{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26629/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26629","id":"gutenberg_26629","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26629","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Archaeology & Anthropology","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Werewolves"],"text":"Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Lisa Reigel and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              WERWOLVES\n\n\n                          BY THE SAME AUTHOR\n\n               SOME HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND WALES\n\n                     THE HAUNTED HOUSES OF LONDON\n\n                         SCOTTISH GHOST TALES\n\n                         BYEWAYS OF GHOSTLAND\n\n                          GHOSTLY PHENOMENA\n\n                 THE REMINISCENCES OF MRS. E. M. WARD\n\n\n\n\n                              WERWOLVES\n\n\n                                  BY\n\n                          ELLIOTT O'DONNELL\n\n\n                          METHUEN & CO. LTD.\n                         36 ESSEX STREET W.C.\n                                LONDON\n\n\n                      _First Published in 1912_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.                                                        PAGE\n     I. WHAT IS A WERWOLF?                                        1\n\n    II. WERWOLF METAMORPHOSIS COMPARED WITH OTHER BRANCHES OF\n          LYCANTHROPY                                            20\n\n   III. THE SPIRITS OF WERWOLVES                                 44\n\n    IV. HOW TO BECOME A WERWOLF                                  55\n\n     V. WERWOLVES AND EXORCISM                                   71\n\n    VI. THE WERWOLF IN THE BRITISH ISLES                         92\n\n   VII. THE WERWOLF IN FRANCE                                   110\n\n  VIII. WERWOLVES AND VAMPIRES AND GHOULS                       126\n\n    IX. WERWOLVES IN GERMANY                                    143\n\n     X. A LYCANTHROPOUS BROOK IN THE HARZ MOUNTAINS; OR, THE\n          CASE OF THE COUNTESS HILDA VON BREBER                 161\n\n    XI. WERWOLVES IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AND THE BALKAN PENINSULA   174\n\n   XII. THE WERWOLF IN SPAIN                                    194\n\n  XIII. THE WERWOLF IN BELGIUM AND THE NETHERLANDS              212\n\n   XIV. THE WERWOLVES AND MARAS OF DENMARK                      225\n\n    XV. WERWOLVES IN NORWAY AND SWEDEN                          236\n\n   XVI. WERWOLVES IN ICELAND, LAPLAND, AND FINLAND              256\n\n  XVII. THE WERWOLF IN RUSSIA AND SIBERIA                       270\n\n\n\n\nWERWOLVES\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nWHAT IS A WERWOLF?\n\n\nWhat is a werwolf? To this there is no one very satisfactory reply.\nThere are, indeed, so many diverse views held with regard to the nature\nand classification of werwolves, their existence is so keenly disputed,\nand the subject is capable of being regarded from so many standpoints,\nthat any attempt at definition in a restricted sense would be well-nigh\nimpossible.\n\nThe word werwolf (or werewolf) is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _wer_,\nman, and _wulf_, wolf, and has its equivalents in the German _Waehrwolf_\nand French _loup-garou_, whilst it is also to be found in the languages,\nrespectively, of Scandinavia, Russia, Austria-Hungary, the Balkan\nPeninsula, and of certain of the countries of Asia and Africa; from\nwhich it may be concluded that its range is pretty well universal.\n\nIndeed, there is scarcely a country in the world in which belief in a\nwerwolf, or in some other form of lycanthropy, has not once existed,\nthough it may have ceased to exist now. But whereas in some countries\nthe werwolf is considered wholly physical, in others it is looked upon\nas partly, if not entirely, superphysical. And whilst in some countries\nit is restricted to the male sex, in others it is confined to the\nfemale; and, again, in others it is to be met with in both sexes.\n\nHence, when asked to describe a werwolf, or what is generally\nbelieved to be a werwolf, one can only say that a werwolf is an\nanomaly--sometimes man, sometimes woman (or in the guise of man or\nwoman); sometimes adult, sometimes child (or in the guise of\nsuch)--that, under certain conditions, possesses the property of\nmetamorphosing into a wolf, the change being either temporary or\npermanent.\n\nThis, perhaps, expresses most of what is general concerning werwolves.\nFor more particular features, upon which I will touch later, one must\nlook to locality and time.\n\nThose who are sceptical with regard to the existence of the werwolf, and\nrefuse to accept, as proof of such existence, the accumulated testimony\nof centuries, attribute the origin of the belief in the phenomenon\nmerely to an insane delusion, which, by reason of its novelty, gained a\nfooting and attracted followers.\n\nHumanity, they say, has ever been the same; and any fresh idea--no\nmatter how bizarre or monstrous, so long as it is monstrous enough--has\nalways met with support and won credence.\n\nIn favour of this argument it is pointed out that in many of the cases\nof persons accused of werwolfery, tried in France, and elsewhere, in the\nmiddle of the sixteenth century, when belief in this species of\nlycanthropy was at its zenith, there was an extraordinary readiness\namong the accused to confess, and even to give circumstantial evidence\nof their own metamorphosis; and that this particular form of\nself-accusation at length became so popular among the leading people in\nthe land, that the judicial court, having its suspicions awakened, and,\ndoubtless, fearful of sentencing so many important personages, acquitted\nthe majority of the accused, announcing them to be the victims of\ndelusion and hysteria.\n\nNow, if it were admitted, argue these sceptics, that the bulk of\nso-called werwolves were impostors, is it not reasonable to suppose that\nall so-called werwolves were either voluntary or involuntary\nimpostors?--the latter, _i.e._, those who were not self-accused, being\nfalsely accused by persons whose motive for so doing was revenge. For\nparallel cases one has only to refer to the trials for sorcery and\nwitchcraft in England. And with regard to false accusations of\nlycanthropy--accusations founded entirely on hatred of the accused\nperson--how easy it was to trump up testimony and get the accused\nconvicted. The witnesses were rarely, if ever, subjected to a searching\nexamination; the court was always biased, and a confession of guilt,\nwhen not voluntary--as in the case of the prominent citizen, when it was\ninvariably pronounced due to hysteria or delusion--could always be\nobtained by means of torture, though a confession thus obtained,\nneedless to say, is completely nullified. Moreover, we have no record of\nmetamorphosis taking place in court, or before witnesses chosen for\ntheir impartiality. On the contrary, the alleged transmutations always\noccurred in obscure places, and in the presence of people who, one has\nreason to believe, were both hysterical and imaginative, and therefore\npredisposed to see wonders. So says this order of sceptic, and, to my\nmind, he says a great deal more than his facts justify; for although\ncontemporary writers generally are agreed that a large percentage of\nthose people who voluntarily confessed they were werwolves were mere\ndissemblers, there is no recorded conclusive testimony to show that all\nsuch self-accused persons were shams and delusionaries. Besides, even\nif such testimony were forthcoming, it would in nowise preclude the\nexistence of the werwolf.\n\nNor does the fact that all the accused persons submitted to the rack, or\nother modes of torture, confessed themselves werwolves prove that all\nsuch confessions were false.\n\nGranted also that some of the charges of lycanthropy were groundless,\nbeing based on malice--which, by the by, is no argument for the\nnon-existence of lycanthropy, since it is acknowledged that accusations\nof all sorts, having been based on malice, have been equally\ngroundless--there is nothing in the nature of written evidence that\nwould justify one in assuming that all such charges were traceable to\nthe same cause, _i.e._, a malicious agency. Neither can one dismiss the\ntestimony of those who swore they were actual eye-witnesses of\nmetamorphoses, on the mere assumption that all such witnesses were\nliable to hallucination or hysteria, or were hyper-imaginative.\n\nTestimony to an event having taken place must be regarded as positive\nevidence of such an occurrence, until it can be satisfactorily proved to\nbe otherwise--and this is where the case of the sceptic breaks down; he\ncan only offer assumption, not proof.\n\nAnother view, advanced by those who discredit werwolves, is that belief\nin the existence of such an anomaly originates in the impression made\non man in early times by the great elemental powers of nature. It was,\nthey say, man's contemplation of the changes of these great elemental\npowers of nature, _i.e._, the changes of the sun and moon, wind, thunder\nand lightning, of the day and night, sunshine and rain, of the seasons,\nand of life and death, and his deductions therefrom, that led to his\nbelief in and worship of gods that could assume varying shapes, such,\nfor example, as India (who occasionally took the form of a bull),\nDerketo (who sometimes metamorphosed into a fish), Poseidon, Jupiter\nAmmon, Milosh Kobilitch, Minerva, and countless others--and that it is\nto this particular belief and worship, which is to be found in the\nmythology of every race, that all religions, as well as belief in\nfairies, demons, werwolves, and phantasms, may be traced.\n\nWell, this might be so, if there were not, in my opinion, sufficient\naccumulative corroborative evidence to show that not only were there\nsuch anomalies as werwolves formerly, but that, in certain restricted\nareas, they are even yet to be encountered.\n\nTaking, then, the actual existence of werwolves to be an established\nfact, it is, of course, just as impossible to state their origin as it\nis to state the origin of any other extraordinary form of creation.\nEvery religious creed, every Occult sect, advances its own respective\nviews--and has a perfect right to do so, as long as it advances them as\nviews and not dogmatisms.\n\nI, for my part, bearing in mind that everything appertaining to the\ncreation of man and the universe is a profound mystery, cannot see the\nobject on the part of religionists and scientists in being arbitrary\nwith regard to a subject which any child of ten will apprehend to be one\nwhereon it is futile to do other than theorize. My own theory, or rather\none of my own theories, is that the property of transmutation, _i.e._,\nthe power of assuming any animal guise, was one of the many\nproperties--including second sight, the property of becoming invisible\nat will, of divining the presence of water, metals, the advent of death,\nand of projecting the etherical body--which were bestowed on man at the\ntime of his creation; and that although mankind in general is no longer\npossessed of them, a few of these properties are still, in a lesser\ndegree, to be found among those of us who are termed psychic.\n\nThe history of the Jews is full of references to certain of these\nproperties. The greatest of all the Superphysical Forces--the creating\nForce (the Hebrew Jah, Jehovah)--so says the Bible, constantly held\ndirect communication with His elect--with Adam, Noah, Abraham, and\nMoses, while His emissaries, the angels, or what modern Occultists would\nterm Benevolent Elementals, conversed with Abraham, Sarah, Jacob, and\nhosts of others. In this same history, too, there is no lack of\nreference to sorcery; and whilst Black Magic is illustrated in the\ntricks wrought by the magicians before Pharaoh, and the infliction of\nall manner of plagues upon the Egyptians, one is rather inclined to\nattribute to White Magic Daniel's safety among the lions; Shadrach,\nMeshach, and Abed-nego's preservation from the flames; Elijah's\nmiraculous spinning out of the barrel of meal and cruse of oil, in the\ndays of famine, and his raising of the widow's son. Also, to the account\nof White Magic--and should anyone dispute this point let me remind him\nthat it is merely a difference in the point of view--I would add\nElisha's calling up of the bears that made such short work of the\nnaughty children who tormented him. There are, too, many examples of\ndivination recorded in the Bible. In Genesis, chapter xxx., verses\n27-43, a description is given of a divining rod and its influence over\nsheep and other animals; in Exodus, chapter xvii., verse 15, Moses with\nthe aid of a rod discovers water in the rock at Rephidim, and for\nsimilar instances one has only to refer to Exodus, chapter xiv., verse\n16, and chapter xvii., verses 9-11. The calling up of the phantasm of\nSamuel at Endor more than suggests a biblical precedent for the modern\npractice of spiritualism; and it was, undoubtedly, the abuse of such\npower as that possessed by the witch of Endor, and the prevalence of\nsorcery, such as she practised, that finally led to the decree delivered\nby Moses to the Children of Israel, that on no account were they to\nsuffer a witch to live. Reference to yet another property of the\noccult--namely, Etherical Projection--which is clearly exemplified in\nthe Scriptures, may be found in Numbers, chapter xii., verse 6; in Job,\nchapter xxxiii., verse 15; in the First Book of Kings, chapter iii.,\nverse 5; in Genesis, chapter xx., verses 3 and 6, and chapter xxxi.,\nverse 24; in Isaiah, Jeremiah, Nahum, and Zechariah; and more\nparticularly in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the Revelation of St.\nJohn. Lastly, in this history of the Jews, which is surely neither more\nnor less authenticated than any other well established history,\ntestimony as to the existence of one species of Elemental of much the\nsame order as the werwolf is recorded by Isaiah. In chapter xiii., verse\n21, we read: \"And their houses shall be full of doleful creatures, and\nowls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.\" Satyrs! we\nrepeat; are not satyrs every whit as grotesque and outrageous as\nwerwolves? Why, then, should those who, regarding the Scriptures as\ninfallible, confess to a belief in the satyr, reject the possibility of\na werwolf? And for those who are more logically sceptical--who question\nthe veracity of the Bible and are dubious as to its authenticity--there\nare the chronicles of Herodotus, Petronius Arbiter, Baronius, Dole,\nOlaus Magnus, Marie de France, Thomas Aquinas, Richard Verstegan, and\nmany other recognized historians and classics, covering a large area in\nthe history of man, all of whom specially testify to the existence--in\ntheir own respective periods--of werwolves.\n\nAnd if any further evidence of this once near relationship with the\nOther World is required, one has only to turn to Aristotle, who wrote so\nvoluminously on psychic dreams (most of which I am inclined to think\nwere due to projection); to the teachings of Pythagoras and his\nfollowers, Empedocles and Apollonius; to Cicero and Tacitus; to Virgil,\nwho frequently talks of ghosts and seers of Tyana; to Plato, the\nexponent of magic; and to Plutarch, whose works swarm with allusions to\nOccultism of all kinds--phantasms of the dead, satyrs, and numerous\nother species of Elementals.\n\nI say, then, that in ages past, before any of the artificialities\nappertaining to our present mode of living were introduced; when the\nworld was but thinly populated and there were vast regions of wild\nwastes and silent forests, the Known and Unknown walked hand in hand. It\nwas seclusion of this kind, the seclusion of nature, that spirits loved,\nand it was in this seclusion they were always to be found whenever man\nwanted to hold communication with them. To such silent spots--to the\nwoods and wildernesses--Buddha, Mohammed, the Hebrew Patriarchs and\nProphets, all, in their turn, resorted, to solicit the companionship of\nbenevolently disposed spirits, to be tutored by them, and, in all\nprobability, to receive from them additional powers. To these wastes and\nforests, too, went all those who wished to do ill. There they communed\nwith the spirits of darkness, _i.e._, demons, or what are also termed\nVice Elementals; and from the latter they acquired--possibly in exchange\nfor some of their own vitality, for spirits of this order are said to\nhave envied man his material body--tuition in sorcery, and such\nproperties as second sight, invisibility, and lycanthropy.\n\nThis property of lycanthropy, or metamorphosing into a beast, probably\ndates back to man's creation. It was, I am inclined to believe,\nconferred on man at his creation by Malevolent Forces that were\nantagonistic to man's progress; and that these Malevolent Forces had a\nlarge share in the creation of this universe is, to my mind, extremely\nprobable. But, however that may be, I cannot believe that the creation\nof man and the universe were due entirely to one Creator--there are\nassuredly too many inconsistencies in all we see around us to justify\nbelief in only one Creative Force. The Creator who inspired man with\nlove--love for his fellow beings and love of the beautiful--could not be\nthe same Creator who framed that irredeemably cruel principle observable\nthroughout nature, _i.e._, the survival of the fittest; the preying of\nthe stronger on the weaker--of the tiger on the feebler beasts of the\njungle; the eagle on the smaller birds of the air; the wolf on the\nsheep; the shark on the poor, defenceless fish, and so on; neither could\nHe be the Creator that deals in diseases--foul and filthy diseases,\ncommon, not only to all divisions of the human species, but to\nquadrupeds, birds, fish, and even flora; that brings into existence\ncripples and idiots, the blind, the deaf and dumb; and watches with\npassive inertness the most acute sufferings, not only of adults, but of\nsinless children and all manner of helpless animals. No! It is\nimpossible to conceive that such incompatibilities can be the work of\none Creator. But, supposing, for the sake of argument, we may admit the\npossibility of only one Creator, we cannot concede that this Creator is\nat the same time both omnipotent and merciful. My own belief, which is\nmerely based on common sense and observation, is that this earth was\ncreated by many Forces--that everything that makes for man's welfare is\ndue to Benevolent Forces; and that everything that tends to his\ndetriment is due to antagonistic Malevolent Forces; and that the\nMalevolent Forces exist for the very simple reason that the Benevolent\nForces are not sufficiently powerful to destroy them.\n\nThese Malevolent Forces, then--the originators of all evil--created\nwerwolves; and the property of lycanthropy becoming in many cases\nhereditary, there were families that could look back upon countless\ngenerations possessed of it. But lycanthropy did not remain in the\nexclusive possession of a few families; the bestowal of it continued\nlong after its original creation, and I doubt if this bestowal has, even\nnow, become entirely a thing of the past. There are still a few\nregions--desolate and isolated regions in Europe (in Russia,\nScandinavia, and even France), to say nothing of Asia, Africa and\nAmerica, Australasia and Polynesia--which are unquestionably the haunts\nof Vagrarians, Barrowvians, and other kinds of undesirable Elementals,\nand it is quite possible that, through the agency of these spirits, the\nproperty of lycanthropy might be acquired by those who have learned in\nsolitude how to commune with them.\n\nI have already referred to the werwolf as an anomaly, and for its\ndesignation I do not think I could have chosen a more suitable term.\nThough its movements and actions are physical--for what could be more\nmaterial than the act of devouring flesh and blood?--the actual process\nof the metamorphosis savours of the superphysical; whilst to still\nfurther strengthen its relationship with the latter, its appearance is\nsometimes half man and half wolf, which is certainly more than\nsuggestive of the semi-human and by no means uncommon type of Elemental.\nIts inconsistency, too, which is a striking characteristic of all\npsychic phenomena, is also suggestive of the superphysical; and\nthere is certainly neither consistency as to the nature of the\nmetamorphosis--which is sometimes brought about at will and sometimes\nentirely controlled by the hour of day, or by the seasons--nor as to the\noutward form of the werwolf, which is sometimes merely that of a wolf,\nand sometimes partly wolf and partly human; nor as to its shape at the\nmoment of death, when in some cases there is metamorphosis, whilst in\nother cases there is no metamorphosis. Nor is this inconsistency only\ncharacteristic of the movements, actions, and shape of the werwolf. It\nis also characteristic of it psychologically. When the metamorphosis is\ninvoluntary, and is enforced by agencies over which the subject has no\ncontrol, the werwolf, though filled with all the passions characteristic\nof a beast of prey, when a wolf, is not of necessity cruel and savage\nwhen a human being, that is to say, before the transmutations take\nplace. There are many instances of such werwolves being, as people,\naffectionate and kindly disposed. On the other hand, in some cases of\ninvoluntary metamorphosis, and in the majority of cases of voluntary\nmetamorphosis--that is to say, when the transmutation is compassed by\nmeans of magic--the werwolf, as a person, is evilly disposed, and as a\nwolf shows a distinct blending of the beast with the passions, subtle\ningenuity, and reasoning powers of the human being. From this it is\nobvious, then, that the werwolf is a hybrid of the material and\nimmaterial--of man and Elemental, known and Unknown. The latter term\ndoes not, of course, meet with acceptance at the hands of the\nRationalists, who profess to believe that all phenomena can be explained\nby perfectly natural causes. They suggest that belief in the werwolf (as\nindeed in all other forms of lycanthropy) is traceable to the craving\nfor blood which is innate in certain natures and is sometimes\naccompanied by hallucination, the subject genuinely believing himself to\nbe a wolf (or whatever beast of prey is most common in the district),\nand, in imitation of that animal's habits, committing acts of\ndevastation at night, selecting his victims principally from among women\nand children--those, in fact, who are too feeble to resist him.\n\nOften, however, say these Rationalists, there is no suggestion of\nhallucination, the question resolving itself into one of vulgar\ntrickery. The anthropophagi, unable to suppress their appetite for human\nfood, taking advantage of the general awe in which the wolf is held by\ntheir neighbours, dress themselves up in the skins of that beast, and\nprowling about lonely, isolated spots at night, pounce upon those people\nthey can most easily overpower. Rumours (most probably started by the\nmurderers themselves) speedily get in circulation that the mangled and\nhalf-eaten remains of the villagers are attributable to creatures, half\nhuman and half wolf, that have been seen gliding about certain places\nafter dark. The simple country-folk, among whom superstitions are rife,\nare only too ready to give credence to such reports; the existence of\nthe monsters becomes an established thing, whilst the localities that\nharbour them are regarded with horror, and looked upon as the happy\nhunting ground of every imaginable occult power of evil.\n\nNow, although such an explanation of werwolves might be applicable in\ncertain districts of West Africa, where the native population is\nexcessively bloodthirsty and ignorant, it could not for one moment be\napplied to werwolfery in Germany, France, or Scandinavia, where the\npeasantry are, generally speaking, kindly and intelligent people, whom\none could certainly accuse neither of being sanguinary nor of possessing\nany natural taste for cannibalism.\n\nThe rationalist view can therefore only be said to be feasible in\ncertain limited spheres, outside of which it is grotesque and\nridiculous.\n\nNow a question that has occurred to me, and which, I fancy, may give\nrise to some interesting speculation, is, whether some of the werwolves\nstated to have been seen may not have been some peculiar type of\nphantasm. I make this suggestion because I have seen several sub-human\nand sub-animal occult phenomena in England, and have, too, met other\npeople who have had similar experiences.\n\nWith our limited knowledge of the Unknown it is, of course, impossible\nto be arbitrary as to the class of spirits to which such phenomena\nbelong. They may be Vice Elementals, _i.e._, spirits that have never\ninhabited any material body, whether human or animal, and which are\nwholly inimical to man's progress--such spirits assume an infinite\nnumber of shapes, agreeable and otherwise; or they may be phantasms of\ndead human beings--vicious and carnal-minded people, idiots, and\nimbecile epileptics. It is an old belief that the souls of cataleptic\nand epileptic people, during the body's unconsciousness, adjourned\ntemporarily to animals, and it is therefore only in keeping with such a\nview to suggest that on the deaths of such people their spirits take\npermanently the form of animals. This would account for the fact that\nplaces where cataleptics and idiots have died are often haunted by semi\nand by wholly animal types of phantasms.