Haunted Cosmos - The Dusty Tome: Hansel, Gretel, & The Witch

Episode Date: January 24, 2024

Enjoy this first installment of our inter-season sneak peeks at our Patreon-exclusive show: The Dusty Tome.In this episode, Ben talks about fairy tales and witches. Saying anymore would either be platitudinous, disingenuous, unnecessary, or (most likely) all the above. Love Haunted Cosmos? Get access to our exclusive show, The Dusty Tome, early ad-free access to main episodes, monthly AMA's, and livestreams with Ben and Brian by becoming a patron of the show: https://www.patreon.com/c/HauntedCosmosBuy the Haunted Cosmos book: https://www.newchristendompress.com/cosmos PS: It's also available as an audiobook!Hey! Since you're still reading this, why don't you grab some special coffee here. And since you are still reading (why though?), pick up a ticket to this year's New Christendom Press Conference. It's happening in June in Ogden, UT and Brian and I will be doing a live haunted cosmos recording sesh. Support the show

Oh, constant listener, and welcome to this in-between season break of Hanna Cosmos. In this time of limbo, where production on the main shows of next season is in full swing, we want to make sure we don't leave anyone hanging. To that end, we will be releasing episodes of our special weekly patron-only show called The Dusty Tome to all of you for the next six weeks until the first episode of season three drops to the public. These shows that will release make up a series that we did on the broad topic of witches and the particular topic of the Salem Witch Trials. These episodes originally dropped to patrons over the month of October in 2023,

and so the series culminates with a general history of Halloween, or The Hallotide. We hope you enjoy this taste of what it's like to be a patron of our show. None of it's possible without them. And if you like what you hear, consider becoming a patron yourself. Not only will you gain access to a 40-plus episode backlog of the dusty tome with new episodes dropping every week, but depending on your tier level, you could also get early access to add free main episodes.

That's a pretty good deal if you ask me. But enough of me just rambling. Let's get into the show. We're glad that you're here, and we look forward to sharing season three with you in just a few short weeks. In the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story of Hansel, Gretel, and The Witch. Long time ago, in a thick wood somewhere between Germany and Fairyland,

a woodcutter sat in his thatched roof home, deep and painful thought. You see, times were hard in his day. The food had grown scant because of a looming ash cloud from some hellish event far across the world. They called it a volcano. This had caused a brutal famine to strike Europe, launching her inhabitants into a horrible fight for survival in the midst of continuing everyday duties. Indeed, the hue of the sky reflected the tenor of every man's soul.

It was dark. The woodcutter sat, trying to ignore the hunger he felt for the sake of finding a solution to his dilemma. You see, his wife had passed away some years beforehand, but before she passed, she gave him the gift of two beloved children, named Hansel and Gretel. In his desperate need to find another lover and help her after the passing of his wife, he quickly married a young maid of the village. With so many mouths to feed, the man grew despondent at the hard truth. His wages would not be going up. Lumberjacks, like everyone else, would be forced to suffer. All through the night, he grew more and more troubled at the current state of his family.

His increasing stomach pain was a nearly perfect reflection of his increasing stress and fear. Unable to sleep because of the pain, the man laid awake with his wife, Hansel and Gretel's stepmother, and asked what she felt they should do. It's actually quite simple, dear, the woman said. There's too many tummies and not enough bread. Let us take the children into the wood and leave them for dead. Two less mouths to feed will help you rest your weary head. The man, taken back by the terrible suggestion, started at his wife.

What has bewitched you, love so sweet? The little ones are my dearest treats in a world grown sour with rotted meat. I cannot. Will not leave them alone were all humanity sent to the very devil's sulfuric home. The stepmother remained resolute in her suggestion. Beyond the practical advantage it would afford her and her husband, she loathed those kids of his. They contributed nothing and expected to be exalted even above her,

receiving the first portions of what dark and moldy bread they had to eat that day. It was all nonsense. Thus, she took up her discourse once more. My love, let reasons suffice it to say that your name will fail and wither were we to go on this way. Would you have four dead souls instead of two? And the children would be doomed without I and you? It is a mercy for us to leave them in the wood at dusk and let nature have her way, gently freezing them dead before dawn's next day.

