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The Devil and the Magistrate: Elite theory and popular beliefs in European witch trials.

The age of European witchcraft persecution, a period spanning roughly the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries, has been a perennial subject of both academic and popular curiosity. Over the last few decades, however, an influx of archival research and original analysis has opened a fundamentally new chapter in the scholarly treatment of this phenomenon, and the ongoing project of ‘witchcraft studies,’ now a sub-field of early modern history in its own right, has increasingly been to problematize and re-examine the various traditional interpretations of the ‘great European witch-hunt.’ A key component in this revision concerns the function – and the culpability – of learned demonological theory in the proceedings against suspected witches. Exemplified by the notoriously misogynistic Malleus Maleficarum, this vitriolic discourse contributes to a model of European witch persecution that still dominates the popular imagination – one in which Church-sanctioned demonological literature served as the motive force behind a centralized and arbitrary campaign of oppression, ultimately claiming the lives of millions of unsuspecting women. At the very least, these clichés misrepresent both the body count and the gender-specificity of witchcraft persecution: most scholars now cite more realistic (though nonetheless disturbing) estimates in the range of 50,000 killed, with men comprising twenty to twenty-five percent of the total.[1]

More than just an exaggeration of scale, however, this notion of an immense, pan-European witch-hunt rooted in the machinations of the Church has drawn criticism for another reason: namely, for having been unduly colored by the writings of a small and deeply invested minority. Elite early modern theorists and proponents of witchcraft persecution – Krämer, Bodin, and de Lancre, among others – may have hoped that their works would instigate a broad, purging sweep of the continent, but the fact that these texts were in wide circulation cannot definitively establish their level of influence in the average trial. Witchcraft historian Robin Briggs places particular emphasis on this point, noting in his 1996 book Witches and Neighbors that it is “very important not to confuse the rhetoric of justifications with the real motives for action,” and criticizing what he identifies as a tendency to “give vastly exaggerated significance to the theories of demonologists, attributing to them a causal role that they simply did not possess.”[2]Now, scholars have expanded their body of evidence beyond the erudite treatises, resulting in a variety of new approaches that focus on suspicions and accusations of witchcraft as sociological phenomena – often attributable to the uncertainties, hardships, and difficult-to-resolve neighborhood conflicts that characterized life in an early modern village. Some historians, notably Wolfgang Behringer and Brian Levack, have even begun to include non-European witchcraft in their analyses, emphasizing the apparent ubiquity in pre-industrial cultures of the belief in maleficium, or malicious magic.[3]Rather than mere victims of clerical fantasy, the ‘average’ European witch that emerges from this new research is a person who had suffered the folkish suspicions of his or her neighbors for years or even decades before any judicial processes were set into motion.

But there remains a problem. While the details of these suspicions – usually involving the attribution of common misfortunes, like sickness or infertility, to the work of local witches – are familiar to scholars of worldwide folk beliefs, the interrogation transcripts and confessions from European trials are steeped in concepts distinctly characteristic of Christian demonology, and increasingly so as the typical trial progressed. The result is a strange pattern: witches seem to have been indicted for maleficium, but ultimately convicted of apostasy and collusion with the Devil. Does the presence of these latter concepts – usually matters of clerical more than municipal interest – indicate a pressing concern on the part of local authorities with rooting out diabolic influence?This is not a necessary conclusion: it may have also been that the function of demonological theory in this arena was more passive, providing a stamp of legitimacy or justification on judicial activities that had more to do with keeping the peace than with combating evil.

The issue is complicated further by the fact that the presence (if not the character) of witch beliefs can likely be taken as roughly uniform across Europe – certainly there were no universally ‘skeptical’ villages, in the modern, rationalistic sense of the word – whereas persecution levels were spotty and highly variable.This means that factors other than social structure and popular culture, like the initiative of local judges and magistrates, must be taken into account. Clearly, witchcraft suspicions in some areas maintained a kind of static equilibrium: always present but rarely prosecuted. Could the infamous demonological treatises like the Malleus Maleficarum, in the hands of certain individuals, have indeed been responsible for bridging the “crucial gap”[4] between rumor and trial in those areas that did experience persecution?Undoubtedly this was the case in some exceptional instances, but the true impetus for legal action in the typical, village-level trial is more difficult to pinpoint.

