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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 IV
THE ORIGIN OF THE SCANDINAVIAN
WERE-WOLF
One of the great advantages of the study of old Norse or Icelandic
literature is the insight given by it into the origin of world-wide
superstitions. Norse tradition is transparent as glacier ice,
and its origin is as unmistakable.
Mediæval mythology, rich and gorgeous, is a compound
like Corinthian brass, into which many pure ores have been fused,
or it is a full turbid river drawn from numerous feeders, which
had their sources in remote climes. It is a blending of primæval
Keltic, Teutonic, Scandinavian, Italic, and Arab traditions,
each adding a beauty, each yielding a charm, bat each accretion
rendering the analysis more difficult.
Pacciuchelli says: "The Anio flows into the Tiber; pure
as crystal it meets the tawny stream, and is lost in it, so that
there is no more Anio, but the united stream is all Tiber."
So is it with each tributary to the tide of mediæval mythology.
The moment it has blended its waters with the great and onward
rolling flood, it is impossible to detect it with certainty;
it has swollen the stream, but has lost its own identity. If
we would analyse a particular myth, we must not go at once to
the body of mediæval superstition, but strike at one of
the tributaries before its absorption. This we shall proceed
to do, and in selecting Norse mythology, we come upon abundant
material, pointing naturally to the spot whence it has been derived,
as glacial moraines indicate the direction which they have taken,
and point to the mountains whence they have fallen. It will not
be difficult for us to arrive at the origin of the Northern belief
in were-wolves, and the data thus obtained will be useful in
assisting us to elucidate much that would otherwise prove obscure
in mediæval tradition.
Among the old Norse, it was the custom for certain warriors
to dress in the skins of the beasts they had slain, and thus
to give themselves an air of ferocity, calculated to strike terror
into the hearts of their foes.
Such dresses are mentioned in some Sagas, without there being
any supernatural qualities attached to them. For instance, in
the Njála there is mention of a man i geithedni,
in goatskin dress. Much in the same way do we hear of Harold
Harfagr having in his company a band of berserkir, who were all
dressed in wolf-skins, ulfhednir, and this expression,
wolf-skin coated, is met with as a man's name. Thus in the Holmverja
Saga, there is mention of a Björn, "son of Ulfhedin,
wolfskin coat, son of Ulfhamr, wolf-shaped, son of Ulf,
wolf, son of Ulfhamr, wolf-shaped, who could change
forms."
But the most conclusive passage is in the Vatnsdæla
Saga, and is as follows: "Those berserkir who were called
ulfhednir, had got wolf-skins over their mail coats"
(c. xvi.) In like manner the word berserkr, used of
a man possessed of superhuman powers, and subject to accesses
of diabolical fury, was originally applied to one of those doughty
champions who went about in bear-sarks, or habits made of bear-skin
over their armour. I am well aware that Björn Halldorson's
derivation of berserkr, bare of sark, or destitute of clothing,
has been hitherto generally received, but Sveibjörn Egilsson,
an indisputable authority, rejects this derivation as untenable,
and substitutes for it that which I have adopted.
It may be well imagined that a wolf or a bear-skin would make
a warm and comfortable great-coat to a man, whose manner of living
required him to defy all weathers, and that the dress would not
only give him an appearance of grimness and ferocity, likely
to produce an unpleasant emotion in the breast of a foe, but
also that the thick fur might prove effectual in deadening the
blows rained on him in conflict.
The berserkr was an object of aversion and terror to the peaceful
inhabitants of the land, his avocation being to challenge quiet
country farmers to single combat. As the law of the land stood
in Norway, a man who declined to accept a challenge, forfeited
all his possessions, even to the wife of his bosom, as a poltroon
unworthy of the protection of the law, and every item of his
property passed into the hands of his challenger. The berserkr
accordingly had the unhappy man at his mercy. If he slew him,
the farmer's possessions became his, and if the poor fellow declined
to fight, he lost all legal right to his inheritance. A berserkr
would invite himself to any feast, and contribute his quota to
the hilarity of the entertainment by snapping the backbone, or
cleaving the skull, of some merrymaker who incurred his displeasure,
or whom he might single out to murder, for no other reason than
a desire to keep his hand in practice.