Moved by vile and twisted pity that was once sincere, but now had been wrenched by despair. The woodcutter relented. The very next day, they would take the children into the forest, start a fire, claim they were going to look for more wood, and would soon return, and then they'd just make for home, leaving the two kids to meet whatever fate Providence had in store for them in that dark wood. But without either father or stepmother knowing, Hansel and Gretel were also kept awake that night by the pain of a desperate and begging stomach. They sat in the dark quietly as they heard the entire conversation in the other

room. Now very scared. Gretel mentioned running away that night, looking for some good Samaritan to take them in. But Hansel knew better. If they ran away, it would only be what the stepmother wanted, and nobody had the means to take on two little children, at least nobody close by. They would have to come up with another plan. Hansel snuck out of the house and looked around near the tree line for special stones. He had seen them only a few days before by blind luck. They had a light gray color to them that reflected moonlight so vibrantly, it almost seemed like they were glowing. He stuffed his pocket full of the little pebbles and scurried back inside, careful to close the creaky old door gently, so as not to be noticed by dad or that old hag that was his wife. The next morning

stepmother loudly marched into their room and barked at them to wake up right away and get dressed. They would be going into the wood for reasons they didn't need to know. She shoved two small pieces of bread into Gretel's hands, one for each child, and told them not to eat them until supper that night, because it was all they'd have for the day. Gretel tucked the bread away in her little apron, and the family was off. The children noted the uncharacteristically somber attitude of the father. Finally, after hiking deep into the thickest section of wood, the family knelt to light a fire. Once lit, the father rose and told the children that he and his wife would go to fetch more firewood and to stay put by the fire so that they don't catch a cold.

As the kids nibbled on their slices of bread, the day grew dark, and any sliver of hope that remained of their father changing his mind and coming to rescue them vanished as the stars began to shine bright. And when the moon was revealed from behind a small veil of cloud, Hansel took Gretel's hand eagerly and pulled her through the wood, following the little lights of stone he had dropped throughout the day. The plan worked perfectly, and the children arrived back at the house following the stone trail, just as the warm sun rose up in the east. When they knocked on the door, a shocked and utterly disappointed stepmother greeted them. The children smugly sprinted through the door as the stepmother looked on, too stunned to stop them. The man, completely beside

himself with guilt, laughed heartily and hugged the children for many minutes, so relieved they had come home. But soon, reality set in once more. The children had returned, but they had returned empty-handed. The problem was inescapable. There simply was no more food. The stepmother worked her wicked lies once more upon the weak-minded man, sensing he was again at the end of his rope.

And so having resigned himself to the damnation he so richly deserved, the man decided to try the plan one more time. After all, it was better. that two should live instead of all four dying, right? As with the first time, the children heard this entire conversation. It was like a horrible nightmare being repeated. Poor Gretel wondered how it could be true. What's more, Hansel had used all of the glowing pebbles the first time

and didn't collect them on the way home. He would have to try something new. The night passed at a torturously slow pace until the fateful morning had finally wound around to meet them. Doom hung over the children like a panther in the Amazon. Just like the first time the children received their daily bread and the family was off, led even deeper into the thick wood by a determined and now openly manic stepmother, while father trailed behind the party, weighed down by the guilt to the point of nearly crawling on all fours.

The fire was lit and the children relied to again. And again, father did not return to them. The man was now bereft of all humanity and decency. As the fire went out and the moon shone bright, Hansel attempted to lead Gretel back home, following a trail of breadcrumbs this time. Only shortly into their journey, they realized it was futile. Some foolish and unknowing wood creatures had scooped up the crumbs sometime earlier in the day, perhaps even right as Hansel had dropped them.

The parents this time had succeeded. The children would die. For three days, Hansel and Gretel navigated the thick wood, gaining a ridge here, climbing a tree there, until finally they were ready to collapse with exhaustion. Three days with neither food nor water left them dizzy and desperate. But urged by Hansel, they kept trying to move forward. Besides it, at this point, with death so certain, what harm could come from wandering the wood and quickening the process? Eventually, after about another hour of silent and thoughtless walking, they stumbled into a treeless meadow lit bright by the golden hour.

afternoon sun. To their astonishment, a house stood in the midst of the sunbeam, as if heaven itself had directed their feet to this last hope of sanctuary. But this was no ordinary house. As the bewildered kids crept closer, they noticed frosting in the corners of the windows, powdered sugar on the roof, sugar plums on the door, and royal icing between the caramel window panes. It was a house made of cake. The children began eating ferociously. They hardly breathed for half an hour as they indulged, but just as the shrunken and emaciated stomachs began to protest at the large influx of sugary starch,

a voice called to them, Little ones of Rudlin Rut, what brings you to my short-bred hut? If lost you are, then tell me free, I will keep you safe here with me. The children turned to see an old woman approaching them from the front of the house. They had eaten their way to the back by now,

with a wide and warm smile drawn onto her, wrinkled face. Aunt unlooked for, our last hope beyond hope. We are lost indeed in some devilish trope. Our parents left us to wither and die, but we left the spot giving life a final try. Please care for us as your own. We are indebted to you and to your delicious home, said Hansel.

