There was an old rumor circulating in the small town of Willowbrook about a mysterious witch who had been spotted in the vicinity. Rumors spread like wildfire in a tight-knit community, and this one was no exception. People whispered about strange occurrences and eerie encounters that they attributed to the witch's presence. One evening, as the sun began to set and darkness descended upon the town, a group of curious youngsters decided to investigate the rumors themselves. Armed with flashlights and reckless courage, they set out in search of the witch. They followed the winding path through the dense forest that led to a small clearing.

The Halloween Special – Witchcraft in Canada

“What the boys did to the cow.” Postcard. Date unknown. Toronto Reference Library. Arts department. ARTS-PC-117. Public Domain.

Note from Andrea: When I found out that Stephanie is doing her dissertation on the history of witchcraft in early French Canada, I immediately started harassing asking her to do a special blog post about her work for Halloween. Because how super cool is that topic? And, kind person that she is, she has obliged. Enjoy!

I spent the first few years of my life in Cheticamp, Nova Scotia. After moving with my parents to Sydney, I channeled my teenage resentment into learning as much as I could about my real home at the library. This is where I first heard the story of the Cheticamp witches, in an old collection of Cape Breton ghost stories. Around the turn of the twentieth century, two warring camps in the village, the Acadians and the Jerseys, would take turns casting spells upon each other. The Jerseymen had their witch, and the Acadians had their “counter-witch.” When the Jerseys were displeased with someone in the community, they would respond with witchcraft, and the battle would begin. For example, if a fisherman didn’t come in with the expected haul, he might come home to find the family cow had stopped milking. He would call the “good” Acadian witch to solve the problem, and “unbewitch” the cow. There was one particularly amusing story of the Acadian witch getting particularly frustrated and enchanting a number of buckets to chase after the suspected Jersey witch.[1]

I had never heard of any of this growing up, and my grandmother didn’t think it was important. Having grown up in a fishing family, I think my focus on the past worried her a bit. She wanted me to be a woman of the future, with an education and the ability to depend only on myself and nobody else. We did, however, live next door to the run-down Anglican church, which by my time was an extremely spooky place, and my dad has told me stories about using his shotgun to scare off Satanists. But since Satanists are not witches, I’ll move on.

Fast forward several years, and I came across a casual mention of the 1684 witchcraft trial of Jean Campagnard in Beaubassin, Acadie. I nearly jumped out of my chair. If you can imagine me yelling “WHAT!” and spilling my coffee everywhere, that was essentially my reaction. I had no idea that Acadia had ever had a witchcraft trial. None. And a passing mention in a book that I can’t even remember the title of now was not going to be it for me – I needed to read that trial. It turns out that Jean Campagnard was Acadie’s only prosecuted witchcraft case. An expert dyke builder from Aunis, he was accused of causing the death of his employer by blowing a mysterious substance into his eyes. My favourite part of the case is during the confrontation, when one of the witnesses has his testimony read out loud

“The witness states that he saw the accused spread mysterious seeds into the marsh while reciting an incantation and the next fall he had a terrible crop,” and Campagnard replied, “He doesn’t need magic to be a terrible farmer.”

So of course, this led me down the academic rabbit hole, and now here we are.

When most people think about witchcraft in early colonial North America, they immediately think of Salem, Massachusetts. In fact, those trials are so ubiquitous that I don’t even need to explain what I am talking about. But witchcraft and witchcraft trials were also relatively common in another part of early colonial North America: French Canada. However, these two locations had very different experiences with witch trials. So in today’s blog post, I am going to talk about the history of witchcraft and witchcraft trials in colonial French Canada and share some of my favourite stories!