\n\nAccording to Paracelsus Man has in him two spirits--an animal spirit and\na human spirit--and that in after life he appears in the shape of\nwhichever of these two spirits he has allowed to dominate him. If, for\nexample, he has obeyed the spirit that prompts him to be sober and\ntemperate, then his phantasm resembles a man; but on the other hand, if\nhe has given way to his carnal and bestial cravings, then his phantasm\nis earthbound, in the guise of some terrifying and repellent\nanimal--maybe a wolf, bear, dog, or cat--all of which shapes are far\nfrom uncommon in psychic manifestations.\n\nThis view has been held either _in toto_, or with certain reservations,\nby many other writers on the subject, and I, too, in a great measure\nendorse it--its pronouncement of a limit to man's phantasms being,\nperhaps, the only important point to which I cannot accede. My own view\nis that so complex a creature as man--complex both physically and\npsychologically--may have a representative spirit for each of his\npersonalities. Hence on man's physical dissolution there may emanate\nfrom him a host of phantasms, each with a shape most fitting the\npersonality it represents. And what more thoroughly representative of\ncruelty, savageness, and treachery than a wolf, or even something partly\nlupine! Therefore, as I have suggested elsewhere, in some instances, but\nemphatically not in all, what were thought to have been werwolves may\nonly have been phantasms of the dead, or Elementals.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nWERWOLF METAMORPHOSIS COMPARED WITH OTHER BRANCHES OF LYCANTHROPY\n\n\nThe wolf is not the only animal whose shape, it is stated, man may\npossess the power of assuming; and it may be of some interest to inquire\nbriefly into the varying branches of lycanthropy, comparing them with\nthe one already under discussion.\n\nIn Orissa, the power of metamorphosing into a tiger is asserted by the\nKandhs to be hereditary, and also to be acquired through the practice of\nmagic; many who have travelled in this country have assured me that\nthere is a very great amount of truth in this assertion; and that\nalthough there are, without doubt, a number of impostors among those\ndesignated wer-tigers, there are most certainly many who are genuine.\n\nAs with the werwolf, so with the wer-tiger, the metamorphosis is usually\ndependent on the hour of the day, and generally occurs cotemporaneous\nwith the setting of the sun.\n\nBut the lycanthropy of the wer-tiger differs from that of the werwolf\ninasmuch as there is a definite god or spirit, in the shape of a tiger,\nthat is directly responsible for the bestowal of the property. This\ntiger deity is looked upon and worshipped as a totem or national\ndeity--that is to say, as a divine being that has the welfare of the\nKandh nation especially at heart. It is communed with at home, but more\nparticularly in the wild dreariness of the jungle, where, on the\ncondition that the prayers of its devotees are sufficiently concentrated\nand in earnest, it confers--as an honour and privilege--the power of\ntransmutation into its own shape. Some idea of its appearance may\nperhaps be gathered from the following description of it given me by a\nMr. K----, whose name I see in the list of passengers reported \"missing\"\nin the deplorable disaster to the \"Titanic.\"\n\n\"Anxious to see,\" Mr. K---- stated, \"if there was anything of truth in\nthe alleged materialization of the tiger totem to those supplicating it,\nI went one evening to a spot in the jungle--some two or three miles from\nthe village--where I had been informed the manifestations took place. As\nthe jungle was universally held to be haunted I met no one; and in spite\nof my dread of the snakes, big cats, wild boars, scorpions, and other\npoisonous vermin with which the place was swarming, arrived without\nmishap at the place that had been so carefully described to me--a\ncircular clearing of about twenty feet in diameter, surrounded on all\nsides by rank grass of a prodigious height, trolsee shrubs, kulpa and\ntamarind-trees. Quickly concealing myself, I waited the coming of the\nwould-be tiger-man.\n\n\"He was hardly more than a boy--slim and almost feminine--and came\ngallivanting along the narrow path through the brushwood, like some\ncareless, high-spirited, brown-skinned hoyden.\n\n\"The moment he reached the edge of the mystic circle, however, his\nbehaviour changed; the light of laughter died from his eyes, his lips\nstraightened, his limbs stiffened, and his whole demeanour became one of\nrespect and humility.\n\n\"Advancing with bare head and feet some three or so feet into the\nclearing, he knelt down, and, touching the ground three times in\nsuccession with his forehead, looked up at a giant kulpa-tree opposite\nhim, chanting as he did so some weird and monotonous refrain, the\nmeaning of which was unintelligible to me. Up to then it had been\nlight--the sky, like all Indian skies at that season, one blaze of\nmoonbeams and stars; but now it gradually grew dark. An unnatural,\nawe-inspiring shade seemed to swoop down from the far distant mountains\nand to hush into breathless silence everything it touched. Not a bird\nsang, not an insect ticked, not a leaf stirred. One might have said all\nnature slept, had it not been for an uncomfortable sensation that the\nsilence was but the silence of intense expectation--merely the prelude\nto some unpleasant revelation that was to follow. At this juncture my\nfeelings were certainly novel--entirely different from any I had\nhitherto experienced.\n\n\"I had not believed in the supernatural, and had had absolutely no\napprehensions of coming across anything of a ghostly character--all my\nfears had been of malicious natives and tigers; they now, however,\nchanged, and I was confronted with a dread of what I could not\nunderstand and could not analyse--of something that suggested an\nappearance, alarming on account of its very vagueness.\n\n\"The pulsations of my heart became irregular, I grew faint and sick, and\npainfully susceptible to a sensation of excessive coldness, which\ninstinct told me was quite independent of any actual change in the\natmosphere.\n\n\"I made several attempts to remove my gaze from the kulpa-tree, which\nintuition told me would be the spot where the something, whatever it\nwas, that was going to happen would manifest itself. My eyes, however,\nrefused to obey, and I was obliged to keep them steadily fixed on this\nspot, which grew more and more gloomy. All of a sudden the silence was\nbroken, and a cry, half human and half animal, but horribly ominous,\nsounding at first faint and distant, speedily grew louder and louder.\nSoon I heard footsteps, the footsteps of something running towards us\nand covering the ground with huge, light strides. Nearer and nearer it\ncame, till, with a sudden spring, it burst into view--the giant reeds\nand trolsees were dashed aside, and I saw standing in front of the\nkulpa-tree a vertical column of crimson light of perhaps seven feet in\nheight and one or so in width. A column--only a column, though the\nsuggestion conveyed to me by the column was nasty--nasty with a\nnastiness that baffles description. I looked at the native, and the\nexpression in his eyes and mouth assured me he saw more--a very great\ndeal more. For some seconds he only gasped; then, by degrees, the\nrolling of his eyes and twitching of his lips ceased. He stretched out a\nhand and made some sign on the ground. Then he produced a string of\nbeads, and after placing it over the scratchings he had made on the\nsoil, jerked out some strange incantation in a voice that thickened and\nquivered with terror. I then saw a stream of red light steal from the\nbase of the column and dart like forked lightning to the beads, which\ninstantly shone a luminous red. The native now picked them up, and,\nputting them round his neck, clapped the palms of his hands vigorously\ntogether, uttering as he did so a succession of shrill cries, that\ngradually became more and more animal in tone, and finally ended in a\nroar that converted every particle of blood in my veins into ice. The\ncrimson colour now abruptly vanished--whither it went I know not--the\nshade that had been veiling the jungle was dissipated, and in the burst\nof brilliant moonlight that succeeded I saw, peering up at me, from the\nspot where the native had lain, the yellow, glittering, malevolent eyes,\nnot of a man, but a tiger--a tiger thirsting for human blood. The shock\nwas so great that for a second or two I was paralysed, and could only\nstare back at the thing in fascinated helplessness. Then a big bird\nclose at hand screeched, and some small quadruped flew past me\nterrified; and with these awakenings of nature all my faculties revived,\nand I simply jumped on my feet and--fled!\n\n\"Some fifty yards ahead of me, and showing their tops well above the\nmoon-kissed reeds and bushes, were two trees--a tamarind and a kulpa\nbriksha. God knows why I decided on the latter! Probably through a mere\nfluke, for I hadn't the remotest idea which of the trees offered the\nbest facilities to a poor climber. My mind once made up, there was no\ntime to alter. The wer-tiger was already terribly close behind. I could\ngauge its distance by the patter of its feet--apparently the\nmetamorphosis had only been in part--and by the steadily intensifying\npurr, purr; so unmistakably interpretative of the brute's utter\nsatisfaction in its power to overtake me, as well as at the prospect of\nso good a meal. I was just thirteen stone, seemingly a most unlucky\nnumber even in weight! Had the tiger wanted, I am sure he could have\ncaught me at once, but I fancy it wished to play with me a little\nfirst--to let me think I was going to escape, and then, when it had got\nall the amusement possible out of me, just to give a little sprint and\nhaul me over. Perhaps it was my anger at such undignified treatment of\nthe human race that gave a kind of sting to my running, for I certainly\ngot over the ground at twice the speed I had ever done before, or ever\nthought myself capable of doing. At times my limbs were on the verge of\nmutiny, but I forced them onward, and though my lungs seemed bursting, I\nnever paused. At last a clearing was reached and the kulpa-tree stood\nfully revealed. I glanced at once at the trunk. The lowest branch of any\nsize was some eight feet from the ground. . . . Could I reach it?\nSummoning up all my efforts for this final, and in all probability\nfatal, rush, I hurled myself forward. There was a low exultant roar, a\nsoft, almost feminine purr, and a long hairy paw, with black, gleaming\nclaws shot past my cheek. I gave a great gasp of anguish, and with all\nthe pent-up force of despair clutched at the branch overhead. My\nfinger-tips just curled over it; I tightened them, but, at the most, it\nwas a very feeble, puny grasp, and totally insufficient to enable me to\nswing my body out of reach of the tiger. I immediately gave myself up as\nlost, and was endeavouring to reconcile myself to the idea of being\nslowly chewed alive, when an extraordinary thing happened. The wer-tiger\ngave a low growl of terror and, bounding away, was speedily lost in the\njungle. Fearing it might return, I waited for some time in the tree, and\nthen, as there were no signs of it, descended, and very cautiously made\nmy way back to the village.\n\n\"That night an entire family, father, mother, son, and daughter, were\nmurdered, and their mutilated and half-eaten bodies were discovered on\nthe floor of their hut in the morning. Evidence pointed to their having\nbeen killed by a tiger; and as they had been the sworn enemies of the\nyoung man whose metamorphosis I had witnessed, it was not difficult to\nguess at the identity of their destroyer.\n\n\"I related my adventure to one of the chief people, and he informed me\nhe knew that particular kulpa-tree well. 'You undoubtedly owe your\nsalvation to having touched it,' he said. 'The original kulpa, which now\nstands in the first heaven, is said to have been one of the fourteen\nremarkable things turned up by the churning of the ocean by the gods and\ndemons; and the name of Ram and his consort Seeter are written on the\nsilvery trunks of all its earthly descendants. If once you touch any\nportion of a kulpa briksha tree, you are quite safe from any\nanimal--that is why the wer-tiger snarled and ran away! But take my\nadvice, sahib, and leave the village.'\n\n\"I did so, and on the way to my home in the hills visited the tree.\nThere, sure enough, plainly visible on the silvery surface in the\ntwilight, was the name of the incarnation of Vishnu, written in Sanskrit\ncharacters, and apparently by some supernatural hand; that is to say,\nthere was a softness in the impression, as if the finger of some\nsupernatural being had traced the characters. I did not want any further\nproofs--I had had enough; and taking good care to see my gun was loaded,\nI hurried off. Nor have I ever ventured into that neighbourhood since.\"\n\nMr. K----, continuing, informed me that from what he had been told by\nhis friend in the Kandh village, he concluded that only those who had\nbeen initiated into the full rites of magic in their early youth could\nsee the totem in its full state of materialization, _i.e._, an enormous\ntiger--half man and half beast. To those who were in some degree\nclairvoyant it would appear as it had appeared to him, a mere column of\ncrimson light (crimson on account of its association with Black Magic);\nwhilst to those who were not in any way clairvoyant it would remain\nentirely invisible. The young Kandh had prayed for the property of\nlycanthropy solely as a means of revenge on those whom he imagined had\nwronged him; and as a wer-tiger he was able to destroy them in the most\ncruel manner possible. The property when once acquired, however, could\nnever be cast off, and the young man would, willy-nilly, undergo\ntransmutation every night, and in all probability continue killing and\neating people till some one plucked up the courage--for wer-tigers were\nnot only dreaded, but held in the greatest awe--to shoot him.\n\nThere are certain tribes in India known to be adepts in Occultism, and\ntherefore one is not surprised to find lycanthropy linked with the\nmysterious jugglery, etherical projection, and other psychic feats\naccomplished by these tribesmen. The wer-tiger is not confined to the\nKandhs: it is met with in Malaysia, in the gorgeous tropical forests of\nJava and Sumatra, where it is feared more than anything on earth by the\ngentle and intelligent natives; and, if rumour be true, in the great,\nlone mountains and dense jungles, and along the hot, unhealthy\nriver-banks of New Guinea.\n\nIn Arawak, it gives place to the wer-jaguar; in Ashangoland, and many\nparts of West Africa, to the wer-leopard. Of course, there are cases of\ncharlatanism in lycanthropy as in medicine, politics, palmistry, and in\nevery other science. But most, if not all, of these cases of sham\nlycanthropy seem to come from West Africa, where leopard societies are\nfrom time to time formed by young savages unable to restrain their\ncraving for cannibalism. These human vampires dress up in leopard-skins,\nand stealing stealthily through the woods at night, attack stray\npedestrians or isolated households. After killing their victims, they\ncut off any portions of the body--usually the breasts and thighs--they\nfancy most for eating, and then mutilate the rest with the signia of\ntheir society, _i.e._, long and deep scratchings, which are made either\nwith the claws of a leopard or some other beast, or with sharp iron\nnails. Whole districts are often put in a state of panic by these\nmarauders, who, retiring to their retreat in the heart of some little\nknown, vast, and almost impenetrable forest, successfully defy capture.\nBut the fact of there being pseudo-wer-leopards by no means disposes of\nthe fact that there are genuine ones, any more than the fact that there\nare charlatan palmists precludes the possibility of there being _bona\nfide_ palmists; and I am inclined to believe lycanthropy exists in\ncertain parts of West Africa (_i.e._, where primitive conditions are\nmost in evidence), although not, perhaps, to the same extent as it does\nin Asia and Europe. I do not think the negro's relationship to the\nOccult Forces is quite the same as that of other races. He is often\nclairvoyant and clairaudiant, and always very much in awe of the\nsuperphysical; but it is rarely he can ever claim close intimacy with\nit--not close enough, at all events, to be the recipient of its special\ngifts.\n\nIn werwolfery there is no \"totem.\" The property of metamorphosis, in\nthis branch of lycanthropy, is not deemed the gift of a national deity,\nbut either of the Occult Powers in general or of some particular local\nphantasm. In other branches of lycanthropy, viz., that of the wer-tiger\nand wer-leopard--I am doubtful about the wer-jaguar--the property of\ntransmutation is said to be conferred solely by the god, or a god, of\nthe tribe.\n\nBut although these various properties of lycanthropy are apparently\nderived from different sources, the difference is only in outward form;\nand I have no hesitation in saying that the occult power from which all\nlycanthropy proceeds, whether in the form of a wolf, tiger, leopard, or\nany other beast, is in reality the same species of Elemental.[32:1] But\nwhether a Vagrarian, Vice, or some other Elemental, I cannot possibly\nsay.\n\nI have stated that I am doubtful as to whether totemism exists in\nArawak. The truth is, with regard to this question, I am in receipt of\nsomewhat conflicting testimony. Some say that the natives have as their\ngod a deity in the form of a jaguar, to whom they pray for vengeance on\ntheir foes and for the property of lycanthropy; which property (_vide_\nthe case of the Kandhs) would give them the additional pleasure of\nexecuting vengeance in their own person. On the other hand, I have heard\nthat the form of a jaguar is the form most commonly assumed by spirits\nin Arawak, particularly by those invoked at seances. Hence it is\nextremely difficult to arrive at the truth. From the corroborating\ntestimony of various people, however, I conclude that whereas among the\nKandhs and West African negroes the property of lycanthropy (unless, of\ncourse, hereditary) is rarely conferred on females, or on anyone younger\nthan sixteen, in Arawak and Malaysia it is awarded regardless of sex or\nage.\n\nSome years ago there was current, among certain tribes of the natives in\nArawak, a story to this effect:--\n\nA Dutch trader, of the name of Van Hielen, was visiting for purely\nbusiness purposes an Indian settlement in a very remote part of the\ncolony. Roaming about the village one evening, he came to a hut standing\nalone on the outskirts of one of those dense forests that are so\ncharacteristic of Arawak. Van Hielen paused, and was marvelling how\nanyone could choose to live in so outlandish and lonely a spot, when a\nshrill scream, followed by a series of violent guttural ejaculations,\ncame from the interior of the building, and the next moment a little\nboy--some seven or eight years of age--rushed out of the house, pursued\nby a prodigiously fat woman, who whacked him soundly across the\nshoulders with a knotted club and then halted for want of breath. Van\nHielen, who was well versed in the native language, politely asked her\nwhat the boy had done to deserve so severe a chastisement.\n\n\"Done!\" the woman replied, opening her beady little eyes to their full\nextent; \"why, he's not done anything--that's why I beat him--he's\nincorrigibly idle. He and his sister spend all their time amid the trees\nyonder conversing with the bad spirits. They learned that trick from\nGuska, with the evil eye. She has bewitched them. She was shot to death\nwith arrows in the market-place last year, and my only regret is that\nshe wasn't put out of the way ten years sooner. Ah! there's that wicked\ngirl Yarakna--she's been hiding from me all the day. I must punish her,\ntoo!\" and before Van Hielen could speak the indignant parent waddled\noff--with surprising swiftness for one of her vast proportions--and\nreappeared dragging by the wrist an elfish-looking girl of about ten.\nShe gave the urchin one blow, and was about to give her another, when\nVan Hielen, whose heart was particularly tender where children were\nconcerned, interfered, and by dint of bribery persuaded her to desist.\nShe retired indoors, and Van Hielen found himself alone with the child.\n\n\"May the spirit of the woods for ever be your friend!\" the maiden said.\n\"But for you my poor back would have been beaten to a tonka bean. My\nbrother and I have suffered enough at the hands of the old woman--we'll\nsuffer no more.\"\n\n\"What will you do then?\" Van Hielen asked, shocked at the revengeful\nexpression that marred the otherwise pretty features of the child.\n\"Remember, she is your mother, and has every right to expect you to be\nobedient and industrious.\"\n\n\"She is not our mother!\" the girl answered. \"Our mother is the spirit of\nthe woods. We work for her--not for this old woman, and in return she\ntells us tales and amuses us.\"\n\n\"You work for her!\" Van Hielen said in amazement. \"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe child smiled--the ignorance of the white man tickled her. \"We gather\naloes for medicine for her sick children; the core of the lechugilla for\ntheir food, yucca leaves for plumes for their heads, and scarlet\npanicles of the _Fouquiera splendens_ for their clothes. My brother and\nI will go to her to-night when the old woman is sleeping. Where? Ah! we\ndo not tell anyone that. Do we see her? The spirit of the woods, you\nmean? Yes, we see her, but it is not every one who can see her--only\nthose who have sight like ours. But I must go now--my brother is calling\nme.\"\n\nVan Hielen could hear nothing; though he did not doubt, from the child's\nbehaviour, that she had been called. She ran merrily away, and he\nwatched her black head disappear in the thick undergrowth facing him.\nVan Hielen's curiosity was roused. What the child had said impressed him\ndeeply; and against his saner judgment he resolved to secrete himself\nnear the hut and watch. After it had been dusk some time, and all sounds\nhad ceased, he saw the two children emerge from the hut, and, tiptoeing\nsoftly towards the trees, fall on their hands and knees and crawl along\na tiny, deviating path. Hardly knowing what he was doing, but impelled\nby a force he could not resist, Van Hielen followed them. It was a\ndelicious night--at that time of year every night in Arawak is\ndelicious--and Van Hielen, who was very simple in his love of nature,\nimbibed delight through every pore in his body. As he trod gently along,\npushing first this branch and then that out of the way, and stooping\ndown to half his height to creep under a formidable bramble, countless\nvoices from animal land fell on his ears. From a glimmering patch of\nwater, away on his left, came the trump of a bull-frog and the wail of\nthe whip-poor-will; a monkey chattered, a parrot screeched, whilst a\nshrill cry of terror, accompanied by a savage growl, plainly told of the\nsurprise and slaughter of some defenceless animal by one of the many big\nbeasts of prey that made every tree their lurking place.\n\nOn any other occasion Van Hielen would have thought twice before\nembarking on such an expedition; but that night he seemed to be\nlabouring under some charm which had lulled to sleep all sense of\ninsecurity. It was true he was armed, but of what avail is a rifle\nagainst the unexpected spring of a jaguar or leopard--from a bough some\nten or twenty feet directly over one's head--or the sudden lunge of a\nboa constrictor!\n\nAt first, the path wound its way through a dense chapparal consisting of\nthe various shrubs and plants rarely to be met with in other parts of\nArawak, namely, acacias, aloes, lechuguillas, and the _Fouquiera\nsplendens_. But after a short time this kind of vegetation was succeeded\nby something far more imposing--by dense masses of trees, many of them\nat the least one hundred and fifty feet in height: the mora, which from\na distance appears like a hillock clothed with the brightest vegetation;\nthe ayucari, or red cedar; and the cuamara, laden with tonka beans. So\nthick was their foliage overhead that one by one Van Hielen watched the\nstars disappear; and the path ahead of him darkened till it was as much\nas he could do to grope along. Still he was not afraid. The thought of\nthat elfish little maiden with the luminous eyes crawling along in front\nof him inspired him with extraordinary confidence and he plunged on,\nanxious only to catch another glimpse of her and see the play out. Once\nhis progress was interrupted by something hot and leathery, that pushed\nhim nearly off his feet and puffed rudely in his face. It was on the tip\nof his tongue to give vent to his ruffled feelings in forcible language,\nbut the knowledge that this would assuredly warn the children of his\nproximity kept him quiet, and he contented himself with striking a\nvigorous blow. There was a loud snort, a crashing and breaking of\nbrushwood, and the thing, whatever it was, rushed away. Another time he\nstumbled over a snake which was gliding from one side of the path to the\nother. The creature hissed, and Van Hielen, giving himself up for lost,\njumped for all he was worth. As luck would have it the snake missed, and\nVan Hielen, escaping with nothing more serious than a few scratches and\na bump or two, was able to continue his course. After long gropings the\npath at length came to an end, the trees cleared, and Van Hielen saw\nbefore him a pool, radiantly illuminated by the moon, and in the very\ncentre--an immense Victoria Regia water-lily.