‘Call of the Werewolf’

Sigh.

Sorry to those of you still reading this page – it’s been ages I know. Over the Christmas period I’ve had some time to come back and revisit a documentary on the werewolf that I was involved with. This was the series ‘Mythical Beasts’, produced by Windfall Films for the Discovery Science channel in 2018 (still available in the UK via Sky or presumably NowTV). Normally if I appear in something it’s directly working with the presenter, but in this case there was no presenter, just a series of talking heads and a voiceover. I appeared briefly in the ‘Call of the Werewolf’ episode (episode 9) effectively at the behest of one of these experts, social anthropologist Garry Marvin. Garry was brought in to cover the inevitable Beast of Gevaudan segment. At the time I thought the episode was exclusively about La Bête, and wrote this article on that story and how silver bullets DO figure in the story but did not seem to stop the beast. I believe I did pass that information on to Garry or the producers but if so they did not include it. This is, in fact, the only piece of evidence tying the Beast to the traditional werewolf. It is likely (as author Jay Smith believes) that at least some peasants believed that the Beast was a werewolf i.e. a man in wolf form, but there is absolutely no period evidence of that beyond the attempt to kill it with silver. Even then, that attempt was shown to have failed, and no historical werewolf was able to wreak such havoc without being caught or killed. There is also no direct link between werewolves and silver at this time. It was a perceived remedy for basically any supernatural entity or charmed human. So even its usage doesn’t necessarily mean that the user thought they were fighting a werewolf. The vast majority of the evidence is in favour of a special supernatural animal of some kind (mostly thought to be a monstrous wolf or hyena, today all but certain to have been several wolves). So in the scheme of things the Beast is only adjacent to the story of the werewolf and, by rights, I shouldn’t even have appeared!

This blog does a decent job of recapping the episode, although they have misunderstood the point about silver bullets – it’s not that they were unlikely to kill, it’s that they’re less likely to kill than a lead bullet, being lighter and thus less penetrative and less likely to smash bone. They also include the point that people often report something or someone apparently being unaffected by gunshots when in fact they’ve just missed. They over-egg how inaccurate period firearms were, unfortunately, and they use a clip of me to do it. To be clear, smoothbore muzzle-loading firearms are nowhere near as ineffective as people think, but in a high-stress situation like this, it would be far harder to hit and kill a large animal with one of those than with a modern rifled repeating arm, which was my intended point. The dangers of simplifying nuanced points for a general audience, unfortunately. The segment also goes astray slightly in implying that ordinary musket shot would not kill a man-eating wolf. The real point was that it might not immediately kill one, such that the hunters might, along with ongoing deaths, assume that they had hit but not killed it. 

As an amateur werewolf historian of sorts myself, the rest of the episode was… lacking, sadly. We have Brian Regal, an actual historian, commenting on the mythology of silver bullets, which was fine. I see he has a (by his own admission) “not to be taken too seriously” theory that Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection led to a downturn in werewolf belief because he showed hybrid animal humans can’t exist. This definitely shouldn’t be taken seriously, I’m afraid. Belief in the werewolf was already significantly subdued by 1859, and humans are quite capable of sustaining belief in magical things regardless of their buy-in on scientific theories. More importantly Regal has, like so many, misunderstood what the true historical/folkloric werewolf really was. It wasn’t a hybrid of man and wolf like the Hollywood beast – it was a man (or demon) in the shape of a wolf. No belief in hybrid man-animals required. Thankfully this idea wasn’t included in the episode, but unfortunately it repeatedly missed the same point – not everything wolf-related is werewolf-related. 