Beyond Salem

While we most famously associate witchcraft law with Britain and Spain, many other countries, including France, also had witchcraft laws that were unique to each particular location. French witchcraft laws were very different from the British models. For one thing, because of the prevalence of witchcraft cases in certain areas, anyone found guilty of witchcraft, a capital offence, had the right to appeal to the provincial parlement.[2] So, for example, if someone was found guilty of witchcraft in Rouen in 1645, and sentenced to death, they would have the right to appeal their case to the provincial parlement of Normandy, which acted as the higher court. To avoid the costs of appeals, most individuals found guilty of witchcraft (and blasphemy, an accusation which was often intertwined with French witchcraft accusations) were condemned to banishment rather than death – a condemnation which could still be appealed, and was, but wasn’t payable by the community magistrates. Rather, it had to be paid out of pocket by the accused (or the condemned, as it were). The French courts also outlawed all forms of spectral evidence; “swimming” a witch to see if she would float, finding a witch’s mark, or testifying to how she could fly, change into some form of animal, or had visited you in a dream to torment you – popular forms of evidence in English courts – were not admissible in France. Essentially, anything that was deemed impossible in the natural world, or against God’s law, was deemed impossible by French judiciaries and therefore not credible evidence. Even someone confessing to witchcraft was deemed suspicious. In order to convict someone of witchcraft, tangible evidence needed to be presented. In the case of an individual accused of using witchcraft to poison someone, the actual poison would need to be presented in court – either a mysterious powder, potion, or even a toad would be considered damning. This is in direct contrast to the British, who, in the same era, were still condemning witches based on the swimming test.[3] By the time French colonization has reached the level where there is a formal legal process, there was already more than fifty years of precedent for witchcraft proceedings in the French legal framework, which was transported to the colony. While the New England colony is often seen as a separate place with separate laws, New France was very much an extension of the metropole. (That’s a controversial view to hold these days, but it’s true.)

Sexy Witches

It will perhaps come as no surprise to find out that sex is a frequent theme in the magic of New France. The first witchcraft accusation in the records of New France dates from 1661. A Local man, René Besnard, was accused of using the “nouement à l’aiguillette” (which can be translated as knotting the needle) on a young couple in the town, Pierre Gadois and Marie Pontonnier. The nouement à l’aiguillette was an extremely popular and feared spell in early modern France, used by jealous rivals to cause impotence in newly wedded grooms. It involved tying a piece of string three times while reciting an incantation, and was so feared, in fact, that getting married in secret, in the middle of the woods or in the dead of night, or both, to avoid possible rival witchcraft, was not unknown.[4]

The documents for Besnard’s trial are actually pretty scant, which is probably understandable considering the courts are only barely established at this point. All we have are his interrogation, which at the very least makes a couple of things clear. First, much of the trial centred on why Pontonnier and Gadois had been married for three years, and yet had still not provided a child. Besnard is interrogated regarding the subject of his conversations with Marie Pontonnier. It is not clear who started the rumours of magical intervention being the cause, but it’s definitely being talked about. Finally, after being asked over and over again if Besnard had told Pontonnier that he would remove the effects of the spell if she would have him over to her house while her husband was away, he admits

“yes, I did say that, but not because I did the magic – it was only because I wanted to enjoy her.”[5]

Books are Dangerous

Often witchcraft came alongside other charges, as was the case with Anne Lamarque, a cabaretière (tavern-keeper) in 1680s Montréal who was not only accused of witchcraft, but also debauchery, adultery, and suspected infanticide for good measure. Anne’s records are long, complicated, and gossipy. If you’ve ever lived in a small town, this trial will feel intimately familiar to you. Her neighbours are testifying to how often her husband is spending the night at the house, how often she is taking walks with suspected lovers, how frequently certain men are walking in and out of her tavern. But most importantly, she’s accused of having a magic book, or a grimoire. The doctor in particular is concerned with this book; he not only sees it, but reads some of it. He tells the court that the passage he read has to do with “making people love you,” and it disturbed him so much that he didn’t read any further. It didn’t disturb him so much that he refrained from telling the entire town, though. In fact, every witness who is asked if they know of the existence of such a book and who answers positively says, “Yes, I know of that book, the doctor told me about it, but I’ve never seen it.” The rumour begins to spread that Lamarque is using the spell the doctor saw in her book to draw all the young men to her tavern, and is debauching all the youth of Ville Marie with her magic and her sex.