\n\nThough accustomed to the fine species of this plant in Guiana--which is\nthe home of the Victoria Regia--Van Hielen was doubtful if he had ever\nbefore beheld such a magnificent specimen. The silvery moonlight,\nfalling on its white and pink petals, threw into relief all the\nexquisite delicacy of their composition, and gave to them a glow which\ncould only have been rivalled in Elysium. Indeed, the whole scene,\nenhanced by the glamour of the hour and the sweet scent of plants and\nflowers, was so reminiscent of fairyland that Van Hielen--enraptured\nbeyond description--stood and gazed in open-mouthed ecstasy.\n\nThen his eyes fell on the children and he noiselessly slipped back under\ncover of a tree.\n\nHand in hand the boy and girl advanced to the water's edge, and\nkneeling, commenced to recite some strange incantation, which Van Hielen\ntried in vain to interpret. Sometimes their voices reached a high,\nplaintive key; sometimes they sank to a low murmur, strangely musical,\nand strangely suggestive of the babbling of brook water over stones and\npebbles. When they had finished their incantation, they got up, and\nrunning to some bushes, returned in a few seconds with their arms full\nof flowers, which they threw with great dexterity on to the leaves of\nthe giant lily. With their faces still turned to the water they remained\nstanding, side by side, whilst a silence--deep and impressive, and\nshared, so it appeared to Van Hielen, by all nature--fell upon them.\n\nA cold current of air, rising apparently from the pool, blew across the\nopening, and sweeping past Van Hielen, set all the leaves in motion. It\nrustled on till its echoes gradually ceased, and all was still again. It\nnow seemed to Van Hielen that the character of everything around\nunderwent a subtle change; and the feeling that every object around him\nwas indulging in a hearty laugh at his expense intensified with every\nbreath he drew. For the first time Van Hielen was afraid. He could not\ndefine the cause of his fear--but that only made his fear the more\nacute. He was frightened of the wind and darkness, and of something more\nthan the wind and darkness--something concealed in--something cloaked by\nthe wind and darkness. Even the atmosphere had altered--it, too, was\nmaking game of him. It distorted his vision. The things he saw around\nhim were no longer stationary--they moved. They twirled and twisted\nthemselves into all sorts of grotesque and fanciful attitudes; grew\nlarge, then small; nearer and then more distant. The plot of ground in\nfront of which the children knelt played all manner of pranks--pranks\nVan Hielen did not at all like. It moved round and round--faster and\nfaster, until it eventually became a whirlpool; which suddenly reversed\nand assumed the appearance of a pyramid revolving on its apex. Quicker\nand quicker it spun round--closer and closer it drew; until, without\nwarning, it suddenly stopped and disappeared; whilst its place was taken\nby an oddly shaped bulge in the ground, which, swaying backward and\nforward, increased and increased in stature, till it attained the height\nof some seven or eight feet. Van Hielen could not compare this with\nanything he had ever seen. It was monstrous but shapeless--a mere mass\nof irregular lumps, a dull leadish white, and vibrating horribly in the\nmoonlight. He thought of the children; but where they had stood he saw\nonly two greenish-yellow spheres that, twirling round and round,\nsuddenly approached him. As he started back to escape them, all was\nagain changed. The lumpy figure had vanished, the atmosphere cleared,\nand everything was absolutely normal. There were now, however, solid\ngrounds for fear. Advancing on him with flashing eyes and scintillating\nteeth were two vividly marked jaguars--a male and female. Van Hielen,\nusually calm and collected in the face of danger, on this occasion lost\nhis presence of mind: his gun dropped from his hands, his knees\nquivered, and, helpless and inert, he reeled against the tree under\nwhich he had been standing. The jaguars--which seemed to be unusually\nsavage even for jaguars--prepared to spring, and Van Hielen, certain\nhis hour had come, was about to close his eyes and resign himself to his\nfate, when the female brute, although the bigger and more formidable,\nhesitated--thrust its dark, handsomely spotted head almost in its\nvictim's face, and then, lashing its companion sharply with its tail,\nswerved aside and was off like a dart.\n\nIt took Van Hielen some minutes to realize his escape, and then, more in\na dream than awake, he mechanically shouldered his rifle and slowly\nfollowed in the beasts' wake.\n\nAn hour's walking brought him to the end of the forest. The dawn was\nbreaking, and the track leading to the settlement was just beginning to\nexhibit the mellowing influence of the first rays of the sun. There was\nan exhilarating freshness in the air that made Van Hielen keenly\nsensitive to the ambitious demands of a newly awakened stomach. Opposite\nhim was the hut of the old woman, the entrance somewhat clumsily blocked\nwith a makeshift door. As Van Hielen looked at it curiously, wondering\nif the woman was in the habit of barricading it in this fashion on\naccount of her proximity to the forest, sounds greeted him from within.\n\nStepping lightly up to the hut, Van Hielen listened attentively. Some\nbig animal--a hound most probably--was gnawing a bone--crunch, crunch,\ncrunch!\n\nVan Hielen moved away, but hadn't gone very far before an indefinable\nsomething made him turn back. That crunching, was it a dog or was\nit----? His heart turned sick within him at the bare thought. Again he\nlistened at the threshold, and again he heard the sounds--gnaw, gnaw,\ngnaw--crunch, crunch, crunch! He rapped at first gently, and then\nloudly, ever so loudly.\n\nThe gnawing at once stopped, but no one answered him. Then he\ncalled--once, twice, thrice: there was no reply. Assured now there was\nsomething amiss, he gripped his rifle, and putting his shoulder to the\ndoor, burst it open. A flood of daylight rushed in, and he saw before\nhim on the floor the mutilated and half-eaten remains of a woman,\nand--did his eyes deceive him or did he see?--crouching in a corner all\nready to spring, two magnificent jaguars. Van Hielen raised his rifle,\nbut--in less than a second--it fell from his grasp.\n\nTowards him, from the same spot--their small mouths and slender hands\nsmeared with blood--ran Yarakna and her brother.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[32:1] A spirit that has never inhabited any material body. Elementals\nare a genus of a large order, and include innumerable species.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE SPIRITS OF WERWOLVES\n\n\nIt seems that there is a disposition in certain minds to associate\nlycanthropy with the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. A brief\nexamination of the latter will, however, suffice to show there is very\nlittle analogy between the two.\n\nTransmigration of souls, a metempsychosis, deals solely with the passing\nof the soul after death into another mortal form. Lycanthropy confines\nitself to the metamorphosis of physical man to animal form only during\nman's physical lifetime.\n\nMetempsychosis is a change of condition dependent on the principle of\nevolution (_i.e._ evolution upward and retrogressive). Lycanthropy is a\nchange of condition relative to a property, entirely independent of\nevolution. The one is wholly determined by man's spiritual state at the\ntime of his physical dissolution; the other is simply a faculty of\nsense, either handed down to man by his forefathers or acquired by man,\nduring his lifetime, through the knowledge and practice of magic.\n\nThere are absolutely no grounds, other than purely hypothetical ones,\nfor supposing a werwolf to be a reincarnation; but on the other hand\nthere is reason to believe that the wolf personality of the werwolf, at\nthe latter's physical dissolution, remains earthbound in the form of a\nlupine phantasm. So that although there is nothing to associate\nlycanthropy with metempsychosis, there is, at all events, something in\ncommon between lycanthropy and animism. Animism, be it understood, holds\nthat every living thing, whether man, beast, reptile, insect, or\nvegetable, has a representative spirit.\n\nAs an example of a lupine phantasm representing the personality of the\nwerwolf, I will quote a case, reported to me some years ago as having\noccurred in Estonia, on the shores of the Baltic. A gentleman and his\nsister, whom I will call Stanislaus and Anno D'Adhemar, were invited to\nspend a few weeks with their old friends, the Baron and Baroness Von\nA----, at their country home in Estonia. On the day arranged, they set\nout for their friends' house, and alighting at a little station, within\ntwenty miles of their destination, were met by the Baron's droshky. It\nwas one of those exquisite evenings--a night light without moon, a day\nshady without clouds--peculiar to that clime. Indeed, it seemed as if\nthe last glow of the evening and the first grey of the morning had\nmelted together, and as if all the luminaries of the sky merely rested\ntheir beams without withdrawing them. To Stanislaus and Anno, jaded with\nthe wear and tear of life in a big city, the calm and quiet of the\ncountry-side was most refreshing, and they heaved great sighs of\ncontentment as they leaned far back amid the luxurious upholstery of the\ncarriage, and drew in deep breaths of the smokeless, pure, scented air.\nTheir surroundings modelled their thoughts. Instead of discussing\nmonetary matters, which had so long been uppermost in their minds, they\ndiscoursed on the wonderful economy of happiness in a world full of toil\nand struggle; the fewer the joys, they argued, the higher the enjoyment,\ntill the last and highest joy of all, true peace of mind, _i.e._,\ncontent, was the one joy found to contain every other joy. Occasionally\nthey paused to remark on the brilliant lustre of the stars, and, not\ninfrequently, alluded to the Creator's graciousness in allowing them to\nbehold such beauty. Occasionally, too, they would break off in the midst\nof their conversation to listen to the plaintive utterings of some night\nbird or the shrill cry of a startled hare. The rate at which they were\nprogressing--for the horses were young and fresh--speedily brought them\nto an end of the open country, and they found themselves suddenly\nimmersed in the deepening gloom of a dense and extensive forest of\npines. The track now was not quite so smooth; here and there were big\nruts, and Stanislaus and his sister were subjected to such a vigorous\nbumping that they had to hold on to the sides of the droshky, and to one\nanother. In the altered conditions of their travel, conversation was\nwell-nigh impossible. The little they attempted was unceremoniously\njerked out of them, and the nature of it--I am loath to admit--had\nsomewhat deteriorated. It had, in fact, in accordance with their\nsurroundings, undergone a considerable change.\n\n\"What a vile road!\" Stanislaus exclaimed, clutching the side of the\ndroshky with both hands to save himself from being precipitated into\nspace.\n\n\"Yes--isn't--it?\" gasped Anno, as she lunged forward, and in a vain\nattempt to regain her seat fell on their handbag, which gave an ominous\nsquish. \"I declare there--there--will be--nothing left of me--by the--by\nthe time we get there. Oh dear! Whatever shall I do? Wherever have you\ngot to, Stanislaus?\"\n\nThe upper half of Stanislaus was nowhere to be seen! His lower half,\nhowever, was discovered by his sister convulsively pressed against the\nside of the droshky. In another moment this, too, would undoubtedly have\ndisappeared, and the lower extremities would have gone in pursuit of the\nupper, had not Anno with admirable presence of mind effected a rescue.\nShe tugged at her brother's coat-tails in the very nick of time, with\nthe result that his whole body once again hove into view.\n\nJust then a bird sang its final song before retiring for the night, and\nStanislaus, hot and trembling all over, shouted out: \"What a hideous\nnoise! I declare it quite frightened me\"; whilst Anno shuddered and put\nher fingers in her ears. They once more abused the road; then the trees.\n\"Great ugly things,\" they said; \"they shut out all the light.\" And then\nthey abused the driver for not looking out where he was going, and\nfinally they began to abuse one another. Anno abused Stanislaus, because\nhe had disarranged her hat and hair, and Stanislaus, Anno, because he\ncouldn't hear all she said, and because what he did hear was silly. Then\nthe Stygian darkness of the great pines grew; and the silence of wonder\nfell on the two quarrellers. On, on, on rolled the droshky, a monotonous\nrumble, rumble, that sounded very loud amid the intense hush that had\nsuddenly fallen on the forest. Stanislaus and Anno grew drowsy; the cold\nnight air, crowning their exertions of the day, induced sleep, and they\nwere soon very much in the land of nods: Stanislaus with his head thrust\nback as far as it would go, and Anno with her head leaning slightly\nforward and her chin deeply rooted in the silvery recesses of her rich\nfur coat.\n\nThe driver stopped for a moment. He had to attend to his lights, which,\nhe reflected, were behaving in rather an odd manner. Then, scratching\nhis head thoughtfully, he cracked his whip and drove hurriedly on. Once\nagain, rumble, rumble, rumble; and no other sounds but far away echoes\nand the gentle cooing of a soft night breeze through the forked and\nragged branches of the sad and stately pines. On, on, on, the light\nuncertain and the horses brisk. Suddenly the driver hears something--he\nstrains his ears to catch the meaning of the sounds--a peculiar, quick\npatter, patter--coming from far away in the droshky's wake. There is\nsomething--he can't exactly tell what--in those sounds he doesn't like;\nthey are human, and yet not human; they may proceed from some one\nrunning--some one tall and lithe, with an unusually long stride. They\nmay--and he casts a shuddering look over his shoulder as the thought\nstrikes him--they may be nothing human--they may be the patter of a\nwolf! A huge, gaunt, hungry wolf! an abnormally big wolf! a wolf with a\ngallop like that of a horse! The driver was new to these parts; he had\nbut lately come from the Baron's establishment in St. Petersburg. He had\nnever been in this wood after dark, and he had never seen a wolf save in\nthe Zoological Gardens. The atmosphere now began to sharpen. From being\nmerely cold it became positively icy, and muttering, \"I never felt\nanything like this in St. Petersburg,\" the driver shrank into the depths\nof his furs, and tried to settle himself more comfortably in his seat.\nThe horses, too, four in number, were strangers in Estonia, the Baron\nhaving only recently paid a heavy price for them in Nava on account of\ntheir beauty. Not that they were merely handsome; despite their small\nand graceful build, and the glossy sleekness of their coats, they were\nboth strong and spirited, and could cover twenty-five versts without a\npause. But now they, too, heard the sounds--there was no doubt of\nthat--and felt the cold. At first they shivered, then whined, and then\ncame to an abrupt halt; and then, without the slightest warning, tore\nthe shifting tag and rag tight around them, and bounding forward, were\noff like the wind. Then, away in their rear, and plainly audible above\nthe thunder of their hoofs, came a moaning, snarling, drawn-out cry,\nwhich was almost instantly repeated, not once, but again and again.\n\nStanislaus and Anno, who had been rudely awakened from their slumbers by\nthe unusual behaviour of the horses, were now on the _qui vive_.\n\n\"Good heavens! What's that?\" they cried in chorus.\n\n\"What's that, coachman?\" shrieked Anno, digging the shivering driver in\nthe back.\n\n\"Volki, mistress, volki!\" was the reply, and on flew the droshky faster,\nfaster, faster!\n\nTo Stanislaus and Anno the word \"wolves\" came as a stunning shock. All\nthe tales they had ever heard of these ferocious beasts crowded their\nminds at once. Wolves! was it possible that those dreadful bogies of\ntheir childhood--those grim and awful creatures, grotesquely but none\nthe less vividly portrayed in their imagination by horror-loving\nnurses--were actually close at hand! Supposing the brutes caught them,\nwho would be eaten first? Anno, Stanislaus, or the driver? Would they\ndevour them with their clothes on? If not, how would they get them off?\nThen, filled with morbid curiosity, they strained their ears and\nlistened. Again--this time nearer, much nearer--came that cry, dismal,\nprotracted, nerve-racking. Nor was that all, for they could now discern\nthe pat-pat, pat-pat of footsteps--long, soft, loping footsteps, as of\nhuge furry paws or naked human feet. However, they could see\nnothing--nothing but blackness, intensified by the feeble flickering of\nthe droshky's lanterns.\n\n\"Faster! drive faster!\" Anno shouted, turning round and poking the\ncoachman in the ribs with her umbrella. \"Do you want us all to be\neaten?\"\n\n\"I can't mistress, I can't!\" the man expostulated; \"the horses are\noutstripping the wind as it is. They can't go quicker.\" And the driver,\nconsigning Stanislaus and his sister to the innermost recesses of hell,\nprayed to the Virgin to save him.\n\nNearer and nearer drew the steps, and again a cry--a cry close behind\nthem, perhaps fifty yards--fifty yards at the most. And as they were\ntrying to locate it there burst into view a gigantic figure--nude and\nluminous, a figure that glowed like a glow-worm and bent slightly\nforward as it ran. It covered the ground with long, easy, swinging\nstrides, without any apparent effort. In general form its body was like\nthat of a man, saving that the limbs were longer and covered with short\nhair, and the feet and hands, besides being larger as a whole, had\nlonger toes and fingers. Its head was partly human, partly lupine--the\nskull, ears, teeth, and eyes were those of a wolf, whilst the remaining\nfeatures were those of a man. Its complexion was devoid of colour,\nstartlingly white; its eyes green and lurid, its expression hellish.\n\nStanislaus and Anno did not know what to make of it. Was it some\nterrible monstrosity that had escaped from a show, or something that was\npeculiar to the forest itself, something generated by the giant trees\nand dark, silent road? In their sublime terror they shrieked aloud, beat\nthe air with their hands to ward it off, and finally left their seats to\ncling on to the back of the driver's box.\n\nBut it came nearer, nearer, and nearer, until they were almost within\nreach of its arms. They read death in the glinting greenness of its eyes\nand in the flashing of its long bared teeth. The climax of their agony,\nthey argued, could no longer be postponed. The thing had only to make a\ngrab at them and they would die of horror--die even before it touched\nthem. But this was not to be.\n\nThey were still staring into the pale malevolent face drawing nearer and\nnearer, and wondering when the long twitching fingers would catch them\nby the throats, when the droshky with a mad swirl forward cleared the\nforest, and they found themselves gazing wildly into empty moonlit\nspace, with no sign of their pursuer anywhere.\n\nAn hour later they narrated their adventure to the Baron. Nothing could\nhave exceeded his distress. \"My dear friends!\" he said, \"I owe you a\nprofound apology. I ought to have told my man to choose any other road\nrather than that through the forest, which is well known to be haunted.\nAccording to rumour, a werwolf--we have good reason to believe in\nwerwolfs here--was killed there many years ago.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHOW TO BECOME A WERWOLF\n\n\nAs I have already stated, in some people lycanthropy is hereditary; and\nwhen it is not hereditary it may be acquired through the performance of\ncertain of the rites ordained by Black Magic. For the present I can only\ndeal with the more general features of these rites (which vary according\nto locality) and the conditions of mind essential to those who would\nsuccessfully practise these rites. In the first place, it is necessary\nthat the person desirous of acquiring the property of lycanthropy should\nbe in earnest and a believer in those superphysical powers whose favour\nhe is about to ask.\n\nAssuming we have such an individual he must, first of all, betake\nhimself to a spot remote from the haunts of men. The powers to be\npetitioned are not to be found promiscuously--anywhere. They favour only\nsuch waste and solitary places as the deserts, woods, and mountain-tops.\n\nThe locality chosen, our candidate must next select a night when the\nmoon is new and strong.[56:1] He must then choose a perfectly level\npiece of ground, and on it, at midnight, he must mark, either with chalk\nor string--it really does not matter which--a circle of not less than\nseven feet in radius, and within this, and from the same centre, another\ncircle of three feet in radius. Then, in the centre of this inner circle\nhe must kindle a fire, and over the fire place an iron tripod containing\nan iron vessel of water. As soon as the water begins to boil the\nwould-be lycanthropist must throw into it handfuls of any three of the\nfollowing substances: Asafoetida, parsley, opium, hemlock, henbane,\nsaffron, aloe, poppy-seed and solanum; repeating as he does so these\nwords:--\n\n     \"Spirits from the deep\n      Who never sleep,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits from the grave\n      Without a soul to save,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits of the trees\n      That grow upon the leas,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits of the air,\n      Foul and black, not fair,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Water spirits hateful,\n      To ships and bathers fateful,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits of earthbound dead\n      That glide with noiseless tread,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits of heat and fire,\n      Destructive in your ire,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Spirits of cold and ice,\n      Patrons of crime and vice,\n        Be kind to me.\n\n     \"Wolves, vampires, satyrs, ghosts!\n      Elect of all the devilish hosts!\n        I pray you send hither,\n        Send hither, send hither,\n        The great grey shape that makes men shiver!\n        Shiver, shiver, shiver!\n        Come! Come! Come!\"\n\nThe supplicant then takes off his vest and shirt and smears his body\nwith the fat of some newly killed animal (preferably a cat), mixed with\naniseed, camphor, and opium. Then he binds round his loins a girdle made\nof wolf's-skin, and kneeling down within the circumference of the first\ncircle, waits for the advent of the Unknown. When the fire burns blue\nand quickly dies out, the Unknown is about to manifest itself; if it\ndoes not then actually appear it will make its presence felt.\n\nThere is little consistency in the various methods of the spirit's\nadvent: sometimes a deep unnatural silence immediately precedes it;\nsometimes crashes and bangs, groanings and shriekings, herald its\napproach. When it remains invisible its presence is indicated and\naccompanied by a sensation of abnormal cold and the most acute terror.\nIt is sometimes visible in the guise of a huntsman--which is, perhaps,\nits most popular shape--sometimes in the form of a monstrosity, partly\nman and partly beast--and sometimes it is seen ill defined and only\npartially materialized. To what order of spirits it belongs is, of\ncourse, purely a matter of conjecture. I believe it to be some\nmalevolent, superphysical, creative power, such as, in my opinion,\nparticipated largely in the creation of this and other planets. I do not\nbelieve it to be the Devil, because I do not believe in the existence of\nonly one devil, but in countless devils. It is difficult to say to what\nextent the Unknown is believed to be powerful by those who approach it\nfor the purpose of acquiring the gift of lycanthropy; but I am inclined\nto think that the majority of these, at all events, do not ascribe to it\nany supreme power, but regard it merely as a local spirit--the spirit\nof some particular wilderness or forest.\n\nOf course, it is quite possible that the property of werwolfery might be\nacquired by other than a direct personal communication with the Unknown,\nas, for example, by eating a wolf's brains, by drinking water out of a\nwolf's footprints, or by drinking out of a stream from which three or\nmore wolves have been seen to drink; but as most of the stories I have\nheard of werwolfery acquired in this way are of a wild and improbable\nnature, I think there is little to be learned from the _modus operandi_\nthey advocate. The following story, which I believe to be true in the\nmain, was told me by a Dr. Broniervski, whom I met in Boulogne.\n\n\"Ten years ago,\" my informant began, \"I was engaged in a geological\nexpedition in Montenegro. I left Cetinge in company with my escort,\nDugald Dalghetty, a Dalmatian who had served me on many former\noccasions; but owing to an accident I was compelled to leave him behind\nat a village about thirty miles east of the capital. As it was\nabsolutely necessary for me to have a guide, I chose a Montenegrin\ncalled Kniaz. Dalghetty warned me against him. 