_The Were-Wolf Superst.i.tion_

The were-wolf superst.i.tion is, or was, as prevalent in Brittany as in other parts of France and Europe. The term 'were-wolf' literally means 'man-wolf,' and was applied to a man supposed to be temporarily or permanently transformed into a wolf. In its origins the belief may have been a phase of lycanthropy, a disease in which the sufferer imagines himself to have been transformed into an animal, and in ancient and medieval times of very frequent occurrence. It may, on the other hand, be a relic of early cannibalism. Communities of semi-civilized people would begin to shun those who devoured human flesh, and they would in time be ostracized and cla.s.sed with wild beasts, the idea that they had something in common with these would grow, and the belief that they were able to transform themselves into veritable animals would be likely to arise therefrom.

There were two kinds of were-wolf, voluntary and involuntary. The voluntary included those persons who because of their taste for human flesh had withdrawn from intercourse with their fellows, and who appeared to possess a certain amount of magical power, or at least sufficient to permit them to transform themselves into animal shape at will. This they effected by merely disrobing, by taking off a girdle made of human skin, or putting on a similar belt of wolf-skin (obviously a later subst.i.tute for an entire wolf-skin; in some cases we hear of their donning the skin entire). In other instances the body was rubbed with magic ointment, or rain-water was drunk out of a wolf's footprint. The brains of the animal were also eaten. Olaus Magnus says that the were-wolves of Livonia drained a cup of beer on initiation, and repeated certain magical words. In order to throw off the wolf-shape the animal girdle was removed, or else the magician merely muttered certain formulae. In some instances the transformation was supposed to be the work of Satan.

The superst.i.tion regarding were-wolves seems to have been exceedingly prevalent in France during the sixteenth century, and there is evidence of numerous trials of persons accused of were-wolfism, in some of which it was clearly shown that murder and cannibalism had taken place. Self-hallucination was accountable for many of the cases, the supposed were-wolves declaring that they had transformed themselves and had slain many people. But about the beginning of the seventeenth century native common sense came to the rescue, and such confessions were not credited. In Teutonic and Slavonic countries it was complained by men of learning that the were-wolves did more damage than real wild animals, and the existence of a regular 'college' or inst.i.tution for the practice of the art of animal transformation among were-wolves was affirmed.

Involuntary were-wolves, of which cla.s.s Bisclaveret was evidently a member, were often persons transformed into animal shape because of the commission of sin, and condemned to pa.s.s a certain number of years in that form. Thus certain saints metamorphosed sinners into wolves.

In Armenia it was thought that a sinful woman was condemned to pa.s.s seven years in the form of a wolf. To such a woman a demon appeared, bringing a wolf-skin. He commanded her to don it, and from that moment she became a wolf, with all the nature of the wild beast, devouring her own children and those of strangers, and wandering forth at night, undeterred by locks, bolts, or bars, returning only with the morning to resume her human form.

In was, of course, in Europe, where the wolf was one of the largest carnivorous animals, that the were-wolf superst.i.tion chiefly gained currency. In Eastern countries, where similar beliefs prevailed, bears, tigers, and other beasts of prey were subst.i.tuted for the lupine form of colder climes.

_The Lay of Gugemar_

Oridial was one of the chief barons of King Arthur, and dwelt in Brittany, where he held lands in fief of that monarch. So deeply was he attached to his liege lord that when his son Gugemar was yet a child he sent him to Arthur's Court to be trained as a page. In due time Arthur dubbed Gugemar knight and armed him in rich harness, and the youth, hearing of war in Flanders, set out for that realm in the hope of gaining distinction and knightly honour.

After achieving many valorous deeds in Flanders Gugemar felt a strong desire to behold his parents once more, so, setting his face homeward, he journeyed back to Brittany and dwelt with them for some time, resting after his battles and telling his father, mother, and sister Nogent of the many enterprises in which he had been engaged. But he shortly grew weary of this inactive existence, and in order to break the monotony of it he planned a great hunt in the neighbouring forest.

Early one morning he set out, and soon a tall stag was roused from its bed among the ferns by the noise of the hunters' horns. The hounds were unleashed and the entire hunt followed in pursuit, Gugemar the foremost of all. But, closely as he pursued, the quarry eluded the knight, and to his chagrin he was left alone in the forest s.p.a.ces with nothing to show for his long chase. He was about to ride back in search of his companions when on a sudden he noticed a doe hiding in a thicket with her fawn. She was white from ear to hoof, without a spot. Gugemar's hounds, rushing at her, held her at bay, and their master, fitting an arrow to his bow, loosed the shaft at her so that she was wounded above the hoof and brought to earth. But the treacherous arrow, glancing, returned to Gugemar and wounded him grievously in the thigh.