I have skipped again. The actual narrative here begins with that of King Lycaeon, introduced by an actual Classicist. Now, some werewolf scholars suggest that Lycaeon is unrelated to the medieval/early modern northern European werewolf, and I see their point. But the basic trappings of a man (men, actually, since there’s a wider myth of the men of Lycaea turning into wolves periodically) effectively cursed to into a wolf are there. I personally think it’s a valid touchstone, even if direct continuity from this to the ‘golden age’ of werewolfery isn’t evidenced. However, things quickly go off the rails as they bring in archaeologist Miles Russell, who explains his (very valid but irrelevant) research into animal and animal-human hybrids that we’re told are “disturbingly similar” to the werewolf. Except they’re not. Even King Lycaeon, who is famously depicted as a man with a wolf’s head, was not originally described as such – he merely, like all later historical werewolves, turned into a full wolf. The documentary goes on to make this very point via “mythologist” Winnie M Li is not a folklorist or historian, rather an author of fiction, but she’s absolutely right. However, this completely undermines the programme-makers’ own initial proposal that werewolves were physical hybrids of man and wolf (only fictional werewolves are). Confusingly, Li also, elsewhere in the same programme (backed up by Pluskowski), suggests that the entirely separate medieval concept of the hirsute wildman “probably contributes to a nation of what the werewolf would have been”. 

We then go back in time to the famous Upper Palaeolithic ‘Sorceror’ artwork from the cave of Les Tres Freres in France. The link here is supposedly the hybrid creature’s “wolf’s tail”. Even if that WAS supposed to be a wolf’s tail, the rest of the beast isn’t a great match for any kind of wolf – it has antlers for goodness’ sake. Another archaeologist, Aleks Pluskowski, then introduces the idea of Viking wolf-warriors. This is more relevant but as Christa Agnes Tuczay explains in her chapter in ‘Werewolf Histories’ (ed. De Blecourt, p.76), there were actually three ways in which a warrior might be wolflike, only one of which is akin to the Germanic (in origin) werewolf i.e. men who physically become wolves. The programme doesn’t actually explain any of this, choosing to focus entirely upon the famous berserker who merely behaves like a savage wolf (wearing a pelt), complete with a rather misleading animated scene of warriors in wolfskins physically transforming into Hollywood wolf-men. Nor does it mention the third wolf-warrior aspect, which is psychic projection of a spectral wolf-form while the body lies in torpor. This isn’t physical werewolfery but it’s closer than the warrior who merely channels (imagines) the strength of an animal in combat. Onyeka Nubia briefly mentions the same trope in an African context, merely serving to underline how un-werewolf-like this idea really is. By this point we’ve spent a lot of screentime covering things that are mere backstory to the ‘true’ werewolf of northern European folklore. 

Pluskowski mentions the description of accused werewolf Peter Stumpp, whose eyes “in the night sparkled like fire” – the programme suggests that this was a way to tell a werewolf from an ordinary wolf. Indeed, the eyes of a werewolf are sometimes mentioned as somehow noteworthy, but this is usually because they are red or sometimes human-like. Stumpp’s eyes may allude to red werewolf eyes or to normal shining wolf eyes, it’s not entirely clear. In any case the programme’s anatomist Joy Reidenberg then redundantly explains how ordinary wolf eyes work, claiming that people would have mistaken the reflective shine for something demonic. Of course, all wolves have this feature, and it’s a huge reach to suggest that all wolves spotted at night under some sort of light were automatically thought werewolves, especially since domestic dog eyes do the same thing and people had been living with them for thousands of years.