Even soldiers were not immune to witchcraft charges. Three soldiers were caught with love spells in their pockets in 1699 in Trois Rivières, and subsequently charged with witchcraft. These spells were in the form of scrolls of paper with words written on them, but as part of the judgement was to burn the paper in question, sadly we’ll never know what the paper said. If it was anything like the counter-spells used by grooms who feared the nouement à l’aiguillette, it was likely bits of Latin written backwards. Lamarque’s grimoire, according to the doctor, had bits of Latin, French, and Greek mixed together. Love was obviously a huge concern for the witches of the seventeenth century.

The Best Laid Plans…

But by the eighteenth century, love (or sex) was less on the minds of the magically inclined. The 1742 trial of Charles Havard condemns him for the blasphemous use of a crucifix in a divination spell. A neighbour had lost a sum of money, and he promises to find it using a rather creative spell involving oil, ash, herbs, an upside-down crucifix which he sets on fire, and a mirror. Much to his error, he invited pretty much the entire neighbourhood to witness his feat, and like a true showman, had set the proper atmosphere with a banked fire and spooky candlelight. They all made sure to attest to every single minute detail when testifying against his blasphemous acts in court afterwards, especially since he failed to find the money.[6]

I wasn’t going to include the story of Jean Boudor, but Andrea asked me to (Andrea: can you blame me?). The actual charge against Boudor is blasphemy, but I’m classifying it as witchcraft cause it’s weird. A well-connected merchant with plenty of well-connected friends in 1680s Montréal, Boudor decided to have a dinner party. His chosen form of entertainment was his drunken servant, who got so inebriated he passed out. On the dinner table. So Boudor set up a crucifix, and his servant into position as if he were Christ, and “resurrected” him using a bucket of cold water, thereby re-enacting the resurrection of Christ. There were numerous complaints from those in attendance to the Montréal judiciary.[7]

La Corriveau

Of course, the most famous witch in all of New France was La Corriveau. The real-life woman, Marie Joseph La Corriveau, was accused and condemned of murdering her second husband in 1763. I find the popularity of La Corriveau mystifying. She’s on beer, she has songs, I think there’s a television show or a movie or something. French Canada can’t name any other witch, but something like 90% of them know about La Corriveau.

LA CORRIVEAU WAS NEVER ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT.

The whole mythos of La Corriveau and her supposed witchcraft evolved decades after her death. She was the first woman executed by the English regime in Québec, and I think that’s where her mystique comes from – they used a gibbet to hang her dead body, and the device had never been seen before in French Canada. She was actually accused of murdering her husband. Nothing in her trial speaks even a whisper of witchcraft. (If you want to see her trial documents, you can find them here.) I am almost certain the primary reason the association with witchcraft actually originates from Salem, and the iconography of the gibbet. So I guess you could call it ironic that French Canada’s most well-known witch is not a witch but is thought a witch because of English iconography. There are lots of interesting, actual witchcraft cases in French Canada’s archives, but for some reason, it’s the one that was never accused of witchcraft that gets the most attention. Go figure, I guess.

If you’d like to know anything else, please feel free to ask any questions you’d like! In the meantime, Happy Halloween!

That’s it for today! We hope you enjoyed this blog post. If you did, please consider sharing it on the social media platform of your choice. And as always, don’t forget to check back on Sunday for our regular Canadian History Roundup. Until then, have a Happy Halloween !

Notes

[1] For more information on the Cheticamp witches, you can consult the masters thesis written by Elizabeth Beaton, held at the Beaton Institute, Cape Breton University.

[2] This determination was made in 1624. Alfred Soman “The Parlement of Paris and the Great Witch Hunts (1565-1640)” Sixteenth Century Journal, 9:2 (30-44)

[3] Soman “The Parlement of Paris and the Great Witch Hunts (1565-1640)”

[4] Kevin Robbins, “Magical Emasculation, Popular Anticlericalism, and the Limits of the Reformation in Western France circa 1590” Journal of Social History 31:1 (61-83)

[5] All primary source material originate from the BANQ; the Montréal trials from the Vieux-Montréal branch, the Campagnard trial at the Québec branch (as well as digitized on their online Pistard search engine). Interrogation of René Besnard, 1660.

[6] The trial of Charles Havard, Montréal 1742. BANQ.

