The Eyes of Heisenberg is a fascinating glimpse at a world where reliance on genetics has become the sole principle of human survival, and embryos are carefully "cut" to a specific mold to ensure that randomization is not a factor. Earth is ruled by a class of superhumans that have forgotten how to live, and are only concerned with their eternal survival

 The Optimen have been engineered to be the superhumans, but they seem to be running the world very ineffectively. There are Cyborgs who are operating against them as well as a Parents' Underground that the "supermen" can't handle very well. The characters (whom I could not keep straight!) were not developed

Miss Abercrombie, the manual therapist patted the old man on the shoulder. "You're doing just fine, Mr. Lieberman. Show it to me when you have finished."

The oldster in the stained convalescent suit gave her a quick, shy smile and went back to his aimless smearing in the finger paints.

Miss Abercrombie smoothed her smock down over trim hips and surveyed the other patients working at the long tables in the hospital's arts and crafts shop. Two muscular and bored attendants in spotless whites, lounged beside the locked door and chatted idly about the Dodgers' prospects for the pennant.

Through the barred windows of the workshop, rolling green hills were seen, their tree-studded flanks making a pleasant setting for the mental institution. The crafts building was a good mile away from the main buildings of the hospital and the hills blocked the view of the austere complex of buildings that housed the main wards.

The therapist strolled down the line of tables, pausing to give a word of advice here, and a suggestion there.

She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient, rapidly shaping blobs of clay into odd-sized strips and forms. As he finished each piece, he carefully placed it into a hollow shell hemisphere of clay.

"And what are we making today, Mr. Funston?" Miss Abercrombie asked.

The flying fingers continued to whip out the bits of shaped clay as the patient ignored the question. He hunched closer to his table as if to draw away from the woman.

"We mustn't be antisocial, Mr. Funston," Miss Abercrombie said lightly, but firmly. "You've been coming along famously and you must remember to answer when someone talks to you. Now what are you making? It looks very complicated." She stared professionally at the maze of clay parts.

Thaddeus Funston continued to mold the clay bits and put them in place.

Without looking up from his bench he muttered a reply.

"Atom bomb."

A puzzled look crossed the therapist's face. "Pardon me, Mr. Funston. I thought you said an 'atom bomb.'"

"Did," Funston murmured.

Safely behind the patient's back, Miss Abercrombie smiled ever so slightly. "Why that's very good, Mr. Funston. That shows real creative thought. I'm very pleased."

She patted him on the shoulder and moved down the line of patients.

A few minutes later, one of the attendants glanced at his watch, stood up and stretched.

"All right, fellows," he called out, "time to go back. Put up your things."

There was a rustle of paint boxes and papers being shuffled and chairs being moved back. A tall, blond patient with a flowing mustache, put one more dab of paint on his canvas and stood back to survey the meaningless smears. He sighed happily and laid down his palette.

At the clay table, Funston feverishly fabricated the last odd-shaped bit of clay and slapped it into place. With a furtive glance around him, he clapped the other half of the clay sphere over the filled hemisphere and then stood up. The patients lined up at the door, waiting for the walk back across the green hills to the main hospital. The attendants made a quick count and then unlocked the door. The group shuffled out into the warm, afternoon sunlight and the door closed behind them.

Miss Abercrombie gazed around the cluttered room and picked up her chart book of patient progress. Moving slowly down the line of benches, she made short, precise notes on the day's work accomplished by each patient.

At the clay table, she carefully lifted the top half of the clay ball and stared thoughtfully at the jumbled maze of clay strips laced through the lower hemisphere. She placed the lid back in place and jotted lengthily in her chart book.

When she had completed her rounds, she slipped out of the smock, tucked the chart book under her arm and left the crafts building for the day.

The late afternoon sun felt warm and comfortable as she walked the mile to the main administration building where her car was parked.

As she drove out of the hospital grounds, Thaddeus Funston stood at the barred window of his locked ward and stared vacantly over the hills towards the craft shop. He stood there unmoving until a ward attendant came and took his arm an hour later to lead him off to the patients' mess hall.

---

The sun set, darkness fell over the stilled hospital grounds and the ward lights winked out at nine o'clock, leaving just a single light burning in each ward office. A quiet wind sighed over the still-warm hills.

At 3:01 a.m., Thaddeus Funston stirred in his sleep and awakened. He sat up in bed and looked around the dark ward. The quiet breathing and occasional snores of thirty other sleeping patients filled the room. Funston turned to the window and stared out across the black hills that sheltered the deserted crafts building.

He gave a quick cry, shut his eyes and clapped his hands over his face.

The brilliance of a hundred suns glared in the night and threw stark shadows on the walls of the suddenly-illuminated ward.

An instant later, the shattering roar and blast of the explosion struck the hospital buildings in a wave of force and the bursting crash of a thousand windows was lost in the fury of the explosion and the wild screams of the frightened and demented patients.

It was over in an instant, and a stunned moment later, recessed ceiling lights began flashing on throughout the big institution.

Beyond the again-silent hills, a great pillar of smoke, topped by a small mushroom-shaped cloud, rose above the gaping hole that had been the arts and crafts building.

Thaddeus Funston took his hands from his face and lay back in his bed with a small, secret smile on his lips. Attendants and nurses scurried through the hospital, seeing how many had been injured in the explosion.

None had. The hills had absorbed most of the shock and apart from a welter of broken glass, the damage had been surprisingly slight.

The roar and flash of the explosion had lighted and rocked the surrounding countryside. Soon firemen and civil defense disaster units from a half-dozen neighboring communities had gathered at the still-smoking hole that marked the site of the vanished crafts building.

Within fifteen minutes, the disaster-trained crews had detected heavy radiation emanating from the crater and there was a scurry of men and equipment back to a safe distance, a few hundred yards away.

At 5:30 a.m., a plane landed at a nearby airfield and a platoon of Atomic Energy Commission experts, military intelligence men, four FBI agents and an Army full colonel disembarked.

At 5:45 a.m. a cordon was thrown around both the hospital and the blast crater.

In Ward 4-C, Thaddeus Funston slept peacefully and happily.

"It's impossible and unbelievable," Colonel Thomas Thurgood said for the fifteenth time, later that morning, as he looked around the group of experts gathered in the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. "How can an atom bomb go off in a nut house?"

"It apparently was a very small bomb, colonel," one of the haggard AEC men offered timidly. "Not over three kilotons."

"I don't care if it was the size of a peanut," Thurgood screamed. "How did it get here?"

A military intelligence agent spoke up. "If we knew, sir, we wouldn't be standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains that it WAS an atomic explosion."

Thurgood turned wearily to the small, white-haired man at his side.

"Let's go over it once more, Dr. Crane. Are you sure you knew everything that was in that building?" Thurgood swept his hand in the general direction of the blast crater.

"Colonel, I've told you a dozen times," the hospital administrator said with exasperation, "this was our manual therapy room. We gave our patients art work. It was a means of getting out of their systems, through the use of their hands, some of the frustrations and problems that led them to this hospital. They worked with oil and water paints and clay. If you can make an atomic bomb from vermillion pigments, then Madame Curie was a misguided scrubwoman."

"All I know is that you say this was a crafts building. O.K. So it was," Thurgood sighed. "I also know that an atomic explosion at 3:02 this morning blew it to hell and gone.

"And I've got to find out how it happened."

Thurgood slumped into a field chair and gazed tiredly up at the little doctor.

"Where's that girl you said was in charge of this place?"