'Kniaz has the evil eye,'\nhe said; 'he will bring misfortune on you. Choose some one else.'\n\n\"Kniaz was certainly not particularly prepossessing. He was tall and\nangular, and pock-marked and sandy-haired; and his eyes had a peculiar\ncast--only a cast, of course, nothing more. To balance these detractions\nhe was civil in his manners and extremely moderate in his terms.\nDalghetty, faithful fellow, almost wept as he watched us depart. 'I\nshall never see you again,' he said. 'Never!'\n\n\"Just outside the last cottage in the village we passed a gigantic,\nbroad-shouldered man, clad in the usual clothes of frieze, a black\nskullcap, wide trousers, and tights from the knee to the ankle. Over his\nshoulders was a new white strookah, of which he seemed very proud;\nwhilst he had a perfect armament of weapons--rifles, pistols,\nyatagan--polished up to the knocker--and cartouche-box. He was\nconversing with a girl at one of the windows, but turned as we came up\nto him and leered impudently at Kniaz. The sallow in Kniaz's cheeks\nturned to white, and the cast in his eyes became ten times more\npronounced. But he said nothing--only drooped his head and shuffled a\nlittle closer to me.\n\n\"For the rest of the day he spoke little; and I could tell from his\nexpression and general air of dejection that he was still brooding over\nthe incident. The following morning--we stayed the night in a wayside\ninn--Kniaz informed me that the route we had intended taking to\nSkaravoski--the town I meant to make the head quarters for my daily\nexcursions--was blocked (a blood feud had suddenly been declared between\ntwo tribes), and that consequently we should have to go by some other\nway. I inquired who had told him and whether he was sure the information\nwas correct. He replied that our host had given him the warning, and\nthat the possibility of such an occurrence had been suggested to him\nbefore leaving Cetinge. 'But,' he added, 'there is no need to worry, for\nthe other road, though somewhat wild and rough, is, in reality, quite as\nsafe, and certainly a good league and a half shorter.' As it made no\nvery great difference to me which way I went, I acquiesced. There was no\nreason to suspect Kniaz of any sinister motive--cases of treachery on\nthe part of escorts are practically unknown in Montenegro--and if it\nwere true that some of the tribes were engaged in a vendetta, then I\ncertainly agreed that we could not give them too wide a berth. At the\nsame time I could not help observing a strange innovation in Kniaz's\ncharacter. Besides the sullenness that had laid hold of him since his\nencounter with the man and girl, he now exhibited a restless\neagerness--his eyes were never still, his lips constantly moved, and I\ncould frequently hear him muttering to himself as we trudged along. He\nasked me several times if I believed in the supernatural, and when I\nlaughingly replied 'No, I am far too practical and level-headed,' he\nsaid 'Wait. We are now in the land of spirits. You will soon change your\nopinion.'\n\n\"The country we were traversing was certainly forbidding--forbidding\nenough to be the hunting ground of legions of ferocious animals. But the\nsupernatural! Bah! I flouted such an idea. All day we journeyed along a\nlofty ridge, from which, shortly before dusk, it became necessary to\ndescend by a narrow and precipitous declivity, full of danger and\ndifficulty. At the bottom we halted three or four hours, to wait for the\nmoon, in a position sufficiently romantic and uncomfortable. A\nnorth-east wind, cold and biting, came whistling over the hills, and\nseemed to be sucked down into the hollow where we sat on the chilly\nstones. The moment we sighted the slightly depressed orb of the moon\nover the vast hill of rocks, and the Milky Way spanning the heavens with\na brilliancy seen only in the East, we pushed on again. On, along a\npainfully rough and uneven track, flanked on either side by\nperpendicular masses of rock that reared themselves, black and frowning,\nlike some huge ruined wall. On, till we eventually came to the end of\nthe defile. Then an extraordinary scene burst upon us.\n\n\"Whilst the irregular line of rocks continued close on our left, beyond\nit--glittering in the miraculously magnifying moonlight with more\ngigantic proportions than nature had afforded--was a huge pile of white\nrocks, looking like the fortifications of some vast fabulous city. There\nwere yawning gateways flanked by bastions of great altitude; towers and\npyramids; crescents and domes; and dizzy pinnacles; and castellated\nheights; all invested with the unearthly grandeur of the moon, yet\nshowing in their wide breaches and indescribable ruin sure proofs that\nduring a long course of ages they had been battered and undermined by\nrain, hurricane, and lightning, and all the mighty artillery of time.\nPiled on one another, and repeated over and over again, these strangely\ncontorted rocks stretched as far as the eye could reach, sinking,\nhowever, as they receded, and leading the mind, though not the eye, down\nto the plain below, through which a turbid stream wound its way\nrebelliously, like some great twisting, twirling, silvery-scaled\nserpent.\n\n\"It was into this gorge that Kniaz in a voice thrilling with excitement\ninformed me we must plunge.\n\n\"'It is called,' he explained to me, 'the haunted valley, and it is said\nto have been from time immemorial under the spell of the grey spirits--a\nspecies of phantasm, half man and half animal, that have the power of\nmetamorphosing men into wild beasts.' Horses, he went on to inform me,\nshowed the greatest reluctance to enter the valley, which was a sure\nproof that the place was in very truth phantom-ridden. I must say its\nappearance favoured that theory. The path by which we descended was\nalmost perpendicular, and filled with shadows. Precipices hemmed us in\non every side; and here and there a huge fragment of rock, standing like\na petrified giant, its summit gleaming white in the moonbeams, barred\nour way.\n\n\"On reaching the bottom we found ourselves exactly opposite the pile of\nwhite rocks, at the base of which roared the stream. Kniaz now declared\nthat our best plan was to halt and bivouac here for the night. I\nexpostulated, saying that I did not feel in the least degree tired, that\nthe spot was far from comfortable, and that I preferred to push on.\nKniaz then pleaded that he was too exhausted to proceed, and, in fact,\nwhined to such an extent that in the end I gave way, and lying down\nunder cover of a boulder, tried to imagine myself in bed. I did actually\nfall asleep, and awoke with the sensation of something crawling over my\nface. Sitting up, I looked around for Kniaz--he was nowhere to be seen.\nThe oddness of his behaviour, his alternate talkativeness and\nsullenness, and the anxiety he had manifested to come by this route,\nmade me at last suspicious. Had he any ulterior motive in leading me\nhither? What had become of him? Where was he? I got up and approached\nthe margin of the stream, and then for the first time I felt frightened.\nThe illimitable possibilities of that enormous mass of castellated rocks\ntowering above me both quelled and fascinated me. Were these flickering\nshadows shadows, or--or had Kniaz, after all, spoken the truth when he\nsaid this valley was haunted? The moonlight rendered every object I\nlooked upon so startlingly vivid, that not even the most trivial detail\nescaped my notice, and the more I scrutinized the more firmly the\nconviction grew on me that I was in a neighbourhood differing\nessentially from any spot I had hitherto visited. I saw nothing with\nwhich I had been formerly conversant. The few trees at hand resembled no\ngrowth of either the torrid, temperate, or northern frigid zones, and\nwere altogether unlike those of the southern latitudes with which I was\nmost familiar. The very rocks were novel in their mass, their colour,\nand their stratification; and the stream itself, utterly incredible as\nit may appear, had so little in common with the streams of other\ncountries that I shrank away from it in alarm. I am at a loss to give\nany distinct idea of the nature of the water. I can only say it was not\nlike ordinary water, either in appearance or behaviour. Even in the\nmoonlight it was not colourless, nor was it of any one colour,\npresenting to the eye every variety of green and blue. Although it fell\nover stones and rocks with the same rapid descent as ordinary water, it\nmade no sound, neither splash nor gurgle. Summoning up courage, I dipped\nmy fingers in the stream; it was quite cold and limpid. The difference\ndid not lie there. I was still puzzling over this phenomenon, still\ndebating in my mind the possibility of the valley being haunted, when I\nheard a cry--a peculiarly ominous cry--human and yet animal. For a few\nseconds I was too overcome with fear to move. At last, however, having\nin some measure pulled myself together, I ventured cautiously in the\ndirection of the noise, and after treading as lightly as I could over\nthe rough and rocky soil for some couple of hundred yards, suddenly came\nto an abrupt standstill.\n\n\"Kneeling beside the stream with its back turned to me was an\nextraordinary figure--a thing with a man's body and an animal's head--a\ndark, shaggy head with unmistakable prick ears. I gazed at it aghast.\nWhat was it? What was it doing? As I stared it bent down, lapped the\nwater, and raising its head, uttered the same harrowing sound that had\nbrought me thither. I then saw, with a fresh start of wonder, that its\nhands, which shone very white in the moonlight, were undergoing a\ngradual metamorphosis. I watched carefully, and first one finger, and\nthen another, became amalgamated in a long, furry paw, armed with sharp,\nformidable talons.\n\n\"I suppose that in my fear and astonishment I made some sound of\nsufficient magnitude to attract attention; anyhow, the creature at once\nswung round, and, with a snarl of rage, rushed savagely at me. Being\nunarmed, and also, I confess, unnerved, I completely lost my presence of\nmind, and not attempting to escape--though flight would have been\nfutile, for I was nothing of a runner--shrieked aloud for help. The\nthing sprang at me, its jaws wide open, its eyes red with rage. I struck\nat it wildly, and have dim recollections of my puny blows landing on its\nface. It closed in on me, and gripping me tightly round the body with\nits sinewy arms, hurled me to the ground. My head came in violent\ncontact with a stone, and I lost consciousness. On recovering my senses,\nI was immeasurably surprised to find Dalghetty sitting on a rock\nwatching me, whilst close beside him was Kniaz, bloodstained and\nmotionless.\n\n\"Dalghetty explained the situation. 'Convinced that evil would befall\nyou in the company of such a man,' he said, pointing to the figure at\nhis feet, 'I determined to set out in pursuit of you. By a miracle,\nwhich I attribute to Our Lady, the effects of my accident suddenly wore\noff, and I felt absolutely well. I borrowed a horse, and, starting from\nCetinge at nine this morning, reached the inn where you passed last\nnight at eleven. There I learned the route you had taken, and leaving\nthe horse behind--on such a road I was safer on my legs--I pressed on.\nThe ground, being moist in places, revealed your footprints, and I had\nno difficulty at all in tracing you to the bottom of the declivity.\nThere I was at sea for some moments, since the rocky soil was too hard\nto receive any impressions. But hearing the howl of some wild animal, I\nconcluded you were attacked, and, guided by the sound, I arrived here to\nfind a werwolf actually preparing to devour you. A bullet from my rifle\nspeedily rendered the creature harmless, and a close inspection of it\nproved that my surmises were only too correct. It was none other than\nour friend here with the evil eye--Kniaz!'\n\n\"'Kniaz a werwolf!' I ejaculated.\n\n\"'Yes! he inveigled you here because he had made up his mind to drink\nthe water of the enchanted stream, and so become metamorphosed from a\nman to a wild beast. His object in doing so was to destroy a young\nfarmer who had stolen his sweetheart, and for whom he, as a man, was no\nmatch. However, he is harmless now, but it is a warning to you in future\nto trust no one who has the evil eye.'\"\n\nBelief in the evil eye is everywhere prevalent in the East, and it is\nundoubtedly true that people who have certain peculiarities in their\neyes, both with regard to expression, colour, and formation, are people\nto be avoided. If malevolently inclined, they invariably bring ill-luck\non all who become acquainted with them. I have followed the careers of\nseveral people in whom I have noticed this baneful feature, and their\nhistories have been one long tale of sin or sorrow--often both.\n\nBut though the evil eye denotes an evil superphysical influence, the\nwerwolf is not necessarily possessed of it. Sometimes a werwolf may be\ntold by the long, straight, slanting eyebrows, which meet in an angle\nover the nose; sometimes by the hands, the third finger of which is a\ntrifle the longest; or by the finger-nails, which are red,\nalmond-shaped, and curved; sometimes by the ears, which are set rather\nlow, and far back on their heads; and sometimes by a noticeably long,\nswinging stride, which is strongly suggestive of some animal. Either one\nor other of these features is always present in hereditary werwolves,\nand is also frequently developed in those people who become werwolves,\neither at the same time as or soon after they acquire the property.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[56:1] Psychic influences are demonstrated by the position of the\nplanets. For instance, at a new moon, cusp of Seventh House, and\ncojoined with Saturn in opposition to Jupiter, sinister superphysical\npresences are much in evidence on the earth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWERWOLVES AND EXORCISM\n\n\nIn the preceding chapter I touched on one or two modes of evoking the\nspirits that have it in their power to confer the property of\nlycanthropy; I now pass on to the question of exorcism in relation to\nwerwolves.\n\nIs it possible to exorcize the evil power of metamorphosis possessed by\nthe werwolf, or, as those would say who see in the werwolf, not the\npossession of a property, but a spirit, \"to exorcize the evil spirit\"?\n\nFor my own part, and basing my opinion on my own experiences with other\nforms of the superphysical, with regard to the success of exorcism I am\nsceptical. I have been present when exorcism has been tried--tried on\npeople supposed to be obsessed with demoniacal spirits, and tried on\nspontaneous psychic phenomena in haunted houses--and in both cases it\nhas failed. Now, although, as I have said, I regard lycanthropy in the\nlight of a property, and do not believe in the lycanthropist being\npossessed of a separate individual spirit, I am inclined to think, were\nexorcism efficacious at all, that it would take effect on werwolves,\nsince the property of werwolfery is a gift which is, more or less,\ndirectly acquired from the malevolent spirits.\n\nBut I am not only dubious as to the powers of exorcism generally, I am\nalso dubious as to its effect on werwolves. I have come across a good\nmany alleged cases of its having been successfully practised on\nwerwolves, but in regard to these cases, the authority is not very\nreliable, nor the corroborative evidence strong.\n\nNearly all the methods prescribed embrace the use of some potion; such,\nfor example, as sulphur, asafoetida, and castoreum, mixed with clear\nspring water; or hypericum, compounded with vinegar--which two potions\nseem to have been (and to be still) the most favoured recipes for\nremoving the devilish power.\n\nThe ceremony of exorcism proceeded as follows: The werwolf was sprinkled\nthree times with one of the above solutions, and saluted with the sign\nof the cross, or addressed thrice by his baptismal name, each address\nbeing accompanied by a blow on the forehead with a knife; or he was\nsprinkled, whilst at the same time his girdle was removed; or in lieu of\nbeing sprinkled, he had three drops of blood drawn from his chest, or\nwas compelled to kneel in one spot for a great number of years.\n\nA full description of the practice and failure of exorcism was cited to\nme the other day in connexion with a comparatively recent happening in\nAsiatic Russia:--\n\nTina Peroviskei, a wealthy young widow, who lived in St. Nicholas\nStreet, Moscow--not a hundred yards from the house of Herr Schauman, the\nwell-known German banker and horticulturist (every one in Russia has\nheard of the Schauman tulips)--met a gentleman named Ivan Baranoff at a\nfriend's house, and, despite the warning of her brother, married him.\n\nIvan Baranoff did not look more than thirty years of age. He was usually\ndressed in grey furs--a grey fur coat, grey fur leggings, and a grey fur\ncap. His features were very handsome--at least, so Tina thought--his\nhair was flaxen, glossy, and bright as a mirror; and his mouth, when\nopen, displayed a most brilliant set of even, white teeth. Tina had\nthree children by her first husband, and the fuss Ivan Baranoff made of\nthem pleased her immensely. Their own father never evinced a greater\nanxiety for their welfare. Ivan brought them the most expensive toys and\nsweetmeats--particularly sweetmeats--and would insist on seeing for\nhimself that they had plenty of rich, creamy milk, fresh eggs, and the\nbest of butter.\n\n\"You'll kill them with kindness,\" Tina often remonstrated. \"They are too\nfat by half now.\"\n\n\"They can't be too fat,\" Ivan would reply. \"No one is too fat. I love to\nsee rosy cheeks and stout limbs. Wait till you're in the country! Then\nyou may talk about putting on flesh. The air there will fatten you even\nmore than the food.\"\n\n\"Then we shall burst, and there will be an end of us,\" Tina would\nlaughingly say.\n\nBut despite all this, despite the way in which he fondled and caressed\nthem, the children involuntarily shrank away from Ivan; and on Tina\nangrily demanding the reason, they told her they could not help\nit--there was something in his bright eyes and touch that frightened\nthem. When Tina's brothers and sisters heard of this, they upheld the\nchildren.\n\n\"We are not in the least surprised,\" they said; \"his eyes are cruel--so\nare his lips; and as for his eyebrows--those dark, straight eyebrows\nthat meet in a point over the nose--why, every one knows what a bad sign\nthat is!\"\n\nBut Tina grew so angry they had to desist. \"You are jealous,\" she said\nto her brothers. \"You envy him his looks and money.\" And to her sisters\nshe said, \"You only wish you could have had him yourselves. You know I\nlove him already far more than I ever loved Rupert.\" (Rupert was her\nfirst husband.)\n\nAnd within a month or so of the marriage Tina left all her relatives in\nMoscow, and, accompanied by her children and dogs--some people hinted\nthat Tina was fonder of her dogs than of her children--went with Ivan\nBaranoff to his ancestral home near Orsk.\n\nThough accustomed to the cold, Tina found the climate of Orsk almost\nmore than she could bear. Her husband's house, which occupied an\nextremely solitary position on the confines of a gloomy forest, some few\nmiles from the town, was a large, grey stone building full of dark\nwinding passages and dungeon-like rooms. The furniture was scant, and\nthe rooms, with the exception of those devoted to herself, her husband\nand the children, which were covered with crimson drugget, were\ncarpetless. A more barren, inhospitable looking house could not be\nimagined, and the moment Tina entered it, her spirits sank to zero. The\natmosphere of the place frightened her the most. It was not that it was\nmerely forlorn and cheerless, but there was a something in it that\nreminded her of the smell of the animal houses in the Zoological Gardens\nin Moscow, and a something she could not analyse--a something which she\nconcluded must be peculiar to the house. The children were very much\nupset. The sight of the dark entrance hall and wide, silent staircases,\nbathed in gloom, terrified them.\n\n\"Oh, mother!\" they cried, clutching hold of Tina Baranoff and dragging\nher back, \"we can never live here. Take us away at once. Look at those\nthings. Whatever are they?\" And they pointed to the shadows--queerly\nshaped shadows--that lay in thick clusters on the stairs and all around\nthem.\n\nTina did not know what to say. Her own apprehensions and the only too\nobvious terror of the dogs, whom she had literally to drive across the\nthreshold, and who whined and cringed at her feet, confirming the\nchildren's fears, made it impossible for her to check them. Moreover,\nsince leaving Moscow the warnings of her friends and relations had often\ncome back to her. Though Ivan had never ceased to be kind, his conduct\nroused her suspicions. During the journey, which he had insisted should\nbe performed in a droshky, he halted every evening directly the moon\nbecame invisible, and used to disappear regularly between dusk and\nsunrise. He would never tell her where he went or attempt to explain the\noddness of his conduct, but when pressed by her would merely say:\n\n\"It is a habit. I always like to roam abroad in the night-time--it would\nbe very bad for my health if I did not.\"\n\nAnd this was all Tina could get out of him. She noticed, too, what her\nblind infatuation had prevented her observing before, that there was a\nfierce expression in his eyes when he set out on these nocturnal\nrambles, and that on his return the corners of his mouth and his long\nfinger-nails were always smeared with blood. Furthermore, she noticed\nthat although he was concerned about the appetites of herself and the\nchildren, he ate very little cooked food himself--never vegetables or\nbread--and would often furtively put a raw piece of meat into his mouth\nwhen he thought no one was looking.\n\nTina hoped that these irregularities would cease on their arrival at the\nchateau, but, on the contrary, they rather increased, and she became\ngreatly perturbed.\n\nThe second night after their arrival, when she had been in bed some time\nand was nearly asleep, Tina, between her half-closed eyelids, watched\nher husband get out of bed, stealthily open the window, and drop from\nthe sill. Some hours later she was again aroused. She heard the growl of\na wolf--and immediately afterwards saw Ivan's grey-clad head at the\nwindow. He came softly into the room, and as he tiptoed across the floor\nto the washstand, Tina saw splashes of blood on his face and coat,\nwhilst it dripped freely from his finger-tips. In the morning the news\nwas brought her by the children that one of her favourite dogs was\ndead--eaten by some wild animal, presumably a wolf. Tina's position now\nbecame painful in the extreme. She was more than suspicious of her\nhusband, and had no one--saving her children--in whom she could confide.\nThe house seemed to be under a ban; no one, not even a postman or\ntradesman, ever came near it, and with the exception of the two\nservants, whose silent, gliding movements and light glittering eyes\nfilled both her and her children with infinite dread, she did not see a\nsoul.\n\nOn four consecutive nights one of her four dogs was killed, each in\nprecisely the same manner; and on each of these consecutive nights Tina\nwatched Ivan surreptitiously leave the house and return all\nbloodstained, and accompanied by the distant howl of wolves. And on the\nday following the death of each dog respectively, Tina noticed the grey\nglinting eyes of the two servants become more and more earnestly fixed\non the children and herself. At meal-times the eyes never left her; she\nwas conscious of their scrutiny at every mouthful she took; and when she\npassed them in the passages, she instinctively felt their gaze following\nher steadily till she was out of sight. Sometimes, hearing a stealthy\nbreathing outside her room, she would quickly open the door, demanding\nwho was there; and she invariably caught one or other of the servants\nslinking away disconcerted, but still peeping at her furtively from\nunder his long pointed eyebrows. When she spoke to them they answered\nher in harsh, curiously discordant tones, and usually only in\nmonosyllables; but she never heard them converse with one another save\nin whispers--always in whispers. The house was now full of shadows--and\nwhispers. They haunted her even in her sleep. For the first two or three\ndays her husband had been communicative; but he gradually grew more and\nmore taciturn, until at last he rarely said anything at all. He merely\nwatched her--watched her wherever she went, and whatever she did; and he\nwatched the children--particularly the children--with the same\nexpression, the same undefinable secretive expression that harmonized so\nwell with the shadows and whispers. And it was this treatment--the\ntreatment she now received from her husband--that made Tina appreciate\nthe company of her children. Before, they had been quite a tertiary\nconsideration--Ivan had come first; then the dogs; and lastly, Hilda,\nOlga, and Peter. But this order was at length reversed; and on the death\nof the last of her pets, Hilda, Olga and Peter stood first. She spent\npractically every minute of the day with them; and, despite the\nprotestations of her husband, converted her dressing-room into a bedroom\nfor them. The first evening of their removal to their new quarters, Tina\nsat and played with them till one after another they fell asleep from\nsheer exhaustion. Then she sat beside them and examined them curiously.