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The Book of Were-Wolves
by Sabine Baring-Gould, 1865
This full length classic werewolf reference
book is presented courtesy of MythologyWeb.
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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
hither, in the hopes of hiring a trap to convey me to the posthouse,
but I was disappointed. Few in the place would 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 a 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 willfully 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 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 a soft, blue-grey tinge; illuminated
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 fearn 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 firs, looking like black splashes against the grey
sky; not a sign of habitation anywhere; the only trace of men
being the white, straight road extending for miles across the
fen.
That this district harboured wolves is not improbable, and
I confess that I armed myself with a strong stick at the first
clump of trees through which the road dived.
This was my first introduction to were-wolves, and the circumstance
of finding the superstition still so prevalent, first gave me
the idea of investigating the history and the habits of these
mythical creatures.
I must acknowledge that I have been quite unsuccessful in
obtaining a specimen of the animal, but I have found its traces
in all directions. And just as the palaeontologist has constructed
the labyrinthdon out of its foot-prints in marl, and one splinter
of bone, so may this monograph be complete and accurate, although
I have no chained were-wolf before me which I may sketch and
describe from the life.
The traces left are indeed numerous enough, and though perhaps
like the dodo or the dinormis, the werewolf may have become extinct
in our age, yet he has left his stamp on classic antiquity, he
has trodden deep in Northern snows, has ridden rough-shod over
the mediævals, and has howled amongst Oriental sepulchres.
He belonged to a bad breed, and we are quite content to be freed
from him and his kindred, the vampire and the ghoul. Yet who
knows! We may be a little too hasty in concluding that he is
extinct. He may still prowl in Abyssian forests, range still
over Asiatic steppes, and be found howling dismally in some padded
room of a Hanwell or a Bedlam.
In the following pages I design to investigate the notices
of were-wolves to be found in the ancient writers of classic
antiquity, those contained in the Northern Sagas, and, lastly,
the numerous details afforded by the mediæval authors.
In connection with this I shall give a sketch of modern folklore
relating to Lycanthropy.
It will then be seen that under the veil of mythology lies
a solid reality, that a floating superstition holds in solution
a positive truth.
This I shall show to be an innate craving for blood implanted
in certain natures, restrained under ordinary circumstances,
but breaking forth occasionally, accompanied with hallucination,
leading in most cases to cannibalism. I shall then give instances
of persons thus afflicted, who were believed by others, and who
believed themselves, to be transformed into beasts, and who,
in the paroxysms of their madness, committed numerous murders,
and devoured their victims.
I shall next give instances of persons suffering from the
same passion for blood, who murdered for the mere gratification
of their natural cruelty, but who were not subject to hallucinations,
nor were addicted to cannibalism.
I shall also give instances of persons filled with the same
propensities who murdered and ate their victims, but who were
perfectly free from hallucination.
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