The answers to these questions remain elusive, but four relatively recent books shed a great deal of light on the relevant evidence and arguments. The first of these is a unique source.Edited by Peter Morton, The Trial of Tempel Anneke contains a full reproduction, translated and annotated, of almost every transcript and record pertaining to a single witchcraft trial that took place in Brunswick, Germany in 1663. This format not only allows the reader a rare, holistic glimpse of the witch trial process in general, it also makes it possible to discern, at least in this one case, the precise point at which demonological concepts were inserted into the proceedings.

The remaining three works to be considered are standard scholarly monographs, representing a range of substantively different interpretations of the role that demonology played for local-level prosecutors of witchcraft. Brian Levack’s comprehensive account, The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe, for example, foregrounds the intellectual and legal foundations of his subject matter, which he calls “essentially a judicial operation.”[5]Carefully tracing the development of the “cumulative concept” of witchcraft, Levack emphasizes the fear that local authorities must have experienced once the demonological concept of a massive diabolic conspiracy, poised to infiltrate their communities, gained sufficient purchase on their minds.[6]In contrast, Robin Briggs, a pioneer in the exposition of the ‘social context’ of witchcraft trials, emphasizes in Witches and Neighbors the role of village dynamics and popular beliefs, and regards with skepticism the idea that demonological theory played any kind of active role in inciting persecution. A third important voice in this discussion is Lyndal Roper, whose 2004 study Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany delves into the psychology – if not the pathology – of witch-hunting, exploring the ways in which knowledge of ‘high’ demonology instilled in prosecutors a sense of authority, superiority, and dire purpose, as well as detailing the ways in which this may have manifested itself in their interactions with suspects.


The Trial of Tempel Anneke, more than just a source of insight into the workings of a typical witch trial, provides an intimate and fascinating window into the daily lives of the ordinary early modern Europeans – particularly the accused herself – who were called on to testify, and who would otherwise have left little mark on the historical record. Anna Roleffes, known to her neighbors in the Brunswick satellite village of Harxbüttel as Tempel Anneke, was elderly, widowed, dependent on her relatives, and known locally as a purveyor of folk remedies and divination – all frequently recurring characteristics of those who faced prosecution for witchcraft in the course of the ‘great hunt.’ [7]The extant records of her case include testimony both from fellow villagers and expert witnesses, in addition to detailed interrogation transcripts that include descriptions of the methods of torture to which she was subjected. The duration of the trial, also not unusual, was approximately six months, from Anneke’s arrest on 25 June, 1663, to her execution on 30 December.Morton includes an introduction that provides necessary background information and regional historical context, but he steers conscientiously clear of interpretation, citing a desire not to let his own theories “come between the reader and the text.”He notes that in procedural terms Anneke’s trial was a fairly typical one, adhering to the appropriate legal protocols and lacking the exceptional characteristics of the larger, faster-moving ‘witch crazes’ that sometimes plagued German cities. From among other, similarly representative and detailed case files, he chose hers for publication simply for “its vividness.” [8]

It is unfortunately difficult to tell how exactly Anneke first came to the attention of local authorities; neither of the witnesses in the incident for which she was initially charged appear to have been the source of the complaint, and both of them were in fact fined by the court for having solicited her divination services. Moreover, the file contains additional documents, dated nearly a year before her arrest, that describe previous accusations of witchcraft against her as well as “careful enquires” that were already being conducted “into what different kinds of suspicious business… what many evils she had both accomplished and started.”[9]This at least suggests that the authorities of the Brunswick region did not tend to make arrests at the first whiff of witchcraft, but it is unclear how long they had been aware of Anneke’s reputation prior to initiating charges against her. The particular incident that led to her arrest involved divination and a harmful spell that she was said to have perpetrated against a local thief the previous year, but subsequent witnesses reported suspicions they had harbored against her for as long as a decade.Over the course of the trial, Tempel Anneke is accused by her neighbors of, among other things, causing a five-year-old to cry for two days, curing sick sheep with a mysterious powder, magically causing “holes… as long as fingers” to appear in a man’s leg, injuring another man by throwing the “half decomposed head of an animal” into the river, sickening a child by giving him an enchanted pear, and “conjur[ing] the evil things into the head of [a neighbor] so that he turned completely dense from it.”[10]But it also appears that the residents of Harxbüttel frequently called upon her services, apparently without much concern for their supposed reliance on demonic power. As one witness reported matter-of-factly, “[e]veryone in the village takes Tempel Anneke for a witch and a sorceress.She knows how to bring back lost things and cures animals with magical potions.”[11]

All of this testimony is telling because it is concerned entirely with maleficium – simple, harmful folk magic – and has very little to do with religion at all, let alone the specific claims or theories of Christian demonologists. The villagers seem merely to have believed that Anneke possessed some form of arcane knowledge that allowed her to influence the physical world in ways that they could not. In the popular understanding, the moral implications of this power appear to have depended mostly on its wielder’s intent – an ambiguity that made the defendant both a common source of advice when livestock or household objects went missing and a ready explanation for any mundane misfortune.