\nHilda, the eldest, was lying composed and orderly, with pale cheek and\nsmooth hair, her limbs straight, her head slightly bent, the bedclothes\nunruffled upon the regularly heaving chest. How pretty Hilda looked, and\nhow odd it was that she, Tina, had never noticed the beauty of the child\nbefore! Why, with her fair complexion, delicate features, and perfectly\nshaped arms and hands she would undoubtedly one day take all Moscow by\nstorm; and every one would say, \"Do you know who that lovely girl is?\nShe is the daughter of Tina--Tina Baranoff. [She shuddered at the name\nBaranoff.] No wonder she is beautiful!\"\n\nTina turned from Hilda to Olga. What a contrast, but not an unpleasant\none--for Olga was pretty, too, though in a different style. What a\nsight!--defying all order and bursting all bounds, flushed, tumbled and\nawry--the round arms tossed up, the rosy face flung back, the bedclothes\npushed off, the pillow flung out, the nightcap one way, the hair\nanother--all that was disorderly and lovely by night, all that was\nunruly and winning by day. Tina--dainty, elegant, perfumed, manicured\nTina--bent over untidy little Olga and kissed her.\n\nThen she turned to Peter, and, unable to resist the temptation, tickled\nhis toes and woke him. When she had at last sent him to sleep again, it\nwas almost dinner-time; and she had barely got into her dress when one\nof the servants rapped at the door to say that the meal was ready. The\nhouse was very large, and Tina had to pass through two halls and down a\nlong corridor before reaching the room where the dinner was served.\nRather to her relief than otherwise, her husband did not put in an\nappearance, and a note from him informed her that he had unexpectedly\nbeen called away on business and would not be able to return till late\nthe following day.\n\nTina did not enjoy her dinner. The soup had rather a peculiar flavour,\nbut she knew it was useless to make any comment. The servants either\ncould not or would not understand, and Ivan invariably upheld them in\neverything they did. Unable to bear the man's eyes continually fixed on\nher, she told him not to wait, and hurried through the meal so as to get\nhim out of the way, and be left for the rest of the evening in peace.\nThe big wood fire appealed to Tina--it was the only thing in that part\nof the house that seemed to have any life--and she resolved to sit by\nit, and, perhaps, skim through a book. Tina seldom read--in Moscow, all\nher evenings were spent at cards. She remembered, however, that somebody\nhad told her repeatedly, and emphatically, that she ought to read\nTolstoy's \"Resurrection,\" and she had actually brought it with her. Now\nshe would wade through it. But whether it was the heat of the fire, or\nthe lateness of the hour, or both, her senses grew more and more drowsy,\nand before she had begun to read, she fell asleep.\n\nShe was, at length, partially awakened by a loud noise. At first her\nsleepy senses paid little attention and she dozed on. But again she was\nroused. A noise which grew louder and louder at last compelled her to\nshake off sleep, and starting up, she opened the door and looked into\nthe passage. A few streaks of moonlight, streaming through an iron\ngrating high up in the wall, enabled her to see a tall figure stealing\nsoftly along the corridor, with its back towards her. The thing was so\nextraordinary that for a moment or so she fancied she must still be\ndreaming; but the cold night air blowing freely in her face speedily\nassured her that what she saw was grim reality. The thing was a\nmonstrosity, a hideous hybrid of man and beast, and as she gazed at it,\ntoo horror-stricken to move, a second and third form exactly similar to\nit crept out from among the shadows against the wall and joined it. And\nTina, yielding to a sudden fascination, followed in their wake. In this\nfashion they crossed the hall and ascended the staircase, Tina keeping\nwell behind them. She knew where they were aiming for, and any little\ndoubt that she might have had was set at rest, when they turned into the\npassage leading to her bedroom. A moaning cry of fear from one of the\nchildren told her that they, too, knew by intuition of their coming\ndanger. Tina was now in an agony of mind as to what to do for the best.\nThat the intention of these hideous creatures--be they what they\nmight--phantasms or things of flesh and blood--was sinister, she had not\nthe slightest doubt; but how could she prevent them getting at her\nchildren? The most she could do would be to shout to Hilda and tell her\nto lock the two doors. But would that keep them out? She opened her\nmouth and jerked out \"Hilda!\" She tried again, but her throat had\ncompletely dried up, and she could not articulate another syllable. The\nsound, however, though faint, had been sufficient to attract the\nattention of the hindermost creature. It turned, and the light from the\nmoon, coming through the half-open door of her bedroom, shone on its\nglittering eyes and white teeth. It sprang towards her. With one\nconvulsive bound Tina cleared the threshold of a room immediately behind\nher, dashed the door to--locked it--barred it--flung a chair against it;\nand stood in an agony, for which no words exist. She seemed to see, all\nin a moment, herself safe, and her children--not a door closed between\nthem and those dreadful jaws! She then became stupefied with terror, and\na strange, dinning sound, like the pulsation of her heart, filled her\nears and shut out every sense.\n\n\"It is a devil! a devil!\" she repeated mechanically; and then, forcing\nherself out of the trance-like feeling that oppressed her, she combated\nwith the cowardice that prevented her rushing out--if only to die in an\nattempt to save her children. She had not realized till then that it was\npossible to care for them more even--much more even--than she had cared\nfor her dogs. She placed one hand on the lock, and looked round for some\nweapon of defence. There was not a thing she could use--not a stanchion\nto the window, not a rod to the bed. And even if there had been, how\nfutile in her puny grip! She glanced at her tiny white fingers with\ntheir carefully trimmed and polished nails, and smiled--a grim smile of\nirony. Then she placed her ear against the panels of the door and\nlistened--and from the other side came the sound of heavy panting and\nthe stealthy movement of hands. Suddenly a scream rang out, so clear and\nvibrating, so full of terror, that her heart stood still and her blood\ncongealed. It was Hilda! Hilda shrieking \"Mother!\" There it was again,\n\"Mother! Mother! Help! Help!\" Then a series of savage snarls and growls\nand more shrieks--the combined shrieks of all three children. Shrieks\nand growls were then mingled together in one dreadful, hideous\npandemonium, which all of a sudden ceased, and was succeeded by the loud\ncrunching and cracking of bones. At last that, too, ceased, and Tina\nheard footsteps rapidly approaching her door. For a moment the room and\neverything in it swam round her. She felt choked; the dinning in her\nears came again, it beat louder and louder and completely paralysed her.\nA crash on the door panel, however, abruptly restored her faculties, and\nthe idea of escaping by the window for the first time entered her mind.\nIf her husband could use the window as a means of exit, why couldn't\nshe? Not a second was to be lost--the creatures outside were now\nstriving their utmost to get in. It was the work of a moment to throw\nopen the window, and almost before she knew she had opened it, she found\nherself standing on the ground beneath. The night had grown darker; she\ncould not see the path; she knew that she was losing time, and yet that\nall depended on her haste; she felt fevered with impatience, yet torpid\nwith terror. At length she disengaged herself from the broken, uneven\nsoil on to which she had dropped, and struggled forward. On and on she\nwent, not knowing where her next step would land her, and dreading every\nmoment to hear the steps of her pursuers. The darkness of the night\nfavoured her, and by dodging in and out the bushes and never keeping to\nthe same track, although still keeping a forward course, she\nsuccessfully eluded her enemies, whose hoarse cries gradually grew\nfainter and fainter. By good luck she reached the high road, which\neventually brought her to Orsk; and there she sought shelter in a hotel.\nIn the morning, on learning from the landlord that a friend of hers, a\nColonel Majendie, was in the town, Tina sought him out, and into his\nsympathizing ears poured the story of her adventures.\n\nNow it so happened that a priest of the name of Rappaport, a friend of\nthe Colonel's, came in before Tina had finished her story, and on being\ntold what had happened, declared that Ivan Baranoff and his servants had\nlong been suspected of being werwolves. He then begged that before\nanything was done to them he might be allowed to try his powers of\nexorcism. The Colonel ridiculed the idea, but in the end was persuaded\nto postpone his visit to the chateau till the evening, and to go there\nwith an escort, a quartette of his most trusted soldiers, and\naccompanied by his friend the Rev. Father Rappaport. Accordingly, at\nabout nine o'clock the party set out, and, on arriving at the house,\nfound it in total darkness and apparently deserted.\n\nBut they had not waited long before a series of savage growls from the\nadjacent thicket put them on their guard, and almost immediately\nafterwards three werwolves stalked across the path and prepared to enter\nthe house. At a word from the Colonel the soldiers leaped forward, and\nafter a most desperate scuffle, in which they were all more or less\nbadly mauled, succeeded in securing their quarry. In more civilized\nparts of the country the police would have been called in, but here,\nwhere that good old law, \"Might is right,\" still held good, a man in the\nColonel's position could do whatever he deemed most expedient, and\nColonel Majendie had made up his mind that justice should no longer be\ndelayed. The chateau had borne an ill reputation for generations. From\ntime immemorial Ivan Baranoff's ancestors had been suspected of\nlycanthropy, and this last deed of the family was their crowning\natrocity.\n\n\"You may exorcize the devils first,\" the Colonel grimly remarked to the\npriest, wiping the blood off his sleeves. \"We will hang and quarter the\nbrutes afterwards.\"\n\nTo this the holy Father willingly agreed, for he did not care what\nhappened so long as his exorcism was successful.\n\nThe rites that were performed in connexion with this ceremony (and which\nI understand are those most commonly observed in exorcizing all manner\nof evil spirits) were as follows:--\n\nA circle of seven feet radius was drawn on the ground in white chalk. At\nthe centre of the circle were inscribed, in yellow chalk, certain\nmagical figures representing Mercury, and about them was drawn, in white\nchalk, a triangle within a circle of three feet radius--the centre of\nthe circle being the same as that of the outer circle. Within this inner\ncircle were then placed the three captive werwolves. It would be well to\nexplain here that in exorcism, as well as in the evocation of spirits,\ngreat attention must be paid to the position of the stars, as astrology\nexercises the greatest influence on the spirit world. The present\noccasion, the reverend Father pointed out, was specially favourable for\nthe casting out of devils, since from 8.32 p.m. to 9.16 p.m. was under\nthe dominion of the great angel Mercury--the most bitter opponent of\nall evil spirits; that is to say, Mercury was in 17 deg. [Gemini symbol]\non the cusp of Seventh House, slightly to south of due west.\n\n     [waxing crescent Moon symbol] going to [Mars symbol] with\n         [Mercury symbol] in 14 deg. [Gemini symbol]\n     [Mercury symbol] to [Mars symbol] [Neptune symbol] [Mercury\n         symbol] 130 deg. [Saturn symbol]\n\nRound the outer circle the reverend Father now proceeded to place, at\nequal intervals, hand-lamps, burning olive oil. He then erected a rude\naltar of wood, about a foot to the southeast of the circumference of the\ninner circle. Exactly opposite this altar, and about 1-1/2 feet to the\nfar side of the circumference of the inner circle, he ordered the\nsoldiers to build a fire, and to place over it a tripod and pot, the\nlatter containing two pints of pure spring water.\n\nHe then prepared a mixture consisting of these ingredients:--\n\n     2 drachms of sulphur.\n     1/2 oz. of castoreum.\n     6 drachms of opium.\n     3 drachms of asafoetida.\n     1/2 oz. of hypericum.\n     3/4 oz. of ammonia.\n     1/2 oz. of camphor.\n\nWhen this was thoroughly mixed he put it in the water in the pot, adding\nto it a portion of a mandrake root, a live snake, two live toads in\nlinen bags, and a fungus. He then bound together, with red tape, a wand\nconsisting of three sprigs taken, respectively, from an ash, birch, and\nwhite poplar.\n\nHe next proceeded to pray, kneeling in front of the altar; and continued\npraying till the unearthly cries of the toads announced the fact that\nthe water, in which they were immersed, was beginning to boil. Slowly\ngetting up and crossing himself, he went to the fire, and dipping a cup\nin the pot, solemnly approached the werwolves, and slashing them\nseverely across the head with his wand, dashed in their faces the\nseething liquid, calling out as he did so: \"In the name of Our Blessed\nLady I command thee to depart. Black, evil devils from hell, begone!\nBegone! Again I say, Begone!\" He repeated this three times to the\nvociferous yells of the smarting werwolves, who struggled so frantically\nthat they succeeded in bursting their bonds, and, leaping to their feet,\nendeavoured to escape into the bushes. The soldiers at once rose in\npursuit and the priest was left alone. He had got rid of the flesh and\nblood, and he presumed he had got rid of the devils. But that remained\nto be proved.\n\nIn the chase that ensued one of the werwolves was shot, and,\nsimultaneously with death, metamorphosis into the complete form of a\nhuge grey wolf took place. The other two eluded their pursuers for some\ntime, but were eventually tracked owing to the discovery of the\nhalf-eaten remains of an old woman and two children in a cave. True to\ntheir lupine natures,[91:1] they showed no fight when cornered, and a\ncouple of well-directed bullets put an end to their existence--the same\nmetamorphosis occurring in their case as in the case of their companion.\nWith the death of the three werwolves the chateau, one would naturally\nhave thought, might have emerged from its ban. But no such thing. It\nspeedily acquired a reputation for being haunted.\n\nAnd that it was haunted--haunted not only by werwolves but by all sorts\nof ghastly phantasms--I have no doubt.\n\nI was told, not long ago, that Tina, whose property it became, pulled it\ndown, and that another house, replete with every modern luxury--but\nequally haunted[91:2]--now marks the site of the old chateau.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[91:1] The wolf and puma, alone among savage animals, give in directly\nthey are brought to bay.\n\n[91:2] The hauntings in houses are often due to something connected with\nthe ground on which the houses are built.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE WERWOLF IN THE BRITISH ISLES\n\n\nIt is commonly known that there were once wolves in Great Britain and\nScotland. Whilst history tells us of a king who tried to get rid of them\nby offering so much for every wolf's head that was brought to him, we\nread in romance how Llewellyn slew Gelert, the faithful hound that,\nhaving slain the wolf, saved his infant's life; and tradition has handed\ndown to us many other stories of them. But the news that werwolves, too,\nonce flourished in these climes will come as a surprise to many.\n\nYet Halliwell, quoting from a Bodleian MS., says: \"Ther ben somme that\neten chyldren and men, and eteth noon other flesh fro that tyme that\nthei be a-charmed with mannys flesh for rather thei wolde be deed; and\nthei be cleped werewolfes for men shulde be war of them.\"\n\nNor is this the only reference to them in ancient chronicles, for\nGervase of Tilbury, in his \"Otia Imperiala,\" writes:--\n\n\"Vidimus enim frequenter in Anglia per lunationes homines in lupos\nmutari, quod hominum genus gerulphos Galli nominant, Angli vero\nwere-wulf dicunt.\" And Richard Verstegan, in his \"Restitution of Decayed\nIntelligence,\" 1605, says: \"The were-wolves are certain sorcerers who\nhaving anointed their bodies with an ointment which they make by the\ninstinct of the devil, and putting on a certain enchanted girdle, do not\nonly unto the view of others seem as wolves, but to their own thinking\nhave both the shape and nature of wolves, so long as they wear the said\ngirdle; and they do dispose themselves as very wolves in worrying and\nkilling, and eating most of human creatures.\"\n\nIn my investigations of haunted houses and my psychical research work\ngenerally, I have come across much that I believe to be good evidence in\nsupport of the testimony of these writers. For instance, in localities\nonce known to have been the favourite haunts of wolves, I have met\npeople who have informed me they have seen phantasms, in shape half\nhuman and half beast, that might well be the earth-bound spirits of\nwerwolves.\n\nA Miss St. Denis told me she was once staying on a farm, in\nMerionethshire, where she witnessed a phenomenon of this class. The\nfarm, though some distance from the village, was not far off the railway\nstation, a very diminutive affair, with only one platform and a mere box\nthat served as a waiting-room and booking-office combined. It was,\nmoreover, one of those stations where the separate duties of\nstation-master, porter, booking-clerk, and ticket-collector are\nperformed by one and the same person, and where the signal always\nappears to be down. As the platform commanded the only paintable view in\nthe neighbourhood, Miss St. Denis often used to resort there with her\nsketch-book. On one occasion she had stayed rather later than usual, and\non rising hurriedly from her camp-stool saw, to her surprise, a figure\nwhich she took to be that of a man, sitting on a truck a few yards\ndistant, peering at her. I say to her surprise, because, excepting on\nthe rare occasion of a train arriving, she had never seen anyone at the\nstation besides the station-master, and in the evening the platform was\ninvariably deserted. The loneliness of the place was for the first time\nbrought forcibly home to her. The station-master's tiny house was at\nleast some hundred yards away, and beyond that there was not another\nhabitation nearer than the farm. On all sides of her, too, were black,\nfrowning precipices, full of seams and fissures and inequalities,\nshowing vague and shadowy in the fading rays of the sun. Here and there\nwere the huge, gaping mouths of gloomy slate quarries that had long been\ndisused, and were now half full of foul water. Around them the earth was\nheaped with loose fragments of rock which had evidently been detached\nfrom the principal mass and shivered to pieces in the fall. A few trees,\namong which were the black walnut, the slippery elm, and here and there\nan oak, grew among the rocks, and attested by their dwarfish stature the\nungrateful soil in which they had taken root. It was not an exhilarating\nscene, but it was one that had a peculiar fascination for Miss St.\nDenis--a fascination she could not explain, and which she now began to\nregret. The darkness had come on very rapidly, and was especially\nconcentrated, so it seemed to her, round the spot where she sat, and she\ncould make nothing out of the silent figure on the truck, save that it\nhad unpleasantly bright eyes and there was something queer about it. She\ncoughed to see if that would have any effect, and as it had none she\ncoughed again. Then she spoke and said, \"Can you tell me the time,\nplease?\" But there was no reply, and the figure still sat there staring\nat her. Then she grew uneasy and, packing up her things, walked out of\nthe station, trying her best to look as if nothing had occurred. She\nglanced over her shoulder; the figure was following her. Quickening her\npace, she assumed a jaunty air and whistled, and turning round again,\nsaw the strange figure still coming after her. The road would soon be at\nits worst stage of loneliness, and, owing to the cliffs on either side\nof it, almost pitch dark. Indeed, the spot positively invited murder,\nand she might shriek herself hoarse without the remotest chance of\nmaking herself heard. To go on with this _outre_ figure so unmistakably\nand persistently stalking her, was out of the question. Screwing up\ncourage, she swung round, and, raising herself to her full height,\ncried: \"What do you want? How dare you?\"--She got no further, for a\nsudden spurt of dying sunlight, playing over the figure, showed her it\nwas nothing human, nothing she had ever conceived possible. It was a\nnude grey thing, not unlike a man in body, but with a wolf's head. As it\nsprang forward, its light eyes ablaze with ferocity, she instinctively\nfelt in her pocket, whipped out a pocket flash-light, and pressed the\nbutton. The effect was magical; the creature shrank back, and putting\ntwo paw-like hands in front of its face to protect its eyes, faded into\nnothingness.\n\nShe subsequently made inquiries, but could learn nothing beyond the\nfact that, in one of the quarries close to the place where the phantasm\nhad vanished, some curious bones, partly human and partly animal, had\nbeen unearthed, and that the locality was always shunned after dusk.\nMiss St. Denis thought as I did, that what she had seen might very well\nhave been the earth-bound spirit of a werwolf.\n\nThe case of another haunting of this nature was related to me last year.\nA young married couple of the name of Anderson, having acquired, through\nthe death of a relative, a snug fortune, resolved to retire from\nbusiness and spend the rest of their lives in indolence and ease. Being\nfond of the country, they bought some land in Cumberland, at the foot of\nsome hills, far away from any town, and built on it a large two-storied\nvilla.\n\nThey soon, however, began to experience trouble with their servants, who\nleft them on the pretext that the place was lonely, and that they could\nnot put up with the noises that they heard at night. The Andersons\nridiculed their servants, but when their children remarked on the same\nthing they viewed the matter more seriously. \"What are the noises like?\"\nthey inquired. \"Wild animals,\" Willie, the eldest child, replied. \"They\ncome howling round the window at night and we hear their feet patter\nalong the passage and stop at our door.\" Much mystified, Mr. and Mrs.\nAnderson decided to sit up with the children and listen. They did so,\nand between two and three in the morning were much startled by a noise\nthat sounded like the growling of a wolf--Mr. Anderson had heard wolves\nin Canada--immediately beneath the window. Throwing open the window, he\npeered out; the moon was fully up and every stick and stone was plainly\ndiscernible; but there was now no sound and no sign of any animal. When\nhe had closed the window the growling at once recommenced, yet when he\nlooked again nothing was to be seen. After a while the growling ceased,\nand they heard the front door, which they had locked before coming\nupstairs, open, and the footsteps of some big, soft-footed animal ascend\nthe stairs. Mr. Anderson waited till the steps were just outside the\nroom and then flung open the door, but the light from his acetylene lamp\nrevealed a passage full of moonbeams--nothing else.\n\nHe and his wife were now thoroughly mystified. In the morning they\nexplored the grounds, but could find no trace of footmarks, nothing to\nindicate the nature of their visitant. It was now close on Christmas,\nand as the noises had not been heard for some time, it was hoped that\nthe disturbances would not occur again. The Andersons, like all modern\nparents, made idols of their children. They never did wrong, nothing was\ntoo good for them, and everything they wanted they had. At Christmas,\nperhaps, their authority was more particularly in evidence; at any rate,\nit was then that the greatest care was taken that the menu should be in\nstrict accordance with their instructions. \"What shall Santa Claus bring\nyou this time, my darlings?\" Mr. Anderson asked, a week or so before the\ngreat day arrived; and Willie, aged six, at once cried out: \"What a fool\nyou are, daddy! It is all tosh about old Claus, there's no such person!\"\n\n\"Wait and see!\" Mr. Anderson meekly replied. \"You mark my words, he will\ncome into your room on Christmas Eve laden with presents.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it!\" Willie retorted. \"You told us that silly tale last\nyear and I never saw any Claus!\"\n\n\"He came when you were asleep, dearie,\" Mrs. Anderson ventured to\nremark.\n\n\"Well! I'll keep awake this time!\" Willie shouted.\n\n\"And we'll take the presents first and pinch old Claus afterwards,\"\nViolet Evelyn, the second child, joined in.\n\n\"And I'll prick his towsers wif pins!\" Horace, aged three and a half,\nechoed. \"I don't care nothink for old Santa Claus!\" and he pulled a long\nnose in the manner his doting father had taught him.