Pluskowski shows us a church mural depicting a man-eating wolf in hell – as he points out, the only animal shown to exist there. The narrator explains that the Christian church changed the popular view of wolves from something powerful and positive to something evil. All of this is good stuff, and is at least relevant background to the actual werewolf as a concept. Unfortunately he then brings in the ‘roggenwolf’ or rye-wolf, a ghostly wolf believed to inhabit farmer’s fields. The documentary narration (not Pluskowski, notably) claims that someone bitten by the rye-wolf would themselves be “cursed to transform into a wolf” and then mentions darkening skin, ravenous hunger and violent convulsions. This leads them (and Aleks) into claiming that this was the result of ergot poisoning. They mention the same theory as applied to the Salem witch trials, a theory that has been thoroughly debunked. I’m skeptical of it here too, since as plausible as it sounds (assuming these symptoms really do appear there really is no need to invoke a medicalised explanation for folklore – people are very capable of coming up with what now seem like crazy ideas without any external stimulus beyond something like failing crops or ill health. They expand it to a general explanation of at least some accused werewolves, a claim for which we have no evidence. More importantly, the rye-wolf and the werewolf are NOT the same thing. Wikipedia makes the connection, pointing to Mannhardt (‘Roggenwolf und Roggenhund’, 1865, pp.31-32) who says that the rye-wolf was sometimes, in his time, referred to using the word ‘werwolf’, i.e. the two myths were conflated in contemporary folklore sources. However, Mannhardt himself emphasises that this is a confusion of two traditionally distinct ideas (well after the era of the werewolf trials), and points out that there is nothing in werewolf folklore to support the idea that rye-wolves were werewolves (a good example of Wikipedia editors not researching beyond the first source they find). 

Worse still, Reidenberg reappears, backed up by “mythological consultant” Richard Schwab, bringing in the old werewolf medicalisation chestnuts of Hypertrichosis (excess hair) and Porphyria (a disfiguring sensitivity to light). No folklorist or historian of werewolf belief takes these theories seriously as the werewolves of folklore were not hairy men who hid from daylight as the movies depict (other perhaps than those suffering from Lycanthropy, the mere belief that one is a wolf). Reidenberg also references the full moon, suggesting that this explains why werewolves were thought to appear at full moon. Now, contrary to common academic claim today, there is an association between humans changing into wolves and the moon. The only Roman instance of a werewolf, Petronius’s Satyricon (which is mentioned in the programme), a 9th century source in the French Bibliothèque Nationale and the early 13th century Otia Imperalia by Gervase of Tilbury all mention the moon albeit none specify the full moon. We can’t really speculate what phases the other writers thought were significant, but Petronius did mention that the moon was shining brightly (“like high noon”), which sure as heck sounds like the full moon to me. Still, even if we accept that there was a common belief that werewolves came out on the full moon, there’s no link here with these medical conditions. 

Overall, the documentary isn’t a total waste of time but, like most of its ilk, is far too keen to paint the werewolf as a universal trope rather than focus upon the beast for which the werewolf was named – the northern European person (usually a man) who becomes an actual wolf by means of pelt, belt, or ointment. There is precious little of this in the episode and so much rich history of ‘real’ werewolf belief that could have been included. Pluskowski in particular makes good contributions but is clearly pursuing his actual research interests of notions of human and animal in general, not the werewolf as a discrete historical or folkloric concept. Although most of the participants had actual credentials, few of them knew much about the werewolf of folklore, and not one actual folklorist was interviewed. Unfortunately this is par for the course with this kind of subject matter, which is invariably sensationalised since most viewers approach it solely from a popular culture background. There were far too many of them as well, resulting in precious little screentime for them or the ideas presented. It’s also unfortunate that the show was clearly made on a very low budget, featuring simple digital artwork and very crude and repetitive CGI. I’m not sure that I dare attempt the vampire episode… 

Werewolves of Kyiv?

The flag version of the Ukrainian Special Operations Forces cap badge (Wikimedia)

In 2019 Ukraine’s Special Operations Command officially adopted a new unit patch featuring the head of a wolf with two arrows in its mouth. This was no ordinary wolf, however – it was explicitly identified by the unit as a вовкулаку or werewolf and the patch explained as follows:

“According to legend, Cossacks with supernatural powers who could turn into wolves could catch arrows with their hands or beat them off”

I was of course curious as to what folklore – or modern understanding of it – had inspired this. There is a fair bit of Cossack folklore portraying them as invulnerable, akin to Viking wolfskins or berserkers but usually without the animal skins. For the most part these ‘Kharakternyks’ are Slavic versions of the folkloric “hardman” – a man charmed to protect him from any attack, notably bullets. Indeed, all the folklore I can find on this relates to bullets and cannonballs, not arrows. This is despite folklore as late as the 19th century making reference to arrows, but never in the context of warriors being impervious to them, as far as I could see. It would have been difficult to incorporate round bullets or cannon shot, so using arrows makes design sense, I think. They are still “shots” being stopped (and in one case also destroyed) by the werewolf.