"We've already called for Miss Abercrombie and she's on her way here now," the doctor snapped.

---

Outside the tent, a small army of military men and AEC technicians moved around the perimeter of the crater, scintillators in hand, examining every tiny scrap that might have been a part of the building at one time.

A jeep raced down the road from the hospital and drew up in front of the tent. An armed MP helped Miss Abercrombie from the vehicle.

She walked to the edge of the hill and looked down with a stunned expression.

"He did make an atom bomb," she cried.

Colonel Thurgood, who had snapped from his chair at her words, leaped forward to catch her as she collapsed in a faint.

At 4:00 p.m., the argument was still raging in the long, narrow staff room of the hospital administration building.

Colonel Thurgood, looking more like a patient every minute, sat on the edge of his chair at the head of a long table and pounded with his fist on the wooden surface, making Miss Abercrombie's chart book bounce with every beat.

"It's ridiculous," Thurgood roared. "We'll all be the laughingstocks of the world if this ever gets out. An atomic bomb made out of clay. You are all nuts. You're in the right place, but count me out."

At his left, Miss Abercrombie cringed deeper into her chair at the broadside. Down both sides of the long table, psychiatrists, physicists, strategists and radiologists sat in various stages of nerve-shattered weariness.

"Miss Abercrombie," one of the physicists spoke up gently, "you say that after the patients had departed the building, you looked again at Funston's work?"

The therapist nodded unhappily.

"And you say that, to the best of your knowledge," the physicist continued, "there was nothing inside the ball but other pieces of clay."

"I'm positive that's all there was in it," Miss Abercrombie cried.

There was a renewed buzz of conversation at the table and the senior AEC man present got heads together with the senior intelligence man. They conferred briefly and then the intelligence officer spoke.

"That seems to settle it, colonel. We've got to give this Funston another chance to repeat his bomb. But this time under our supervision."

Thurgood leaped to his feet, his face purpling.

"Are you crazy?" he screamed. "You want to get us all thrown into this filbert factory? Do you know what the newspapers would do to us if they ever got wind of the fact, that for one, tiny fraction of a second, anyone of us here entertained the notion that a paranoidal idiot with the IQ of an ape could make an atomic bomb out of kid's modeling clay?

"They'd crucify us, that's what they'd do!"

At 8:30 that night, Thaddeus Funston, swathed in an Army officer's greatcoat that concealed the strait jacket binding him and with an officer's cap jammed far down over his face, was hustled out of a small side door of the hospital and into a waiting staff car. A few minutes later, the car pulled into the flying field at the nearby community and drove directly to the military transport plane that stood at the end of the runway with propellers turnig.n

Two military policemen and a brace of staff psychiatrists sworn to secrecy under the National Atomic Secrets Act, bundled Thaddeus aboard the plane. They plopped him into a seat directly in front of Miss Abercrombie and with a roar, the plane raced down the runway and into the night skies.The plane landed the next morning at the AEC's atomic testing grounds in the Nevada desert and two hours later, in a small hot, wooden shack miles up the barren desert wastelands, a cluster of scientists and military men huddled around a small wooden table.

There was nothing on the table but a bowl of water and a great lump of modeling clay. While the psychiatrists were taking the strait jacket off Thaddeus in the staff car outside, Colonel Thurgood spoke to the weary Miss Abercrombie.

"Now you're positive this is just about the same amount and the same kind of clay he used before?"

"I brought it along from the same batch we had in the store room at the hospital," she replied, "and it's the same amount."

Thurgood signaled to the doctors and they entered the shack with Thaddeus Funston between them. The colonel nudged Miss Abercrombie.

She smiled at Funston.

"Now isn't this nice, Mr. Funston," she said. "These nice men have brought us way out here just to see you make another atom bomb like the one you made for me yesterday."

A flicker of interest lightened Thaddeus' face. He looked around the shack and then spotted the clay on the table. Without hesitation, he walked to the table and sat down. His fingers began working the damp clay, making first the hollow, half-round shell while the nation's top atomic scientists watched in fascination.

His busy fingers flew through the clay, shaping odd, flat bits and clay parts that were dropped almost aimlessly into the open hemisphere in front of him.

Miss Abercrombie stood at his shoulder as Thaddeus hunched over the table just as he had done the previous day. From time to time she glanced at her watch. The maze of clay strips grew and as Funston finished shaping the other half hemisphere of clay, she broke the tense silence.

"Time to go back now, Mr. Funston. You can work some more tomorrow." She looked at the men and nodded her head.

The two psychiatrists went to Thaddeus' side as he put the upper lid of clay carefully in place. Funston stood up and the doctors escorted him from the shack.

There was a moment of hushed silence and then pandemonium burst. The experts converged on the clay ball, instruments blossoming from nowhere and cameras clicking.

For two hours they studied and gently probed the mass of child's clay and photographed it from every angle.

Then they left for the concrete observatory bunker, several miles down range where Thaddeus and the psychiatrists waited inside a ring of stony-faced military policemen.

"I told you this whole thing was asinine," Thurgood snarled as the scientific teams trooped into the bunker.

Thaddeus Funston stared out over the heads of the MPs through the open door, looking uprange over the heat-shimmering desert. He gave a sudden cry, shut his eyes and clapped his hands over his face.

A brilliance a hundred times brighter than the glaring Nevada sun lit the dim interior of the bunker and the pneumatically-operated door slammed shut just before the wave of the blast hit the structure.

---

Six hours and a jet plane trip later, Thaddeus, once again in his strait jacket, sat between his armed escorts in a small room in the Pentagon. Through the window he could see the hurried bustle of traffic over the Potomac and beyond, the domed roof of the Capitol.

In the conference room next door, the joint chiefs of staff were closeted with a gray-faced and bone-weary Colonel Thurgood and his baker's dozen of AEC brains. Scraps of the hot and scornful talk drifted across a half-opened transom into the room where Thaddeus Funston sat in a neatly-tied bundle.

In the conference room, a red-faced, four-star general cast a chilling glance at the rumpled figure of Colonel Thurgood.

"I've listened to some silly stories in my life, colonel," the general said coldly, "but this takes the cake. You come in here with an insane asylum inmate in a strait jacket and you have the colossal gall to sit there and tell me that this poor soul has made not one, but two atomic devices out of modeling clay and then has detonated them."

The general paused.

"Why don't you just tell me, colonel, that he can also make spaceships out of sponge rubber?" the general added bitingly.

In the next room, Thaddeus Funston stared out over the sweeping panorama of the Washington landscape. He stared hard.

In the distance, a white cloud began billowing up from the base of the Washington Monument, and with an ear-shattering, glass-splintering roar, the great shaft rose majestically from its base and vanished into space on a tail of flame.

