Charlot; The Witches’ Devil
The milkmaid churns and churns; the cream is fresh and the pasture is green. The wind is cool, and the scent of salt and kelp is in the air. She watches the steamboats float down the gulf at a snail's pace. The churn isn't working the same as it has in recent months, and boredom looms the same way the smell of rotten floor boards and fresh paint fill the house.
All of a sudden, she sees a handsome young man riding up on a black horse. She isn't expecting company, so who could this be? He's dressed in black from head to toe; pointy leather shoes, a well-tailored suit, and a curiously large top hat. His face is young but wrinkly, and his lip is covered by a well-groomed, triangular mustache — a style she finds slightly eccentric, but charming. Clearly, this must be a city man — there's no way he could have made his way out here without a trace of dust staining the black of his smock. More curiously, how was he wearing all of this expensive fabric in the heat of the noon sun and not breaking a sweat?
The dapper young man settled into his horse's saddle and stared her down for a while. She felt as if he was speaking, but not a word was uttered. Her hand had stilled. After it felt like perhaps there was too much tension between them, he turned to the side, spat on her butter churn, and rode off laughing.
Of course, what else was she to do but to stand up and curse him out? After she'd let off the steam of this affront, she went and checked on her cream to make sure the wad of tobacco he'd so rudely launched her way hadn't somehow contaminated the batch. To her surprise, she found that, despite her earlier struggles, the churn was filled with the most beautiful, golden butter she had seen in all her days. No matter how many times she dumped it out, all she had to do was cover it and open it in turn, and the churn would be full again.
It dawned on her that that man must have been the Devil, but who was she to renounce a never-ending supply of butter? In these times, that butter churn was her ticket to a good life. She could sell off the butter and never have to work another day in her life! And as she marched up to the house, she looked down at that rotten floor board she'd slapped a fresh coat of paint on, and heard her late mother's voice: "God listens, but the Devil provides."
Our dear milkmaid wasn't the only one who had such encounters with the Devil in rural Quebec. The local folklore is full of stories of one such weaver or another such baker who, in times of need and boredom, were granted a boon by the Devil himself — freely, and without payment. Of course, there are plenty of stories of the opposite. And yet, there are also just as many stories of the Devil himself being tricked.
Still, the Devil remains a strong belief, and a strong player, in the local spirituality. His intercession is requested usually by the offering of coins, or by cursing the name of God, which greatly pleases him. Though it doesn't take much more than invoking Mary, Empress of Hell, and reciting a few prayers to get back in God's good graces.
My own experience with the Witches' Devil, Charlot (shar-low) as we call him where I'm from, goes back to my childhood, when he would appear in dreams and apparitions nearly every night. It wasn't until my teens that I decided to confront the matter, and this led to my first initiatic experiences. Through the years, this Devil took on forms and characteristics which I did not necessarily see reflected in the texts I was reading, or in the experiences of my peers. My Devil wasn't asking for sexual favours or leading me to dance in the woods naked; he wasn't trying to trick me or to get me to trick others around me. There was no hedonistic witches' sabbath to which I was whisked away every night. He did not have the attributes of a satyr, nor was he put off by Christian relics or prayers.
He has shown himself to me under many guises, and has proven himself master of many things, but two of his kingdoms have become central to my work with him: the fallow plot, and the thorn-hedge. In these places does he appear wearing a series of masks, undergoing various skin-turnings. Now a hare and then a snake, at once a little brown bird and a howling, starve beast. Sometimes wearing a luxurious black outfit, with leather shoes and gloves, a cape, and a top hat, much like the Devil of the tale I shared earlier, but often naked and hairy, clothed in muddied leaves and brambles.
Allies of this collection include:
In the herbal realm: Spruce, Broom, Black Walnut, Pear, Sumac, Dogwood, Patchouli, Tansy, Wormwood, Comfrey, Henbane, Nettle, Millet, Ashes from a hearth
In the mineral realm: Sulfur, Salt, crossroads dirt, dirt from the woods, dirt from a barren field
In the animal realm: Fox, Finch, Cat, Raccoon, Rooster, Snake, Coyote, Frog
This collection was put together with these aspects in mind. As the Lord of the Fallow Plot, he is concerned with matters of the earth, and as the Hoary Lord of the Thorn-Hedge, he rules all things pertaining to the forest and its denizens. This dichotomy hinges on the animating factor given by our Mother of the Moist Earth, fertility itself. Its presence and its lack can be described as potential; where there is it is abundance and prosperity, where there is not it is failure and strife. Man's struggle with his dominance over nature is a war named "agriculture"; the organization of bodies which allows it to take place is "society". Ruling in the fallow plot, the Devil takes the side of Man, and in the thorn-hedge, that of beast. Man cannot live without both — without fertility he will starve, wither, die; without society, without peers, he amounts to nothing more than an ill-fated beast.
And so, the Devil, mankind's greatest helper, moves between these two enemy camps and, like Man, exists in a place between. As Lord of the Thorn-Hedge, he champions the increase of fertility by way of sorceries taught by ant and shrew and finch and toad; by root and trunk and leaf and fruit; by mud and moss and dew and song. As Lord of the Fallow Plot, he distances himself from the animating force and espouses the loves of Man. Where he once stood for union, he now stands for conflict, with sorceries of hare and hawk and snake and wolf; of bone and dust and soot and oil; of hoe and knife and pin and shear.
As Master of Witches, as the one who stands between the worlds and lives in the shadow of the great tree around which we frolic in spirit, the Devil comes with authority over magic, witches, and all spirits. He rules and governs, granting power and taking it away, tricking and testing, teaching and stupefying. At his command, spirits must turn, and witches must bow. Spells are made and undone, spirits are born and unborn, and the earth blooms and withers at once.
The Charlot; The Witches' Devil collection is built around these aspects, and encompasses the good and the ill of these stances. Oils, powder, and talismans were crafted and enchanted with the presence of Charlot, with due payment given in turn. Each consists of nearly three dozen ingredients selected through experience, trance, dream, and divination. Each serves a specific purpose which serves to create a set of tools that can be adapted to most, if not all, circumstances. The tutelary bundle, in particular, was made as a means to begin one's work with the Witches' Devil, serving as a talisman of his presence, a guide in dreaming, and a font of his and his allied spirits' power, all in one.
Each item of this collection comes with its collection of prayers, invocations, and charms but, in the spirit of how we do things here at Kitchen Toad, the road has not been paved for you. It will reveal itself through work and through interaction. We will provide you with the means, but you must journey alone.
Devil of the Fallow Plot Sorcerous Oil
Vieux ‘Yab Tutelary Bundle
Master of Witches Fixing Powder