[7] The trial of Jean Boudor, Montreal 1689. BANQ.

PAST LIVES

WASHINGTON — Over a power breakfast of bacon, eggs and assorted breads, the Associated Daughters of Early American Witches were gathered to recall an American tragedy.

Many came bolstered with clusters of glittering pins and medals that rivaled a royal court, even though the setting was just a small suite in the Mayflower Hotel. Lynette Sherman of Evanston admitted she had room for only 17 pins on the narrow black band stretching across the front of her turquoise dress.

Welcome to the 12th annual assembly of one of the many hereditary organizations that descend in droves on the nation's capital for a familiar rite of spring, the unofficial Ancestor Month, which now plays out amid Americans' clearly growing interest in their pasts.

They're everywhere in the capital during April. They include descendants of Revolutionary War patriots, War of 1812 veterans, early French Protestants, Charlemagne, Colonial patriots of every stripe, Indian fighters and collaborators, founders of American colonies, Colonial doctors, judges and lawyers, among others. Some are clearly single sex, others coed.

Noticeably 40-plus and fancy free, the descendants offer living proof of survival of the fittest as they navigate daylong rounds of levees, receptions, banquets, dinners and, of course, speeches and serious business.

For identification purposes, each group has adopted distinctive pins and medals; the officers and former officers are authorized to wear sashes of a particular color scheme (the ADEAW's features black, white and gold stripes; the Daughters of the American Revolution, blue and white).

The ADEAW ranks among the newer lineage groups. To join, said President General Gloria Harper of New York, applicants must document their descent from the women who were wrongly accused of -- and sometimes executed for -- witchcraft in the 1600s, mostly in Puritan New England. Harper, whose ensemble carefully matched the ADEAW's official colors, noted that the ancestor must have been officially charged but that acquittal is not a disqualifier.

During a brief memorial service the chaplain general eulogized their long-lost relatives as people "mistreated and misunderstood, even by their own families." It was not unusual to hear mention of an ancestor whose name figured in the play and movie, "The Crucible," about the anti-witch hysteria that swept Massachusetts' Salem Village in 1692.

At the head table figures of black swans, representing the ADEAW insignia, sat amid the place settings. For the uninitiated, the program explained that the swan denoted "graciousness and peace" in heraldry; the black swan, "constancy, nobility and integrity."

Guest speaker Timothy Field Beard, a prominent genealogist from Roxbury, Conn., regaled the group with an upbeat account of the bewitching Varleth sisters. Members of a family of religious dissenters, they stirred charges of witchcraft for their liberated ways as the five moved around New Amsterdam and New England in the 17th Century.

Nevertheless, they married well and left behind distinguished descendants too numerous to mention. Even Beard admitted he had family ties to the Varleths.

"In business and court records," he said of the sisters, "they are suing people, writing letters to governors -- they were not shrinking violets like the English women around them."

One sister, described by Beard as a "Dutch girl with a big mouth," raised more than a few eyebrows by flashing a diamond ring and joining a group of wine-drinking merrymakers who danced around a tree on the Hartford village green. Jailed for witchcraft, she eventually was freed and married her brother's stepson, later the mayor of New York.

Like those of other lineage societies, the ADEAW meeting was a convivial affair, at times reminiscent of a family reunion with announcements of a grandchild's birth or imminent arrival, a husband's promotion and a member's impending marriage.

"The idea behind the ADEAW," said former President General Annabet McKee of Amarillo, Texas, "was to honor our ancestors and to have some fun while we're waiting for the DAR."

The DAR, or Daughters of the American Revolution, is one of the oldest and, by far, the largest hereditary group with around 180,000 members and a legendary weeklong Continental Congress. This year's 108th congress featured as keynote speaker former Sen. Robert Dole, the 1996 GOP presidential candidate and spouse of presidential hopeful Elizabeth Dole.

The newest ADEAW member, Nancy Pexa, who grew up in Los Angeles and now lives in Simsbury, Conn., relied on the work of a great-aunt in Rushville, Ill., to join the DAR. Beginning with the DAR in 1994, her genealogical pursuit has taken her to the Mayflower Society, the Colonial Dames of the 17th Century, the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, the United Daughters of the Confederacy and, she hopes, to the Order of the Crown of Charlemagne, a group for descendants of the French king and Holy Roman emperor.