Nos enim, quicunque vivimus, nihil aliud esse comperio quam simulacra et levem umbram.) Beside which most worthily stands Shakespeare:— “We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.”—Tempest, Act iv. Sc. 1. [pg 022] Lastly, Calderon was so deeply impressed with this view of life that he sought to embody it in a kind of metaphysical drama—“Life a Dream.” After these numerous quotations from the poets, perhaps I also may be allowed to express myself by a metaphor. Life and dreams are leaves of the same book. The systematic reading of this book is real life, but when the reading hours (that is, the day) are over, we often continue idly to turn over the leaves, and read a page here and there without method or connection: often one we have read before, sometimes one that is new to us, but always in the same book. Such an isolated page is indeed out of connection with the systematic study of the book, but it does not seem so very different when we remember that the whole continuous perusal begins and ends just as abruptly, and may therefore be regarded as merely a larger single page. Thus although individual dreams are distinguished from real life by the fact that they do not fit into that continuity which runs through the whole of experience, and the act of awaking brings this into consciousness, yet that very continuity of experience belongs to real life as its form, and the dream on its part can point to a similar continuity in itself. If, therefore, we consider the question from a point of view external to both, there is no distinct difference in their nature, and we are forced to concede to the poets that life is a long dream. Let us turn back now from this quite independent empirical origin of the question of the reality of the outer world, to its speculative origin. We found that this consisted, first, in the false application of the principle of sufficient reason to the relation of subject and object; and secondly, in the confusion of its forms, inasmuch as the principle of sufficient reason of knowing was extended to a province in which the principle of sufficient reason of being is valid. But the question could hardly have occupied philosophers so constantly if it [pg 023] were entirely devoid of all real content, and if some true thought and meaning did not lie at its heart as its real source. Accordingly, we must assume that when the element of truth that lies at the bottom of the question first came into reflection and sought its expression, it became involved in these confused and meaningless forms and problems. This at least is my opinion, and I think that the true expression of that inmost meaning of the question, which it failed to find, is this:—What is this world of perception besides being my idea? Is that of which I am conscious only as idea, exactly like my own body, of which I am doubly conscious, in one aspect as idea, in another aspect as will? The fuller explanation of this question and its answer in the affirmative, will form the content of the second book, and its consequences will occupy the remaining portion of this work. § 6. For the present, however, in this first book we consider everything merely as idea, as object for the subject. And our own body, which is the starting-point for each of us in our perception of the world, we consider, like all other real objects, from the side of its knowableness, and in this regard it is simply an idea. Now the consciousness of every one is in general opposed to the explanation of objects as mere ideas, and more especially to the explanation of our bodies as such; for the thing in itself is known to each of us immediately in so far as it appears as our own body; but in so far as it objectifies itself in the other objects of perception, it is known only indirectly. But this abstraction, this one-sided treatment, this forcible separation of what is essentially and necessarily united, is only adopted to meet the demands of our argument; and therefore the disinclination to it must, in the meantime, be suppressed and silenced by the expectation that the subsequent treatment will correct the one-sidedness of the present one, and complete our knowledge of the nature of the world. At present therefore the body is for us immediate [pg 024] object; that is to say, that idea which forms the starting-point of the subject's knowledge; because the body, with its immediately known changes, precedes the application of the law of causality, and thus supplies it with its first data. The whole nature of matter consists, as we have seen, in its causal action. But cause and effect exist only for the understanding, which is nothing but their subjective correlative. The understanding, however, could never come into operation if there were not something else from which it starts. This is simple sensation—the immediate consciousness of the changes of the body, by virtue of which it is immediate object. Thus the possibility of knowing the world of perception depends upon two conditions; the first, objectively expressed, is the power of material things to act upon each other, to produce changes in each other, without which common quality of all bodies no perception would be possible, even by means of the sensibility of the animal body. And if we wish to express this condition subjectively we say: The understanding first makes perception possible; for the law of causality, the possibility of effect and cause, springs only from the understanding, and is valid only for it, and therefore the world of perception exists only through and for it. The second condition is the sensibility of animal bodies, or the quality of being immediate objects of the subject which certain bodies possess. The mere modification which the organs of sense sustain from without through their specific affections, may here be called ideas, so far as these affections produce neither pain nor pleasure, that is, have no immediate significance for the will, and are yet perceived, exist therefore only for knowledge. Thus far, then, I say that the body is immediately known, is immediate object. But the conception of object is not to be taken here in its fullest sense, for through this immediate knowledge of the body, which precedes the operation of the understanding, and is mere sensation, our own body does not exist [pg 025] specifically as object, but first the material things which affect it: for all knowledge of an object proper, of an idea perceived in space, exists only through and for the understanding; therefore not before, but only subsequently to its operation. Therefore the body as object proper, that is, as an idea perceived in space, is first known indirectly, like all other objects, through the application of the law of causality to the action of one of its parts upon another, as, for example, when the eye sees the body or the hand touches it. Consequently the form of our body does not become known to us through mere feeling, but only through knowledge, only in idea; that is to say, only in the brain does our own body first come to appear as extended, articulate, organic. A man born blind receives this idea only little by little from the data afforded by touch. A blind man without hands could never come to know his own form; or at the most could infer and construct it little by little from the effects of other bodies upon him. If, then, we call the body an immediate object, we are to be understood with these reservations. In other respects, then, according to what has been said, all animal bodies are immediate objects; that is, starting-points for the subject which always knows and therefore is never known in its perception of the world. Thus the distinctive characteristic of animal life is knowledge, with movement following on motives, which are determined by knowledge, just as movement following on stimuli is the distinctive characteristic of plant-life. Unorganised matter, however, has no movement except such as is produced by causes properly so called, using the term in its narrowest sense. All this I have thoroughly discussed in my essay on the principle of sufficient reason, § 20, in the “Ethics,” first essay, iii., and in my work on Sight and Colour, § 1, to which I therefore refer. It follows from what has been said, that all animals, [pg 026] even the least developed, have understanding; for they all know objects, and this knowledge determines their movements as motive. Understanding is the same in all animals and in all men; it has everywhere the same simple form; knowledge of causality, transition from effect to cause, and from cause to effect, nothing more; but the degree of its acuteness, and the extension of the sphere of its knowledge varies enormously, with innumerable gradations from the lowest form, which is only conscious of the causal connection between the immediate object and objects affecting it—that is to say, perceives a cause as an object in space by passing to it from the affection which the body feels, to the higher grades of knowledge of the causal connection among objects known indirectly, which extends to the understanding of the most complicated system of cause and effect in nature. For even this high degree of knowledge is still the work of the understanding, not of the reason. The abstract concepts of the reason can only serve to take up the objective connections which are immediately known by the understanding, to make them permanent for thought, and to relate them to each other; but reason never gives us immediate knowledge. Every force and law of nature, every example of such forces and laws, must first be immediately known by the understanding, must be apprehended through perception before it can pass into abstract consciousness for reason. Hooke's discovery of the law of gravitation, and the reference of so many important phenomena to this one law, was the work of immediate apprehension by the understanding; and such also was the proof of Newton's calculations, and Lavoisier's discovery of acids and their important function in nature, and also Goethe's discovery of the origin of physical colours. All these discoveries are nothing more than a correct immediate passage from the effect to the cause, which is at once followed by the recognition of the ideality of the force of nature which expresses itself in all [pg 027] causes of the same kind; and this complete insight is just an example of that single function of the understanding, by which an animal perceives as an object in space the cause which affects its body, and differs from such a perception only in degree. Every one of these great discoveries is therefore, just like perception, an operation of the understanding, an immediate intuition, and as such the work of an instant, an apperçu, a flash of insight. They are not the result of a process of abstract reasoning, which only serves to make the immediate knowledge of the understanding permanent for thought by bringing it under abstract concepts, i.e., it makes knowledge distinct, it puts us in a position to impart it and explain it to others. The keenness of the understanding in apprehending the causal relations of objects which are known indirectly, does not find its only application in the sphere of natural science (though all the discoveries in that sphere are due to it), but it also appears in practical life. It is then called good sense or prudence, as in its other application it is better called acuteness, penetration, sagacity. More exactly, good sense or prudence signifies exclusively understanding at the command of the will. But the limits of these conceptions must not be too sharply defined, for it is always that one function of the understanding by means of which all animals perceive objects in space, which, in its keenest form, appears now in the phenomena of nature, correctly inferring the unknown causes from the given effects, and providing the material from which the reason frames general rules as laws of nature; now inventing complicated and ingenious machines by adapting known causes to desired effects; now in the sphere of motives, seeing through and frustrating intrigues and machinations, or fitly disposing the motives and the men who are susceptible to them, setting them in motion, as machines are moved by levers and wheels, and directing them at will to the accomplishment of its ends. Deficiency of understanding is called [pg 028] stupidity. It is just dulness in applying the law of causality, incapacity for the immediate apprehension of the concatenations of causes and effects, motives and actions. A stupid person has no insight into the connection of natural phenomena, either when they follow their own course, or when they are intentionally combined, i.e., are applied to machinery. Such a man readily believes in magic and miracles. A stupid man does not observe that persons, who apparently act independently of each other, are really in collusion; he is therefore easily mystified, and outwitted; he does not discern the hidden motives of proffered advice or expressions of opinion, &c. But it is always just one thing that he lacks—keenness, rapidity, ease in applying the law of causality, i.e., power of understanding. The greatest, and, in this reference, the most instructive example of stupidity I ever met with, was the case of a totally imbecile boy of about eleven years of age, in an asylum. He had reason, because he spoke and comprehended, but in respect of understanding he was inferior to many of the lower animals. Whenever I visited him he noticed an eye-glass which I wore round my neck, and in which the window of the room and the tops of the trees beyond were reflected: on every occasion he was greatly surprised and delighted with this, and was never tired of looking at it with astonishment, because he did not understand the immediate causation of reflection. While the difference in degree of the acuteness of the understanding, is very great between man and man, it is even greater between one species of animal and another. In all species of animals, even those which are nearest to plants, there is at least as much understanding as suffices for the inference from the effect on the immediate object, to the indirectly known object as its cause, i.e., sufficient for perception, for the apprehension of an object. For it is this that constitutes them animals, as it gives them the power of movement following on motives, and [pg 029] thereby the power of seeking for food, or at least of seizing it; whereas plants have only movement following on stimuli, whose direct influence they must await, or else decay, for they cannot seek after them nor appropriate them. We marvel at the great sagacity of the most developed species of animals, such as the dog, the elephant, the monkey or the fox, whose cleverness has been so admirably sketched by Buffon. From these most sagacious animals, we can pretty accurately determine how far understanding can go without reason, i.e., abstract knowledge embodied in concepts. We could not find this out from ourselves, for in us understanding and reason always reciprocally support each other. We find that the manifestation of understanding in animals is sometimes above our expectation, and sometimes below it. On the one hand, we are surprised at the sagacity of the elephant, who, after crossing many bridges during his journey