This patch followed an even more interesting cap badge approved upon their formation in 2016. This featured a wolf in profile, unusually wearing a broad belt or girdle. The issue version can be seen in this promotional video; the belt is positioned more vertically and the wolf’s mouth is more open. To get the obvious bit out of the way first, yes, this is a werewolf. The werewolf of folklore was always… just a wolf. It might be unusually large, be missing a leg or tail, or have human eyes or even a single human leg (!), depending where and when we’re talking about, but it was never the hybrid wolfman or monster of 20th/21st century fiction. So right away this symbolism is actually historically accurate. Likewise the fork (an early form of the Ukrainian trident, missing its central tine) and the motto “I’m coming at you” (perhaps better translated in this context as “I’m/We’re coming for you”) are indeed associated with Prince Sviatoslav I. This raises the main query with this symbolism, in that Ukrainian warriors turning into wolves (i.e. being werewolves) doesn’t seem to have been common, as Ukraine implies. Sviatoslav was compared to a wolf (some say leopard) in historical documents but was never claimed to have become one. Prince Vseslav of Polotsk, not mentioned, was also said to be able to take the form of a wolf. As to the idea that Cossack magicians or ‘Kharakternyk’ (Характерник) being werewolves by default as the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) claim, well, that may be a reach. I can’t find anything to support that in the historical sources. However, I did find one historical Cossack who was actually supposed to have this power –  Ivan Sirko (Іван Сірко). Oddly there’s no mention of his wolf form on his Wiki page, only (without cite) on the Kharakternyk page. At least one legend (found in English in ‘Cossack Motifs in Ukrainian Folk Legends’ by RI Shiyan, 2006) confirms that he was indeed thought to be able to turn into a wolf as the modern popular sources suggest. That’s good enough for me as an historical basis for the insignia, even if it may not extend to other Cossacks (if anyone does know of other evidence, let me know – it’s certainly plausible enough).

The belt is an important element in this design. B.A. Rybakov in ‘The Paganism of Ancient Rus’ (Язычество Древней Руси) writes of the волк-оборотень or волхв-волкодлак, the ‘wolf-werewolf’ (likely a similar etymological cock-up as that which led to the French loup-garou) or ‘warlock-werewolf’, a “man who adopted a wolf’s form by means of a magic belt”. He references the renowned Slavic folklorist Aleksandr Afanasiev’s ‘Poetic Views of the Slavic Nature’ (Vol. 3, 1865):

“According to Russian beliefs, vovkulaks are of two kinds: they are either sorcerers who take on animal form, or ordinary people, turned into wolves by sorcery spells.

Sorcerers usually roam like wolves at night (that is, in the darkness induced by black clouds), but during the day they again perceive human forms; they are in close intercourse with unclean spirits, and their very transformation into wolves is accomplished with the help of the devil.”

The magic or nauz belt (пояс-науз) is very interesting and is loosely explained in this article on the Ukraine SOF website. It seems to derive from Ukrainian/Kievan Rus folklore around the practice of tying knots and objects into amulets, bracelets and belts in order to achieve magical effects. In this context, that would be transformation into a wolf. In the rest of Europe, such belts were made of wolfskin (if they weren’t actual whole wolfskins). This is not specified in the Slavic version but given that some period artwork does depict belts and pouches made of furred pelt, it’s possible that this was supposed to be taken as read. The SOF author refers to it as a “battle-belt” and claims that the werewolf can only be recognised by the belt he still wears in wolf form. I’ve never seen a folkloric source that mentions a wolf wearing a belt – it’s implied that the belt turns into a wolfskin or disappears.