Pexa, whose husband is a Minnesotan of Czech descent, shared an old family joke: "His family came to America on the last boat but mine came over on the first."

The key to membership in most of the groups is to find a "gateway ancestor," otherwise known as "an APA" or "all-purpose ancestor," who will provide the needed entre. Of course, applicants must be socially acceptable enough to get an invitation.

For example, applicants for membership in the National Society, Daughters of the American Colonists, must prove descent from one of 26 categories of pre-Revolutionary War ancestors, "through legal and lawful marriage, not polygamous."

At the top of the list are those who "served in battle under Colonial authority," governors and deputy governors, founders of colleges and signers of the Declaration of Independence. Rounding out the end of qualifying ancestors are settlers from the German Palatinate, Scottish Covenanters and the Georgia Salzburgers.

The various organizations -- multiple memberships are commonplace -- give family history buffs a congenial place outside libraries and computer Web sites to share their interests.

During the April gatherings, speakers play an important role in livening up what otherwise could be routine programs. This year, for example, the Society of Descendants of Early American Quakers invited genealogist Gary Boyd Roberts, who was informative and entertaining.

An unapologetic child of the countercultural 1960s, Roberts has helped transform genealogy into a lively art -- a far cry from its once dowdy image as a diversion of the elite. In fact, it ranks at the top of the list of American hobbies and pastimes, especially with the computer and the improved access to early records.

"I got into genealogy to get beyond Texas -- it was a form of rebellion, not of family affirmation," said Roberts, who has degrees from Yale, the University of Chicago and the University of California at Berkeley. A senior research scholar at the New England Historic and Genealogical Society in Boston, he is an authority on the ancestry of U.S. presidents, first ladies, venerable celebrities and Americans of distant royal ancestry.

His presentation focused on the family background of Diana, late Princess of Wales, who had a rich American grandfather with connections to the "three great clusters of kinship": New England Puritans, mid-Atlantic Quakers and Tidewater planters of Maryland, Virginia and South Carolina.

He offered his audience a peek at presidents with Quaker ancestry. First came Lincoln, followed by Theodore Roosevelt, Herbert Hoover, Richard Nixon and George Bush.

This solid Republican lineup clearly was too much for Roberts, who remarked: "I am, by the way, an unreconstructed Democrat -- one of those `radiclibs' (former Vice President Spiro) Agnew warned you against; I do not like Republicans." He conceded, though, that he really liked Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt because they were not states' rights advocates.

Conversations with Roberts about the family ties of the famous are mind-boggling. Former President Jimmy Carter has bloodlines to Gore Vidal and Elvis Presley. First Ladies Bess Truman and Nancy Reagan share ancestors with the late Princess of Wales; the same for Richard Nixon and Ernest Hemingway. Marilyn Monroe's presumed father came from a prominent Quaker family in Rhode Island.

Roberts singled out the mostly Welsh Quakers of Colonial Philadelphia as the model for later generations of Americans by marrying other ethnic groups.

"The Quakers absorbed," observed Roberts. "That is what's magic about America. We can marry people we don't like who may be right next to us. Not like Yugoslavia. We don't try to ethnic cleanse them. We don't try to kill them, we intermarry them. It's much better."

The Great Witch of Brittany

Set in the late 1700s, a tale of magic and fate, triumph and heartbreak, and the powerful bonds between mothers and daughters unfolds in this spellbinding novel from a master storyteller. Brittany, 1762

There hasn’t been a witch born in the Orchière clan for generations. According to the elders, that line is dead, leaving the clan vulnerable to the whims of superstitious villagers and the prejudices of fearmongering bishops.

Ursule Orchière has been raised on stories of the great witches of the past. But the only magic she knows is the false spells her mother weaves over the gullible women who visit their fortune-telling caravan. Everything changes when Ursule comes of age and a spark of power flares to life. Thrilled to be chosen, she has no idea how magic will twist and shape her future.

