LA MALROCHE, by Louisa Stuart Costello

(1833)

When the wanderer in the Montre-Dores has reached the basaltic mass, on which stand frowning in ruin the remains of the castle of Murat-le-Quaire, he looks round on a vast forest of pines of gigantic dimensions, and his eye follows the course of the Dordogne as the mysterious river winds along between the granite rocks which bound it, and as it emerges in light amongst the emerald meadows, whose freshness soothes the sight; here and there remnants of antique forests of beech are scattered along the banks, and numerous villages start up close to their embowering shades.

Amongst them is the secluded hamlet of Escures, placed at the foot of a dark and rugged mountain, separated from it by a broad plateau of basaltic formation, wild, barren, and desolate. The mountain is called La Malroche, and has a very bad reputation in the neighborhood; indeed, the village of Escures is seldom visited by any of the peasants, unless some particular business obliges them to seek it. The inhabitants of Quaire, La Bourbole, Prenioux, and Saint Sauves, are all unwilling to pass through Escures, and frequently go out of their way to avoid it.

There are not many people residing there now; and one of the reasons assigned is its vicinity to La Malroche, where it is well known that the witches keep their Sabbath, and send down their evil influence.

No one cares to live at Escures but very poor persons, or those whom long habit has rendered callous to its bad name. Amongst these was an old woman, called La Bonne Femme, not because she was possessed of any particular virtue or amiability, but from the circumstance of her following the calling of an attendant on lying-in women. She certainly had no right whatever to be called good, for she was malignant, cross, ill-looking, and dangerous; but though she inspired fear in general intercourse, all felt confidence in her skill. No one was more active or useful when called upon; and in all case, particularly those of danger, La Bonne Femme was eagerly sought after, and rewarded liberally.

It had, however, more than once happened that accidents had occurred to her patients and their infants who have on a former occasion offended her; indeed, she seemed to be endowed with a memory peculiarly retentive of injuries, and had been known to revenge herself on several generations, for she was of great age; so old that no one was who was her contemporary, or could relate anything of her early life.

These facts being known, it was with some degree of trepidation that Cyprien, the young vacher of Quaire, whose pretty little wife, Ursule, had just been taken ill, bent his steps in the direction of Escures, and on arriving inquired for the cottage of La Bonne Femme.

She was not at home, but he was told by her next door neighbor that he might open her door and go in, as she would soon return. “She is gone up to Malroche to gather herbs,” was the remark, “as she knew she would be required today, and will come back prepared with the remedies.”

Cyprien went into the hut of the useful but dreaded personage, whose assistance he sought, and sat down near the open door to watch for her coming.

He felt a sort of tremor creeping over him as he glanced around the dim apartment, in which he observed heaps of stones of various colors, piled along the wall, pans filled with dark liquids, and vials of singular shapes.

He dared not approach the hearth where, in the midst of the smoldering ashes, simmered a huge, black, earthen pot, at whose contents he did not venture to guess. He sat and looked towards the mountain, which was purple, and almost transparent, and saw plainly by this appearance and that of the sky that a heavy shower was about to fall; for the clouds rested immovably on the peaks of strangely shaped rocks, while a dark canopy hung suspended over La Malroche, which became very moment denser and thicker, until it appeared to close in the summit altogether.

Cyprien began to grow uneasy, for the day was shortening; it was some distance to Quaire, and he feared that the old woman would be displeased at having to accompany him back to Ursule, whose situation caused him also extreme anxiety. At length, he beheld La Bonne Femme slowly descending the steep path above, and with a spring he hurried to meet and offer her his support.

“Who are you that ask my aid?” she inquired, when he had told his business.

“I am the vacher of Quaire,” he answered, “and live in the cottage by the Dry Lake.”

“Oh!” said she, “you married Ursule Bilot, about a year ago—the daughter of Simon Bilot, an old friend of mine?”

“The same,” replied Cyprien; “she requires your speedy help, good mother; for I left her suffering much.”

The old woman, without further remark, bustled about, collecting various articles of her trade, and in a very short time was ready to attend the young husband, who expected soon to become a father. The rain by this time had begun—fine, and piercing, and steady—but the old woman expressed no annoyance at being obliged to go through it, and cheerfully accepted the arm of Cyprien, who led her over the stony way which conducts between the hills to the village to the village where he lived.

The spot called Dry Lake is a wide space which extends beneath the mountain of Murat; all the appearances around prove it to have been formerly a sheet of water, dried up, probably, at the period of a sudden eruption of one of the volcanoes in its vicinity; shells and sand are to be found in the ravines which occur on its surface, and its rounded form shows what was its former nature. There is some pasture here for cattle, which is taken advantage of by the vachers; and here Cyprien had erected his simple cottage, the retreat of himself and his wife—the beauty of the village, with whom all the swains had been in love, and whom his long affection had been fortunate enough to gain; for Ursule was as good as she was beautiful, and repaid his love with a devotedness of which he was deserving.

They gained a tolerable living; for Cyprien, during the long months of winter, when the cattle could no longer be driven to the mountains, used to employ himself in various ways. Amongst other things, he was famous for making the musical instrument to which the peasants of Auverge dance their bourees. This instrument is called la tsabretta, because it is made of goat-skin, and those fabricated by the hand of Cyprien were much sought after.