Once the officials conducting the trial had a chance to reformulate the testimony of Anneke’s neighbors into questions for her interrogation, however, the Devil made a swift entrance. According to one man’s testimony, Anneke had attacked another villager by “pegg[ing] the poor fellow into a hole so that the same had squeaked inside it like a heap of mice,” referring apparently to a form of harmful sympathetic magic in which a scrap of the victim’s clothing is inserted into a hole drilled into a post.[12]The question posed later by her interrogators, however, is explicitly “whether she didn’t plug the thief into a drilled hole in the name of the Evil Enemy, so that the fellow squeaked inside it like a heap of mice” (emphasis added).[13] The transition from a maleficium emphasis to a diabolic one accelerated quickly thereafter, with Anneke ultimately being questioned as to whether she learned her forbidden trade from the Devil personally, fornicated with him “in unnatural ways” and formed a pact with him, “handled the Holy Communion and the Host indecently,” and met with other witches at a yearly dance, to name only a few of the increasingly specific and elaborate accusations that her interrogators pursued. None of these accusations had any discernable basis in the testimony presented by the accused or by local witnesses, and by the end of the trial they had taken on the unmistakable tone of Christian demonology.To make sense of this transition, it is necessary first to clarify the various concepts of witchcraft that were circulating among educated Europeans at that time, a purpose which Brian Levack’s book The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe serves admirably.

Of all the recent books devoted to early modern witchcraft persecution, Levack’s is likely the most comprehensive, and is referred to frequently as an ideal introduction to the topic. Generally speaking, his approach (though no less valuable) might be considered the most traditional among those reviewed here.This is illustrated by his frequent casting of European witchcraft persecution in language that implies a single, if protracted, event: the ‘great European witch-hunt,’ for example, is a phrase that many writers now tend to qualify or avoid. Indeed, much of the recent literature conveys the impression of a collective scholarly attempt to atomize this ‘great hunt,’ and to reconceptualize witch persecution as something that arose – and continues to arise – organically and independently, in villages and neighborhoods around the world. Levack, while sensitive to the social context of witchcraft persecution and conscientious in exploring it, does not for the most part follow this trend, and states characteristically on the first page of his introduction that “[a]lthough the number of witches who were tried varied from place to place and from time to time, all of these witchcraft persecutions can be considered parts of one very large judicial operation that took place only in Europe and only during the early modern period.”[14]

Levack begins his book with an explanation of the oddly bifurcated concept of the crime of witchcraft that is so evident in Tempel Anneke.The connection between maleficium and Devil worship, or diabolism, he explains, “derived from the writings of theologians, who ever since the fourth century had argued that magic could only be performed by demonic power.”[15]After continued development at the hands of various patristic and scholastic thinkers, this idea eventually led to the widespread conviction that because they had acquired their power by association with the Devil, witches were “not simply felons, similar to murderers and thieves, but heretics and apostates, intrinsically evil individuals who had rejected their Christian faith and had decided instead to serve God’s enemy.”[16]To explain the intense levels of persecution that occurred between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, Levack points to further theological developments that began to take place at that time. Notably, the figure of the Devil was undergoing significant changes during the fifteenth century.“Throughout the Middle Ages,” Levack explains, “the Devil had been described as the enemy and anti-type of Christ, teaching hatred rather than love. Now, however, he was increasingly depicted as the anti-type of God the Father, the source and object of idolatry and false religion.”[17]The Protestant and Catholic Reformations also had the effect of turning the Devil into a more looming threat, both as a result of their explicit theological innovations and in the increased concern that these movements must have inspired on the part of many Europeans for the religious integrity of their communities.[18]