Guided by an ancient grimoire and the whispers of her ancestors, Ursule is destined to walk the same path as the great witches of old. But first, the Orchière magical lineage must survive. And danger hovers over her, whether it’s the bloodlust of the mob or the flames of the pyre.

​Return to the world of A Secret History of Witches with the bewitching tale of Ursule Orchière and her discovery of magical abilities that will not only change the course of her life but every generation that comes after her.

For more from Louisa Morgan, check

A Secret History of Witches
The Witch's Kind
The Age of Witches

Genres Historical FictionFantasyWitchesFictionHistoricalMagicParanormal

448 pages, Kindle Edition

First published February 15, 2022

About the author

Louisa Morgan is the author of A Secret History of Witches, The Witch’s Kind, and The Age of Witches. She's looking forward to the publication of The Great Witch of Brittany in 2022!

Louisa is a yogini, a musician, a mom, and a dog lover. She lives in scenic Northern Idaho with her family and her spirit familiar, Oscar the Border Terrier. Visit her at www.louisamorgan.net.

They followed the winding path through the dense forest that led to a small clearing. As they entered the clearing, a chill ran down their spines as they noticed an old, tattered cape draped over a tree branch. The cape was black as night, with a red lining that seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy.

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If you’ve read Louisa Morgan’s A Secret History of Witches, the name Orchiére will sound familiar. There, we first got to meet Ursule, the latest in a long line of women with magic flowing in their veins. Now in The Great Witch of Brittany, readers will get to know the story of her namesake, her legendary great-grandmother.

Born in Brittany, France in the mid-1700s, the original Ursule was the daughter of a fortune-teller, though at this time, the Orchiéres had not produced a witch in generations, leading everyone to believe that magic in the clan was dead. Traveling with their Romani caravan, Ursule would watch as her mother conned gullible customers using false spells and carefully chosen words, but little did anyone know, the spark of magic lives on in our young protagonist, and The Great Witch of Brittany is the multi-part saga that tells of how she grew into her powers.

Still, after Ursule first discovers she has magic, she is forced to hide them, lest they draw the attention of witch hunters who would see her burned at the stake. But for all their caution, Ursule and her mother end up running for their lives anyway, eventually finding safe haven on a goat farm where they work as laborers. As Ursule grows up, she begins dreaming of passing on her gift, and following a brief romance with a blind musician, she gives birth to a daughter, Léonie, who unfortunately has no interest in learning the Romani ways. Luckily, Léonie ends up having six daughters, the youngest of whom is Nanette, mother of the Ursule in A Secret History of Witches.

Thus, it would be accurate to call this novel a prequel of sorts, but the good news is, it also works perfectly fine as a standalone. That said, I also felt that it was very rewarding being able to experience the connection between the two books and seeing how they linked together. As such, even though A Secret History of Witches isn’t a requirement, I would still highly recommend checking it out, either before or after The Great Witch of Brittany, just to have the full picture.

The two books also have many similarities, thematically and in their structure. Both are multi-generational stories, though in The Great Witch of Brittany, we are seeing everything through the eyes of Ursule, in stark contrast to the changing perspectives between the different women in A Secret History of Witches. As a result, I felt the flow here was much improved and a lot less repetitive. Getting the full story from a single perspective also led to more stability and coherence, which could be why I also found this novel so much easier to get into.

Above everything else, the book shines as character study, exploring Ursule as a woman, a daughter, a mother, and a legend. Despite being known as one of the greatest witches to have ever lived, this is the true story of Ursule which shows that she was not always wise, nor was she always responsible with her powers. As a young woman, she was more often than not driven by selfish desires, though in many cases, you could also hardly fault her for wanting so desperately to protect her loved ones. On her journey to self-discovery, she weathers through many mistakes and suffers terrible losses, but somehow always manages to overcome these challenges, emerging stronger and more confident of herself on the other side.

All in all, The Great Witch of Brittany was a simple story, yet extraordinary in its depth and richness, exactly the kind of book I love. Louisa Morgan continues to impress, and hopefully she’ll keep writing more of these “witchy” novels because I really enjoy them!