Even if the belt did remain on the wolf, it probably shouldn’t in theory be the tanned cowhide multiple-strapped cheres (черес) belt depicted on the insignia. According to Rybakov the ‘nauz’ (пояс-науз) as worn by magic-users in human form (he too does not mention wolves dressed in belts) was recognisably a magical belt due to being tied into complex knots. The Nauz was frowned upon and even banned, which wouldn’t make sense if one couldn’t tell one apart from an ordinary leather belt. Still, the belt on the badge does its job, which is to convey to a modern Ukrainian/Slavic audience that this is a Cossack in wolf-form – it’s what a modern Slavic audience would recognise as a ‘Cossack’ belt. Since this allows the badge to feature a folklore-accurate wolf rather than a Hollywood wolf-man, I’m all for it.

Afanasiev mentions the nauz only once, and without reference to the werewolf at all, so it’s quite unclear on what basis Rybakov links the two, but without going very deep into foreign language folklore I’ll have to take him at his word. He does include an image of a bracelet from Gorodishche that may depict a werewolf complete with his nauz, although even his own caption includes a cautious question mark. To me it could easily be a hunting hound wearing a harness. Still, whether or not he’s on the money regarding the period folklore here, he reflects 20th-21st century conception of it and is no doubt the touchstone for the modern Ukrainian understanding of werewolf folklore that underpins the SOF insignia. We know this for sure because an early (2015) variant shown here (top right) is clearly closely based upon the original 12th century bracelet artwork, with the implied belt around its middle replaced by the gold cheres belt of the final version (with only two straps). It’s actually a shame they didn’t go with this version as it’s even more rooted in tradition. This then evolved into two possible designs, with the chosen one being the left hand of these. I should note that the various Ukrainian SOF training units adopted an entirely different version of a (were)wolf’s head in profile without the arrows, as can be seen in this video, making three different in-service versions of werewolf artwork. 
Overall this is a very cool use of folklore to help create an identity and tradition for a brand new unit. It does imply that all kharakternyks were thought to be werewolves, but it is at least based on a real historical piece of folkloreI. It conflates the magical nauz with the ordinary cheres belt, but does so for sound design reasons. It flies in the face of the werewolf as a bad guy, which in Christian Europe he has nearly always been, but it reflects older tales (notably Scandinavian) in which warriors are identified with, and sometimes as, the werewolf as a battle-beast – not someone you’d invite to dinner, but someone you want protecting you even if you didn’t even know they were there. Which, of course, is exactly the image that special operations forces want, and need, to project. If I may make a rare dip into politics, I have to say that so far, the SSO have shown themselves more than worthy of this symbolism in their fight against Russian aggression. Of course folklore is in any case always evolving and being reinvented, as the wider history of werewolf beliefs and stories shows: I thoroughly recommend the 2015 book ‘Werewolf Histories’, edited by Willem de Blécourt and Daniel Ogden’s The Werewolf in the Ancient World (2020). Ogden also has a short summary here of the extent to which the werewolf can be seen as a ‘universal’ myth, even if all the details over the millennia.

Werewolves = Serial Killers?

Beast of Gevaudan (1764). Not to Scale (Wikimedia Commons)

When I last wrote on the Beast of Gévaudan, I said that I couldn’t rule out the involvement of one or more human murderers whose actions could have been conflated with several wolves and possibly other wild animals killing French peasants between 1764 – 1767. I meant that literally; the Beast was a craze, and it’s perfectly possible that one or more victims was in fact the victim of a murder. We have no evidence for that, of course, and certainly not for the claim, sometimes made, that the whole thing was the work of a serial killer. This was recently repeated in this otherwise very good video from YouTube channel ‘Storied’ (part two of two; both parts feature the excellent Kaja Franck, who I was fortunate to meet at a conference some years ago). Meagan Navarro of the horror (fiction) website Bloody Disgusting states the following:

“The Beast of Gevaudan or the Werewolf of Dole, these were based on men that were serial killers and slaughtered, and folklore was a means of exploring and understanding those acts by transforming them into literal monsters.”

