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Translated and published by Georg Luck in Arcana Mundi, Second Edition, pages 249-250.

These witches first brought down the stars from the fast-moving sky, and by their techniques the clear Moon, attacked by dreadful, poisonous incantations, grew dim and burned with a dark and earthly light, just as if the Earth had cut o√ the Moon from the reflections of her brother, the Sun, and projected its own shadows into the light from heaven. The Moon is so strongly a√ected by magic spells and pulled down so hard that she finally drops her foam from a close distance on the plants below.

These criminal rites, these wicked practices of a horrible race, were scorned by savage Erictho as being too pious, and she degraded a science that was already tainted with rites unknown. To her, it was a sacrilege to seek shelter for her abominable person in a city or in a normal house; she lived in deserted tombs and inhabited graves from which the ghosts had been driven, and the deities of hell loved her. Neither the heavenly gods nor the fact that she was still living prevented her from visiting [reading ambire for audire] the assemblies of the dead or from knowing the dwellings beyond the Styx and the mysteries of Dis in hell. The face of the loathsome witch is haggard, hideous, and decomposed; her features inspire fear because of their hellish pallor; they are covered with disheveled hair and are never seen when the sky is bright: only if rain and black clouds conceal the stars does the witch emerge from the tombs she has stripped and try to catch the lightning of the night. As she stomps over a fertile cornfield, she burns the seeds, and her breath poisons air that was wholesome before.

She never prays to the heavenly gods, never invokes divine aid by a suppliant hymn, knows nothing about the entrails of a sacrificial victim. She only enjoys placing upon an altar the burning logs and the incense that she has stolen from a kindled pyre.

As soon as they hear her voice uttering a magic prayer, the gods grant her every kind of horror; they are afraid to hear the second spell. She buries alive those whose souls are still in control of their bodies, and Death catches up with them against his own will, because years of life were still due them. Or else she brings back dead bodies from the grave, by turning around the funeral procession; corpses actually escape death. This witch snatches the smoking ashes, the burning bones of the young, from the midst of the pyre and grabs the very torch the parents were holding, and collects the pieces of the bier that are fluttering in black smoke, the burial garments that crumble into ashes and the cinders that smell of the corpse. But when the bodies have been put into stone sarcophagi, which drain o√ the body fluids and absorb the liquid marrow, drying out the corpse, she feasts greedily, savagely, on all the limbs, thrusts her fingers into the eye sockets, scoops out gleefully the frozen eyeballs, and gnaws the yellow nails on the withered hand. With her teeth she bites through the fatal noose on the rope and plucks the corpse dangling from the gallows; she scrapes criminals o√ the cross, tearing away the rainbeaten flesh and the bones baked in the glaring sun. She takes o√ the nails that pierce the hands, the black juices of corruption that drip all over the corpse, and the clotted fluids, and when a tendon resists her bite, she pulls it down with her weight. Wherever any corpse lies unburied on the ground, she sits near it, before any birds or beasts arrive, but she has no intention of dissecting the body with a knife or with her nails; she waits for the wolves to tear it apart and then snatches the prey from their hungry throats.

She is ready to commit a murder whenever she needs the fresh blood that gushes forth when a throat is slit and whenever her ghoulish repasts require flesh that still throbs. She also slits open women’s wombs and delivers babies by an unnatural method, in order to o√er them on a burning altar. And whenever she needs evil spirits as her henchmen, she creates them herself [by killing someone]. Every human casualty serves her in some way. She rips o√ the bloom on the face of a child’s body, and when an adolescent dies, her left hand cuts o√ a lock of his hair. Quite often, when a dear relative dies, the horrible witch bends over his body, and as she kisses him, she mutilates his face and opens his closed mouth with her teeth; then she bites the tip of the tongue that lies in the dry throat, pours whispered sounds between the cold lips, and sends a secret message of horror down to the shades of Styx.