The nitty-gritty: Mesmerizing storytelling, history, and magic combine in this stellar multigenerational saga.

Back in 2017, I read my first Louisa Morgan book, A Secret History of Witches, and now with her latest, The Great Witch of Brittany, I feel as if I’ve come full circle. Brittany tells the story of Ursule Orchière, the character who dies at the beginning of A Secret History of Witches, and I adored reading about Ursule's long and eventful life. You could say this is a prequel to the earlier book, so if you haven’t read Louisa Morgan yet, might I suggest that The Great Witch of Brittany is the perfect place to start!

The story is a multigenerational, historical saga that takes place in Brittany, France and follows Ursule from 1763, when she’s thirteen years old, to the time of her death in 1821. Morgan splits up her story into four main parts, each set at a different time in Ursule’s life as she grows into her powers, gives birth to a daughter, and gets to see her family line continue though the years. In the first section, we meet Ursule and her mother Agnes, who live with a Romani traveling caravan. Agnes pretends to tell fortunes whenever they stop in a new town, but it turns out that Ursule is the one with true power, as she’s able to see visions of the future when she touches the family crystal that Agnes keeps carefully hidden. But it's a dangerous place and time to practice witchcraft, and Agnes is afraid that witch hunters will find them and burn them at the stake. When Ursule makes a grave mistake during a fortune telling session, the inevitable happens and the women are forced to flee for their lives.

The second part begins ten years later in 1773. Agnes and Ursule have found a safe place to live on Kerjean Farm and work as laborers for the owners, Madeleine and Remy. It is during these years that Ursule meets a blind musician and becomes pregnant with her only child, a daughter she names Léonie.

When the third section begins, Léonie is nine years old, and they have lived on the farm for so long that they’ve become part of the nearby community. Ursule wants her daughter to embrace the Romani faith and learn witchcraft one day, but Leonie wants nothing to do with her mother’s “gypsy ways” and gravitates towards the Catholic church, eventually meeting and marrying a boy in town. Ursule is hopeful that Léonie’s children will one day carry on the family traditions, and indeed she ends up giving birth to six daughters.

Finally, in the wake of tragedy, Ursule travels back to her old caravan with her six granddaughters in tow, and finds purpose in bringing happiness to the women and children she finds there, who are barely surviving with little food and no men to protect them after the French Revolution has taken its toll. By now an old woman, Ursule finds solace in the fact that her granddaughter Nanette, the youngest of Léonie’s children, has the gift just like she does, and will be able to continue the family traditions.

Interspersed between sections, we meet the “grand-mères,” the women who came before Ursule, who have reached mythological status and whose stories are passed from one generation to the next. I loved this sense of history and the fact that one grand-mère named Violca often speaks to Ursule and guides her in making difficult decisions. As in many stories involving magic, all spells have a price, and Ursule knows this even if she doesn’t always heed the warning.

I was not expecting this book to hit me so hard emotionally, but Morgan’s epic story of Ursule’s life was both beautiful and heartbreaking. At the heart of it is the wonderful relationship between Ursule and Agnes, which grows and changes over the years but always remains steadfast. Ursule never leaves her mother’s side. In fact they live together until Agnes’ death, their bond made even closer by a horrible event that takes place early in the story. Even though Agnes doesn't have the gift, she's nurtured Ursule’s talents and kept the crystal safe for years, ensuring that the Orchière line will always flourish.

Other relationships were finely drawn as well. Ursule forms an unusual friendship with the owners of Kerjean Farm, Madeleine and Remy. Madeleine is a prickly woman who has never been able to bear children, but once Léonie is born, her personality softens. I never really liked her, but I felt sorry for her situation. Remy is a kind-hearted man who keeps to himself but is always looking out for Ursule and Agnes. But the best relationships, in my opinion, were the ones Ursule had with the animals on the farm. I can tell that Louisa Morgan is an animal person, because they play important roles in all her books. In this story we get to meet the dairy cows and goats that Ursule cares for, as well as a horse named Andie who lives a long life and ends up following Ursule from place to place. My favorite, though, was Drom, a raven with a touch of magic himself, who befriends a young Ursule and protects her throughout the years.