The old woman invited them inside and fed them meat and water in crisps and jam until they were eager to rest. She tucked them into the two twin beds and blew the kids. candle out, Hansel and Gretel were in a dreamless sleep before their heads ever hit the down pillows. But alas, the tale does not end here, for still much tragedy and triumph waits to greet the children. Upon waking, Gretel was startled to find herself alone in the small and admittedly gray and slightly depressing room. She walked into the kitchen and was met with a horrible sight indeed. The old woman, who she now saw as monstrously ugly, was shut up.

having food into a small wooden cage that housed her brother Hansel. She was no good Samaritan like Gretel had hoped. She was a dark servant of the devil himself, a witch of the old black magic who fed on the flesh of little ones. And thus began weeks of horrible living for the both of them once more. Gretel enslaved to the witch's service, cooked and cleaned under her cruel hand, night and day with few breaks for eating and sleeping. Hansel cramped inside of his little box, was given bready food constantly. The witch, Gretel deduced, was fattening him up for slaughter, after which she would consume her brother with her forced to look on,

perhaps even forced to participate. Except, still cunning as ever, Hansel was not eating the food he was being given. You see, witches, at least these type of old witches, can't see very well. They instead rely on other senses to observe the world around them. This witch, unable to see Hansel, even when he was locked in a cage right in front of her, would tell him to poke his finger out of the cage every day. She wanted to squeeze the finger to see how fat it had grown.

Once it was to her liking, the cannibalism could finally begin for the evil hag. But Hansel had not been the first thing shoved into this cage. He found an old chicken leg in the darkened back corner of his home and poked that out for the witch to feel instead of his finger. The days wore on, and the witch grew discouraged at how little effect all her food was having on the skinny and tiny little Hansel. As her frustration grew, so did her mania. She barked at Gretel like a dog to its master before immediately forgetting what she had just said and repeating herself again. One day, Gretel saw her chance and took it.

The witch had ordered her to bake a loaf of cake for her brother, but had told the girl to climb into the oven first to ensure it was heating up properly. Gretel, feigning ignorance, humbly asked the witch, kindly, woman, how does one climb into an oven? The witch stormed over to berate the girl. Oh, stupid child and thankless tumor upon my house. The oven is to you as a doorway to a mouse. Simply open the mouth and look inside, like this, before I take your life and tan your hide. But just as the witch showed Gretel how to do it, the girl shoved her with all her might before the witch, now weakened after

not having flesh for so long, sat stupefied in the constantly warming oven. Quickly, Gretel locked the door and opened the cage for Hansel to climb out, a swell of pride rising up in the boy's heart as he admired the shrewdness of a sister. To the soundtrack of the witch's painful screams for help, the children searched to the house to find it full of great riches, gold and silver and jewels everywhere, spoils from the demon's former victims. The children ran out of the cake house as if guided by the saving hand of the angelic host, eventually finding their way back to their little home.

They burst in the door with ruckus laughter to find a tear-filled and skeleton skinny father bent over the small kitchen table. The children did not need to be told. They already knew. That evil stepmother was dead and gone. Finally. Oh, if the kids only knew the hand they had played in that turn of fortune for all. They ran to their father with forgiving arms open, and pockets spilling over with the finest riches. As the three embraced in tearful love and happy memory, the crops in the field outside began to sprout.

In Europe, during the year of our Lord 1315, a great crisis was brewing. The summer crop harvest, to everyone's horror, had completely failed. It marked the beginning of a dark and trying period in the otherwise vibrant Middle Ages, and for two more years after 1315, the Great Famine ravished the continent. Food was so scarce that the kings of England and France struggled, despite their station of civil sovereignty, to find food to eat and fill their courts with. The church struggled to keep up with the charitable burdens being asked of it. Families, real families like yours and mine, couldn't feed themselves. What lengths will a hungry man go to to

satiate his plight. What would you do if your three-year-old daughter slowly, dizzily, weakly, walked up to you with tears in her little eyes and tugged on your trouser leg saying, please help me, Papa, I'm so hungry, it hurts. The brutal reality strikes a nerve when we let it hit us, even hypothetically close to home. But for these people, it was far from hypothetical. It was their reality every waking moment for three full years. The desperate atmosphere hanging over the people of Europe had less predictable consequences too. The old adage,

eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die, took on a new appeal for the less morally upright as it underwent a subtle shift, changing into drink and be merry for tonight we die. The less savory people, the people who stood weak and helpless against these new temptations to throw cross into the wind because their life was already a living hell

added new terrors to the already desperate times. Murder, rape, theft, arson, vandalism of the worst kind, all increased dramatically. Many people, driven to lunacy by hunger, even engaged in cannibalism. This is the context in which the story we just read was originally formed. Granted, my version of the story is rift off of the brother's gram account from their fairy tales that was written in the early 1800s. But the origin of the story, this motif, stretches all the way back to the great famine. And it seems like that would be enough of an explanation for it. Some parents grew so desperate for food that they ate their children.

