43 A major aspect of Sprenger’s bona fides that Institoris would attract to himself was the fact that Sprenger had become a lecturer and professor of theology at an early age. And even more notable for the time, was that Sprenger had achieved both of these accomplishments, while “still working towards his master’s degree.”44 As Broedel notes, this led to Sprenger becoming the dean of theology at the University of Cologne.45 While this would give some necessary weight to Institoris’s claims, it was not the driving factor behind his authorship of The Malleus Maleficarum. That would come mainly from those in the community that Institoris felt had slighted him.

According to Broedel, of those that Institoris felt had slighted him, he held a particular grudge against Helena Scheuberin. Due to this, Institoris led Scheuberin and thirteen others to be “suspected of practicing witchcraft”, and thus they became the particular focus of his ire.46 The conflict between Institoris and Scheuberin was caused by several factors. Scheuberin was known to be “an aggressive, independent woman who was not afraid to speak her mind, a trait which on this occasion had landed her in serious trouble.”47 Worse yet, as Broedel notes, Scheuberin was not known for her piety, as demonstrated by her proclivity to skip Institoris’s sermons. If that were not enough, was also known to encourage others to do the same.48 But these were not the worse afront to the priest’s authority.

As Broedel writes, Scheuberin was a known disruptor of Institoris’s sermons. She often did this while also “loudly proclaiming that she believed Institoris to be an evil man in league with the devil – a man whose obsession with witchcraft amounted to heresy.”49 However, according to Broedel, the stature of Institoris in the community gave him sway over how Scheuberin’s trial would go. Scheuberin’s trial began on October 29th, 1485. According to Broedel, Institoris used dignitaries such as “Cristan Turner, licentiate in the decretals and the special representative of Georg Golser, bishop of Brixen, Master Paul Wann, doctor of theology and canon law, Sigismund Saumer, also a licentiate in the decretals, three brothers of the Dominican Order” to bolster his credibility at Scheuberin’s trial.50 A native of Innsbruck, Scheuberin was well acquainted with her accuser and his cohorts. At the time, she had been married to Sebastian Scheuber, a local burger, for eight years.51 Unfortunately, Broedel just throws out that Sebastian Scheuber was a burger, with no explanation as to what a burger was, which is a disservice to modern readers, as our word association of what a burger is, is entirely different from the meaning in medieval Germanic society. According to the website, familysearch.com, burgers “were citizens with full rights. To become a “Bűrger, the applicant had to be the legitimate son of a Bűrger, have a good moral reputation, meet other conditions, and pay a fee, the “Bűrgergeld..”52 In addition to holding a relatively high position in society via her husband, Broedel also notes that Scheuberin “was also an aggressive, independent woman who was not afraid to speak her mind, a trait which on this occasion had landed her in serious trouble.”53 Thus, through her position in society, her husband, and her cantankerous nature one begins to see why Institoris would mark her out as a possible witch.

Both, The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the 'Construction of Witchcraft: Theology and Popular Belief,' attempt to have the reader “understand the basic arguments of the text, its origins, structure, and methods.”54 He does this by centering “the text and its authors in space and time, as the products of both Dominican and German experience.”55 To do this, Broedel argues that The Malleus Maleficarum was an argument in response to the failures of medieval German society and the Dominican order to quell suspicions of witchcraft and the threat that it posed.56 To do this, Institoris, according to Broedel, attempted to provide “sufferers from witchcraft with a broad range of remedies, both legal and spiritual, of proven effectiveness.”57 In addition to providing these as the spiritual side of witchcraft, Broedel notes that “the text is a guide for civil and ecclesiastical authorities to the successful detection and prosecution of witches,” and as such it also provides a more complete picture of what constituted witchcraft, including its “origins, habits, and powers.”58 To do this, Broedel focuses on how witchcraft had a necessary function in late-medieval German society.59 Much of this was due to the devil being viewed through a bifurcated lens. As the devil was believed to be a creature of great evil, yet, as Broedel notes, “a creature whose physical presence was more often of an almost trivial appearance.”60 This created a devil who was both full of “impressive diabolic power and minimal diabolic presence,” and in some ways, the perfect mate for the conception of witches themselves.61