The ‘werewolf’ of Dole does indeed appear to be a deluded individual who thought he was able to transform into a wolf and was convicted as such. However, this is not the case for Gévaudan, which is a well-documented piece of history, not some post-hoc rationalisation for a series of murders as she implies. The various attacks that comprise the story were widely reported at the time and in some detail (albeit embellishments were added later). No-one at the time suspected an ordinary person of the actual killings, and the only sightings consistently refer to a large beast, sometimes detailing how the kills were made. The idea of a human being in control of the Beast somehow was mooted at the time, as was the werewolf of folklore, but never a straightforward murderer. Of course, the idea of the serial killer was unknown until the late 19th century, and it wasn’t long after this that a specious connection was made. In 1910 French gynaecologist Dr. Paul Puech published the essay (‘La Bête du Gévaudan’, followed in 1911 by another titled ‘Qu’était la bête du Gévaudan?’). Puech’s thin evidence amounted to;

1) The victims being of the same age and gender as those of Jack the Ripper and Joseph Vacher. In fact, women and children (including boys) were not only the more physically vulnerable to attack generally, but were the members of the shepherding families whose job it was to bring the sheep in at the end of the day. This is merely a coincidence.

2) Decapitation and needless mutilation. The latter is pretty subjective, especially if the animal itself might be rabid (plenty were) and therefore attacking beyond the needs of hunger alone. The relevance of decapitation depends upon whether a) this really happened and b) whether a wolf or wolves would be capable of it. Some victims were found to have been decapitated, something that these claimants assert is impossible for a wolf to achieve. I can’t really speak to how plausible this is, although tearing limbs from sizable prey animals is easily done and if more than one animal were involved I’ve little doubt that they could remove a head if they wished. So, did these decapitations actually take place? Jay Smith’s ‘Monsters of the Gévaudan: The Making of a Beast’ relays plenty of reports of heads being ripped off. However, details of these reports themselves mitigate against the idea of a human killer. Take Catherine Valy, whose skull was recovered some time after her death. Captain of dragoons Jean-Baptiste Duhamel noted that “judging by the teeth marks imprinted [on the skull], this animal must have terrifying jaws and a powerful bite, because this woman’s head was split in two in the way a man’s mouth might crack a nut.” Duhamel, like everyone else involved, believed that he faced a large and powerful creature (whether natural or supernatural), not a mere human. Despite the intense attention of the local and national French authorities, not to mention the population at large, no suggestion was ever made nor any evidence ever found of a human murderer and the panic ended in 1767 after several ordinary wolves were shot.

3) Similar deaths in 1765 in the Soissonnais, which he for some reason puts down to a copycat killer rather than, you know, more wolves. This reminds me of the mindset of many true crime writers; come up with your thesis and then go cherry-picking and misrepresenting the data to fit.At the very least then, this claim is speculative, and should not be bandied about as fact (in fact, the YouTube channel should really have queried the claim). So, if not a serial killer, then what? French historian Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie argues that the Beast was a local legend blown out of proportion to a national level by the rise of print media. Jean-Marc Moriceau reports 181 wolf killings through the 1760s, which puts into context the circa 100 killings over three years in one region of France. That is, statistically remarkable, but within the capability of the country’s wolf population to achieve, especially given the viral and environmental pressures from rabies and the Little Ice Age respectively that Moriceau cites. If we combine these two takes, we get close to the truth, I think. ‘The’ Beast most likely actually consisted of some unusually violent attacks carried out by more than one wolf or packs of wolves that were confabulated and exaggerated as the work of one supernatural beast, before ultimately being pinned by the authorities on several wolves, three shot by François Antoine in 1765 and another supposedly ‘extraordinary’ (yet actually ordinary sized) Jean Chastel in 1767.