Overall, Levack grants a fairly high degree of influence to the ideas of educated Europeans. Having outlined the development of the ‘cumulative concept of witchcraft,’ he emphasizes the role that certain specific components of this concept played in enabling and encouraging witchcraft persecution, the most important of these being the pact that witches were said to have made with Satan and the diabolical ceremonies, or sabbats, that they were thought to celebrate in the company of other witches. In Levack’s approximation, the diabolical pact not only provided “the basis of the legal definition of the crime of witchcraft in many jurisdictions,” but also “served as the main link between the practice of harmful magic and the alleged worship of the Devil.”[19]The idea of the sabbat may have helped perpetuate the practice of witch-hunting to an even greater extent, because when prosecutors were convinced that suspected witches had attended a gathering of this kind they were likely more inclined to persist in forcing them to name the accomplices they had seen there. These two elements, the pact and the sabbat, are indeed among the first purely diabolism-related accusations that Tempel Anneke’s interrogators brought up during the course of her trial, and it seems clear that Levack would interpret this fact as an indication of the effectiveness of demonological theory in inspiring persecution. “The great European witch-hunt,” he writes, “could not have taken place until the members of the ruling elites of European countries, especially those men who controlled the operation of the judicial machinery, subscribed to… various beliefs [including the sabbat and the pact] regarding the diabolical activities of witches.”[20]

A somewhat different interpretation is put forward by Robin Briggs in Witches and Neighbors, a work that is distinctive for its emphasis less on the judicial and intellectual aspects of persecution than on the conditions that gave rise to witchcraft accusations in the first place. The most important element in this process, Briggs maintains, lay in the social structure of the small, rural communities where witch persecution found its most frequent expression. He explains that in this environment, communal farming practices and economic uncertainty made cooperation and mutual aid a necessary part of daily life, but also bred countless opportunities for minor conflict or resentment. The refusal of charity, for example, surfaces repeatedly in trial documents as the first occurrence of suspicion, with the petitioner’s reaction to being turned away interpreted as a sign of hostility. In conjunction with a demon-haunted cosmology, these imputations of ill-will were easily translated into suspicions of malicious magic, although most suspicions appear to have remained largely passive, festering for years or decades before they resulted in legal action. If suspicion did crystallize into a trial, however, Briggs asserts that it was generally the result of pressure from below, not above. While he calls the intellectual factors “admittedly vital,” the author is fairly adamant in his assertion that witchcraft persecution was fundamentally “a social and political phenomenon.”[21]His interpretation furthermore admits of a less perfectly dichotomous relationship between elite and popular ideas of witchcraft than does Levack’s, and he stresses that these two categories “were of course far from being wholly distinct; at every stage it is vital to remember that such distinctions are an interpretive convenience.”[22]

Briggs makes another unique contribution to this field of study by engaging directly with the claims of the demonological treatises themselves, particularly with regard to their frequent assumption that witches were almost always female.Like nearly all historians who discuss the Malleus Maleficarum, he notes the profound misogyny evident in this text and others like it – and especially in the case of the Malleus, the degree of this misogyny would be difficult to overstate. “All witchcraft comes from carnal lust,” claimed author Heinrich Krämer, “which in women is insatiable.”[23]Briggs also refers to the work of Jean Bodin, a widely-known French political theorist who asserted similarly in his 1581 treatise La Démonomanie des Sorciers that “it is the power of bestial desire which has reduced women to extremities to indulge these appetites, or to avenge themselves… For the internal organs are seen to be larger in women than in men, whose desires are not so violent: by contrast, the heads of men are much larger, and in consequence they have more brains and prudence than women.”[24]But for all their shrill declarations, Briggs observes, these writers often grossly overestimated the ratio of women to men among those accused of witchcraft even in their own districts, and both the tone and content of many of these books are “very misleading as a guide to what happened in typical trials.”[25]

Briggs’ efforts in exploring the very ‘local’ roots of witchcraft persecution are invaluable for the depth and nuance that they have added to our understanding of this extraordinarily complex subject. At the same time, his focus on the social context of witch trials tends at times to obscure certain elements of these phenomena.In Witches and Neighbors, the individuals who actually did the persecuting – the judges, magistrates, and other local officials who oversaw the trials and carried out the torture and executions – remain relatively silent. While he brings them into the picture on occasion, it is often to clarify what they did not do, as part of his commendable effort to debunk the persistent mythologized view of witch-hunting as a top-down practice, sponsored and guided by elite interests. Briggs is right to muddy the line between the concepts of witchcraft subscribed to by defendants and prosecutors in an average witch trial, but even in the cases he cites it is clear that certain allegations – notably those more consistent with demonological theory – tended to make an appearance only after the proceedings were well underway, and testimony from local witnesses had already been heard. This at least suggests a special role for these officials and the doctrines to which they adhered, even if those doctrines constituted only a slightly more systematized conception of witchcraft than that of their fellow villagers. Furthermore, it is important to note (as Levack does) that adding the charge of diabolism to accusations of maleficium certainly would have made the crimes of the suspected witch more serious in the eyes of local officials, and the need to extirpate such threats to their community more dire.

