True practical magicians are almost always found in the countryside.
-Éliphas Lévi
Halloween only comes once a year, but in Le Monastier-sur-Gazeille — a historic abbey town in the southern department of Haute-Loire — a goblin crew of witches, werewolves, and fairy folk exert an influence that extends far beyond the month of October. These nightside beings and their strange histories can all be seen up close in what can only be described as Auvergne’s premier folkloric museum: the Musée des Croyances Populaires (the Museum of Popular Beliefs).
Situated, fittingly, in the town’s ancient abbatial castle, the museum is, as far as I’m aware, the only space in France dedicated to the occult practices, tales, and traditions of Auvergne. This old world of shadows and wort-cunning is faithfully illustrated with a series of dioramas, paintings, and curios — each of which has been either crafted or collected by the museum’s curator and director Patrice Rey.
Rey — an artist, oral storyteller, Occitan-speaker, and Monastier-sur-Gazeille native — certainly cuts an interesting figure. During our conversation, he describes how his upbringing in the mountains helped to cultivate his long-held passion for preserving cultural heritage. One of his earliest experiences, he tells me with a puckish half-smile, was watching his grandmother mutter incantations over cheese.
He tokes on his vape as we speak, pausing ruminatively to explain the importance of maintaining an open-minded approach to collecting and assessing folk traditions. “People in these communities won’t share this kind of information with outsiders,” he says. “They need to trust you first and you can’t be judgemental.”
As we delve into more occult topics, I see that nothing is off the table. To my great pleasure, Rey touches on — among other things — the tradition of Auvergne’s bergers sorciers (book-loving shepherds who were rumoured to be sorcerers), the UFOs frequently reported over Mézenc (a mountain nearby), the feux-follets (will o’ wisps) still encountered on lonely roads, and the country magic still practised in contemporary times.
By the end of our conversation, we’re alone in the museum, and I can hear the church bell tolling hauntingly in the distance. Dusky sunlight is filtering in through the grilled window and I realise that I, like the fabled human wayfarer who stumbles into the realm of the elves, don’t want to leave. This is the magic of the Musée des Croyances Populaires and its wizardly director. They offer a glimpse, not into the other world, but into the inner worlds that reign — often without detection — above, below, and around us.
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