As he lay on the earth faint and with his senses almost deserting him, Gugemar heard the doe speak to him in human accents:

"Wretch who hast slain me," said she, "think not to escape my vengeance. Never shall leech nor herb nor balm cure the wound which fate hath so justly inflicted upon thee. Only canst thou be healed by a woman who loves thee, and who for that love shall have to suffer such woe and sorrow as never woman had to endure before. Thou too shalt suffer equally with her, and the sorrows of ye twain shall be the wonder of lovers for all time. Leave me now to die in peace."

Gugemar was in sore dismay at hearing these words, for never had he sought lady's love nor had he cared for the converse of women. Winding his horn, he succeeded in attracting one of his followers to the spot, and sent him in search of his companions. When he had gone Gugemar tore his linen shirt in pieces and bound up his wound as well as he might. Then, dragging himself most painfully into the saddle, he rode from the scene of his misadventure at as great a pace as his injury would permit of, for he had conceived a plan which he did not desire should be interfered with.

Riding at a hand-gallop, he soon came in sight of tall cliffs which overlooked the sea, and which formed a natural harbour, wherein lay a vessel richly beseen. Its sails were of spun silk, and each plank and mast was fashioned of ebony. Dismounting, Gugemar made his way to the sh.o.r.e, and with much labour climbed upon the ship. Neither mariner nor merchant was therein. A large pavilion of silk covered part of the deck, and within this was a rich bed, the work of the cunning artificers of the days of King Solomon. It was fashioned of cypress wood and ivory, and much gold and many gems went to the making of it.

The clothes with which it was provided were fair and white as snow, and so soft the pillow that he who laid his head upon it, sad as he might be, could not resist sleep. The pavilion was lit by two large waxen candles, set in candlesticks of gold.

As the knight sat gazing at this splendid couch fit for a king he suddenly became aware that the ship was moving seaward. Already, indeed, he was far from land, and at the sight he grew more sorrowful than before, for his hurt made him helpless and he could not hope either to guide the vessel or manage her so that he might return to sh.o.r.e. Resigning himself to circ.u.mstances, he lay down upon the ornate bed and sank into a deep and dreamless slumber.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GUGEMAR COMES UPON THE MAGIC SHIP]

When he awoke he found to his intense surprise that the ship had come to the port of an ancient city. Now the king of this realm was an aged man who was wedded to a young, fair lady, of whom he was, after the manner of old men, intensely jealous. The castle of this monarch frowned upon a fair garden enclosed from the sea by a high wall of green marble, so that if one desired to come to the castle he must do so from the water. The place was straitly watched by vigilant warders, and within the wall so carefully defended lay the Queen's bower, a fairer chamber than any beneath the sun, and decorated with the most marvellous paintings. Here dwelt the young Queen with one of her ladies, her own sister's child, who was devoted to her service and who never quitted her side. The key of this bower was in the hands of an aged priest, who was also the Queen's servitor.

One day on awaking from sleep the Queen walked in the garden and espied a ship drawing near the land. Suddenly, she knew not why, she grew very fearful, and would have fled at the sight, but her maiden encouraged her to remain. The vessel came to sh.o.r.e, and the Queen's maiden entered it. No one could she see on board except a knight sleeping soundly within the pavilion, and he was so pale that she thought he was dead. Returning to her mistress, she told her what she had seen, and together they entered the vessel.

No sooner did the Queen behold Gugemar than she was deeply smitten with love for him. In a transport of fear lest he were dead she placed her hand upon his bosom, and was overjoyed to feel the warmth of life within him and that his heart beat strongly. At her touch he awoke and courteously saluted her. She asked him whence he came and to what nation he belonged.

"Lady," he replied, "I am a knight of Brittany. But yesterday, or so it seems to me, for I may have slumbered more than a day, I wounded a deer in the forest, but the arrow with which I slew her rebounded and struck me sorely. Then the beast, being, I trow, a fairy deer, spake, saying that never would this wound be healed save by one damsel in the whole world, and her I know not where to find. Riding seaward, I came to where this ship lay moored, and, entering it, the vessel drifted oceanward. I know not to what land I have come, nor what name this city bears. I pray you, fair lady, give me your best counsel."