Throughout, The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft: Theology and Popular Belief, Broedel strives to demonstrate that, The Malleus Maleficarum, acts as “an idiosyncratic text, reflective of its authors’ particular experiences and preoccupations.”62 Of these particular experiences and preoccupations, Broedel notes that the text is full of peculiarities found mainly “living in southern Germany and the Alps,” and is often grounded in the conflict between “learned and folk traditions.”63 Broedel observes how the text reflects more of the author’s personal history, and how this manifests in their writing.64

These personal histories and beliefs, as Broedel points out, are especially true when it comes to matters concerning love magic, which Institoris blames on the “bitter, betrayed women in the town.”65 However, Broedel notes that despite this, Institoris’s conclusions were “decisively rejected by the investigating commission that so abruptly halted the proceedings.”66 Much of this rejection also came from Catholic Church doctrine and the fact that German society up until that point had “refrained from making sweeping judgments” and “had avoided doctrinal pronouncements altogether.”67 However, as Broedel notes, The Malleus elevated witchcraft to a pivotal position as a “struggle between man and the devil.”68 This caused a shift in the Church’s thinking, as it allowed for a more sophisticated response to “epistemological considerations, as each section treats its subject matter with changing rules of argumentation, types of evidence and criteria for logical validity.”69 Of these, the nature of the devil, the witch, and the permission of God became paramount.70 As Broedel notes from Richard Kieckhefer, the devil up to the writing of The Malleus had been treated as “‘more as a legendary figure of folklore than as the master of a demonic cult,’” with differing views often being centered on differences in cultures.71 To this end, Broedel makes the point that the nature of the devil had “taken as a kind of symbolic discourse.”72 In this, according to Broedel, the symbolism was the “personification of deviant or ‘bad’ female sexuality.”73 The establishment of the link between female sexuality and witchcraft would not subside, as this provided an “explanatory power that rival conceptions lacked.”74 Thus in Broedel’s view, “witchcraft provided a coherent system through which a whole constellation of socially disordering forces could be understood.”75 And in this, set Europe down the path to further connecting magic and witchcraft to any other deviant sexual behavior.

In, Man As Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, Rolf Schulte discusses the trials of men accused of lycanthropy and witchcraft in the Renaissance. While much of the practical concern of lycanthropy centered around livestock, the trials presented also include those considered to be engaging in deviant sexual acts. The incorporation of deviant sex acts was not a new phenomenon amongst the anti-magic and anti-witchcraft crowd in medieval Europe, but tying gender and sexual behavior had become more intrinsically linked to magic and witchcraft following the popularity of The Malleus Maleficarum. As Schulte notes, “in the Middle Ages magic was not a gender-specific offense specifically attributed to women.”76 Schulte cites work from Stuart Clark, that asserts “the ‘gender’ aspect did not play a substantial part in the demonology of Early Modern Europe and that its importance has thus been exaggerated.”77 Schulte notes, that much of the concern at the time was grounded in an extreme antifeminism tendency, and this tendency extended to those that would participate in “feminine” sexual acts, namely men allowing other men to penetrate them.78 This act in the minds of inquisitors and magistrates was the ultimate betrayal of masculinity, as it allowed one man to overpower another.