And this does seem to have happened. All of a sudden the story makes sense. Except, why is there a witch? You see, during this time of trial and hunger, of nature enforced fasting for the greatest among men, another vice tightened its grip on people. The lie was simple. If you're hungry, curse those around you and benefit from their demise. People ate this deception up, hook, line, and sinker.

And what was the means by which this demise came to their unsuspecting neighbors? Well, witchcraft, of course. And now we descend into the full inspiration for this grim fairy tale of cunning Hansel and brave Gretel. For if the stories are to be believed, things very much akin to this really happened, and not just in fairyland. Due to the Gaelic and Celtic background of the region, witchcraft had always been a frequent practice in Germany. Despite the influence of the church,

the practice still lingered in dark patches of the woods at night. Women would flee to their covens to meet with familiar spirits, giving themselves over to them in the hopes of gaining some rich reward. When the famine came, this old and nearly forgotten sin rose up once more to tempt Germany. Germany's people, especially her women. And it appears the temptation succeeded. In the Middle Ages, one of the chief methods by which the evil one would thwart the gift of new life to man was through the action of the witch. Driven by a vampiric and lilith-type bloodlust, the witch would act under the guise of a midwife, eager to steal newborns away to consume them before offering their bodies

up to the devil. It is a horrifying topic. And yet it's one that remains relevant for us today. not only is the practice of various forms of Wicca making a resurgence, but the foundational practice never actually left us. What was once a witch's cauldron is now just the dumpster behind Planned Parenthood and other abortion clinics the world over. All of this matters because children matter. Children matter because God says they are a heritage from him. Any wicked scheme whose end is to rob man of his progeny ought to be known

so that it, like all other powers and principalities, might be cast down. Heinrich Kramer and James Springer's witch-trial-defining work, Malleus Malifacarum, or the Witchhammer, describes the sorceress activity in vivid old Latin. The authors at one point interviewed a chief inquisitor for the township of Como about recent witch activity that had befallen the small settlement. This is what the inquisitor told them, that he was summoned by the inhabitants of the county of Barbie to hold an inquisition

because a certain man had missed his child from its cradle, and finding a congress of women in the nighttime swore that he saw them kill his child and drink its blood and devour it. Also in one single year, which is the year now last past, he says that 41 witches were burned, certain others taking flight to the Lord Archduke of Austria, Sigismund. For confirmation of this, there are certain men of the first of the first of the first of the world archduke of Austria, writings of John Nider in his formacarius, of whom, as of those events which he recounts, the memory is still fresh in men's minds, wherefore it is apparent that such things are not incredible. We must add that in all these matters which midwives cause yet greater injuries,

as penitent witches, have often told us and others, saying, no one does more harm to the Catholic faith than midwives, for when they do not kill children, then, as if for some other purpose they take them out of the room and raising them up in the air, offer them to the devils. Later in the book, a story is relayed from a young mother who lived in Zabern and the diocese of Strausburg. I was, she says, pregnant by my lawful husband, now dead, and as my time approached a certain midwife impotuned me to engage her to assist at the birth of my child. But I knew her bad reputation, and although I had decided to engage another woman,

pretended with conciliatory words to agree to her request. But when the pains came upon me and I brought in another midwife, the first one was very angry, and hardly a week later came into my room one night with two other women and approached the bed where I was lying. And when I tried to call my husband, who was sleeping in another room, all the use was taken away from my limbs and tongue, so that except for seeing and hearing, I could not move a muscle.