On Silver Bullets, Werewolves, and Gévaudan

This reminds me, I must re-watch ‘Brotherhood of the Wolf’…

One of my YouTube subscriptions is Trey the Explainer, who does good stuff on history, natural history, evolution, and cryptid creatures, among other things. His latest Cryptid Profile is especially relevant to my interests, because it covers the ‘Beast of Gévaudan’, and I have by coincidence just finished helping with a forthcoming documentary about La Bête. I fully support his conclusion that this was a classic cryptid/social panic case, with anything and everything being identified/misidentified as the beast in question. It was very likely several wolves and/or wolf-dogs, possibly a hyena, possibly a lion or other escaped big cat, and possibly even all of the above. I won’t even rule out the suggestion of a human murderer or two in the mix somewhere. What it wasn’t was a single creature with a supernaturally hard or charmed hide. However, Trey gets a few facts wrong about werewolf and silver bullet mythology. Firstly, there’s no evidence that any of the creatures killed and recovered were actually dispatched with a silver bullet, and some good evidence that they weren’t (such as not being mentioned at all in period sources, notably an autopsy report). Suspected ‘Beasts’ WERE shot at with silver bullets but importantly, they apparently did not work. A Madame de Franquieres wrote to her daughter-in-law on the Beast:

 

‘The express sent to Aurillac relates that M. de Fontanges has had many encounters with the ferocious beast, of which you have no doubt heard, that traverses the Gevaudan. He has passed places where she often goes; he was forced to stay three days in the snow for fear of meeting her. She crosses, without wetting her feet, a river thirty-six feet wide. He claims that she can cover seven leagues in an hour. The peasants do not dare to go out into the country unless in groups of seven or eight. We can not find anyone to herd the sheep. She does not eat animals, only human flesh; men she eats the head and stomach, and women over the breasts. When she is hungry, she eats it all. We tried to shoot him with bullets of iron, lead, silver. Nothing can penetrate. We must hope that in the end we will overcome it.’

-M.”° de Franquières à M.”° de Bressac, Grenoble, 14 March 1765 – see the French original here (p.138).

 

This is supported by another source from 1862 (see here): that reports the use of ‘almost point blank’ folded silver coins, also to no apparent avail. Of course it’s possible that some poor wolf did slink away and die, but either wasn’t the Beast or wasn’t the only ‘Beast’ abroad at that time.

Trey is also under the impression that this incident is the source of the belief that silver bullets can kill werewolves. This is true insofar as there are no written accounts of silver bullet use against canids until Gévaudan, despite modern claims that the silver bullet aspect was only introduced in more modern times or even in fictionalised accounts. The source above proves otherwise. The story certainly helped to spread the idea and perpetuate it into the era of mass literacy and supernatural fiction. However, the idea that this is ground zero for silver bullets versus werewolves is untrue in the sense that the belief applied by no means just to werewolves, but rather to a range of supernatural or charmed targets (although as I’ve previously noted, not vampires until 1928). As such, it predates Gévaudan, meaning that there is in fact no source for the slaying of werewolves with silver bullets. For as long as silver bullets were ‘a thing’, they would have been seen as effective against werewolves or wolf-like supernatural beasts. I should note here that nowhere in the historical literature is the Beast of Gévaudan claimed to have been a loup-garou or werewolf. There are no accounts of it shifting shape, no accusations made of any people suspected to be the Beast. However, historians have noted in period reports werewolf traits such as a foul stench, unusually long claws and teeth, ‘haunting’, ‘sparkling’ or glowing eyes, and an erect posture (see Jay Smith’s ‘Monsters of the Gévaudan: The Making of a Beast’, p.21).

So where does the silver bullet myth come from? The oldest references that I’ve found are in Scots and American poems (1801 and 1806 respectively), and relate to yet another class of supernatural being, albeit one with close ties to the werewolf; that of the witch. The very earliest is the 1801 Scots poem ‘A Hunt’ by James Thomson:

 

‘Quoth he, “I doubt there’s something in’t, Ye’re no’ a hare.