On the other hand, Levack’s attribution of such a clear and necessary causal role to the specific demonological beliefs of “educated Europeans” borders at times on the kind of assumption that Briggs rightly warns against. In his 2004 book Witches and Witch-Hunts: A Global History, Wolfgang Behringer cites an estimate by University of Dar-es-Salaam anthropologist Simeon Mesaki that 3,692 extralegal witch killings took place in Tanzania between 1970 and 1984 alone,[26] a figure that rivals the number of executions estimated to have taken place in most European countries over the entire early modern period.[27]This proves nothing categorically, as any direct comparison of early modern European and twentieth-century African witch persecution carries obvious limitations. But it does at least indicate that suspicions of maleficium can lead to widespread violence even without the help of a judicial apparatus steeped in the tenets of Christian demonology. To understand, then, the role that local officials clearly did play in the European case, it seems prudent to seek a balance between the picture of these figures as imagined by Briggs, whose magistrates and prévôts seem to have functioned mostly as the incarnate persecutory will of the witch’s neighbors, and that of Levack, for whom they served largely as carriers for learned theories of witchcraft and diabolism. For this, it is helpful to turn to the analysis of Lyndal Roper, who grants the mindset and motivations of these officials a sustained exposition in her 2004 book Witch Craze.

Roper, like Briggs, devotes considerable attention to the social context of witchcraft – indeed, it may have been the reviewer of Roper’s book who explained this context most succinctly, with her wry observation that “it takes a village” to burn a witch.[28]It is Roper’s psychoanalytic approach to witch persecution, however, that has been lauded as her most important and innovative contribution to the field of witchcraft studies,[29] particularly her exploration of the strange process of ‘negotiation’ that seems to have occurred between a suspected witch and her interrogators.Since the amount of personal information demanded during interrogation was considerable, and often required the accused to remember events that had occurred many years before his or her arrest, this dialogue may have constituted a unique moment in the defendant’s life: a period of intense and emotional self-reflection.Given the dire circumstances, and considering that the methods of questioning and torture were “designed to bring the accused witch to a crisis,” the results of this self-assessment must frequently have been negative, which would in turn have contributed to a suspect’s eventual decision to surrender to the label of ‘witch’ and make a detailed confession.[30]Indications of this can be found in the trial transcripts of Tempel Anneke, who engaged her interrogators with relative confidence and assertiveness in the initial stages of her trial, but seemed more inclined to make negative statements about herself as the process continued. When describing her sexual encounters with the Devil, for example, Anneke went out of her way to explain that the “Evil Spirit” had always found her alone in bed because “[e]ven though she wanted to have a maid with her, nobody wanted to sleep with her.”[31]

When Roper turns her psychoanalytic lens toward the other party in this negotiation, the witch’s persecutors, the result is a rich account of the influence that demonological theory (and the license that it granted these individuals) may have had on their mindsets. This necessarily involves a great deal of speculation, as the interrogators of witches obviously did not have reason to volunteer much personal information about themselves in the course of a trial, but Roper makes a convincing reconstruction of the psychology of witch-hunting based on the few personal writings of known witch persecutors that do still exist in addition to her own extrapolations from trial transcripts. As might be expected, one of the most prominent characteristics of the ‘witch-hunter mentality’ was a broad sense of superiority and divine purpose. “The interrogator had a high view of his sacred office, which was to save the soul of the witch by bringing her to renounce Satan and confess her sins.”[32]More interestingly, however, Roper also suggests that an element of perverse fascination, or even glee, may have been at work in these proceedings – one that bordered on voyeurism when the subject turned to the witch’s alleged sexual involvement with demonic entities.Moreover, these two elements appear to have been oddly complementary. Roper explains that “in the psychology of the persecutors, lurid emotions were overlaid with a rigid moralism; their inner worlds were peopled with agents of divine authority like angels and just judges.Only ceaseless struggle against the forces of evil could maintain the precarious psychological balance.In this moral universe, the mixture of good and evil, an inherent part of social relations, could simply not be tolerated.”[33]While such things are of course difficult to verify, the idea that the position of witch prosecutor came with an appealing array of psychic perquisites – and that these may have been a strong motivating factor for some individuals – seems entirely probable.