It may well be imagined that popular superstition went along
with the popular dread of these wolf-and-bear-skinned rovers,
and that they were believed to be endued with the force, as they
certainly were with the ferocity, of the beasts whose skins they
wore.
Nor would superstition stop there, but the imagination of
the trembling peasants would speedily invest these unscrupulous
disturbers of the public peace with the attributes hitherto appropriated
to trolls and jötuns.
The incident mentioned in the Völsung Saga, of the sleeping
men being found with their wolf-skins hanging to the wall above
their heads, is divested of its improbability, if we regard these
skins as worn over their armour, and the marvellous in the whole
story is reduced to a minimum, when we suppose that Sigmund and
Sinfjötli stole these for the purpose of disguising themselves,
whilst they lived a life of violence and robbery.
In a similar manner the story of the northern "Beauty
and Beast," in Hrolf's Saga Kraka, is rendered less improbable,
on the supposition that Björn was living as an outlaw among
the mountain fastnesses in a bearskin dress, which would effectually
disguise him -- all but his eyes -- which would gleam
out of the sockets in his hideous visor, unmistakably human.
His very name, Björn, signifies a bear; and these two circumstances
may well have invested a kernel of historic fact with all the
romance of fable; and if divested of these supernatural embellishments,
the story would resolve itself into the very simple fact of there
having been a King Hring of the Updales, who was at variance
with his son, and whose son took to the woods, and lived a berserkr
life, in company with his mistress, till he was captured and
slain by his father.
I think that the circumstance insisted on by the Saga-writers,
of the eyes of the person remaining unchanged, is very significant,
and points to the fact that the skin was merely drawn over the
body as a disguise.
But there was other ground for superstition to fasten on the
berserkir, and invest them with supernatural attributes.
No fact in connection with the history of the Northmen is
more firmly established, on reliable evidence, than that of the
berserkr rage being a species of diabolical possession. The berserkir
were said to work themselves up into a state of frenzy, in which
a demoniacal power came over them, impelling them to acts from
which in their sober senses they would have recoiled. They acquired
superhuman force, and were as invulnerable and as insensible
to pain as the Jansenist convulsionists of S. Medard. No sword
would wound them, no fire would barn them, a club alone could
destroy them, by breaking their bones, or crushing in their skulls.
Their eyes glared as though a flame burned in the sockets, they
ground their teeth, and frothed at the mouth; they gnawed at
their shield rims, and are said to have sometimes bitten them
through, and as they rushed into conflict they yelped as dogs
or howled as wolves.
According to the unanimous testimony of the old Norse historians,
the berserkr rage was extinguished by baptism, and as Christianity
advanced, the number of these berserkir decreased.
But it must not be supposed that this madness or possession
came only on those persons who predisposed themselves to be attacked
by it; others were afflicted with it, who vainly struggled against
its influence, and who deeply lamented their own liability to
be seized with these terrible accesses of frenzy. Such was Thorir
Ingimund's son, of whom it is said, in the Vatnsdæla
Saga, that "at times there came over Thorir berserkr
fits, and it was considered a sad misfortune to such a man, as
they were quite beyond control."
The manner in which he was cured is remarkable; pointing as
it does to the craving in the heathen mind for a better and more
merciful creed:
"Thorgrim of Kornsá had a child by his concubine
Vereydr, and, by order of his wife, the child was carried out
to perish.
"The brothers (Thorsteinn and Thorir) often met, and
it was now the turn of Thorsteinn to visit Thorir, and Thorir
accompanied him homeward. On their way Thorsteinn asked Thorir
which he thought was the first among the brethren; Thorir answered
that the reply was easy, for 'you are above us all in discretion
and talent; Jökull is the best in all perilous adventures,
but I,' he added, 'I am the least worth of us brothers, because
the berserkr fits come over me, quite against my will, and I
wish that you, my brother, with your shrewdness, would devise
some help for me.'