Two of the more striking cases presented by Schulte are those of Peter Kleikamp and Hinrich Busch. As presented by Schulte, Peter Kleikamp’s case is the more straightforward of the two, in terms of a “typical” witch trial for men at the time. Kleikamp’s case is a prime example of how unwedded men could be victims of witch trials, just as easily as unmarried men. This is due to the suspicious nature of an unwed person in the late renaissance era as being outside of the societal norm. Kleikamp was brought up on charges of theft and sodomy; however, “Kleikamp vigorously denies all charges.”79 Thus, the court turned to the charge of witchcraft, and after subjecting Kleikamp to torture, which broke his arms and legs, he gave his confession.80 Unable to withstand the torture, he “confesses to being a male witch, to having denounced God and the saints and sworn loyalty to the Devil.”81 During his confession, Schulte notes, Kleikamp confessed to such wild things as “having slept several times with a female demon,” becoming a werewolf, “killing and tearing sheep to pieces in the dark of night,” convening with seven other witches, and rubbing “an ointment onto his skin at midnight, thus enabling them to fly to the heath.”82 Thus, through Schulte’s example of Kleikamp, we see how a man seen as an unrepentant sinner on relatively minor charges, in relation to what came later, would admit to far worse to make it stop. As Schulte notes from Schultheis, “Schultheis classifies witchcraft offenses as particularly severe crimes, far worse than those of robbery or murder because the culprits had entered a pact with the Devil and thus sworn an alliance against contemporary society”83 It was this severity that Schulte writes, would play into the trial of Hinrich Busch.

In 1676, the trial of Hinrich Busch for witchcraft began “on the basis of statements made by a female relative.”84 The case was started by an investigation by the executioner of Kiel. The executioner of the Kiel case was the investigating body. The executioner had previously tortured Busch, who noted that when he did so, “Busch experienced no pain during the pricking test to which he was subjected, neither did the wound bleed.”85 Now, most people would not complain about a torturer not causing more damage, but it should be obvious to a modern audience, that perhaps the method of torture was not enough to cause the necessary amount of stress on Busch to illicit his full confession. This is especially true when one sees that, as Schulte notes, Busch spoke of "a master who, 50 years previously, had persuaded him to denounce God.”86 Thus, one can surmise that Busch was most likely a lifetime adherent of the occult, and may have engaged in activities that had prepared his body to be less susceptible to torture. Schulte tells us the most egregious crimes Busch admits to are: “making a pact with the Devil, to having ‘received seed and powder from him with which he had harmed and killed humans and animals,’” “intercourse with the Devil,” he renounced God and surrendered his soul to the Devil.87 Of these charges, Busch having received the powder and having a homosexual relationship with the Devil were the worse because Busch was both gaining magical potions from the Devil, and entering into a feminine role by having intercourse with the Devil, as the Devil is near almost always personified as a man or at least a character with masculine energy. Thus, as demonstrated by Schulte, had committed several crimes worthy of death, mainly his use of magic potions, homosexual acts, and acting as if he were a god by turning into a werewolf.88 Thus, the magistrates decided, upon the conviction of Busch and his daughter of witchcraft to execute both. Unfortunately, death was all too often the answer to witchcraft in the medieval and renaissance eras, as demonstrated by Jonathan B. Durrant in, Witchcraft, Gender, and Society in Early Modern Germany.

Jonathan B. Durrant’s, Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany, explores further how the confluence of gender class and age weighed in on witchcraft trials in the Renaissance era. In particular, he focuses on the Eichstatt witch trials. In this Durrant has the reader focus on three main areas. Those are the “confession narratives and witness depositions: the witch-suspects; the alleged accomplices; and the witnesses called to appear before the witch commission.”89 In particular, Durrant focuses on how the role of denouncers affected the outcomes of the witch trials.