once refused to go upon one, because he thought it was not strong enough to bear his weight, though he saw the rest of the party, consisting of men and horses, go upon it as usual. On the other hand, we wonder that the intelligent Orang-outangs, who warm themselves at a fire they have found, do not keep it alight by throwing wood on it; a proof that this requires a deliberation which is not possible without abstract concepts. It is clear that the knowledge of cause and effect, as the universal form of understanding, belongs to all animals a priori, because to them as to us it is the prior condition of all perception of the outer world. If any one desires additional proof of this, let him observe, for example, how a young dog is afraid to jump down from a table, however much he may wish to do so, because he foresees the effect of the weight of his body, though he has not been taught this by experience. In judging of the understanding of animals, we must guard against ascribing to it the manifestations of instinct, a faculty which is quite distinct both from understanding and ]
reason, but the action of which is often very analogous to the combined action of the two. We cannot, however, discuss this here; it will find its proper place in the second book, when we consider the harmony or so-called teleology of nature: and the 27th chapter of the supplementary volume is expressly devoted to it.

Deficiency we call stupidity: deficiency in the application of reason to practice we shall recognise later as foolishness: deficiency of judgment assilliness, and lastly, partial or entire deficiency of memory as madness.

ALEM-TEDIO Nada me expira já, nada me vive— Nem a tristeza nem as horas belas. De as não ter e de nunca vir a tê-las, Fartam-me até as coisas que não tive. Como eu quisera, emfim d'alma esquecida, Dormir em paz num leito d'hospital… Cansei dentro de mim, cansei a vida De tanto a divagar em luz irreal. Outróra imaginei escalar os ceus Á força de ambição e nostalgia, E doente-de-Novo, fui-me Deus No grande rastro fulvo que me ardia. Parti. Mas logo regressei á dôr, Pois tudo me ruíu… Tudo era igual: A quimera, cingida, era real, A propria maravilha tinha côr! Ecoando-me em silencio, a noite escura Baixou-me assim na queda sem remedio; Eu proprio me traguei na profundura, Me sequei todo, endureci de tedio. E só me resta hoje uma alegria: É que, de tão iguais e tão vazios, Os instantes me esvoam dia a dia Cada vez mais velozes, mais esguios

Ao ver escoar-se a vida humanamente
Em suas aguas certas, eu hesito,
E detenho-me ás vezes na torrente
Das coisas geniais em que medito.

Afronta-me um desejo de fugir
Ao misterio que é meu e me seduz.
Mas logo me triunfo. A sua luz
Não ha muitos que a saibam reflectir.

A minh'alma nostalgica de àlem,
Cheia de orgulho, ensombra-se entretanto,
Aos meus olhos ungidos sobe um pranto
Que tenho a força de sumir tambem.

Porque eu reajo. A vida, a natureza,
Que são para o artista? Coisa alguma.
O que devemos é saltar na bruma,
Correr no asul á busca da beleza.

É subir, é subir àlem dos ceus
Que as nossas almas só acumularam,
E prostrados resar, em sonho, ao Deus
Que as nossas mãos de aureola lá douraram.

É partir sem temor contra a montanha
Cingidos de quimera e d'irreal;
Brandir a espada fulva e medieval,
A cada hora acastelando em Espanha.

É suscitar côres endoidecidas,
Ser garra imperial enclavinhada,
E numa extrema-unção d'alma ampliada,
Viajar outros sentidos, outras vidas.

Ser coluna de fumo, astro perdido,
Forçar os turbilhões aladamente,
Ser ramo de palmeira, agua nascente
E arco de ouro e chama distendido…

Asa longinqua a sacudir loucura,
Nuvem precoce de subtil vapor,
Ansia revolta de misterio e olor,
Sombra, vertigem, ascensão—Altura!

E eu dou-me todo neste fim de tarde
Á espira aerea que me eleva aos cumes.
Doido de esfinges o horizonte arde,
Mas fico ileso entre clarões e gumes!…

Miragem rôxa de nimbado encanto—
Sinto os meus olhos a volver-se em espaço!
Alastro, venço, chego e ultrapasso;
Sou labirinto, sou licorne e acanto.

Sei a Distancia, compreendo o Ar;
Sou chuva de ouro e sou espasmo de luz;
Sou taça de cristal lançada ao mar,
Diadema e timbre, elmo rial e cruz…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

O bando das quimeras longe assoma…
Que apoteose imensa pelos ceus!
A côr já não é côr—é som e aroma!
Vem-me saudades de ter sido Deus…

* * * * *

Ao triunfo maior, àvante pois!
O meu destino é outro—é alto e é raro.
Unicamente custa muito caro:
A tristeza de nunca sermos dois…

Paris—fevereiro de 1913.

II—Escavação

ESCAVAÇÃO

Numa ansia de ter alguma cousa,
Divago por mim mesmo a procurar,
Desço-me todo, em vão, sem nada achar,
E a minh'alma perdida não repousa.