The young husband and his companion reached the door of the cottage quite late, drenched with wet, and chilled with cold. They, however, found a warm fire; and La Bonne Femme was welcomed with great cordiality by the aunt of Ursule, who attended on her.

That night a son was born to Cyprien, who hailed with delight a fine healthy child, so large as to be quite remarkable; his strength was astonishing, and his whole appearance denoted a robust constitution. After a few days, La Bonne Femme departed, leaving Ursule nursing her child, and quite well and happy. No sooner, however, had she left the cottage, than the infant began to cry so violently that everyone was alarmed: he clamored and struggled so that he could hardly be held, and stretched out his arms towards the door, as if he asked for the old woman. Cyprien, finding there was no peace to be obtained, ran after her as fast as he could, and at length overtaking her, entreated her to return and pacify the child.

“What!” cried she, with a sinister smile, “does it work already?”

She followed the father, and on her entering the cottage, the child ceased crying, and was seized with trembling.

She took it, whispered something in its ear, and giving it back to Ursule, it became perfectly quiet, and fell asleep. She then departed, and took her way home. Nine days after this, about the same hour as before—just at dusk—the infant began to cry in the same manner, and stretch its arms towards the door, trying apparently to get out. The father, mother, and nurse knew not what to do to restrain it, for it was so strong that they had great difficulty in keeping it in bed. All of a sudden, there seemed to come a blast of air into the chamber, the cottage door banged violently, and the child fell into a profound sleep, from which no efforts could wake it for nine days longer, when it roused itself at the same hour, and the same scene took place.

The parents now became very uneasy and harassed with continual watching and care. The child grew in a surprising manner, notwithstanding its lethargic existence, broken only in this strange way; but there was something about it unnaturally large, strong and cunning-looking. At the end of six months, it could walk and run, and at this period its long slumbers ceased, and a singularity of another kind appeared respecting it. It now never slept at all, but its whole delight was in playing the tsabretta, and making so great a noise that no one in the adjoining cottages had any peace.

Night and day the din continued, until everyone was worn out; and at length it became generally considered that the child had been bewitched, and some measures ought to be taken to remove it from such a visitation.

Cyprien, therefore, set forth one morning to the neighboring village of Saint Sauves, in order to consult with the cure of that parish—a man both learned and pious, and who had, on more occasions than one, relieved families laboring under afflictions sent by the fairies and witches. No one doubted that La Bonne Femme had cast a spell over Ursule and her child; and it was well remembered by some of the old people, that when Ursule herself was born the same old woman had attended her mother, who had an aversion to her, and had inadvertently remarked to her husband—“Why did you bring me this old witch?” This La Bonne Femme had overheard, and had revenged herself at the time, for the mother of Ursule never afterwards rose from her bed; her vengeance was not, however, it appeared, complete, for she had wreaked it on her grandchild.

The cure of St. Sauves was much shocked at the communication of Cyprien, and taking with him his crucifix and a vial of holy water, they set out together to the cottage of Le Bonne Femme. The moon had risen brightly over La Malroche, as they approached its vicinity, and just as they turned an angle of a rock, a peculiar sound made them start; they paused a moment to listen, and were soon aware of the howling of wolves. Presently, to their dismay, they saw a troop of those animals scouring along the plain below, and apparently mounting the elevated part where they stood. They crept into a fissure, and held their breath as the grisly party came nearer; and what was their horror to observe, as they approached, that each of the wolves had human faces, and the two foremost wore those of La Bonne Femme and Cyprien’s little son!

The cure, though at first startled, recovered his presence of mind, and rushing forward, cast the holy water over the child thus transformed, when a loud howl burst forth from all the band, a thick cloud suddenly enveloped them, and when it cleared away they saw at their feet what seemed the lifeless form of the infant, in its natural shape.

They raised it up, bound the crucifix to its breast, and carried it with care to the cure’s dwelling. There, by his desire, Cyprien left it, and returned home to his wife. He found all the family in tribulation at the loss of the child; for it appears that soon after the father left the cottage on his mission, La Bonne Femme had looked in at the window, at sight of which the infant, who was, as usual, playing on the tsabretta, cast it down, and rushed out of the door, when both fled away with fearful speed across the Dry Lake, and were seen no more.

The cure devoted himself with prayer and fasting to the preservation of the child, and it at length recovered, but was now a changed being. Precocious as before, it appeared endowed with extraordinary intelligence, and showed such evident signs of an early advocate to the church that it was agreed to place it in the convent of St. Sauves, there to be educated and watched over, in order that the evil one might never resume his dominion over it.

Cyprien made a vow never more to make tsabrettas, as they led to ill, inasmuch as they encouraged profane pastime, and were usually the accompaniment to the dance of the country, called la goignade—looked upon as so improper by the Bishop of Aleth, that he had excommunicated those in his diocese who ventured to perform the dance.

A procession was made to La Malroche by the monks of the convent, and many ceremonies of exorcism took place. La Bonnne Femme was found dead in her cottage soon after, burnt almost to a cinder, lying beside a pile of flame-stained stones, of which it was generally believed that she made her fire, for no wood was ever seen in her domicile. She was buried on the summit of La Malroche, and her restless spirit is said still to be seen at times scouring over the plateau in the form of a wolf, when it howls fearfully at the moon. Whenever this is heard the inhabitants of the villages round cross themselves devoutly, and utter a prayer to their patron saint to preserve their children from her evil influence.