Eichstatt to this day is a small hamlet in southern Germany, surrounded by the far more notable cities of Munich, Nuremberg, and Stuttgart. The Eichstatt trials took place between 1590 and 1631.90 According to Durrant “the course of the witch-hunts there, between 240 and 273 people were arrested for witchcraft or, rarely, slandered as witches.”91 Throughout his discussion of the witch trials, Durrant notes that “asking questions about a general outcry against an individual suspect seems, from 1619 onwards, to have replaced questions about specific denouncers.”92 Durrant uses the example of one woman, in particular, Margretha Bittelmayr, as she “would seem to have been a conventional early modern witch.”93

According to Durrant, when “Margretha Bittelmayr…was arrested for witchcraft on 15 October 1626, she was in her early fifties.”94 Amongst the crimes she was accused of were “being seduced by the Devil, desecrating the host, making fun of the Virgin, attending witches’ sabbaths, performing weather-magic, and exhuming the bodies of dead children.”95 In addition, Bittelmayr “confessed to attacking five children (murdering at least four of them), killing three head of cattle, inducing madness in a maid-servant, and scattering her powder on a wall to harm any living thing that went by.”96 In this, one cannot help but be reminded of the earlier trial of Peter Kleikamp, with the idea of an unrepentant sinner being the basis for all of Bittelmayr’s crimes, while also having a community where one is constantly surrounded by neighbors that are hostile to anything out of the norm. The longer one looks at Durrant’s work, one picks up the familiar scent of a person unwilling to conform to community standards being the victim of the trials. And this environment ended up leading to a community steeped in “systematic physical abuse” of female prisoners and servants.”97 In addition to external threats, this environment also encouraged a special kind of self-loathing that became common in the hyper-religious German societies in the late renaissance era. Such abuses often led to the execution of suspected witches, continuing the age-old cycle of religious zealots murdering those perceived as enemies.

Caroline Walker Bynum’s, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women, opens our eyes to an entirely new enemy: women as the enemy within. While much of her book focuses on the practical concerns of women in the middle ages, these are interwoven with tales of magical potions and poisons, both used to manipulate or harm men.98 In her own words, Bynum chose to focus on the religious significance of food, as “food has been ignored—chiefly because it is not, in modern eyes, a primary concern, but also because, to medieval men, it was one among many religious symbols and pious renunciations.”99 While regarded as arcane by their male counterparts, food preparation, according to Bynum, also provided a degree of power for women over men. Unfortunately, this also often led to hostility towards women in the medieval era.100

Much of the hostility came from men that suspected their wives, daughters, and mothers of attempting to poison them. This accompanied tales of women using “such things as menstrual blood, semen, or dough kneaded with a woman's buttocks” when preparing food for their men.101 Some of this, as Bynum notes, was due to the Eucharistic nature of cooking, as one was often putting themselves wholeheartedly into the effort of preparing the meals.102 But also, from this, women in the middle ages often drew “the spirit and the fullness of the humanity of Christ.”103 And following Christ’s example, women were often led to seek out chastity for an escape from their life of turmoil. As Bynum notes, they saw this as a life “set apart from the world by intact boundaries… destined for a higher consummation.” Thus in, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women, Bynum seeks to establish the historical context of medieval women, with their faithful piety, and their association with the mysterious and magic art of food preparation as progenitors of the first women’s movement in Christian history. Throughout her book, Bynum does achieve her goal of demonstrating “the manifold ways in which eating, feeding, and not eating enabled” women “to control their bodies and their world” while using the symbolism of the sorcery men associated with cooking against them.104 The main detraction one would find with her book is her overuse of flowery language. This leaves a modern reader wondering whether she is going to great pains to make more out of her subject, or if this is merely an artifact of her academic era.

While many of these authors have presented interesting and insightful contributions to the historiography of magic and witchcraft in Medieval and Renaissance German society, one cannot help but notice the stratum of incongruousness between the writers of magical history throughout the decades. Beginning in the early twentieth century and ending in the early twenty-first; it gives one hope for the future, as the sins of leaning too heavily on the omniscience of a Judeo-Christian or Romanized Europe faded away with the cleansing reality of things as they were, not as wish them to have been were brought to light. And with more modern approaches, one hopes that the future of magical historiography will only be further refined in the crucible of time.