Nada tendo, decido-me a criar:
Brando a espada: sou luz harmoniosa
E chama genial que tudo ousa
Unicamente á força de sonhar…

Mas a vitória fulva esvai-se logo…
E cinzas, cinzas só, em vez do fogo…
—Onde existo que não existo em mim?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Um cemiterio falso sem ossadas,
Noites d'amor sem bôcas esmagadas—
Tudo outro espasmo que principio ou fim…

Paris 1913—maio 3.

III—Inter-sonho

INTER-SONHO

Numa incerta melodia
Toda a minh'alma se esconde.
Reminiscencias de Aonde
Perturbam-me em nostalgia…

Manhã d'armas! Manhã d'armas!
Romaria! Romaria!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tacteio… dobro… resvalo…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Princesas de fantasia
Desencantam-se das flores…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Que pesadelo tão bom…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Pressinto um grande intervalo,
Deliro todas as côres,
Vivo em roxo e morro em som…

Paris 1913—maio 6.

IV—Alcool

ALCOOL

Guilhotinas, pelouros e castelos
Resvalam longemente em procissão;
Volteiam-me crepusclos amarelos,
Mordidos, doentios de roxidão.

Batem asas d'aureola aos meus ouvidos,
Grifam-me sons de côr e de perfumes,
Ferem-me os olhos turbilhões de gumes,
Desce-me a alma, sangram-me os sentidos.

Respiro-me no ar que ao longe vem,
Da luz que me ilumina participo;
Quero reunir-me, e todo me dissipo—
Luto, estrebucho… Em vão! Silvo pra àlem…

Corro em volta de mim sem me encontrar…
Tudo oscila e se abate como espuma…
Um disco de ouro surge a voltear…
Fecho os meus olhos com pavor da bruma…

Que droga foi a que me inoculei?
Ópio d'inferno em vez de paraíso?…
Que sortilegio a mim proprio lancei?
Como é que em dôr genial eu me eteriso?

Nem ópio nem morfina. O que me ardeu,
Foi alcool mais raro e penetrante:
É só de mim que eu ando delirante—
Manhã tão forte que me anoiteceu.

Paris 1913—maio 4.

V—Vontade de dormir

VONTADE DE DORMIR

Fios d'ouro puxam por mim
A soërguer-me na poeira—
Cada um para o seu fim,
Cada um para o seu norte…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

—Ai que saudade da morte…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Quero dormir… ancorar…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Arranquem-me esta grandeza!
—Pra que me sonha a beleza,
Se a não posso transmigrar?…

Paris 1913—maio 6.

VI—Dispersão

DISPERSÃO

Perdi-me dentro de mim
Porque eu era labirinto,
E hoje, quando me sinto,
É com saudades de mim.

Passei pela minha vida
Um astro doido a sonhar.
Na ansia de ultrapassar,
Nem dei pela minha vida…

Para mim é sempre ontem,
Não tenho amanhã nem hoje:
O tempo que aos outros foge
Cai sobre mim feito ontem.

(O Domingo de Paris
Lembra-me o desaparecido
Que sentia comovido
Os Domingos de Paris:

Porque um domingo é familia,
É bem-estar, é singeleza,
E os que olham a beleza
Não tem bem-estar nem familia).

O pobre moço das ansias…
Tu, sim, tu eras alguem!
E foi por isso tambem
Que te abismaste nas ansias.

A grande ave dourada
Bateu asas para os ceus,
Mas fechou-as saciada
Ao ver que ganhava os ceus.

Como se chora um amante,
Assim me choro a mim mesmo:
Eu fui amante inconstante
Que se traíu a si mesmo.

Não sinto o espaço que encerro
Nem as linhas que projecto:
Se me olho a um espelho, érro—
Não me acho no que projecto.

Regresso dentro de mim,
Mas nada me fala, nada!
Tenho a alma amortalhada,
Sequinha, dentro de mim.

Não perdi a minha alma,
Fiquei com ela, perdida.
Assim eu choro, da vida,
A morte da minha alma.

Saudosamente recordo
Uma gentil companheira
Que na minha vida inteira
Eu nunca vi… Mas recordo

A sua bôca doirada
E o seu corpo esmaecido,
Em um halito perdido
Que vem na tarde doirada.

(As minhas grandes saudades
São do que nunca enlacei.
Ai, como eu tenho saudades
Dos sonhos que não sonhei!…)

E sinto que a minha morte—
Minha dispersão total—
Existe lá longe, ao norte,
Numa grande capital.

Vejo o meu ultimo dia
Pintado em rôlos de fumo,
E todo asul-de-agonia
Em sombra e àlem me sumo.

Ternura feita saudade,
Eu beijo as minhas mãos brancas…
Sou amor e piedade
Em face dessas mãos brancas…

Tristes mãos longas e lindas
Que eram feitas pra se dar…
Ninguem mas quís apertar…
Tristes mãos longas e lindas…

E tenho pena de mim,
Pobre menino ideal…
Que me faltou afinal?
Um élo? Um rastro?… Ai de mim!…

Desceu-me nalma o crepusculo;
Eu fui alguem que passou.
Serei, mas já não me sou;
Não vivo, durmo o crepusculo.

Alcool dum sôno outonal
Me penetrou vagamente
A difundir-me dormente
Em uma bruma outonal.

Perdi a morte e a vida,
E, louco, não enlouqueço…
A hora foge vivida,
Eu sigo-a, mas permaneço…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Castelos desmantelados,
Leões alados sem juba…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Paris—Maio de 1913.

VII—Estátua falsa

ESTÁTUA FALSA

Só de ouro falso os meus olhos se douram;
Sou esfinge sem misterio no poente.
A tristeza das coisas que não foram
Na minha'alma desceu veladamente.

Na minha dôr quebram-se espadas de ansia,
Gomos de luz em treva se misturam.
As sombras que eu dimano não perduram,
Como Ontem, para mim, Hoje é distancia.

Já não estremeço em face do segredo;
Nada me aloira já, nada me aterra:
A vida corre sobre mim em guerra,
E nem sequer um arrepio de medo!

Sou estrela ébria que perdeu os ceus,
Sereia louca que deixou o mar;
Sou templo prestes a ruir sem deus,
Estátua falsa ainda erguida ao ar…

Paris 1913—Maio 5.

VIII—Quasi

QUASI

Um pouco mais de sol—eu era brasa,
Um pouco mais de asul—eu era àlem.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe d'asa…
Se ao menos eu permanecesse àquem…

Assombro ou paz? Em vão… Tudo esvaído
Num baixo mar enganador d'espuma;
E o grande sonho despertado em bruma,
O grande sonho—ó dôr!—quasi vivido…

Quasi o amor, quasi o triunfo e a chama,
Quasi o principio e o fim—quasi a expansão…
Mas na minh'alma tudo se derrama…
Emtanto nada foi só ilusão!