\n\nChristmas Eve came at last--a typical old-fashioned Christmas with heaps\nof snow on the ground and frost on the window-panes and trees. The\nAndersons' house was warm and comfortable--for once in a way the windows\nwere shut--and enormous fires blazed merrily away in the grates. Whilst\nthe children spent most of the day viewing the good things in the larder\nand speculating how much they could eat of each, and which would taste\nthe nicest, Mr. Anderson rehearsed in full costume the role of Santa\nClaus. He had an enormous sack full of presents--everything the children\nhad demanded--and he meant to enter their room with it on his shoulder\nat about twelve o'clock.\n\nTea-time came, and during the interval between that meal and supper all\nhands--even Horace's--were at work, decorating the hall and staircases\nwith holly and mistletoe. After supper \"Good King Wencelas,\" \"Noel,\" and\none or two other carols were sung, and the children then decided to go\nto bed.\n\nIt was then ten o'clock; and exactly two hours later their father,\nelaborately clad as Santa Claus, and staggering, in the orthodox\nfashion, beneath a load of presents, shuffled softly down the passage\nleading to their room. The snow had ceased falling, the moon was out,\nand the passage flooded with a soft, phosphorescent glow that threw into\nstrong relief every minute object. Mr. Anderson had got half-way along\nit when on his ears there suddenly fell a faint sound of yelping! His\nwhole frame thrilled and his mind reverted to the scenes of his\nyouth--to the prairies in the far-off West, where, over and over again,\nhe had heard these sounds, and his faithful Winchester repeater had\nstood him in good service. Again the yelping--this time nearer. Yes! it\nwas undoubtedly a wolf; and yet there was an intonation in that yelping\nnot altogether wolfish--something Mr. Anderson had never heard before,\nand which he was consequently at a loss to define. Again it rang\nout--much nearer this time--much more trying to the nerves, and the cold\nsweat of fear burst out all over him. Again--close under the wall of the\nhouse--a moaning, snarling, drawn-out cry that ended in a whine so\npiercing that Mr. Anderson's knees shook. One of the children, Violet\nEvelyn he thought, stirred in her bed and muttered: \"Santa Claus! Santa\nClaus!\" and Mr. Anderson, with a desperate effort, staggered on under\nhis load and opened their door. The clock in the hall beneath began to\nstrike twelve. Santa Claus, striving hard to appear jolly and genial,\nentered the room, and a huge grey, shadowy figure entered with him. A\nslipper thrown by Willie whizzed through the air, and, narrowly missing\nSanta Claus, fell to the ground with a clatter. There was then a deathly\nsilence, and Violet and Horace, raising their heads, saw two strange\nfigures standing in the centre of the room staring at one another--the\none figure they at once identified by the costume. He was Santa\nClaus--but not the genial, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus their father had\ndepicted. On the contrary, it was a Santa Claus with a very white face\nand frightened eyes--a Santa Claus that shook as if the snow and ice had\ngiven him the ague. But the other figure--what was it? Something very\ntall, far taller than their father, nude and grey, something like a man\nwith the head of a wolf--a wolf with white pointed teeth and horrid,\nlight eyes. Then they understood why it was that Santa Claus trembled;\nand Willie stood by the side of his bed, white and silent. It is\nimpossible to say how long this state of things would have lasted, or\nwhat would eventually have happened, had not Mrs. Anderson, anxious to\nsee how Santa Claus was faring, and rather wondering why he was gone so\nlong, resolved herself to visit the children's room. As the light from\nher candle appeared on the threshold of the room the thing with the\nwolf's head vanished.\n\n\"Why, whatever were you all doing?\" she began. Then Santa Claus and the\nchildren all spoke at once--whilst the sack of presents tumbled unheeded\non the floor. Every available candle was soon lighted, and mother and\nfather and Willie, Violet and Horace all spent the remainder of that\nnight in close company. On the following day it was proposed, and\ncarried unanimously, that the house should be put up for sale. This was\ndone at the earliest opportunity, and fortunately for the Andersons\nsuitable tenants were soon found. Before leaving, however, Mr. Anderson\nmade another and more exhaustive search of the grounds, and discovered,\nin a cave in the hills immediately behind the house, a number of bones.\nAmongst them was the skull of a wolf, and lying close beside it a human\nskeleton, with only the skull missing. Mr. Anderson burnt the bones,\nhoping that by so doing he would rid the house of its unwelcome visitor;\nand, as his tenants so far have not complained, he believes that the\nhauntings have actually ceased.\n\nA lady whom I met at Tavistock some years ago told me that she had seen\na phantasm, which she believed to be that of a werwolf, in the Valley of\nthe Doones, Exmoor. She was walking home alone, late one evening, when\nshe saw on the path directly in front of her the tall grey figure of a\nman with a wolf's head. Advancing stealthily forward, this creature was\npreparing to spring on a large rabbit that was crouching on the ground,\napparently too terror-stricken to move, when the abrupt appearance of a\nstag bursting through the bushes in a wild state of stampede caused it\nto vanish. Prior to this occurrence, my informant had never seen a\nghost, nor had she, indeed, believed in them; but now, she assures me,\nshe is quite convinced as to their existence, and is of the opinion that\nthe sub-human phenomenon she had witnessed was the spirit of one of\nthose werwolves referred to by Gervase of Tilbury and Richard\nVerstegan--werwolves who were still earthbound owing to their\nincorrigible ferocity.\n\nThis opinion I can readily endorse, adding only that, considering the\nnumber of werwolves there must once have been in England, it is a matter\nof some surprise to me that phantasms are not more frequently seen.\n\nHere is another account of this type of haunting narrated to me some\nsummers ago by a Mr. Warren, who at the time he saw the phenomenon was\nstaying in the Hebrides, which part of the British Isles is probably\nricher than any other in spooks of all sorts.\n\n\"I was about fifteen years of age at the time,\" Mr. Warren said, \"and\nhad for several years been residing with my grandfather, who was an\nelder in the Kirk of Scotland. He was much interested in geology, and\nliterally filled the house with fossils from the pits and caves round\nwhere we dwelt. One morning he came home in a great state of excitement,\nand made me go with him to look at some ancient remains he had found at\nthe bottom of a dried-up tarn. 'Look!' he cried, bending down and\npointing at them, 'here is a human skeleton with a wolf's head. What do\nyou make of it?' I told him I did not know, but supposed it must be some\nkind of monstrosity. 'It's a werwolf!' he rejoined, 'that's what it is.\nA werwolf! This island was once overrun with satyrs and werwolves! Help\nme carry it to the house.' I did as he bid me, and we placed it on the\ntable in the back kitchen. That evening I was left alone in the house,\nmy grandfather and the other members of the household having gone to the\nkirk. For some time I amused myself reading, and then, fancying I heard\na noise in the back premises, I went into the kitchen. There was no one\nabout, and becoming convinced that it could only have been a rat that\nhad disturbed me, I sat on the table alongside the alleged remains of\nthe werwolf, and waited to see if the noises would recommence. I was\nthus waiting in a listless sort of way, my back bent, my elbows on my\nknees, looking at the floor and thinking of nothing in particular, when\nthere came a loud rat, tat, tat of knuckles on the window-pane. I\nimmediately turned in the direction of the noise and encountered, to my\nalarm, a dark face looking in at me. At first dim and indistinct, it\nbecame more and more complete, until it developed into a very perfectly\ndefined head of a wolf terminating in the neck of a human being. Though\ngreatly shocked, my first act was to look in every direction for a\npossible reflection--but in vain. There was no light either without or\nwithin, other than that from the setting sun--nothing that could in any\nway have produced an illusion. I looked at the face and marked each\nfeature intently. It was unmistakably a wolf's face, the jaws slightly\ndistended; the lips wreathed in a savage snarl; the teeth sharp and\nwhite; the eyes light green; the ears pointed. The expression of the\nface was diabolically malignant, and as it gazed straight at me my\nhorror was as intense as my wonder. This it seemed to notice, for a\nlook of savage exultation crept into its eyes, and it raised one hand--a\nslender hand, like that of a woman, though with prodigiously long and\ncurved finger-nails--menacingly, as if about to dash in the window-pane.\nRemembering what my grandfather had told me about evil spirits, I\ncrossed myself; but as this had no effect, and I really feared the thing\nwould get at me, I ran out of the kitchen and shut and locked the door,\nremaining in the hall till the family returned. My grandfather was much\nupset when I told him what had happened, and attributed my failure to\nmake the spirit depart to my want of faith. Had he been there, he\nassured me, he would soon have got rid of it; but he nevertheless made\nme help him remove the bones from the kitchen, and we reinterred them in\nthe very spot where we had found them, and where, for aught I know to\nthe contrary, they still lie.\"\n\nThe peasant class in all parts of the British Isles are so sensitive to\nridicule, and so suspicious of being \"got at,\" that it is very difficult\nto extract any information from them with regard to the superphysical.\nAt first they invariably deny their belief in spirits, and it is only by\ndint of the utmost persuasion unaccompanied by any air of\npatronage--which the Celtic peasant detests--that one is finally able to\nloosen their tongues as to uncanny occurrences, hauntings, and rumours\nof hauntings, in their neighbourhood. In eliciting information of this\nnature, I have, I think, by reason of my tactful manner, often succeeded\nwhere others have failed.\n\nIn a village at the foot of Ben MacDhui a shepherd of the name of Colin\nGraeme informed me that he remembered hearing his grandfather, who died\nat the age of ninety, speak of an old man called Tam McPherson whom\nhe--the grandfather--had known intimately as a boy. This old man, so\nColin's grandfather said, had perfect recollections of a man in the\nvillage called Saunderson being suspected of being a werwolf. He used to\ndescribe Saunderson as \"a mon with evil, leerie eyes, and eyebrows that\nmet in a point over his nose\"; and went on to say that Saunderson lived\nin a cave in the mountains where his forefathers, also suspected of\nbeing werwolves, had lived before him, and that when on\nhis--Saunderson's--death this cave was visited by some of the villagers,\na quantity of queer bones--some human and some belonging to wolves--were\ndiscovered lying in corners, partially covered with stones and loose\nearth.\n\nI have heard similar stories in Wales, and have been conducted to one or\ntwo spots, one near Iremadac and the other on the Epynt Hills, where,\nlocal tradition still has it, werwolves once flourished.\n\nAccording to legend St. Patrick turned Vereticus, a Welsh king, into a\nwolf, whilst the werwolf daughter of a Welsh prince was said to have\ndestroyed her father's enemies during her nocturnal metamorphoses. In\nIreland, too, are many legends of werwolves; and it is said of at least\nsome half-dozen of the old families that at some period--as the result\nof a curse--each member of the clan was doomed to be a wolf for seven\nyears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE WERWOLF IN FRANCE\n\n\nIn no country has the werwolf flourished as in France, where it is known\nas the _loup garou_; where it has existed in all parts, in every age,\nand where it is even yet to be found in the more remote districts. Hence\none could fill a dozen volumes with the stories, many of them well\nauthenticated, of French werwolves. As far back as the sixth century we\nhear of them infesting the woods and valleys of Brittany and Burgundy,\nthe Landes, and the mountainous regions of the Cote d'Or and the\nCevennes.\n\nOccasionally a werwolf would break into a convent and make its meal off\nthe defenceless nuns; occasionally it would select for its repast some\nnice fat abbot waddling unsuspectingly home to his monastery.\n\nNot all these werwolves were evilly disposed people; many, on the\ncontrary, were exceedingly virtuous, and owed their metamorphosis to\nthe vengeance of witch or wizard. When this was the case their piety\nsometimes prevailed to such an extent that not even metamorphosis into\nwolfish form could render it ineffective; and there are instances where\nwerwolves of this type have not only refrained from taking human life,\nbut have actually gone out of their way to protect it. Of such\ninstances, well authenticated, probably none would be more remarkable\nthan those I am about to narrate.\n\n\nTHE CASE OF THE ABBOT GILBERT, OF THE ARC MONASTERY, ON THE BANKS OF THE\nLOIRE\n\nGilbert had been to a village fair, where the good vintage and hot sun\ncombined had proved so trying that on his way home, through a dense and\nlonely forest, he had gone to sleep and been thrown from his horse. In\nfalling he had bruised and cut himself so prodigiously that the blood\nfrom his wounds attracted to the spot a number of big wild cats. Taken\nat a strong disadvantage, and without any weapons to defend himself,\nGilbert would soon have fallen a victim to the ferocity of these savage\ncreatures had it not been for the opportune arrival of a werwolf. A\ndesperate battle at once ensued, in which the werwolf eventually gained\nthe victory, though not without being severely lacerated.\n\nDespite Gilbert's protestations, for he was loath to be seen in such\nstrange company, the werwolf accompanied him back to the monastery,\nwhere, upon hearing the Abbot's story, it was enthusiastically welcomed\nand its wounds attended to. At dawn it was restored to its natural\nshape, and the monks, one and all, were startled out of their senses to\nfind themselves in the presence of a stern and awesome dignitary of the\nChurch, who immediately began to lecture the Abbot for his unseemly\nconduct the previous day, ordering him to undergo such penance as\neventually, robbing him of half his size and all his self-importance,\nled to his resignation.\n\n\nTHE CASE OF ROLAND BERTIN\n\nAndre Bonivon, the hero of the other incident, was eminently a man of\nwar. He commanded a schooner called the \"Bonaventure,\" which was engaged\nin harassing the Huguenot settlements along the shores of the Gulf of\nLions, during the reign of Louis XIV. On one of his marauding\nexpeditions Bonivon sailed up an estuary of the Rhone rather further\nthan he had intended, and having no pilot on board, ran ashore in the\ndarkness. A thunderstorm came on; a general panic ensued; and Bonivon\nsoon found himself struggling in a whirlpool. Powerful swimmer though he\nwas, he would most certainly have been drowned had not some one come to\nhis assistance, and, freeing him from the heavy clothes which weighed\nhim down, dragged him on dry land. The moment Bonivon got on _terra\nfirma_, sailor-like, he extended his hand to grip that of his rescuer,\nwhen, to his dismay and terror, instead of a hand he grasped a huge\nhairy paw.\n\nConvinced that he was in the presence of the Devil, who doubtless highly\napproved of the thousand and one atrocities he had perpetrated on the\nhelpless Huguenots, he threw himself on his knees and implored the\nforgiveness of Heaven.\n\nHis rescuer waited awhile in grim silence, and then, lifting him gently\nto his feet, led him some considerable distance inland till they arrived\nat a house on the outskirts of a small town.\n\nHere Bonivon's conductor halted, and, opening the door, signed to the\ncaptain to enter. All within was dark and silent, and the air was\ntainted with a sickly, pungent odour that filled Bonivon with the\ngravest apprehensions. Dragging him along, Bonivon's guide took him into\na room, and leaving him there for some seconds, reappeared carrying a\nlantern. Bonivon now saw for the first time the face of his\nconductor--it was that of a werwolf. With a shriek of terror Bonivon\nturned to run, but, catching his foot on a mat, fell sprawling on the\nfloor.\n\nHere he remained sobbing and shaking with fear till he was once more\ntaken by the werwolf and set gently on his feet.\n\nTo Bonivon's surprise a tray full of eatables was standing on the table,\nand the werwolf, motioning to him to sit down, signed to him to eat.\n\nBeing ravenously hungry, Bonivon \"fell to,\" and, despite his fears--for\nbeing by nature alive to, and, by reason of his calling, forced to guard\nagainst the treachery of his fellow creatures, he more than half\nsuspected some subtle design underlying this act of kindness--demolished\nevery particle of food. The meal thus concluded, Bonivon's benefactor\nretired, locking the door after him.\n\nNo sooner had the sound of his steps in the stone hall ceased than\nBonivon ran to the window, hoping thereby to make his escape. But the\niron bars were too firmly fixed--no matter how hard he pulled, tugged\nand wrenched, they remained as immovable as ever. Then his heart began\nto palpitate, his hair to bristle up, and his knees to totter; his\nthoughts were full of speculations as to how he would be killed and what\nit would feel like to be eaten alive. His conscience, too, rising up in\njudgment against him, added its own paroxysms of dismay, paroxysms which\nwere still further augmented by the finding of the dead body of a woman,\nnude and horribly mutilated, lying doubled up and partly concealed by a\ncurtain. Such a discovery could not fail to fill his heart with\nunspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself, unless saved by a\nmiracle--a favour he could hardly hope for, considering his past\nconduct--would undergo the same fate before morning. At a loss to know\nwhat else to do, he sat upon the corner of the table, resting his chin\non the palms of his hands, and engaged in anticipations of the most\nfrightful nature.\n\nShortly after dawn he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the room;\nthe door slowly began to open: a little wider and a little wider, and\nthen, when Bonivon's heart was on the point of bursting, it suddenly\nswung open wide, and the cold, grey dawn falling on the threshold\nrevealed not a werwolf, but--a human being: a man in the unmistakable\ngarb of a Huguenot minister!\n\nThe reaction was so great that Bonivon rolled off the table and went\ninto paroxysms of ungovernable laughter.\n\nAt length, when he had sobered down, the Huguenot, laying a hand on his\nshoulder, said: \"Do you know now where you are? Do you recognize this\nroom? No! Well, I will explain. You are in the house of Roland Bertin,\nand the body lying over yonder is that of my wife, whom your crew\nbarbarously murdered yesterday when they sacked this village. They took\nme with them, and it was your intention to have me tortured and then\ndrowned as soon as you got to sea. Do you know me now?\"\n\nBonivon nodded--he could not have spoken to save his life.\n\n\"Bien!\" the minister went on. \"I am a werwolf--I was bewitched some\nyears ago by the woman Grenier, Mere Grenier, who lives in the forest at\nthe back of our village. As soon as it was dark I metamorphosed; then\nthe ship ran ashore, and every one leaped overboard. I saw you drowning.\nI saved you.\"\n\nThe captain again made a fruitless effort to speak, and the Huguenot\ncontinued:--\n\n\"Why did I save you?--you, who had been instrumental in murdering my\nwife and ruining my home! Why? I do not know! Had I preferred for you a\nless pleasant death than drowning, I could have taken you ashore and\nkilled you. Yet--I did not, because it is not in my nature to destroy\nanything. I have never in my life killed an animal, nor, to my\nknowledge, an insect; I love all life--animal life and vegetable\nlife--everything that breathes and grows. Yet I am a Huguenot!--one of\nthe race you hate and despise and are paid to exterminate. Assassin, I\nhave spared you. Be not ungenerous. Spare others.\"\n\nThe captain was moved. Still speechless, he seized the minister's hands\nand wrung them. And from that hour to the day of his death--which was\nnot for many years afterwards--the Huguenots had no truer friend than\nAndre Bonivon.\n\n\nWERWOLVES AND WITCHES\n\nOther instances of werwolves of a benignant nature are to be found in\nthe \"Bisclaveret\" in Marie de France's poem, composed in 1200 A.D.; and\nin the hero of \"William and the Werwolf\" (translated from the French\nabout 1350).\n\nTo inflict the evil property of werwolfery upon those against whom\nthey--or some other--bore a grudge was, in the Middle Ages, a method of\nrevenge frequently resorted to by witches; and countless knights and\nladies were thus victimized. Nor were such practices confined to ancient\ntimes; for as late as the eighteenth century a case of this kind of\nwitchcraft is reported to have happened in the vicinity of Blois.\n\nIn a village some three miles from Blois, on the outskirts of a forest,\ndwelt an innkeeper called Antonio Cellini, who, as the name suggests,\nwas of Italian origin. Antonio had only one child, Beatrice, a very\npretty girl, who at the time of this story was about nineteen years of\nage. As might be expected, Beatrice had many admirers; but none were so\npassionately attached to her as Herbert Poyer, a handsome youth, and one\nHenri Sangfeu, an extremely plain youth. Beatrice--and one can scarcely\nblame her for it--preferred Herbert, and with the whole-hearted approval\nof her father consented to marry him. Sangfeu was not unnaturally upset;\nbut, in all probability, he would have eventually resigned himself to\nthe inevitable, had it not been for a village wag, who in an idle moment\nwrote a poem and entitled it\n\n     \"_Sansfeu the Ugly; or, Love Unrequited._\"\n\nThe poem, which was illustrated with several clever caricatures of the\nunfortunate Henri and contained much caustic wit, took like wildfire in\nthe village; and Henri, in consequence, had a very bad time. Eventually\nit was shown to Beatrice, and it was then that the climax was reached.\nAlthough Henri was present at the moment, unable to restrain herself,\nshe went into peals of laughter at the drawings, saying over and over\nagain: \"How like him--how very like! His nose to a nicety! It is\ncertainly correct to style him Sansfeu--for no one could call him\nSansnez!\"\n\nHer mirth was infectious; every one joined in; only Henri slunk away,\ncrimson with rage and mortification. He hated Beatrice now as much as he\nhad loved her before; and he thirsted only for revenge.\n\nSome distance from the village and in the heart of the forest lived an\nold woman known as Mere Maxim, who was said to be a witch, and,\ntherefore, shunned by every one. All sorts of unsavoury stories were\ntold of her, and she was held responsible for several outbreaks of\nepidemics--hitherto unknown in the neighbourhood--many accidents, and\nmore than one death.\n\nThe spot where she lived was carefully avoided. Those who ventured far\nin the forest after nightfall either never came back at all or returned\nhalf imbecile with terror, and afterwards poured out to their affrighted\nfriends incoherent stories of the strange lights and terrible forms they\nhad encountered, moving about amid the trees. Up to the present Henri\nhad been just as scared by these tales as the rest of the villagers; but\nso intense was his longing for revenge that he at length resolved to\nvisit Mere Maxim and solicit her assistance. Choosing a morning when the\nsun was shining brightly, he screwed up his courage, and after many bad\nscares finally succeeded in reaching her dwelling--or, I might say, her\nshanty, for by a more appropriate term than the latter such a\nqueer-looking untidy habitation could not be described. To his\nastonishment Mere Maxim was by no means so unprepossessing as he had\nimagined. On the contrary, she was more than passably good-looking, with\nblack hair, rosy cheeks, and exceedingly white teeth. What he did not\naltogether like were her eyes--which, though large and well shaped, had\nin them an occasional glitter--and her hands, which, though remarkably\nwhite and slender, had very long and curved nails, that to his mind\nsuggested all sorts of unpleasant ideas. She was becomingly dressed in\nbrown--brown woolly garments, with a brown fur cap, brown stockings, and\nbrown shoes ornamented with very bright silver buckles. Altogether she\nwas decidedly chic; and if a little incongruous in her surroundings,\nsuch incongruity only made her the more alluring; and as far as Henri\nwas concerned rather added to her charms.\n\nAt all events, he needed no second invitation to seat himself by her\nside in the chimney-corner, and his heart thumped as it had never\nthumped before when she encouraged him to put his arm round her waist\nand kiss her. It was the first time a woman had ever suffered him to\nkiss her without violent protestations and avowals of disgust.\n\n\"You are not very handsome, it is true,\" Mere Maxim remarked, \"but you\nare fat--and I like fat young men,\" and she pinched his cheeks playfully\nand patted his hands. \"Are you sure no one knows you have come to see\nme?