The Book of Were-Wolves | Page 2

Paris violated--Discovery of
Violator--Confession of M. Bertrand
CHAPTER XVI
A SERMON ON WERE-WOLVES
The Discourses of Dr. Johann--The Sermon--Remarks

THE BOOK OF WERE-WOLVES.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
I shall never forget the walk I took one night in Vienne, after having
accomplished the examination of an unknown Druidical relic, the

Pierre labie, at La Rondelle, near Champigni. I had learned of the
existence of this cromlech only on my arrival at Champigni in the
afternoon, and I had started to visit the curiosity without calculating the
time it would take me to reach it and to return. Suffice it to say that I
discovered the venerable pile of grey stones as the sun set, and that I
expended the last lights of evening in planning and sketching. I then
turned my face homeward. My walk of about ten miles had wearied me,
coming at the end of a long day's posting, and I had lamed myself in
scrambling over some stones to the Gaulish relic.
A small hamlet was at no great distance, and I betook myself thither, in
the hopes of hiring a trap to convey me to the posthouse, but I was
disappointed. Few in the place could speak French, and the priest, when
I applied to him, assured me that he believed there was no better
conveyance in the place than a common charrue with its solid wooden
wheels; nor was a riding horse to be procured. The good man offered to
house me for the night; but I was obliged to decline, as my family
intended starting early on the following morning.
Out spake then the mayor--"Monsieur can never go back to-night
across the flats, because of the--the--" and his voice dropped; "the
loups-garoux."
"He says that he must return!" replied the priest in patois. "But who
will go with him?"
"Ah, ha,! M. le Curé. It is all very well for one of us to accompany him,
but think of the coming back alone!"
"Then two must go with him," said the priest, and you can take care of
each other as you return."
"Picou tells me that he saw the were-wolf only this day se'nnight," said
a peasant; "he was down by the hedge of his buckwheat field, and the
sun had set, and he was thinking of coming home, when he heard a
rustle on the far side of the hedge. He looked over, and there stood the
wolf as big as a calf against the horizon, its tongue out, and its eyes
glaring like marsh-fires. Mon Dieu! catch me going over the marais

to-night. Why, what could two men do if they were attacked by that
wolf-fiend?"
"It is tempting Providence," said one of the elders of the village;" no
man must expect the help of God if he throws himself wilfully in the
way of danger. Is it not so, M. le Curé? I heard you say as much from
the pulpit on the first Sunday in Lent, preaching from the Gospel."
"That is true," observed several, shaking their heads.
"His tongue hanging out, and his eyes glaring like marsh-fires!" said
the confidant of Picou.
"Mon Dieu! if I met the monster, I should run," quoth another.
"I quite believe you, Cortrez; I can answer for it that you would," said
the mayor.
"As big as a calf," threw in Picou's friend.
"If the loup-garou were only a natural wolf, why then, you see"--the
mayor cleared his throat--"you see we should think nothing of it; but,
M. le Curé, it is a fiend, a worse than fiend, a man-fiend,--a worse than
man-fiend, a man-wolf-fiend."
"But what is the young monsieur to do?" asked the priest, looking from
one to another.
"Never mind," said I, who had been quietly listening to their patois,
which I understood. "Never mind; I will walk back by myself, and if I
meet the loup-garou I will crop his ears and tail, and send them to M. le
Maire with my compliments."
A sigh of relief from the assembly, as they found themselves clear of
the difficulty.
"Il est Anglais," said the mayor, shaking his head, as though he meant
that an Englishman might face the devil with impunity.

A melancholy flat was the marais, looking desolate enough by day, but
now, in the gloaming, tenfold as desolate. The sky was perfectly clear,
and of a soft, blue-grey tinge; illumined by the new moon, a curve of
light approaching its western bed. To the horizon reached a fen,
blacked with pools of stagnant water, from which the frogs kept up an
incessant trill through the summer night. Heath and fern covered the
ground, but near the water grew dense masses of flag and bulrush,
amongst which the light wind sighed wearily. Here and there stood a
sandy knoll, capped with