"Thorsteinn said, 'I have heard that our kinsman, Thorgrim,
has just suffered his little babe to be carried out, at the instigation
of his wife. That is ill done. I think also that it is a grievous
matter for you to be different in nature from other men.'
"Thorir asked how he could obtain release from his affliction
.... Then said Thorsteinn, 'Now will I make a vow to Him who
created the sun, for I ween that he is most able to take the
ban of you, and I will undertake for His sake, in return, to
rescue the babe and to bring it up for him, till He who created
man shall take it to Himself-for this I reckon He will do!' After
this they left their horses and sought the child, and a thrall
of Thorir had found it near the Marram river. They saw that a
kerchief had been spread over its face, but it had rumpled it
up over its nose; the little thing was all but dead, but they
took it up and flitted it home to Thorir's house, and he brought
the lad up, and called him Thorkell Rumple; as for the berserkr
fits, they came on him no more." (c. 37)
But the most remarkable passages bearing on our subject will
be found in the Aigla.
"There was a man, Ulf (the wolf) by name, son of Bjálfi
and Hallbera. Ulf was a man so tall and strong that the like
of him was not to be seen in the land at that time. And when
he was young he was out viking expeditions and harrying ... He
was a great landed proprietor. It was his wont to rise early,
and to go about the men's work, or to the smithies, and inspect
all his goods and his acres; and sometimes he talked with those
men who wanted his advice; for he was a good adviser, he was
so clear-headed; however, every day, when it drew towards dusk,
he became so savage that few dared exchange a word with him,
for he was given to dozing in the afternoon.
"People said that he was much given to changing form
(hamrammr), so he was called the evening-wolf, kveldulfr."
(c. 1.)
In this and the following passages, I do not consider hamrammr
to have its primary signification of actual transformation, but
simply to mean subject to fits of diabolical possession, under
the influence of which the bodily powers were greatly exaggerated.
I shall translate pretty freely from this most interesting Saga,
as I consider that the description given in it of Kveldulf in
his fits greatly elucidates our subject.
"Kveldulf and Skallagrim got news during summer of an
expedition. Skallagrim. was the keenest-sighted of men, and he
caught sight of the vessel of Hallvard and his brother, and recognized
it at once. He followed their course and marked the haven into
which they entered at even. Then he returned to his company,
and told Kveldulf of what he had seen .... Then they busked them
and got ready both their boats; in each they put twenty men,
Kveldulf steering one and Skallagrim the other, and they rowed
in quest of the ship. Now when they came to the place where it
was, they lay to. Hallvard and his men had spread an awning over
the deck, and were asleep. Now when Kveldulf and his party came
upon them, the watchers who were seated at the end of the bridge
sprang up and called to the people on board to wake up, for there
was danger in the wind. So Hallvard and his men sprang to arms.
Then came Kveldulf over the bridge and Skallagrim with him into
the ship. Kveldulf had in his hand a cleaver, and he bade his
men go through the vessel and hack away the awning. But he pressed
on to the quarter-deck. It is said the were-wolf fit came over
him and many of his companions. They slow all the men who were
before them. Skallagrim did the same as he went round the vessel.
He and his father paused not 'til they had cleared it. Now when
Kveldulf came upon the quarter-deck he raised his cleaver, and
smote Hallvard through helm and head, so that the haft was buried
in the flesh; but he dragged it to him so violently that he whisked
Hallvard into the air., and flung him overboard. Skallagrim cleared
the forecastle and slew Sigtrygg. Many men flung themselves overboard,
but Skallagrim's men took to the boat and rowed about, killing
all they found. Thus perished Hallvard with fifty men. Skallagrim
and his party took the ship and all the goods which had belonged
to Hallvard ... and flitted it and the wares to their own vessel,
and then exchanged ships, lading their capture, but quitting
their own. After which they filled their old ship with stones,
brake it up and sank it. A good breeze sprang up, and they stood
out to sea.