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In text citations:

1. Nummedal, Tara, Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe. 312

2. Broedel, Hans Peter, The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft. 3

3. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 1-2

4. Kylie, E. J. "The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface." The Journal of Theological Studies 7, no. 25 (1905): 29

5. Kylie, E. J. "The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface." The Journal of Theological Studies 7, no. 25 (1905): 31

6. Kylie, E. J. "The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface." The Journal of Theological Studies 7, no. 25 (1905): 32

7. Kylie, E. J. "The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface." The Journal of Theological Studies 7, no. 25 (1905): 37

8. Kylie, E. J. "The Condition of the German Provinces as Illustrating the Methods of St Boniface." The Journal of Theological Studies 7, no. 25 (1905): 33

9. Collins, David J. “Albertus, Magnus or Magus? Magic, Natural Philosophy, and Religious Reform in the Late Middle Ages.” Renaissance Quarterly 63, no. 1 (Spring 2010): 17.

10. Collins, David J. “Albertus, Magnus or Magus? Magic, Natural Philosophy, and Religious Reform in the Late Middle Ages.” Renaissance Quarterly 63, no. 1 (Spring 2010): 19

11. Bonser, Wilfrid. "The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons." Folklore 37, no. 3 (1926): 273.

12. Bonser, Wilfrid. "The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons." Folklore 37, no. 3 (1926): 271

13. Bonser, Wilfrid. "The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons." Folklore 37, no. 3 (1926): 271

14. Bonser, Wilfrid. "The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons." Folklore 37, no. 3 (1926): 273

15. Bonser, Wilfrid. "The Dissimilarity of Ancient Irish Magic from That of the Anglo-Saxons." Folklore 37, no. 3 (1926): 284

16. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 386.

17. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 386

18. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 387

19. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 387

20. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 392

21. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 393

22. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 393

23. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 394

24. Murphy, G. Ronald. "Magic in the "Heliand"." Monatshefte 83, no. 4 (1991): 395

25. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 1.

26. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 3

27. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 3

28. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 181-183

29. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 117.

30. Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. 130.

31. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 311.

32. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 311.

33. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 311.

34. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 311.

35. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 311.

36. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 312.

37. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 312.

38. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 321.

39. Tara Nummedal (2013) Alchemy and Religion in Christian Europe, Ambix, Vol. 60 No. 4. 322.

40. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 10

41. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 10

42. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 18

43. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 18

44. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 18

45. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 18

46. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1

47. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1.

48. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1.

49. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1.

50. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1.

51. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1

52. https://www.familysearch.org/wiki/en/Understanding_Occupations_in_German_Research

53. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 1

54. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 3.

55. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 3.

56. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 3.

57. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 3.

58. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 4.

59. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 4.

60. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 4.

61. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 4.

62. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 10.

63. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 10.

64. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 10.

65. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 17.

66. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 17.

67. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 19.

68. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 19.

69. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 20.

70. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 40.

71. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 40.

72. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 181.

73. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 183.

74. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 184.

75. Broedel, Hans. The 'Malleus Maleficarum' and the Construction of Witchcraft : Theology and Popular Belief. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. 184.

76. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 94

77. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 94

78. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 94

79. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 1

80. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 1

81. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 1

82. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 1

83. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 136

84. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 210

85. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 210

86. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 210

87. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 210

88. Schulte, Rolf, Man as Witch: Male Witches in Central Europe, translated by Linda Froome-Döring Book | Palgrave Macmillan | 2009. 18

89. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. 89.

90. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii-xiv

91. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii-xiv

92. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. 97.

93. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii-xiv

94. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii.

95. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii.

96. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. xiii.

97. Durrant, Jonathan B. Witchcraft, Gender and Society in Early Modern Germany. LEIDEN; BOSTON: Brill, 2007. 199.

98. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 190.

99. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 21.

100. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 190.

101. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 190.

102. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 20.

103. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 20.

104. Bynum, Caroline Walker. Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women. University of California Press, 1987. 189.

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