Then in he pat a silver crucky [sixpence],

And says, “Have at ye now, auld lucky ;

Although ye were the de’il’s ain chucky,

Or yet himsell, If it but touch of you a nucky,

It will you fell.”’

 

The sacred cross on the face of the penny was significant. Other accounts mention that the projectile has actively been blessed. A Swedish story from the Gösta Berlings Saga mentions bullets cast from a church bell. But the silver itself seems to have had a divine and magical significance, one that stretches back to ancient times (notably the Delphic Oracle, see this fantastic collection of references). In the German folk tale ‘The Two Brothers’ for example, the witch is shot at with three ordinary silver buttons.

My next source, ‘The Country Lovers‘ (published by Thomas Green Fessenden in 1804) comes from the United States:

 

‘And how a witch, in shape of owl,

Did steal her neighbour’s geese, sir,

And turkies too, and other fowl,

When people did not please her.

Yankee doodle, &c.

And how a man, one dismal night,

Shot her, with silver bullet,*

And then she flew straight out of sight,

As fast as she could pull it.

Yankee doodle, &c.

How Widow Wunks was sick next day,

The parson went to view her, And saw the very place, they say,

Where foresaid ball went through her !

Yankee doodle, Sec.

*There is a tale among the ghost-hunters, in New England, that silver bullets will be fatal to witches, when those of lead would not avail.

 

More Germanic folklore, recorded in 1852 (Benjamin Thorpe’s Northern Folklore, Vol.III, p.27), related that a witch, if shot with silver, would receive a wound that would not heal, and would have to resume its human form. Witches were commonly thought to shapeshift into animal form, hence the overlap with the werewolf. The ‘Witch of Schleswig’ was also known as ‘The Werewolf of Husby’,

Beyond witches, silver bullets might help against other entities. One story includes a shot used against the magic itself rather than the offending creature’s body; in this case a group of fairies;

 

‘In a Norse tale, a man whose bride is about to be carried off by Huldre-folk, rescues her by shooting over her head a pistol loaded with a silver bullet. This has the effect of dissolving the witchery; and he is forthwith enabled to seize her and gallop off, not unpursued.’

 

Frank C. Brown recorded (from North Carolina) a variety of uses of silver (bullet and otherwise) against black magic of all sorts. Ghosts are also associated with silver bullets, as in Washington Irving’s ‘Tales of a Traveller’, Vol.2 (1825), which references a (fictional) pirate ghost. Collections/indices of American folklore also reference ghosts as well as witches (e.g. ‘Kentucky Superstitions’ (1920).

However, the very oldest written accounts were made in reference to ordinary human beings that have been protected (or have protected themselves) by magical charms. These were known as ‘hardmen’, and were typically powerful or noteworthy men with a literal aura about them. One such was John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, who led the Jacobites at the Battle of Killiecrankie in 1689. As Sir Walter Scott wrote in ‘Tales of My Landlord’ (1816, p.69):

 

‘Many a whig that day loaded his musket with a dollar cut into slugs, in order that a silver bullet (such was their belief) might bring down the persecutor of the holy kirk, on whom lead had no power.’

 

The same went for 17th/18th century Bulgarian rebel leader ‘Delyo’, and ‘…an Austrian governor of Greifswald, on whom the Swedes had fired more than twenty balls, could only be shot by the inherited silver button that a soldier carried in his pocket’ (see here). The oldest of all pertains to an alleged 1678 attempt upon the life of English King Charles II.

My point is really that the whole silver bullet myth is misunderstood today. It’s not like the wooden stake that’s specific to vampires or, for that matter, wolfsbane for wolves, conkers for spiders (yes, that’s a genuine belief too). The silver bullet is not specific to werewolves, vampires, or any other target. It is really an apotropaic – it works against magic itself, whether negating the charm of protection around a corporeal enemy, dispelling a ghostly apparition, or breaking fairy magic to free a captive. It’s the ultimate in supernatural self-defence, but it’s only a footnote in the story of the Beast of Gévaudan. It neither originated with the Beast, nor killed it.