"It is said of these men in the engagement who were were-wolves,
or those on whom came the berserkr rage, that as long as the
fit was on them no one could oppose them, they were so strong;
but when it had passed off they were feebler than usual. It was
the same with Kveldulf when the were-wolf fit went off him --
he then felt the exhaustion consequent on the fight, and he was
so completely 'done up,' that he was obliged to take to his bed."
In like manner Skallagrim had his fits of frenzy, taking after
his amiable father.
"Thord and his companion were opposed to Skallagrim in
the game, and they were too much for him, he wearied, and the
game went better with them. But at dusk, after sunset, it went
worse with Egill and Thord, for Skallagrim became so strong that
he caught up Thord and cast him down, so that he broke his bones,
and that was the death of him. Then he caught at Egill. Thorgerd
Brák was the name of a servant of Skallagrim, who had
been foster-mother to Egill. She was a woman of great stature,
strong as a man and a bit of a witch. Brák exclaimed,
'Skallagrim! are you now falling upon your son?'.
Then Skallagrim let go his hold of Egill and clutched at her.
She started aside and fled. Skallagrim. followed. They ran out
upon Digraness, and she sprang off the headland into the water.
Skallagrim cast after her a huge stone which struck her between
the shoulders, and she never rose after it. The place is now
called Brak's Sound." (c. 40.)
Let it be observed that in these passages from the Aigla,
the words ad hamaz, hamrammr, etc. are used without any intention
of conveying the idea of a change of bodily shape, though the
words taken literally assert it. For they are derived from hamr,
a skin or habit; a word which has its representatives in other
Aryan languages, and is therefore a primitive word expressive
of the skin of a beast.
The Sanskrit  the
Hindustanee  (hide
or skin) and  (leather);
the Persian  (clothing,
disguise); the Gothic ham or hams, skin; and
even the Italian camicia, and the French chemise,
are cognate words.
It seems probable accordingly that the verb ad hamaz
was first applied to those who wore the skins of savage animals,
and went about the country as freebooters; but that popular superstition
soon invested them with supernatural powers, and they were supposed
to assume the forms of the beasts in whose skins they were disguised.
The verb then acquired the significance "to become a were-wolf,
to change shape." It did not stop there, but went through
another change of meaning, and was finally applied to those who
were afflicted with paroxysms of madness or demoniacal possession.
This was not the only word connected with were-wolves which
helped on the superstition. The word vargr, a wolf,
had a double significance, which would be the means of originating
many a were-wolf story. Vargr is the same as u-argr,
restless; argr being the same as the Anglo-Saxon earg.
Vargr had its double signification in Norse. It signified
a wolf, and also a godless man. This vargr is the English
were, in the word were-wolf, and the garou
or varou in French. The Danish word for were-wolf is
var-ulf, the Gothic vaira-ulf. In the Romans
de Garin, it is "Leu warou, sanglante beste."
In the Vie de S. Hildefons by Gauthier de Coinsi:
Cil lon desve, cil lou garol,
Ce sunt deable, que saul
Ne puent estre de nos mordre.
Here the loup-garou is a devil. The Anglo-Saxons regarded
him as an evil man: wearg, a scoundrel; Gothic vargs,
a fiend. But very often the word meant no more than an outlaw.
Pluquet in his Contes Populaires tells us that the ancient
Norman laws said of the criminals condemned to outlawry for certain
offences, Wargus esto: "be an outlaw!"
In like manner the Lex Ripuaria, tit. 87, "Wargus
sit, hoe est expulsus." In the laws of Canute, he is
called verevulf. (Leges Canuti, Schmid, i. 148.) And
the Salic Law (tit. 57) orders: "Si quis corpus jam sepultum
effoderit, aut expoliaverit, wargus sit."
"If any one shall have dug up or despoiled an already
buried corpse, let him be a varg."