And the witch, standing between the other, two said, See this vile woman who would not take me for her midwife, shall not win through unpunished. The other two standing by her pleaded for me, saying, she has never harmed any of us. But the witch added, because she has offended me, I'm going to put something into her entrails. But to please you, she shall not feel any pain for half a year, but after that time she shall be tortured enough. So she came up and touched my belly with her hands, and it seemed to me that she took out my entrails and put in something which, however, I could not see. And when they had gone away

and I recovered my power of speech, I called my husband as soon as possible and told him what had happened. But he put it down to pregnancy and said, you pregnant women are always suffering from fancies and delusions. And when he would by no means believe me, I replied, I've been given six months grace. And if after that time no torment comes to me, I shall believe you. She related this her son, a cleric who was then archdeacon of the district, and who came to visit her on the same day. And what happened? When exactly six months had passed, such a terrible pain came into her belly that she could not help disturbing everyone with her cries day and night. And because, as has been said, she was most devout, she fasted with bread and water every Saturday, so that she believed

that she was delivered by her intercession. For one day, when she wanted to perform an action of nature, all those unclean things fell from her body. And she called her husband and son and said, Are those fancies? Did I not say that after half a year the truth would be known? Or whoever saw me eat thorns, bones, and even bits of wood. For they were brambles as long as a palm, as well as a quantity of other things.

So as not to wear you out with this macabre discussion. I'll leave you tonight with just one more story. Or perhaps just the breadcrumbs of one for now. We can finish it some other time. This isn't a story from the witchhammer whose integrity must be called into question at every turn of the page due to the historical context in which it was written, but rather the account of an otherwise quiet countryside court near Pendle Hill and Lancaster Castle and the north of England. But before I continue, just remember, when you read tales like Hansel and Gretel and think to yourself, seems awfully gruesome to be a kid's tale,

thank goodness it isn't true, you should check your modernity. It shows. It shows. It shows. It shows. It and bright pied colors. To ignore the real threat of humanity's own depravity helped along the road of malice by supernatural forces of darkness is to play the fool. Yes, it is a gruesome tale, but it's not gratuitously gruesome as if it isn't true. Quite the opposite. It's gruesome because, like all great stories, it's made up of many different truths. In the year of 1612, a woman named Allison Device was walking along a dirt path.

at about midday. She was on her way to a small village near the mist-covered and mighty Pendle Hill. The village was called Troughton Forest. This was no ordinary woman, though. She was a bit of a social pariah because of the reputation of her grandmother, a decaying but somehow still very spry lady named Dimdiki. Originally known as Elizabeth Southerns, Miss Dimdicki had been gossiped about by the people of Pendle Hill for nearly 50 years. Everyone, evidently, believed that she was a horrible witch. She had never actually been formally accused and tried for the suspicion, but their reputation lingered nonetheless.

Far from being put off by the air of mystery that hung over her family, Allison seemed to embrace the weird looks and nervous greetings she received. Today was no different. For as she walked down the path, she came across a peddler from Halifax named John Law. Allison welcomed this encounter because she actually needed some supplies for some unknown. the purpose. The young lady asked Law for some small handmade metal pins. Again, she didn't say what these would be used for, but Law was definitely curious. You see, back then, and maybe still today,

little metal pins were often used by witches for potions, divinations, and love magic. Given Alizon's less than savory family history, Law was reluctant to sell her the pens. He frankly assumed that they'd be used for one of these nefarious purposes and didn't want to be used for one of these nefarious purposes, and didn't went to play any role of accomplice in her dark arts. Bottom line, Law did not sell her the pins, walking away relieved, until he couldn't walk so easily anymore. His leg began to cramp violently, causing him to stumble and eventually fall into the dust. Alizon looked on pensively as Law struggled to his feet after some time on the ground and limped and stumbled down the road to a nearby inn. The doctor said he had suffered a stroke.

but Allison knew the truth. She would later testify to the court that upon being rejected by law for the sale of the pins, a familiar figure appeared to her right there on the road. Out of the air came a black mist, and out of the black mist stepped a black dog with fiery eyes. She knew the dog, of course. It was her grandmother's very own familiar devil named Ball. Ball, speaking in tortured English, offered to cripple the man right then and there. as a reward for his prideful denial of Allison's patronage.

Initially, John Law would not believe this confession, refusing to accuse the young woman of anything. But Allison seemed so sure of herself, she doubled and tripled down and made very clear that this was exactly what had happened on that fateful day. Penitent, Allison would confess fully and ask for Law's forgiveness, which he gave to the girl. But this is not the end.

This is no fairy tale. Outside of fairyland, stories rarely settle for being unresolved. No. Instead, Allison's story would just be one dark piece of a large and evil edifice that has gone down in history as the Pendle Witch Trials. Soon, nine women and two men from the local area would be hung for witchcraft. Want more hunted cosmos? Then make your way over to Patreon, where you can get early access to our content as well as exclusive content in regular dust, Toms and monthly live streams with Brian and myself. So go to patreon.com slash haunted cosmos and sign up now.