De tudo houve um começo… e tudo errou…
—Ai a dôr de ser-quasi, dôr sem fim…—
Eu falhei-me entre os mais, falhei em mim,
Asa que se elançou mas não voou…

Momentos d'alma que desbaratei…
Templos aonde nunca pus um altar…
Rios que perdi sem os levar ao mar…
Ansias que foram mas que não fixei…

Se me vagueio, encontro só indicios…
Ogivas para o sol—vejo-as cerradas;
E mãos d'heroi, sem fé, acobardadas,
Poseram grades sobre os precipicios…

Num impeto difuso de quebranto,
Tudo encetei e nada possuí…
Hoje, de mim, só resta o desencanto
Das coisas que beijei mas não vivi…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Um pouco mais de sol—e fôra brasa,
Um pouco mais de asul—e fora àlem.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe d'asa…
Se ao menos eu permanecesse àquem…

BIBLIOTHÈQUE DIABOLIQUE

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LE SABBAT

DES-------
SORCIERS,,,,,,

PAR
BOURNEVILLE et E. TEINTURIER

PARIS

Aux bureaux du Progrès	A. Delahaye et Lecrosnier
MÉDICAL	ÉDITEURS
6, rue des Écoles, 6.	Place de l'École-de-Médecine

1882

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BIBLIOTHÈQUE DIABOLIQUE ,,,,,,,

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LE SABBAT .....DES .......SORCIERS

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IL A ÉTÉ TIRÉ DE CET OUVRAGE
500 exemplaires numérotés à la presse:

300	papier	blanc vélin, Nos	1	à	300.
150	—	parchemin,	301	à	450.
50	—	du Japon,	451	à	500.

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N^o 140

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BIBLIOTHÈQUE DIABOLIQUE

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LE SABBAT

DES
SORCIERS

PAR
BOURNEVILLE et E. TEINTURIER

PARIS

Aux bureaux du Progrès	A. Delahaye et Lecrosnier
MÉDICAL	ÉDITEURS
6, rue des Écoles, 6.	Place de l'École-de-Médecine

1882

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LE SABBAT

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Du transport des Sorciers au Sabbat.

Les Sorcieres se rendent au Sabbat de differentes manieres. Les vnes se mettent vn baston blanc entre les iambes, & puis prononcent certains mots, & dehors sont portees par l'aër iusques en l'assemblee des Sorciers. Ou bien elles y vont sus vn gros mouton noir qui les porte si viste en l'aër qu'elles ne se peuuent recongnoistre. Thieunne Paget r'apportoit que le Diable s'apparut à elle la premiere fois en plein mydy en forme d'vn grand home noir, & que comme elle se feut baillee à luy, il l'embrassa & l'esleua en l'aër, & la transporta en la 8maison du pré de Longchamois, où il la congneut charnellement, & puis la r'apporta on lieu mesme où il l'auoit prinse. Antide Colas disoit que le soir que Satan s'apparut à elle en forme d'vn home de grande stature, ayant sa barbe & ses habillemens noirs, il la transporta au Sabbat, & qu'aux aultres 9fois il la venoit prendre sus son lict, & l'emportoit comme vn vent froid, l'empoignant par la teste.

Les aultres y vont, tantost sus vn bouc (Fig. 1), un taureau ou un chien (Fig. 2), tantost sus vn cheual volant, & tantost sus vn balay, & sortent le plus souuent par la cheminée, aulcuns cheuauchent vn roseau, vne fourche, vne quenoille: les vns se frottent auparavant de certaine gresse composée de chouses très abhorrentes & deguoustantes, desquelles la plus ordinaire est gresse d'enfants felonement meurtris; les aultres ne se frottent de rien. Les vns y vont nuds comme sont la plus part pour se gresser, les aultres vestus; les vns la nuict, les aultres le iour, mais ordinairement la nuict.

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Il s'en trouve encore qui vont au Sabbat sans beste, ny baston. Mais il faut croire aussi que le baston ny la beste ne prosficte non plus aux Sorciers que la gresse, ains que c'est le Dœmon qui est comme vn vent lequel les porte, ne plus ne moins que l'on veoid un tourbillon desraciner les arbres les plus haults, et les transporter deux et trois lieues loing de leur place.

Les Sorciers neantmoins vont quelques fois de pied au Sabbat, ce qui leurs aduient principalement lors que le lieu, où ilz font leur assemblée, n'est pas gueres esloingné de leur habitation. «Il y en a qui portent quelque pælle, ou aultre vaisseau de cuyure, ou deargent pour mieux solemniser la feste[1].»

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Le Sabbat se tient ordinairement de nuict.

Satan conuocque les Sorciers de nuict, affin qu'ils ne soyent descouuerts, car pour mesme raison ilz dansent en leurs assemblées doz contre doz, & mesme ilz se masquent maintenant pour la pluspart. Toutesfois ces assemblees Diabolicques se font tellement de nuict, que lors que le coq a chanté, tout vient à disparoistre.

Remigius afferme, au dire de Sorcieres iudiciairement conuaincües, le temps le plus idoine & le plus opportun, non seulement à leurs assemblées nocturnes, ains à telz aultres ieux du Diable, comme phantosmes, apparitions, spectres & bruyts 10horrificques, être durant l'heure præcedent la my nuict. L'heure suyvante n'est autant fauorable; mais les Sorcieres n'ont dict pour quoy. I'adiouterai qu'il n'est poinct en la nuict aultre heure en laquelle s'apparoissent les ombres & reuenants plus souuent à ceulx qui les redoubtent & en ont paour.

Et pour ce qui est du chant du coq, une Sorciere nommée Latoma, a reuelé que rien ne pouuoit leurs estre plus fascheux, voyre funeste que de ouyr le coq chanter ce pendent qu'elles se apprestent. Iehan Poumet & sa femme Desirée, tous deux sorciers, ont dict par dauant le Tribunal que souventes fois les Diables, approuchant l'heure de soy retirer du Sabbat, crioient: Hôla, descampez vitement vous aultres; ià commencent les coqs à chanter. Par quoy se doibt sans doubte entendre qu'il ne leurs est licite continuer leurs œuures passé ce moment. Mais on ne sçait pour quoy ils abhorrent tant & refuyent la voix du coq.

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Du iour du Sabbat.

«I'ay estimé aultrefois, dit Boguet[2], que le Sabbat se tenoit seulement la nuict du Ieudy: mais depuys que i'ay leu que quelques vns de la mesme secte ont confessé qu'ilz s'assembloyent, les vns la nuict d'entre le Lundy & le Mardy, les aultres la nuict d'entre le Vendredy & le Samedy, les aultres la nuict qui præcedoit le Ieudy, ou le Dimanche, de là i'ay conclu qu'il n'y auoit point de iour præfix pour le Sabbat, & que les Sorciers y vont lors qu'ilz y sont mandez par Satan.»

A ces assemblées, dit Guaccius[3], ont coustume d'aller les Sorciers dans le silence de la nuict, quand regnent les puissances des tenebres; quelques fois pourtant ilz se reunissent à mydy, à quoy se rapporte l'Escripture: à Dæmone meridiano. En oultre, ilz ont d'habitude des iours præfix, diuers suivant les diuers pays. En Italie ilz ont esleu la nuict du Ieudy, vers le mylieu, selon Sebastien Michel. En Lorraine les Sorcieres 11s'assemblent en la nuict du Mercredy & en celle du Samedy au Dimanche, selon Remigius. Aultres disent que c'est la nuict du Mardy.

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Du lieu du Sabbat.

Les vns ont remarqué que le lieu du Sabbat est tousiours notable & signalé par le moyen de quelques arbres (ainsi soubs un grand noyer), ou croix; mais le lieu des assemblées varie. Icy, les Sorcieres se reunissent en vn pré qui est sus vn grand chemin; là, proche de l'eau, en vn lieu qui est du tout sans chemin. Ailleurs, les Sorciers s'assembloyent soubs un village, qui est vn lieu assez descouuert, &c., d'où il se veoid qu'il ne se faut pas beaucoup arrester au lieu des Sabbats & assemblées des Sorciers, lesquelz aussi n'ont pas beaucoup de poines de s'y retrouuer, veu que Satan les y conduict & porte.