The Queen listened to his tale with the deepest interest, and when Gugemar made his appeal for aid and counsel she replied: "Truly, fair sir, I shall counsel you as best I may. This city to which you have come belongs to my husband, who is its King. Of much worship is he, but stricken in years, and because of the jealousy he bears me he has shut me up between these high walls. If it please you you may tarry here awhile and we will tend your wound until it be healed."

Gugemar, wearied and bewildered at the strange things which had happened to him in the s.p.a.ce of a day, thanked the Queen, and accepted her kind offer of entertainment with alacrity. Between them the Queen and her lady a.s.sisted him to leave the ship and bore him to a chamber, where he was laid in a fair bed and had his wound carefully dressed.

When the ladies had withdrawn and the knight was left to himself he knew that he loved the Queen. All memory of his home and even of his tormenting wound disappeared, and he could brood only upon the fair face of the royal lady who had so charmingly ministered to him.

Meanwhile the Queen was in little better case. All night she could not sleep for pondering upon the handsome youth who had come so mysteriously into her life, and her maiden, seeing this, and marking how she suffered, went to Gugemar's chamber and told him in a frank and almost childlike manner how deeply her mistress had been smitten with love for him.

"You are young," she said, "so is my lady. Her lord is old and their union is unseemly. Heaven intended you for one another and has brought you together in its own good time."

Shortly, after she had heard Ma.s.s, the Queen summoned Gugemar into her presence. At first both were dumb with confusion. At last his pa.s.sion urged Gugemar to speak, and his love-words came thick and fast. The Queen hearkened to them, and, feeling that they rang true, admitted that she loved him in return.

For a year and a half Gugemar dwelt in the Queen's bower. Then the lovers met with misfortune.

For some days before the blow fell the Queen had experienced a feeling of coming evil. So powerfully did this affect her that she begged Gugemar for a garment of his. The knight marvelled at the request, and asked her playfully for what reason she desired such a keepsake as a linen shift.

"Friend," she replied, "if it chance that you leave me or that we are separated I shall fear that some other damsel may win your love. In this shift which you give me I shall make a knot, and shall ask you to vow that never will you give your love to dame or damsel who cannot untie this knot."

The knight complied with her request, and she made such a cunning knot in the garment as only she could unravel. For his part Gugemar gave the Queen a wonderfully fashioned girdle which only he could unclasp, and he begged her that she would never grant her love to any man who could not free her from it. Each promised the other solemnly to respect the vows they had made.

That same day their hidden love was discovered. A chamberlain of the King's observed them through a window of the Queen's bower, and, hastening to his master, told him what he had seen. In terrible wrath the King called for his guards, and, coming upon the lovers unaware, commanded them to slay Gugemar at once. But the knight seized upon a stout rod of fir-wood on which linen was wont to be dried, and faced those who would slay him so boldly that they fell back in dismay.

The King questioned him as to his name and lineage, and Gugemar fearlessly related his story. The King was incredulous at first, but said that could the ship be found in which Gugemar had arrived he would place him upon it and send him once more out to sea. After search had been made the vessel was found, and Gugemar was placed on it, the ship began to move, and soon the knight was well at sea.

Ere long the ship came to that harbour whence she had first sailed, and as Gugemar landed he saw to his surprise one of his own va.s.sals holding a charger and accompanied by a knight. Mounting the steed, Gugemar swiftly rode home, where he was received with every demonstration of joy. But though his parents and friends did everything possible to make him happy, the memory of the fair Queen who had loved him was ever with him night and day, so that he might not be solaced by game or tilting, the chase or the dance. In vain those who wished him well urged him to take a wife. At first he roundly refused to consider such a step, but when eagerly pressed by his friends he announced that no wife should he wed who could not first unloose the knot within his shift. So sought after was Gugemar that all the damsels in Brittany essayed the feat, but none of them succeeded and each retired sorrowfully from the ordeal.

Meanwhile the aged King had set his wife in a tower of grey marble, where she suffered agonies because of the absence of her lover. Ever she wondered what had happened to him, if he had regained his native sh.o.r.e or whether he had been swallowed up by the angry sea. Frequently she made loud moan, but there were none to hear her cries save stony-hearted gaolers, who were as dumb as the grey walls that enclosed her.

One day she chanced in her dolour to lean heavily upon the door of her prison. To her amazement it opened, and she found herself in the corridor without. Hastening on impulse, and as if by instinct, to the harbour, she found there her lover's ship. Quickly she climbed upon its deck, and scarcely had she done so than the vessel began to move seaward. In great fear she sat still, and in time was wafted to a part of Brittany governed by one named Meriadus, who was on the point of going to war with a neighbouring chieftain.