\" she asked.\n\n\"Certain!\" Henri replied; \"I haven't confided in a soul; I haven't even\nso much as dropped a hint that I intended seeing you.\"\n\n\"That is good!\" Mere Maxim said. \"Tell no one, otherwise I shall not be\nable to help you. Also, on no account let the girl Beatrice think you\nbear her animosity. Be civil and friendly to her whenever you meet; then\ngive her, as a wedding present, this belt and box of bonbons.\" So\nsaying, she handed him a beautiful belt composed of the skin of some\nwild animal and fastened with a gold buckle, and a box of delicious pink\nand white sugarplums. \"Do not give her these things till the marriage\neve,\" she added, \"and directly you have given them come and see\nme--always observing the greatest secrecy.\" She then kissed him, and he\nwent away brimming over with passion for her, and longing feverishly for\nthe hour to arrive when he could be with her again.\n\nAll day and all night he thought of her--of her gay and sparkling\nbeauty, of her kisses and caresses, and the delightful coolness of her\nthin and supple hands. His mad infatuation for her made him oblivious\nto the taunts and jeers of the villagers, who seldom saw him without\nmaking ribald allusion to the poem.\n\n\"There goes Sansfeu! alias Monsieur Grosnez!\" they called out. \"Why\ndon't you cut off your nose for a present to mademoiselle? She would\nthen have no need to buy a kitchen poker. Ha! ha! ha!\" But their coarse\nwit fell flat. Henri hardly heard it--all his thoughts, his burning\nlove, his unquenchable passion, were centred in Mere Maxim: in spirit he\nwas with her, alone with her, in the innermost recesses of the grim,\nsilent forest.\n\nThe marriage eve came; he handed Beatrice the presents, and ere she had\ntime to thank him--for the magnificence of the belt rendered her\nmomentarily speechless--he had flown from the house, and was hurrying as\nfast as his legs could carry him to his tryst. The shadows of night were\nalready on the forest when he entered it; and the silence and solitude\nof the place, the indistinct images of the trees, and their dismal\nsighing, that seemed to foretell a storm, all combined to disturb his\nfancy and raise strange spectres in his imagination. The shrill hooting\nof an owl, as it rustled overhead, caused him an unprecedented shock,\nand the great rush of blood to his head made him stagger and clutch\nhold of the nearest object for support. He had barely recovered from\nthis alarm when his eyes almost started out of their sockets with fright\nas he caught sight of a queer shape gliding silently from tree to tree;\nand shortly afterwards he was again terrified--this time by a pale face,\nwhether of a human being or animal he could not say, peering down at him\nfrom the gnarled and fantastic branches of a gigantic oak. He was now so\nfrightened that he ran, and queer--indefinably queer footsteps ran after\nhim, and followed him persistently until he reached the shanty, when he\nheard them turn and leap lightly away.\n\nOn this occasion, the occurrence of Henri's second visit, Mere Maxim was\nmore captivating than ever. She was dressed with wonderful effect all in\nwhite. She wore sparkling jewels at her throat and waist, buckles of\nburnished gold on her shoes; her teeth flashed like polished ivory, and\nher nails like agates. Henri was enraptured. He fell on his knees before\nher, he caught her hands and covered them with kisses.\n\n\"How nice you look to-day, my sweetheart,\" she said; \"and how fat! It\ndoes my heart good to see you. Come in, and sit close to me, and tell me\nhow you have fared.\"\n\nShe led him in, and after locking and barring the door, conducted him\nto the chimney-corner. And there he lay in her arms. She fondled him;\nshe pressed her lips on his, and gleefully felt his cheeks and arms. And\nafter a time, when, intoxicated with the joy of it all, he lay still and\nquiet, wishing only to remain like that for eternity, she stooped down,\nand, fetching a knot of cord from under the seat, began laughingly to\nbind his hands and feet. And at each turn and twist of the rope she\nlaughed the louder. And when she had finished binding his arms and legs\nshe made him lie on his back, and lashed him so tightly to the seat\nthat, had he possessed the strength of six men, he could not have freed\nhimself.\n\nThen she sat beside him, and moving aside the clothes that covered his\nchest and throat, said:--\n\n\"By this time Beatrice--pretty Beatrice, vain and sensual Beatrice, the\nBeatrice you once loved and admired so much--will have worn the belt,\nwill have eaten the sweets. She is now a werwolf. Every night at twelve\no'clock she will creep out of bed and glide about the house and village\nin search of human prey, some bonny babe, or weak, defenceless woman,\nbut always some one fat, tender, and juicy--some one like you.\" And\nbending low over him, she bared her teeth, and dug her cruel nails deep\ninto his flesh. A flame from the wood fire suddenly shot up. It\nflickered oddly on the figure of Mere Maxim--so oddly that Henri\nreceived a shock. He realized with an awful thrill that the face into\nwhich he peered was no longer that of a human being; it was--but he\ncould no longer think--he could only gaze.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWERWOLVES AND VAMPIRES AND GHOULS\n\n\nThroughout the Middle Ages, and even in the seventeenth century, trials\nfor lycanthropy were of common occurrence in France. Among the most\nfamous were those of the Grandillon family in the Jura, in 1598; that of\nthe tailor of Chalons; of Roulet, in Angers; of Gilles Garnier, in Dole,\nin 1573; and of Jean Garnier, at Bordeaux, in 1603. The last case was,\nperhaps, the most remarkable of all. Garnier, who was only fourteen\nyears of age, was employed in looking after cattle. He was a handsome\nlad, with dark, flashing eyes and very white teeth. As soon as it was\ntime for the metamorphosis to take place he used to go into some lonely\nspot, and then, in the guise of a wolf, return, and run to earth\nisolated women and children. One of his favourite haunts was a thicket\nclose to a pool of water. Here he used to lie and watch for hours at a\ntime. Once he surprised two girls bathing. One escaped, and fled home\nnaked, but the other he flung on the ground, and having shaken her into\nsubmission, devoured a portion of her one day, and the rest of her the\nnext. He confessed to having eaten over fifty children. Nor did he\nalways confine himself to attacking the solitary few and defenceless;\nfor on several occasions, when hard pressed by hunger, he assailed a\nwhole crowd, and was once severely handled by a pack of young girls who\nsuccessfully drove him off with sharply pointed stakes. Far from wishing\nto conceal his guilt, Jean Garnier was most eager to tell everything,\nand to a court thronged with eager, attentive people, he related in the\nmost graphic manner possible his sanguinary experiences. One old woman,\nhe said, whom he found alone in a cottage, showed extraordinary agility\nin trying to escape. She raced round tables, clambered over chairs,\ncrawled under a bed, and finally hid in a cupboard and held the door so\nfast that he had to exert all his force to open it. \"And then,\" he\nadded, \"in spite of all my trouble she proved to be as tough as\nleather----\" and he made a grimace that provoked much laughter.\n\nHe complained bitterly of one child. \"It made such a dreadful noise,\"\nhe said, \"when I lifted it out of its crib, and when I got ready for my\nfirst bite it shrieked so loud it almost deafened me.\"\n\nThe name Grenier, like that of Garnier, was closely associated with\nlycanthropy, and in Blois, where there were more instances of\nlycanthropy than in any other part of France, every one called Grenier\nor Garnier was set down as a werwolf.\n\nAmongst the Vaudois lycanthropy was also widely prevalent, and many of\nthese werwolves were brought to trial and executed.\n\n\nTHE CASE OF SERGEANT BERTRAND\n\nThe case of Sergeant Bertrand, which is the last authenticated case of\nthis kind, occurred in 1847, when, on the 10th of July, an investigation\nwas held before a military council presided over by Colonel Manselon.\nFor some months the cemeteries in and around Paris had been the scenes\nof frightful violations, the culprits (or culprit), in some\nextraordinary manner, eluding every attempt made to ensnare them. At one\ntime the custodians of the cemeteries were suspected, then the local\npolice, and for a brief space suspicion fell even on the relations of\nthe dead. The first burial-place to be so mysteriously visited was the\nCemetery of Pere Lachaise. Here, at night, those in charge declared\nthey saw a strange form, partly human and partly animal, glide about\nfrom tomb to tomb. Try how they would they could not catch it--it always\nvanished--vanished just like a phantom directly they came up to it; and\nthe dogs when urged to seize it would only bark and howl, and show\nindications of the most abject terror.\n\nAlways when morning broke the ravages of this unsavoury visitant were\nonly too plainly visible--graves had been dug up, coffins burst open,\nand the contents nibbled, and gnawed, and scattered all over the ground.\nExpert medical opinion was sought, but with no fresh result. The\ndoctors, too, were agreed that the mutilations of the dead were produced\nby the bites of what certainly seemed to be human teeth.\n\nThe sensation caused by this announcement was without parallel; and one\nand all, old and young, rich and poor, were wanting to know whatever\nsort of being it could be that possessed so foul an appetite. The watch\nwas doubled; all to no purpose. A young soldier was arrested, but on\ndeclaring he had merely entered the cemetery to meet a friend, and\nexhibiting no evidences of guilt, was let go.\n\nAt length the violation ceased in Pere Lachaise and broke out elsewhere.\nA little girl, greatly beloved by her relatives and friends, died, and\na big concourse of people attended the funeral. On the following\nmorning, to the intense indignation of every one, the grave was\ndiscovered dug up, the coffin forced open, and the body half eaten. In\nits wild fury at such an unheard-of atrocity the public called loudly\nfor the culprit. The father of the dead girl was first of all arrested,\nbut his innocence being quickly established, he was set free. Every\nmeans was then taken to guard against any recurrence, but in spite of\nall precautions the same thing happened again shortly afterwards; and\nhappened repeatedly. The fact that the cemetery was surrounded by very\nhigh walls, and that iron gates, which were always kept shut, formed the\nonly legitimate entrance, added to the mystery, and made it seem\nimpossible that any creature of solid flesh and blood could be\nresponsible for the outrages.\n\nHaving observed that at one place, in particular, the wall, though\nnearly ten feet high, showed signs of having been frequently scaled, an\nold army officer set a trap there, consisting of a wire connected with\nan explosive, which was so arranged that no one could climb over the\nwall without treading on the wire and causing an explosion.\n\nA strong posse of detectives kept watch, and at midnight a loud report\nwas heard. The detectives were not, however, as quick as their quarry.\nThey saw a man, or what they took to be a man, and fired at him, but he\nwas gone like a flash of lightning, scaling the wall with the agility of\na monkey. Finding a trail of blood, however, and pieces of torn uniform\naccompanying the bloodstains, they concluded that the enemy was wounded,\nand that the marauder was, moreover, a soldier.\n\nStill, it is doubtful whether his identity would have been proved, had\nnot one of the grave-diggers of the cemetery chanced to overhear some\nsappers of the 74th Regiment remark that on the preceding night one of\ntheir comrades--a sergeant--had been conveyed to the military hospital\nof Val de Grace badly wounded. The matter was at once inquired into, and\nthe wounded soldier, Sergeant Bertrand, was found to be the author of\nthe long series of hideous violations. Bertrand freely confessed his\nguilt, declaring that he was driven to it against his own will by some\nexternal force he could not define, and which allowed him no peace. He\nhad, he said, in one night exhumed and bitten as many as fifteen bodies.\nHe employed no implements, but tore up the soil after the manner of a\nwild beast, paying no heed to the bruising and laceration of his hands\nso long as he could get at the dead. He could not describe what his\nsensations were like when he was thus occupied; he only knew that he\nwas not himself but some ravenous, ferocious animal. He added, that\nafter these nocturnal expeditions he invariably fell into a profound\nsleep, often before he could get home, and that always, during that\nsleep, he was conscious of undergoing peculiar metamorphosis. When\ninterrogated, he informed the court of inquiry that, as a child, he\npreferred the company of all kinds of animals to that of his fellow\ncreatures, and that in order to get in close touch with his four-footed\nfriends he used to frequent the most solitary and out-of-the-way\nplaces--moors, woods, and deserts. He said that it was immediately after\none of these excursions that he first experienced the sensation of\nundergoing some great change in his sleep, and that the following\nevening, when passing close to a cemetery where the grave-diggers were\ncovering a body that had just been interred, yielding to a sudden\nimpulse, he crept in and watched them. A sharp shower of rain\ninterrupting their labours, they went away, leaving their task\nunfinished. \"At the sight of the coffin,\" Bertrand said, \"horrible\ndesires seized me; my head throbbed, my heart palpitated, and had it not\nbeen for the timely arrival of friends I should have then and there\nyielded to my inclinations. From that time forth I was never\nfree--these terrible cravings invariably came on directly after sunset.\"\n\nMedical men who examined Bertram unanimously gave it as their opinion\nthat he was sane, and could only account for his extraordinary nocturnal\nactions by the supposition that he must be the victim of some strange\nmonomania. His companions, with whom he was most popular, all testified\nto his amiability and lovable disposition. In the end he was sentenced\nto a year's imprisonment, and after his release was never again heard\nof. There can, I think, be little doubt, from what he himself said, that\nhe was in reality a werwolf. His preference for the society of animals\nand love of isolated regions; his sudden fallings asleep and sensations\nof undergoing metamorphosis, though that metamorphosis was spiritual and\nmetaphysical only, which is very often the case, all help to\nsubstantiate that belief.\n\n\nVAMPIRISM AND LYCANTHROPY\n\nIt has been asserted that Bertrand was a vampire; but there are\nabsolutely no grounds for associating him with vampirism. A vampire is\nan Elemental that under certain conditions inhabits a dead body, whether\nhuman or otherwise; and, thus incarcerated, comes out of a grave at\nnight to suck the blood of a living person. It never touches the dead.\n\nA werwolf has already been defined. It has an existence entirely\nseparate from the vampire. The werwolf feeds on both the living and\ndead, which it bites and mangles after the nature of all beasts of prey.\n\nVampirism is infectious; every one who has been sucked by a vampire, on\nphysical dissolution, becomes a vampire, and remains one until his\ncorpse is destroyed in a certain prescribed manner. Lycanthropy is not\ninfectious.\n\nThere are many well-authenticated cases of vampirism in France and\nGermany. In a newspaper published in the reign of Louis XV there\nappeared an announcement to the effect that Arnold Paul, a native of\nMadveiga, being crushed to death by a wagon and buried, had since become\na vampire, and that he had been previously bitten by one. The\nauthorities being informed of the terror his visits were occasioning,\nand several people having died with all the symptoms of vampirism, his\ngrave was opened; and although he had been dead forty days his body was\nlike that of a very full-blooded, living man.\n\nFollowing the mode of exorcism traditionally observed on such occasions,\na stake was driven into the corpse, whereupon it uttered a frightful\ncry--half human and half animal; after which its head was cut off, and\ntrunk and head burned. Four other bodies which had died from the\nconsequences of the bites, and which were found in the same perfectly\nhealthy condition, were served in a similar manner; and it was hoped\nthese vigorous measures would end the mischief. But no such thing; cases\nof deaths from the same cause--_i.e._, loss of blood--still continued,\nand five years afterwards became so rife that the authorities were\ncompelled to take the matter up for the second time. On this occasion\nthe graves of many people, of all ages and both sexes, were opened, and\nthe bodies of all those suspected of plaguing the living by their\nnocturnal visits were found in the vampire state--full almost to\noverflowing with blood, and free from every symptom of death. On their\nbeing served in the same manner as the corpse of Arnold Paul the\nepidemic of vampirism ceased, and no more cases of it have since been\nreported as occurring in that district. A rumour of these proceedings\nreaching the ears of Louis XV, he at once ordered his Minister at Vienna\nto report upon them. This was done. The documents forwarded to the King\n(and which are still in existence) give a detailed account of all the\noccurrences to which I have referred. They bear the date of June 7,\n1732, and are signed and witnessed by three surgeons and several other\npersons.\n\nThe facts, which are indubitable, point to no other satisfactory\nexplanation saving that of vampirism--an explanation that finds ample\ncorroboration in thousands of like cases reported, at one time or\nanother, in every country in Eastern Europe.\n\n\nGHOULISM AND LYCANTHROPY\n\nSergeant Bertrand has also been declared a ghoul. Ghoulism bears a\nsomewhat closer resemblance than vampirism to lycanthropy. A ghoul is an\nElemental that visits any place where human or animal remains have been\ninterred. It digs them up and bites them, showing a keen liking for\nbrains, which it sucks in the same manner as a vampire sucks blood.\n\nGhouls either remain in spirit form or steal the bodies of living\nbeings--living beings only--either human or animal. They can only do\nthis when the spirit of the living person, during sleep (either natural\nor induced hypnotically), is separated from the material body; or, in\nother words, when the spirit is projected. The ghoul then pounces on the\nphysical body, and, often refusing to restore it to its rightful owner,\nthe latter is compelled to roam about as a phantasm for just so long a\ntime as the ghoul chooses to inhabit the body it has stolen.\n\n\nTHE CASE OF CONSTANCE ARMANDE, GHOUL\n\n_A propos_ of ghouls, the following incident was related to me as having\noccurred recently in Brittany. A young girl named Constance Armande, in\na good station of life, much against the wishes of her family, took up\nspiritualism and constantly attended seances. At these seances she\nwitnessed all sorts of phenomena--some in all probability produced by\nmere trickery on the part of the medium or a confederate, whilst\nothers were, without doubt, the manifestations of _bona fide_\nspirits--earthbound phantasms of the lowest and most undesirable\norder--murderers, lunatics, Vice Elementals, and ghouls. It is most\nunwise to risk coming in contact with such spirits, for when they have\nonce made your acquaintance they will attach themselves to you, and are\ngot rid of only with the greatest difficulty. They were most unremitting\nin their persecution of Constance Armande; they followed her home, and\nwere always rapping on the walls of her room and disturbing and annoying\nher. In short, she got no peace, either asleep or awake. In the night\nshe would often wake up screaming, and in an agony of mind rush into her\nparents' room and implore their protection, declaring she had dreamed in\nthe most vivid manner possible that frightful-looking creatures, too\nawful for her to describe, were trying to prevent her awaking in order\nto keep her with them always. She told a spiritualist, and he informed\nher that such dreams were not in reality dreams at all, but\nprojections--that she had, at seances, acquired the power of projection;\nand, having no control over that power, she projected herself\nunconsciously, the projection almost always taking place in her sleep.\n\nA medical expert was also consulted, and in accordance with his advice\nConstance Armande went to the seaside and resorted to every kind of\npleasure--balls, concerts, and theatres. But the annoyances still\ncontinued, and she was seldom permitted to rest a whole night without\nbeing disturbed in a most harrowing manner.\n\nBeing a really beautiful girl, she had countless admirers, and\neventually she became engaged to Alphonse Mabane, the only son of a very\nwealthy widow.\n\nShortly before the day fixed for their marriage Madame Mabane was seized\nwith a fit of apoplexy and died. Every one, especially Constance\nArmande, was overwhelmed with grief, whilst preparations were made for a\nmost impressive funeral.\n\nOn the afternoon of the day preceding that on which the funeral was to\ntake place Constance, complaining of a bad headache, went to lie down\non her bed, and two hours later strange footsteps were heard coming out\nof her room and bounding down the stairs. Wondering who it could be,\nMadame Armande ran to look, and was astonished beyond measure to see\nConstance--but a Constance she hardly knew--a Constance with the glitter\nof a ferocious beast in her eyes, and a grim, savage expression in the\ncorners of her mouth. She did not appear to notice her mother, but\npassed her by with a light, stealthy tread, utterly unlike her usual\nwalk, crossed the hall, and went out at the front door. Madame Armande\nwas too startled to try and intercept her, or even to make any remark,\nand returned to the drawing-room greatly agitated. As hour after hour\npassed and Constance did not come home, her alarm increased, and she\nmentioned the incident to her husband, who caused immediate inquiries to\nbe made. Just about the hour the family usually retired to rest there\ncame a violent ring at the front-door bell. It was Alphonse Mabane, pale\nand ghastly.\n\n\"Have you found her?\" Monsieur and Madame Armande cried, catching hold\nof him in their agitation, and dragging him into the hall.\n\nAlphonse nodded. \"Let me sit down a moment first,\" he gasped. \"It will\ngive me time to collect my senses. My nerves are all to pieces!\"\n\nHe sank into a chair, and, burying his face in his hands, shook\nconvulsively. Monsieur and Madame Armande stood and watched him in\nagonized silence. After some minutes--to the Armandes it seemed an\neternity--spent in this fashion, Alphonse raised his head. \"Your\nservant,\" he said, \"came to my house at nine o'clock and asked if\nMademoiselle Constance was with me. I said 'No,' that I had not seen her\nall day, and was much alarmed when I was informed that she had left home\nearly in the afternoon and had not yet returned. I said I would join in\nthe search for her, and was in my bedroom putting on my overcoat, when\nthere came a tap at my door, and Jacques, my valet, with a face as white\nas a sheet, begged me to go with him upstairs. He led me to the door of\nmy mother's room, where she lay in her coffin, not yet screwed down.\n'Hark!' he whispered, touching me on the sleeve, 'do you hear that?'\n\n\"I listened, and from the interior of the room came a curious noise like\nmunching--a steady gnaw, gnaw, gnaw. 'I heard it just now,' he\nwhispered, 'when I was going to shut the landing window--and other\nsounds, too. Hush!'\n\n\"I held my breath, and heard distinctly the swishing and rustling of a\ndress.\n\n\"'Have you been in?' I asked.\n\n\"He shook his head. 'I daren't,' he whispered. 'I wouldn't go in by\nmyself if you were to offer me a million pounds,' and he trembled so\nviolently that he had to lean against me for support.\n\n\"A great terror then seized me, and bidding Jacques follow, I crept\ndownstairs and summoned the rest of the servants. Armed with sticks and\nlights, we then went in a body to my mother's room, and throwing open\nthe door, rushed in.\n\n\"The lid of the coffin was off, the corpse was lying huddled up on the\nfloor, and crouching over it was Constance. For God's sake don't ask me\nto describe more--the sounds we heard explained everything. When she saw\nus she emitted a series of savage snarls, sprang at one of the maids,\nscratched her in the face, and before we could stop her, flew downstairs\nand out into the street. As soon as our shocked senses had sufficiently\nrecovered we started off in pursuit, but have not been able to find the\nslightest trace of her.\"\n\nAt the conclusion of Monsieur Mabane's story the search was continued.\nThe police were summoned, and a general hue and cry raised, with the\nresult that Constance was eventually found in a cemetery digging\nfrantically at a newly made grave.\n\nAt last brought to bay in the chase that ensued, fortunately for her\nand for all concerned, she plunged into a river, was swept away by the\ncurrent, and drowned.\n\nThis case of Constance Armande seems to me to be clearly a case of\nghoulism. What the spiritualist had told her was correct--she had\nprojected herself unconsciously, and the hideous things she imagined\nwere phantoms in a dream were Elementals--ghouls--her projected spirit\nencountered on the superphysical plane.