L'eaue est requise au Sabbat, d'autant que pour faire la gresle les Sorciers battent ordinairement l'eaue auec vne baguette, mesmement qu'à faute d'eaue ils vrinent dans vn trou qu'ilz font en terre & puis battent leur vrine.

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Du Pact exprés ou tacite que les Sorciers ont accoustumé de faire avec le Diable.

Les Dæmons ne font aulcune sorte de plaisir aux Sorciers & Magiciens, que ce ne soit en vertu du pact, ou conuention qu'ilz ont faict auecques eux. Cestuy pact se faict en deux façons, à sçavoir expresse ou tacite. Le pact est dict tacite, selon Grillandus, non obstante profession expresse du nouice, quand iceluy, par craincte de veoir le Diable & de parler à luy, est repçu en la confrairie par un Sorcier profez, vicaire du Dæmon. Le pact exprès est quand le Diable apparoist en forme corporelle par dauant tesmoings & repçoit hommage & fidélité. Lors n'est tousiours le Diable veü, mais il est ouï parlant & promettant honneurs & richesses au nouice. Cestuy renonce son Createur de viue voix ou remet une schédule es mains du Diable. A tous les pacts faicts avec le Dæmon sont unze poincts communs, comme suyt:

Premierement les Sorciers abiurent le baptesme & leur foy 12christine & se retirent de l'obeissance de Dieu, repudient le patronage de la bien heureuse Vierge Marie que par desrision impie ilz appellent la rousse. Ensuite renient tous les Sacrements de l'Ecclise & foulent aux pieds la Croix (Fig. 3) & les imaiges de la bien heureuse Vierge Marie & d'aultres saincts. Icelles toutes fois ne conculquent en la præsence du Diable, ains en aultre lieu, promettant seulement de le faire dès que le porront. Ensuyte s'obligent par serment solemnel es mains du Prince à luy être perpetuellement fidelles & soubmis, obeissant à tous ses mandemens. Ensuyte, touchant les Escriptures, à sçavoir un grand liure ayant pages noires & obscures, prestent serment de vasselaige æternel. Iurent en oultre qu'ilz ne retourneront iamais en la foy du Christ ny ne garderont les diuins commandemens, ains ceulx qu'il plaira au Prince leurs decreter; que tousiours viendront sans retard aux ieulx des assemblées nocturnes quand seront de ce requis, y feront ce que feront les aultres sorciers & sorcieres, assistant à leurs sacrifices & communiant à leurs prieres & adorations; qu'ilz observeront leurs vœux au mieulx qu'ilz porront & s'efforceront d'amener aultrui en la mesme creance. En eschange promet le Prince des Dæmons, au nouice sorcier, d'vn visaige soubriant, vne perpetuelle felicité & des ioies 
, toutes les voluptez qu'il desyrera en ce monde & en l'aultre des iouissances plus grandes que imaginer ne se peut.

Fig. 3.

Deuxiemement Satan contrainlt le Sorcier de se rebaptiser on nom du Diable (Fig. 4) & de prendre un aultre nom, renonçant le premier sien; ainsi feut Cuno de Roure rebaptisé Barbe de chieure. Ce qu'il faict comme est vraysemblable, affin que le Sorcier de là prenne opinion que son premier Baptesme est du tout effacé & ne luy peut plus seruir en rien.

Fig. 4.

Tiercement le confirme en cette opinion luy grauant de ses ongles le front pour d'illec tollir le Chresme & signe baptismal. (Fig. 5.)

Fig. 5.

Quartement luy faict renoncer ses parrains & marraines tant du Baptème que de la Confirmation, luy en assignant de nouveaulx.

Quintement donnent au Diable quelque part & morcel de leurs vestemens, pour ce que le Diable s'estudie à s'emparer d'une part de toutes choses; des biens spirituels, la foy & le Baptesme; des corporels, le sang; des naturels, les enfants, & des terrestres, les vestemens. (Fig. 6.)

Fig. 6.

Sixiemement, ils prestent serment au Dæmon en vn cercle graué en terre; peut estre bien par ce que il veut leurs faire 14accroire qu'il est le seigneur du Ciel & de la Terre, veu que le cercle est le symbole de la Divinité & la Terre le scabeau de Dieu. (Fig. 7.)

Fig. 7.

Septiemement, demandent au Dæmon estre rayez du liure 15de vie & inscripts on livre de mort. (Fig. 8.) Ainsi estoient les noms des Sorciers d'Avignon inscripts en un liure très noir.

Fig. 8.

Huitiemement promettent des sacrifices, aulcuns iurant 16d'occir magicquement par chacun mois, voyre par chaque quinzaine un petit enfant en luy sugçant le sang. (Fig. 9).

Fig. 9.

Neufuiemement se rendent tributaires à leurs Dæmons patrons de quelque impost une fois l'an, en rachapt des molestations dont sont greués par le dict pact, & n'est le tribut valable s'il n'est de couleur noire.

Dixiemement sont en variable partie du corps, es espaules soubs les paulpieres, soubs les leures, soubs les aisselles, au fondement pour les hommes, es mamelles ou es parties honteuses pour les femmes, marqués d'un signe auquel devient la peau insensible. La forme de ce signe n'est tousiours la mesme; tantost c'est patte de lieuvre, tantost de crapaux, au d'aragne, de chatton ou de lire. Et ne sont tous ainsi marquez, ains seulement ceulx que le Diable cuyde inconstants.

Unziemement promettent ne iamais adorer l'Eucharistie, iniurier la Vierge & les Saincts, briser & conspuer les sainctes reliques tant que pourront, ne se seruir d'eau benoiste ny de cierges consacrez, ne iamais faire confession entiere de tous leurs pechez; en fin garder silence sempiternel sus leur commerce auec le Diable.

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Si les Sorcieres vont en ame au Sabbat.17

Il y en a d'aultres qui tiennent que les Sorcieres vont le plus souuent au Sabbat en ame seulement, ce que l'on verifie par plusieurs exemples de quelques Sorcieres, lesquelles estans demourees comme mortes en leurs maisons par l'espace de deux ou trois heures, ont enfin confessé que pour lors elles estoient en esprit au Sabbat, rapportant particuliairement tout ce qui s'estoit faict & passé on mesme lieu: George Gandillon la nuict d'un Ieudy Sainct demoura dans son lict comme mort par l'espace de trois heures, & puis retourna à soy en sursaut; il a du depuis esté bruslé en ce lieu auecques son pere & une sienne sœur[4].

Il y a quelque temps qu'vn certain du village d'Vnau au ressort d'Orgelet amena sa femme en ce lieu, & l'accusoit d'estre Sorciere, disant entre aultres choses qu'à certaine nuict d'vn Ieudy, comme ilz estoient couchez ensemble, il se donna garde que sa femme ne bougeoit, ny souffloit en façon quelconque, sus quoy il commença à l'espoinçonner sans neantmoins qu'il la peust iamais faire esueigler, & à ceste occasion, il tomba en vne paour, de maniere qu'il se voulut leuer pour appeller ses voisins: mais quelque effort qu'il feist, il ne luy feut pas possible de sortir du lict, & luy sembloit qu'il estoit entrappé par les iambes, mesme qu'il ne pouait pas encor crier: cela dura bien deux ou trois heures, & iusques a ce que le coq chanta: car lors la femme s'esueigla en sursaut, & sur ce que le mary luy demanda qu'elle auoit, elle respondit qu'elle estoit si lasse du trauail qu'elle auoit eu le iour præcedent, qu'estant pressee du sommeil, elle n'auoit rien senty de ce que son mary luy auoit faict: alors le mary eut opinion qu'elle venoit du Sabbat, pour ce mesme que desia auparauant il soubçonnoit quelque peu, à raison qu'il estoit mort du bestail a quelques siens voisins qu'elle auoit menacez præcedemment.