I also loved the historical aspects of the story, particularly the way women are portrayed. It’s not an easy time to be female. Girls are expected to marry as young as thirteen, only to spend the best years of their lives bearing children. They can also be trapped into marriage by being raped, and even Ursule has an uncomfortable brush with this particular horror (but don’t worry, she’s rescued before anything can happen). Ursule and Agnes spend their entire lives hiding their craft, fearful of being targeted as witches, which is sad because so much of the magic they do is for good. And while we’re on the subject, the witchcraft element is subtly done and doesn’t overwhelm the story, so even if you aren’t interested in speculative fiction, The Great Witch of Brittany reads more like a decades-spanning, historical family saga. And readers who appreciate stories that focus on strong female bonds and resourceful women characters will love any of Louisa Morgan’s books, I’m quite sure!

Morgan infuses her tale with so many emotional moments, especially in the last section of the book. I found myself in tears more than once, and as you might guess, a story that spans decades involves the inevitable death of beloved characters. It’s hard not to get emotional when you’ve become so invested in the characters, after all.

The author closes her story just before the beginning of A Secret History of Witches, and I have to say I’m tempted to go back and reread it, if only to stay in Louisa Morgan’s world just a little longer. I’ll be anxiously awaiting her next book!

Big thanks to the publisher for providing a review copy.

The kids stared at the cape, their imaginations running wild, convinced that it belonged to the infamous witch. The discovery of the cape heightened their excitement, but also their fear. They could practically feel the presence of the witch lurking nearby. Their minds filled with tales of dark magic and curses, they couldn't help but wonder what powers the witch possessed. Some suggested turning back, fearful of what they might find. But their curiosity got the better of them, and they pressed on. As they ventured deeper into the forest, the air grew thick with anticipation. They couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and the sounds of rustling leaves and cracking branches only fueled their unease. Every shadow seemed to take on a sinister shape, every whisper of the wind carried a haunting melody. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence. The kids froze in their tracks, their eyes wide with terror. They exchanged panicked glances, unsure of what to do. But then, they heard a familiar voice, one they recognized as their friend playing a prank on them. They felt a mixture of relief and annoyance, slapping their friend on the shoulder for scaring them half to death. As they made their way back to town, the kids couldn't help but laugh at their own fears. Their imaginations had run wild, conjuring up a witch that didn't exist. The tattered cape had been nothing more than a discarded prop, forgotten by some passerby. But the experience had taught them an important lesson - that sometimes, the scariest things are the ones we create in our own minds. The rumor of the witch in the vicinity would continue to circulate in Willowbrook, but the kids knew the truth. They had faced their fears and found nothing more than a cape blowing in the wind. And in that moment, they realized that the real power of a witch lies not in their presence, but in the stories we tell ourselves..

Reviews for "Embracing the Witch Cape: Empowering Yourself and Embracing Your Inner Witch"

1. Jennifer - 2 out of 5 stars

I found "Witch Cape in the Vicinity" to be highly disappointing. The plot was weak and predictable, with characters that lacked depth and development. The writing style was also quite boring, lacking any sort of descriptive language or engaging dialogue. Overall, I didn't find any redeeming qualities in this book and would not recommend it to others.

2. David - 1 out of 5 stars

I honestly don't understand the hype around "Witch Cape in the Vicinity." The story felt disjointed and confusing, making it difficult to follow along. The characters were one-dimensional and lacked any sort of relatability. Additionally, the writing style was filled with grammatical errors and inconsistencies. I struggled to finish this book and was left feeling unsatisfied. Save your money and skip this one.

3. Sarah - 2 out of 5 stars

I had high hopes for "Witch Cape in the Vicinity" based on the reviews I read, but unfortunately, it fell flat for me. The pacing was extremely slow, with little action to keep me engaged. The plot twists felt forced and didn't add anything meaningful to the story. The writing itself was average at best, lacking creativity and failing to evoke any emotion. I wouldn't recommend this book unless you're a die-hard fan of the genre.

The Witch Cape Revolution: Empowering Women in the Craft