If there is one feature that all of the works surveyed here have in common, it is a careful exposition of the incredibly complex and variegated nature of their subject matter.It is telling that the first few pages of many recent historical studies devoted to European witchcraft persecution, including all of those discussed above, contain a laundry list of now-effete theories once put forward to explain this phenomenon, all of which most historians have discarded as overly simple or simply inaccurate.The role of scholarly and ecclesiastical demonology, or, more generally, the interaction between ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture in the context of witch persecution, has particularly been an area for revision, as the current diversity of viewpoints on this topic suggests. Taken together, the efforts of Levack, Briggs, and Roper shed light on the European witch trial as a unique theater in which abstruse theology and elite legal doctrine combined with superstition, fear, envy, fantasy, and ego in countless permutations.The exploration of these deadly dynamics is a worthwhile project merely for the insight it can yield into the social landscape of Renaissance and Reformation Europe, but the many tens of thousands of casualties that resulted from them make it a necessary one.Fortunately, thanks to Peter Morton’s publication of the Tempel Anneke trial records, it is now possible to appreciate the tragic dimensions of early modern witch persecution in personal as well as statistical terms.

The proliferation of new research and interpretation in this field, however, does more than just deepen our understanding of a sad episode in Europe’s past. With recent literature increasingly focused on the presence of witchcraft beliefs and persecution worldwide and throughout history, there is a strong trend toward understanding these phenomena to be innately human, perhaps even with an evolutionary basis. Undoubtedly, as historians and anthropologists undertake further research in this vein, it will become increasingly clear that an understanding of the figure of the witch – and perhaps more importantly, of his or her persecutors – can find practical, sociological application in this century just as easily as it can in the field of history. As Robin Briggs concludes in the final chapter of his book, “the witch may be the other, but witchcraft beliefs are in ourselves.”[34]


Behringer, Wolfgang. Witches And Witch-Hunts: A Global History.Cambridge, UK and Malden, Massachusetts: Polity Press, 2004.

Briggs, Robin.Witches and Neighbors: The Social and Cultural Context of European Witchcraft. New York: Viking, 1996.

Kors, Alan Charles and Edward Peters, eds. Witchcraft in Europe, 1100-1700: a documentary history. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999.

Levack, Brian.The Witch Hunt in Early Modern Europe.Harlow, UK: Pearson Education Ltd, 2006.

Miller, Laura.“Who burned the witches?” (February 1, 2005),

Morton, Peter, ed.The Trial of Tempel Anneke: Records of a Witchcraft Trial in Brunswick, Germany, 1663.Translated by Barbara Dähms.Toronto: Broadview Press, 2005.

Roper, Lyndal.Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany.New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004.

[1] Wolfgang Behringer, Witches and Witch-Hunts: A Global History (Cambridge, UK and Malden, Massachusetts: Polity Press, 2004), 149;Robin Briggs, Witches and Neighbors: The Social and Cultural Context of European Witchcraft (New York: Viking, 1996), 8; Brian Levack, The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe (Harlow, UK: Pearson Education Ltd, 2006), 23; Lyndal Roper, Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004), 18.

[2] Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 263.

[3] Behringer, Witches and Witch-Hunts, 1-46, 196-228; Levack, Witch-Hunt, 299-305.

[4] Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 273.

[5] Levack, Witch-Hunt, 74.

[6] Ibid., 30-67.

[7] Peter Morton, ed., The Trial of Tempel Anneke: Records of a Witchcraft Trial in Brunswick, Germany, 1663, trans. Barbara Dähms (Toronto: Broadview Press, 2005), xiii.

[8] Morton, Trial of Tempel Anneke, x.

[9] Ibid., 3-6.

[10] Ibid., 4-13, 51.

[11] Ibid., 8.

[12] Ibid., 7.

[13] Ibid., 10.

[14] Levack, Witch-Hunt, 1.

[15] Ibid., 7-8.

[16] Ibid.

[17] Ibid., 36.

[18] Ibid., 109-33.

[19] Ibid., 37.

[20] Ibid., 30-1.

[21] Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 398.

[22] Ibid., 399.

[23] Alan Charles Kors and Edward Peters, eds., Witchcraft in Europe, 1100-1700: a documentary history(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 127.

[24] Quoted in Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 259.

[25] Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 259.

[26] Behringer, Witches and Witch-Hunts, 212-3.

[27] Ibid., 150.

[28] Laura Miller, “Who burned the witches?” (2005),

[29] Behringer, Witches and Witch-Hunts, 41.

[30] Roper, Witch Craze, 47.

[31] Morton, Tempel Anneke, 110.

[32] Roper, Witch Craze, 57.

[33] Ibid., 63.

[34] Briggs, Witches and Neighbors, 411.

Last Updated: 8/12/16