Et certes il y a grande apparence que cette femme auoit esté en esprit au Sabbat, par ce premierement que l'ecstase dont nous auons parlé luy aduint au Ieudy, qui est la nuict ordinaire du Sabbat.

18D'aduentaige comme le coq chanta elle s'esueigla en sursaut, scelon que nous auons dict: or le Sabbat qui se faict nuictamment dure iusques à tant que le coq chante, mais depuis qu'il a chanté tout vient à disparoistre.

Troisiemement l'excuse qu'elle print monstre bien qu'il y auoit de la malice de son costé: Car quel homme a-t-on iamais veu si endormy d'vn trauail & labeur præcedent que l'on n'ait peu facillement esueigler? George Gandillon s'excusoit de la mesme façon, lors que l'on luy demanda pour quoy il ne s'estoit poinct esueiglé, encore que l'on l'eust poulsé rudement plusieurs fois.

En quatriesme lieu il se recongnoist qu'il y auoit du sortilege, en ce que le mary se sentoit entrappé par les iambes, & qu'il ne pouoit crier.

Finallement les Escheuins d'Vnau, qui assistoient le mary, aueroyent que ceste femme estoit descenduë de parens que l'ô suspectoit desia de Sorcellerie. Voyla comme l'on peut dire que les Sorciers vont au Sabbat en ame & esprit.

D'aultres fois y vont reallement & corporellement, laissant en leur place quelque simulachre ou effigie à leur ressemblance, par quoy soit leur mary desceu, s'il vient à s'esueigler. Le Dæmon a bien souuent aussi coustume, ayant prins un corps, de soy substituer on lict de la Sorciere partie au Sabbat; & par ainsi a commerce charnel auec le paouure mary. Ou bien elles vsent d'vn aultre artifice, endormant iceluy d'un sommeil magicque. Bertrande Tonstrix a confessé l'auoir faict souuentes fois & auoir bien souuent endormy son mary en lui frottant l'aureille de sa main dextre oingte premierement de l'onguent dont elle mesme se gressoit pour aller au Sabbat. Eller, femme du doyen d'Ottingen, aduoua qu'elle supposoit en sa place un aureiller d'enfant, aprés auoir prononcé le nom de son dæmon; d'autres duppaient leur mary auecques des balays. Marie, femme du raccommodeur de Metzer Esch, se seruoit d'vne botte de fouarre qui disparoissoit si tost qu'elle reuenoit à la maison[5].

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19Il y a au Sabbat plus de femmes que d'homes.

Interrogez en iustice, des Sorciers ont dict estre vrayment aux assemblées nocturnes grande multitude de gens des deux sexes; Iehanne de Banno, Nicole Ganat de Mayner en Lorraine, ont asceüré auoir veu au Sabbat, toutes & quantes fois elles y estoient, si grande mesnie de Sorciers que plus ne les estonnoit la misere des homes, à qui sont par tant d'ennemis tant d'embusches dressées; ains s'esbahissoient moult que ne feussent plus grandes les calamitez humaines. Catherine Ruffa a dict auoir veu cinq cents Sorciers, à tout le moins, la premiere nuict qu'elle feut au Sabbat. Pourtant atteste Barbelline Raiel de Blainville es eaux que les femmes s'y treuuent en nombre maieur.

La raison pour quoy il y a au Sabbat plus de femmes que d'homes est que en icelles est plus grande superstitiosité, dont les causes sont: la prime, que les femmes sont par nature plus facillement meues à recepvoir des reuelations: faisant de ces reuelations bon vsaige sont grandement bonnes; mauluois deviennent suppellativement meschantes. La seconde que les femmes sont credules à merueille: le Diable s'estudiant principalement à surprendre la creance les hante & assaille de meilleur gré. La tierce que les femmes sont naturellement loquaces & bauardes, ne sçavent garder un secret & racontent aux aultres femmes tout ce qu'elles sçavent. Oultre sont cholericques & ne pouant par deffault de forces se venger, ont recours aux malefices, faisant au prochain par art diabolicque le mal que faire ne peuuent par force ouuerte. La quarte et vltime, que les femmes, comme dit Terentius, sont en leurs idées aussi muables qu'enfans; par quoy la femme meschante abiure plus facilement sa foy, que par auant auoit en degré excessif. Et ce est en sorcellerie raison fondamentale pour ne s'estonner si les femmes suyuent le Diable plus que les homes. Ne faut celer pourtant que Satan se efforce d'attirer à soy autant les homes que les femmes[6].

20De ce qui se faict au Sabbat, & mesme de l'Offertoire des chandelles, du Baiser, des Danses, de l'Accouplement du Dæmon auec les Sorciers, des Festins, du Conte que rendent les Sorciers à Satan, du battement d'eau pour la gresle, de la Messe que l'on y célebre, de l'eau benoiste que l'on faict, & comme Satan se consomme en feu & reduict en cendre.

«Le Sabbat est comme vne foire de marchands meslez, furieux et transportez, qui arriuent de toutes parts. Vne rencontre & meslange de cent mille subiects soubdains & transitoires, nouueaulx à la verité, mais d'vne nouueauté effroyable qui offence l'œil, & soubsleue le cuœur. Parmy ces mesmes subiects, il s'en voit de reels, & d'aultres prestigieux & illusoires: aulcuns plaisans (mais fort peu) côm sont les clochettes & instrumens melodieux qu'on y entend de toutes sortes, qui ne chatouillent que l'aureille, & ne touchent rien au cœur: consistant plus en bruyt qui estourdit & estonne, qu'en harmonie qui plaise & qui resiouisse. Les autres desplaisans, pleins de difformité & d'horreur, ne tendant qu'à dissolution, priuation, ruine & destruction. Où les personnes s'y abbrutissent & transforment en bestes perdant la parole tant qu'elles sont 21ainsi. Et les bestes au contraire y parlent, & semblent auoir plus de raison que les personnes chascun estant tiré hors son naturel.» (de Lancre, loc. cit., p. 119.)

Les Sorciers estans assemblez en leur Synagogue, adorent en premier lieu Satan, qui apparoist là tantost en forme d'vn grand home noir ou rouge, gehenné, tourmenté & flamboyant comme vn feu qui sort d'vne fournaise ardente, et tantost en forme d'vn bouc barbu, pour ce que le bouc est vne beste puante, salace et lasciue[7], & pour luy faire un plus grand hommaige, ilz luy offrent des chandelles, qui rendent vne flambe de couleur bleuë, & puys le baisent aux parties honteuses darrière[8] (Fig. 10): quelques-vns le baisent sus l'espaule: à d'aultres fois encor, il tient vne imaige noire qu'il 22faict baiser aux Sorciers. Vray est que adorant Satan ilz ne se tiennent tousiours en mesme posture; tantost le suppliant à deux genoilz; tantost se renuersant sus le dos; tantost iectant les iambes en hault, ne baissant la teste sus la poictrine, ains la releuant de façon que le menton soit tourné vers le Ciel. (F