From his window Meriadus had seen the approach of the strange vessel, and, making his way to the seash.o.r.e, entered the ship. Struck with the beauty of the Queen, he brought her to his castle, where he placed her in his sister's chamber. He strove in every way to dispel the sadness which seemed to envelop her like a mantle, but despite his efforts to please her she remained in sorrowful and doleful mood and would not be comforted. Sorely did Meriadus press her to wed him, but she would have none of him, and for answer showed him the girdle round her waist, saying that never would she give her love to any man who could not unloose its buckle. As she said this Meriadus seemed struck by her words.

"Strange," he said, "a right worthy knight dwells in this land who will take no woman to his wife save she who can first untie a certain crafty knot in his shift. Well would I wager that it was you who tied this knot."

When the Queen heard these words she well-nigh fainted. Meriadus rushed to succour her, and gradually she revived. Some days later Meriadus held a high tournament, at which all the knights who were to aid him in the war were to be present, among them Gugemar. A festival was held on the night preceding the tournament, at which Meriadus requested his sister and the stranger dame to be present. As the Queen entered the hall Gugemar rose from his place and stared at her as at a vision of the dead. In great doubt was he whether this lady was in truth his beloved.

"Come, Gugemar," rallied Meriadus, "let this damsel try to unravel the knot in your shift which has puzzled so many fair dames."

Gugemar called to his squire and bade him fetch the shift, and when it was brought the lady, without seeming effort, unravelled the knot. But even yet Gugemar remained uncertain.

"Lady," he said, "tell me, I pray you, whether or not you wear a girdle with which I girt you in a realm across the sea," and placing his hands around her slender waist, he found there the secret belt.

All his doubts dispelled, Gugemar asked his loved one how she had come to the tower of Meriadus. When he had heard, he then and there requested his ally to yield him the lady, but the chieftain roundly refused. Then the knight in great anger cast down his glove and took his departure, and, to the discomfiture of Meriadus, all those knights who had gathered for the tournament and had offered to a.s.sist Meriadus accompanied Gugemar.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GUGEMAR'S a.s.sAULT ON THE CASTLE OF MERIADUS]

In a body they rode to the castle of the prince who was at war with Meriadus, and next day they marched against the discourteous chieftain. Long did they besiege his castle, but at last when the defenders were weak with hunger Gugemar and his men a.s.sailed the place and took it, slaying Meriadus within the ruins of his own hall.

Gugemar, rushing to that place where he knew his lady to be, called her forth, and in peace brought her back with him to his own demesne, where they were wed and dwelt long and happily.

There are several circ.u.mstances connected with this beautiful old tale which deeply impress us with a belief in its antiquity. The incident of the killing of the deer and the incurable nature of Gugemar's wound are undoubtedly legacies from very ancient times, when it was believed to be unlucky under certain circ.u.mstances to kill a beast of the chase. Some savage races, such as the North American Indians, consider it to be most unlucky to slay a deer without first propitiating the great Deer G.o.d, the chief of the Deer Folk, and in fact they attribute most of the ills to which flesh is heir to the likelihood that they have omitted some of the very involved ritual of the chase. It will be remembered that Tristrem of Lyonesse also had an incurable wound, and there are other like instances in romance and myth.

The vessel which carries Gugemar over the sea is undoubtedly of the same cla.s.s as those magic self-propelled craft which we meet with very frequently in Celtic lore, and the introduction of this feature in itself is sufficient to convince us of the Celtic or Breton origin of Marie's tale. We have such a craft in the Grail legend in the _Morte d'Arthur_, in which Galahad finds precisely such a bed. The vessel in the Grail legend is described as "King Solomon's Ship," and it is obvious that Marie or her Breton original must have borrowed the idea from a Grail source.

Lastly, the means adopted by the lovers to ensure one another's constancy seem very like the methods of taboo. The knot that may not or cannot be untied has many counterparts in ancient lore, and the girdle that no man but the accepted lover may loose is reminiscent of the days when a man placed such a girdle around his wife or sweetheart to signify his sole possession of her. If a man could succeed in purloining a mermaid's girdle she was completely in his power. So is it with fairies in an Algonquin Indian tale. Even so late as Crusading times many knights departing to fight in the Holy Land bound a girdle round their ladies' waists in the hope that the gift would ensure their faithfulness.

_The Lay of Laustic_