Sidonius Apollinaris says, "Unam feminam quam forte
vargorum, hoc enim nomine indigenas latrunculos
nuncupant," [SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS: Opera,
lib. vi. ep. 4.] as though the common name, by which those
who lived a freebooter life were designated, was varg.
In like manner Palgrave assures us in his Rise and Progress
of the English Commonwealth, that among the Anglo, Saxons
an utlagh, or out-law, was said to have the head of
a wolf. If then the term vargr was applied at one time
to a wolf, at another to an outlaw who lived the life of a wild
beast, away from the haunts of men -- "he shall be driven
away as a wolf, and chased so far as men chase wolves farthest,"
was the legal form of sentence -- it is certainly no matter of
wonder that stories of out-laws should have become surrounded
with mythical accounts of their transformation into wolves.
But the very idiom of the Norse was calculated to foster this
superstition. The Icelanders had curious expressions which are
sufficiently likely to have produced misconceptions.
Snorri not only relates that Odin changed himself into another
form, but he adds that by his spells he turned his enemies into
boars. In precisely the same manner does a hag, Ljot, in the
Vatnsdæla Saga, say that she could have turned Thorsteinn
and Jökull into boars to run about with the wild beasts
(c. xxvi.); and the expression verda at gjalti, or at
gjöltum, to become a boar, is frequently met with
in the Sagas.
"Thereupon came Thorarinn and his men upon them, and
Nagli led the way; but when he saw weapons drawn he was frightened,
and ran away up the mountain, and became a boar ... And Thorarinn
and his men took to run, so as to help Nagli, lest he should
tumble off the cliffs into the sea." (Eyrbyggja Saga, c.
xviii.)
A similar expression occurs in the Gisla Saga Surssonar, p.
50. In the Hrolfs Saga Kraka, we meet with a troll in boar's
shape, to whom divine honours are paid; and in the Kjalnessinga
Saga, c. xv., men are likened to boars -- "Then it began
to fare with them as it fares with boars when they fight each
other, for in the same manner dropped their foam." The true
signification of verda at gjalti is to be in such a
state of fear as to lose the senses; but it is sufficiently peculiar
to have given rise to superstitious stories.
I have dwelt at some length on the Northern myths relative
to were-wolves and animal transformations, because I have considered
the investigation of these all-important towards the elucidation
of the truth which lies at the bottom of mediæval superstition,
and which is nowhere so obtainable as through the Norse literature.
As may be seen from the passages quoted above at length, and
from an examination of those merely referred to, the result arrived
at is pretty conclusive, and may be summed up in very few words.
The whole superstructure of fable and romance relative to
transformation into wild beasts, reposes simply on this basis
of truth -- that among the Scandinavian nations there existed
a form of madness or possession, under the influence of which
men acted as though they were changed into wild and savage brutes,
howling, foaming at the mouth, ravening for blood and slaughter,
ready to commit any act of atrocity and as irresponsible for
their actions as the wolves and bears, in whose skins they often
equipped themselves.
The manner in which this fact became invested with supernatural
adjuncts I have also pointed out, to wit, the change in the significance
of the word designating the madness, the double meaning of the
word vargr, and above all, the habits and appearance
of the maniacs. We shall see instances of berserkr rage reappearing
in the middle ages, and late down into our own times, not exclusively
in the North, but throughout France, Germany, and England, and
instead of rejecting the accounts given by chroniclers as fabulous,
because there is much connected with them which seems to be fabulous,
we shall be able to refer them to their true origin.
It may be accepted as an axiom, that no superstition of general
acceptance is destitute of a foundation of truth; and if we discover
the myth of the were-wolf to be widely spread, not only throughout
Europe, but through the whole world, we may rest assured that
there is a solid core of fact, round which popular superstition
has crystallized; and that fact is the existence of a species
of madness, during the accesses of which the person afflicted
believes himself to be a wild beast, and acts like a wild beast.
In some cases this madness amounts apparently to positive
possession, and the diabolical acts into which the possessed
is impelled are so horrible, that the blood curdles in reading
them, and it is impossible to recall them without a shudder.
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