\n\nAfter sundry efforts to steal her body when she was thus separated from\nit, one of them had at length succeeded, and, incarcerated in her\nbeautiful frame, had hastened to satisfy its craving for human carrion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nWERWOLVES IN GERMANY\n\n\nNo country in the world is richer in stories of everything appertaining\nto the supernatural than Germany. The Rhine is the favourite river of\nnymphs and sirens, to whose irresistible and fatal fascinations so many\nmen have fallen victims. Along its shores are countless haunted castles,\nin its woods innumerable terrifying phantoms.\n\nThe werwolf, however, seems to have confined itself almost entirely to\nthe Harz Mountains, where it was formerly most common and more dreaded\nthan any other visitant from the Unknown. But of these werwolves many of\nthe best authenticated cases have been told so often, that it is\ndifficult for me to alight on any that is not already well known.\nPerhaps the following, though as striking as any, may be new to at least\na few of my readers.\n\n\nTHE CASE OF HERR HELLEN AND THE WERWOLVES OF THE HARZ MOUNTAINS\n\nTwo gentlemen, named respectively Hellen and Schiller, were on a walking\ntour in the Harz Mountains, in the early summer of the year 1840, when\nSchiller, slipping down, sprained his ankle and was unable to go on.\nThey were some miles from any village, in the centre of an extensive\nforest, and it was beginning to get dark.\n\n\"Leave me here,\" cried the injured man to his friend, \"while you see if\nyou can discover any habitation. I have been told these woods are full\nof charcoal-burners' and wood-cutters' huts, so that if you walk\nstraight ahead for a mile or two, you are very likely to come across\none. Do go, there's a good fellow, and if you are too tired to return\nyourself, send some one to carry me.\"\n\nHellen did not like leaving his comrade in such a dreary spot, alone and\nhelpless, but as Schiller was persistent he at length yielded, and\nstepping briskly out, advanced along the track that had brought them\nhither. Once or twice he halted, fancying he heard voices, and several\ntimes his heart pulsated wildly at what he took to be the cry of a\nwolf--for neither Schiller nor he had no weapons excepting\nsheath-knives. At last he came to an open spot hedged in on all sides\nby gloomy pines, the shadows from which were beginning to fall thick and\nfast athwart the vivid greensward. It was one of those places--they are\nto be found in pretty nearly every country--studiously avoided by local\nwoodsmen as the haunt of all manner of evil influences. Hellen\nrecognized it as such the moment he saw it, but as it lay right across\nhis path, and time was pressing, he had no alternative but to keep\nboldly on. He was half-way across the spot when he was startled by a\ngroan, and looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a man seated on\nthe ground endeavouring to bandage his hand. Wondering why he had not\nobserved him before, but thankful to meet some one at last, Hellen went\nup to him and asked what was the matter.\n\n\"I've broken my wrist,\" the man replied. \"I was gathering sticks for my\nfire to-morrow when I heard the howl of a wolf, and in my anxiety to\nescape a conflict with the brute I climbed this tree. As I descended one\nof the branches gave way, and I fell down with all my weight on my right\narm. Will you see if you can bind it for me? I'm a bit awkward with my\nleft hand.\"\n\n\"I will do my best,\" Hellen said, and kneeling beside the man, he took\noff the bandages and wrapped them round again. \"There,\" he exclaimed,\n\"I think that is better--at least it is the best I can do.\"\n\nThe stranger was now most profuse in his thanks, and when Hellen\ninformed him of Schiller's condition, at once cried out, \"You must both\ncome to my cottage; it is only a short distance from here. Let us hasten\nthither now, and my daughter, who is very strong, shall go back with you\nand help you carry your friend. We are not rich, but we can make you\nboth fairly comfortable, and all we have shall be at your disposal. But\nI wonder if you know what you have incurred by coming to this spot at\nthis hour?\"\n\n\"Why, no,\" Hellen said, laughing. \"What?\"\n\n\"The gratification of two wishes--the first two wishes you make! Of\ncourse, you will say it is all humbug, but, believe me, very queer\nthings do happen in this forest. I have experienced them myself.\"\n\n\"Well!\" Hellen replied, laughing more heartily than before, \"if I wish\nanything at all it is that my wife were here to see how beautifully I\nhave bandaged your wrist.\"\n\n\"Where is your wife?\" the stranger inquired.\n\n\"At Frankfort, most likely taking a final peep at the children in bed\nbefore retiring to rest herself!\" Hellen said, still laughing.\n\n\"Then you have children!\" the stranger ejaculated, evidently\ninterested.\n\n\"Yes, three--all girls--and such bonny girls, too. Marcella, Christina,\nand Fredericka. I wish I had them here for you to see.\"\n\n\"I should much like to see them, certainly,\" the stranger said. \"And now\nyou have told me so much of interest about yourself, let me tell you\nsomething of my own history in exchange. My name is Wilfred Gaverstein.\nI am an artist by profession, and have come to live here during the\nsummer months in order to paint nature--nature as it really is--in all\nits varying moods. Nature is my only god--I adore it. I don't believe in\nsouls. I love the trees and flowers and shrubs, the rivulets, the\nfountains, the birds and insects.\"\n\n\"Everything but the wolves!\" Hellen remarked jocularly. Hardly, however,\nhad he spoken these words before he had reason to alter his tone. \"Great\nheavens! do you hear that?\" he cried. \"There is no mistake about it this\ntime. It is a wolf, or may I never live to hear one again.\"\n\n\"You are right, friend,\" Wilfred said. \"It is a wolf, and not very far\naway, either. Come, we must be quick,\" and thrusting his arm through\nthat of Hellen, he hurried him along. After some minutes' fast walking\nthey came in sight of a neatly thatched whitewashed cottage, at the\nentrance to which two women and several children were collected. \"That's\nmy home,\" Wilfred said.\n\n\"And that's my wife!\" Hellen cried, rubbing his eyes to make sure he was\nnot dreaming. \"God in heaven, what's the meaning of it all? My wife and\nchildren--all three of them! Am I mad?\"\n\n\"It is merely the answer to your wishes,\" Wilfred rejoined calmly. \"See,\nthey recognize you and are waving.\"\n\nAs one in a sleep Hellen now staggered forward, and was soon in the\nmidst of his family, who, rushing up to him, implored him to explain\nwhat had happened, and how on earth they came to be there.\n\n\"I am just as much at sea as you are,\" Hellen said, feeling them each in\nturn to make sure it was really they. \"It's an insoluble mystery to me.\"\n\n\"And to us, too,\" they all cried. \"A few minutes ago we were in our beds\nin Frankfort, and then suddenly we found ourselves here--here in this\ndreadful looking forest. Oh, take us away, take us home, do!\"\n\nHellen was in despair. It was all like a hideous nightmare to him. What\nwas he to do?\n\n\"You must be my guests for to-night, at all events,\" Wilfred said; \"and\nin the morning we will discuss what is to be done. Fortunately we have\nenough room to accommodate you all. There is food in abundance. Let me\nintroduce you to my daughter Marguerite,\" and the next moment Hellen\nfound himself shaking hands with a girl of about twenty years of age.\nShe was clad in what appeared to be a travelling dress, deeply bordered\nwith white fur, and wore a most becoming cap of white ermine. Her feet\nwere shod in long, pointed, and very elegant buckskin shoes, adorned\nwith bright silver buckles. Her hair, which was yellow and glossy, was\nparted down the middle, and waved in a most becoming fashion low over\nthe forehead and ears; and her features--at least so Hellen\nthought--were very beautiful. Her mouth, though a trifle large, had very\ndaintily cut lips, and was furnished with unusually white and even\nteeth. But there was a peculiar furtive expression in her eyes, which\nwere of a very pretty shape and colour, that aroused Hellen's curiosity,\nand made him scrutinize her carefully. Her hands were noticeably long\nand slender, with tapering fingers and long, almond-shaped, rosy nails,\nthat glittered each time they caught the rays of the fast fading\nsunlight. Hellen's first impression of her was that she was marvellously\nbeautiful, but that there was a something about her that he did not\nunderstand--a something he had never seen in anyone before, a something\nthat in an ugly woman might have put him on his guard, but in this face\nof such surpassing beauty a something he seemed only too ready to\nignore. Hellen was a good, and up to the present, certainly, a faithful\nhusband, but he was only a man after all, and the more he looked at the\ngirl the more he admired her.\n\nAt a word from Wilfred, Marguerite smilingly led the way indoors, and\nshowed the guests two bedrooms, small but exquisitely clean. There was a\ndouble bed in one, and two single ones in the other. The bed-linen was\nof the very finest material, and white as snow.\n\n\"I think,\" Wilfred remarked, \"two of the girls can squeeze in one\nbed--they are neither of them very big--though it does my heart good to\nsee them so bonny.\"\n\n\"And mine, too,\" Marguerite joined in, patting the three children on the\ncheeks in turn, and drawing them to her and caressing them.\n\nMrs. Hellen, still dazed, and apparently hardly realizing what was\nhappening, stammered out her thanks, and the party then descended to the\nkitchen to partake of a substantial supper that was speedily prepared\nfor them.\n\n\"Had you not better go and look for your friend now?\" Wilfred observed,\njust as Hellen was about to seat himself beside his wife and children.\n\"Marguerite will go with you, and on your return the three of you can\nhave your meal in here after the children have gone to bed.\"\n\nHellen readily assented, and kissing his wife and little ones, who\ntearfully implored him not to be gone long, set out, accompanied by\nMarguerite.\n\nAt each step they took, Marguerite's beauty became more irresistible.\nThe soft rays of the moon falling directly on her features enhanced\ntheir loveliness, and Hellen could not keep his eyes off her. The\nominous cry of a night bird startled her; she edged timidly up to him;\nand he had to exert all his self-control, so eager was he to clasp her\nto him. In a strained, unnatural manner he kept up a flow of small-talk,\neliciting the information that she was an art student, and that she had\nstudied in Paris and Antwerp, had exhibited in Munich and Turin, and was\ncontemplating visiting London the following spring. They talked on in\nthis strain until Hellen, remembering their mission, exclaimed:--\n\n\"We must be very close to where I left Schiller. I will call to him.\"\n\nHe did so--not once, but many times; and the reverberation of his voice\nrang out loud and clear in the silence of the vast, moon-kissed forest.\nBut there was no response, nothing but the rustling of branches and the\nshivering of leaves.\n\n\"What's that?\" Marguerite suddenly cried, clutching hold of Hellen's\narm. \"There! right in front of us, lying on the ground. There!\" and she\nindicated the object with her gleaming finger-tip.\n\n\"It looks remarkably like Schiller,\" Hellen said. \"Can he be asleep?\"\n\nQuickening their pace, they speedily arrived at the spot. It was\nSchiller, or rather what had once been Schiller, for there was now very\nlittle left of him but the face and hands and feet; the rest had only\ntoo obviously been eaten. The spectacle was so shocking that for some\nminutes Hellen was too overcome to speak.\n\n\"It must have been wolves!\" he said at length. \"I fancied I heard them\nseveral times. Would to God I had never left him! What a death!\"\n\n\"Horrible!\" Marguerite whispered, and she turned her head away to avoid\nso harrowing a sight.\n\n\"Well,\" Hellen observed in a voice broken with emotion, \"it's no use\nstaying here. We can't be of any service to him now. I will gather the\nremains together in the morning, and with the assistance of your father\nsee that they are decently interred. Come! let us be going.\" And\noffering Marguerite his arm, they began to retrace their steps.\n\nFor some time Hellen was too occupied with thoughts of his friend's\ncruel death to think of anything else, but the close proximity of\nMarguerite gradually made itself felt, and by the time they had reached\nthe open clearing--the spot where he had encountered Wilfred--his\npassion completely overpowered him. Throwing discretion to the winds,\nand oblivious of wife, children, home, honour, everything save\nMarguerite--the lustre of her eyes and the dainty curving of her\nlips--he slipped his arm round her waist, and pressing her close to him,\nsmothered her in kisses.\n\n\"How dare you, sir!\" she panted, slowly shaking herself free. \"Aren't\nyou ashamed of such behaviour? What would your wife say, if she knew?\"\n\n\"I couldn't help it,\" Hellen pleaded. \"I'm not myself to-night. Your\nbeauty has bewitched me, and I would risk anything to have you in my\narms.\" He spoke so earnestly and looked at her so appealingly that she\nsmiled.\n\n\"I know I am beautiful,\" she said, and the intonation of her voice\nthrilled him to the very marrow of his bones. \"Dozens of men have told\nme so. Consequently, since there seems to have been some excuse for\nyou, I forgive you, only----,\" but before she could say another word,\nHellen had again seized her, and this time he did not loosen his hold\ntill from sheer exhaustion he could kiss her no more.\n\n\"It's no use!\" he panted. \"I can't help it. I love you as I never loved\na woman before, and if you were to ask me to do so I would go to Hell\nwith you this very minute.\"\n\n\"It is dangerous to express such sentiments here,\" Marguerite said.\n\"Don't you know this spot is full of supernatural influences, and that\nthe first two things you wish for will be granted?\"\n\n\"I have already wished,\" Hellen said. \"I wished when I was here with\nyour father.\"\n\n\"Then wish again,\" Marguerite replied; \"I assure you your wishes will be\nfulfilled.\" And again she looked at him in a way that sent all the blood\nin his body surging wildly to his head, and roused his passion in hot\nand furious rebellion against his reason.\n\n\"I wish, then,\" he cried, seizing hold of her hands and pressing them to\nhis lips--\"I wish every obstacle removed that prevents my having you\nalways with me--that is wish number one.\"\n\n\"And wish number two?\" the girl interrogated, her warm, scented breath\nfanning his cheeks and nostrils. \"Won't you wish that you may be mine\nfor ever? Always mine, mine to eternity!\"\n\n\"I will!\" Hellen cried. \"May I be yours always--yours to do what you\nlike with--in this life and the next.\"\n\n\"And now you shall have your reward,\" Marguerite exclaimed, clapping her\nhands gleefully. \"I will kiss you of my own free will,\" and throwing her\narms round his neck, she drew his head down to hers, and kissed him,\nkissed him not once but many times.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAn hour later they left the spot and slowly made their way to the\ncottage. As they neared it, loud screams for help rent the air, and\nHellen, to his horror, heard his wife and children--he could recognize\ntheir individual voices--shrieking to him to save them.\n\nIn an instant he was himself again. All his old affection for home and\nfamily was restored, and with a loud answering shout he started to rush\nto their assistance. But Marguerite willed otherwise. With a dexterous\nmovement of her feet she got in his way and tripped him, and before he\nhad time to realize what was happening, she had flung herself on the top\nof him and pinioned him down.\n\n\"No!\" she said playfully, \"you shall not go! You are mine, mine always,\nremember, and if I choose to keep you here with me, here you must\nremain.\"\n\nHe strove to push her off, but he strove in vain; for the slender,\nrounded limbs he had admired so much possessed sinews of steel, and he\nwas speedily reduced to a state of utter impotence.\n\nThe shrieks from the cottage were gradually lapsing into groans and\ngurgles, all horribly suggestive of what was taking place, but it was\nnot until every sound had ceased that Marguerite permitted Hellen to\nrise.\n\n\"You may go now,\" she said with a mischievous smile, kissing him gaily\non the forehead and giving his cheeks a gentle slap. \"Go--and see what a\nlucky man you are, and how speedily your first wish has been gratified.\"\n\nSick with apprehension, Hellen flew to the cottage. His worst\nforebodings were realized. Stretched on the floor of their respective\nrooms, with big, gaping wounds in their chests and throats, lay his wife\nand children; whilst cross-legged, on a chest in the kitchen, his dark\nsaturnine face suffused with glee, squatted Wilfred.\n\n\"Fiend!\" shouted Hellen. \"I understand it all now. I have been dealing\nwith the Spirits of the Harz Mountains. But be you the Devil himself\nyou shan't escape me,\" and snatching an axe from the wall, he aimed a\nterrific blow at Wilfred's head.\n\nThe weapon passed right through the form of Wilfred, and Hellen, losing\nhis balance, fell heavily to the ground. At this moment Marguerite\nentered.\n\n\"Fool!\" she cried; \"fool, to think any weapon can harm either Wilfred or\nme. We are phantasms--phantasms beyond the power of either Heaven or\nHell. Come here!\"\n\nImpelled by a force he could not resist, Hellen obeyed--and as he gazed\ninto her eyes all his blind infatuation for her came back.\n\n\"We must part now,\" she said; \"but only for a while--for remember, you\nbelong to me. Here is a token\"--and she thrust into his hand a wisp of\nher long, golden hair. \"Sleep on it and dream of me. Do not look so sad.\nI shall come for you without fail, and by this sign you shall know when\nI am coming. When this mark begins to heal,\" she said, as, with the nail\non the forefinger of the right hand, she scratched his forehead, \"get\nready!\"\n\nThere was then a loud crash--the room and everything in it swam before\nHellen's eyes, the floor rose and fell, and sinking backwards he\nremembered no more.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen he recovered he was lying in the centre of the haunted plot. There\nwas nothing to be seen around him except the trees--dark lofty pines\nthat, swaying to and fro in the chill night breeze, shook their sombre\nheads at him. A great sigh of relief broke from him--his experiences of\ncourse had only been a dream. He was trying to collect his thoughts,\nwhen he discovered that he was holding something tightly clasped in one\nof his hands. Unable to think what it could be, he rose, and held it in\nthe full light of the moon. He then saw that it was a tuft of white\nfur--the fur of some animal. Much puzzled, he put it in his pocket, and\nsuddenly recollecting his friend, set out for the place where he had\nleft him. \"I shall soon know,\" he said to himself, \"whether I have been\nasleep all this time--God grant it may be so!\" His heart beat fearfully\nas he pressed forward, and he shouted out \"Schiller\" several times. But\nthere was no reply, and presently he came upon the remains, just as he\nhad seen them when accompanied by Marguerite. Convinced now that all\nthat had taken place was grim reality, he went back along the route\nSchiller and he had taken the preceding day, and in due time reached the\nvillage. To the landlord of the inn where they had stayed he related\nwhat had happened. \"I am truly sorry for you,\" the landlord said; \"your\nexperience has indeed been a terrible one. Every one here knows the\nforest is haunted in that particular spot, and we all give it as wide a\nberth as possible. But you have been most unfortunate, for Wilfred and\nMarguerite, who are werwolves, only visit these parts periodically. I\nlast heard of them being seen when I was about ten years of age, and\nthey then ate a pedlar called Schwann and his wife.\"\n\nAs soon as Schiller's remains had been brought to the village and\ninterred in the cemetery, Hellen, armed to the teeth and accompanied by\nseveral of the biggest and strongest hounds he could hire--for he could\nget none of the villagers to go with him--spent a whole day searching\nfor Wilfred's cottage. But although he was convinced he had found the\nexact spot where it had stood, there were now no traces of it to be\nseen.\n\nAt length he returned to the village, and on the following morning set\nout for Frankfort. On his arrival home he was immediately apprised of\nthe fact that a terrible tragedy had occurred in his house. His wife and\nchildren had been found dead in their beds, with their throats cut and\ndreadful wounds in their chests, and the police had not been able to\nfind the slightest clue to the murderers. With a terrible sinking at the\nheart Hellen asked for particulars, and learned, as he knew only too\nwell he would learn, that the date of the tragedy was identical with\nthat of his adventure in the forest.\n\nHe tried hard to persuade himself that the coincidence was a mere\ncoincidence; but--he knew better. Besides, there was the scratch!--the\nscratch on his forehead.\n\nMoreover, the scratch remained. It remained fresh and raw till a few\ndays prior to his death, when it began to heal. And on the day he died\nit had completely healed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nA LYCANTHROPOUS BROOK IN THE HARZ MOUNTAINS; OR, THE CASE OF THE\nCOUNTESS HILDA VON BREBER\n\n\nAnother case of lycanthropy in Germany, connected with the Harz\nMountains, occurred somewhere about the beginning of the last century.\n\nCount Von Breber, chief of the police of Magdeburg, whilst away from\nhome on a holiday with his young and beautiful wife, the Countess Hilda,\nhappened to pass a night in the village of Grautz, in the centre of the\nHarz Mountains.\n\nIn the course of a conversation with the innkeeper, the Countess\nremarked: \"On our way here this morning we crossed a brook, and\nexperienced the greatest difficulty in persuading our dogs to go into\nthe water. It is most unusual, as they are generally only too ready for\na dip. Can you in any way account for it?\"\n\n\"Were there two very tall poplars, one on either side of the brook?\" the\ninnkeeper asked; \"and did you notice a peculiar--one cannot describe it\nas altogether unpleasant--smell there?\"\n\n\"We did!\" the Count and Countess exclaimed in chorus.\n\n\"Then it was the spot locally known as Wolf Hollow,\" the innkeeper said.\n\"No one ventures there after dark, as it has a very evil reputation.\"\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense!\" the Count snapped.\n\n\"That is as your honour pleases,\" the innkeeper said humbly. \"We village\nfolk believe it to be haunted; but, of course, if the subject appears\nridiculous to you, I will take care I do not refer to it again.\"\n\n\"Please do!\" the Countess cried. \"I love anything to do with the\nsupernatural. Tell us all about it.\"\n\nThe innkeeper gave a little nervous cough, and glancing uneasily at the\nCount, whose face looked more than usually stern in the fading sunlight,\nobserved: \"They do say, madam, that whoever drinks the water of that\nstream----\"\n\n\"Yes, yes?\" the Countess cried eagerly.\n\n\"Suffers a grave misfortune.\"\n\n\"Of what nature?\" the Countess demanded; but before the innkeeper could\nanswer, the Count cut in:--\n\n\"I forbid you to say another word. The Countess has drunk the water\nthere, and your cock-and-bull stories will frighten her into fits.\nConfess it is all made up for the benefit of travellers like ourselves.\"\n\n\"Yes, your honour!\" the innkeeper stammered, his knees shaking; \"I\nconfess it is mere talk, but we all be--be--lieve it.\"\n\n\"That will do--go!\" the Count cried; and the innkeeper, terrified out of\nhis wits, flew out of the room.\n\nSome minutes later mine host received a peremptory summons to appear\nbefore the Count, who was alone and scowling horribly, in the best\nparlour. He had barely got inside the room before the Count burst out\nwrathfully:--\n\n\"I've sent for you, sir, in order to impress upon you the fact that if\neither you or your minions mention one word about that brook to the\nCountess, or to her servants--mark that--I will have the breath flogged\nout of your body and your tongue snipped. Do you hear?\"\n\n\"Y--yes, your honour,\" the innkeeper cried. \"I ful--fully\nun--understand, and if her ladyship asks me any--anything abou--out the\nbr--br--brook, I will lie.\"\n\n\"Which won't trouble you much, eh?\"\n\n\"N--n--o, your honour! I mean y--yes, your honour! It will be a burden\non my con--conscience, but I will do anything to pl--please your\nhonour.\"\n\nThe interview then terminated, and the innkeeper, bathed in perspiration\nand wishing his lot in life anything but what it was, hastened to\nprepare dinner.\n\n\"I hope nothing dreadful will happen to me; I feel that something will,\"\nthe Countess said, as she let down her long beautiful hair that night.\n\"Carl, why did you let me drink the water?\"\n\n\"The water be ----!\" the Count growled. \"Didn't you hear what the\ninnkeeper said?--that the story was mere invention! If you believe all\nthe idle tales you hear, you will soon be in an asylum. Hilda, I'm\nashamed of you!\"\n\n\"And I'm ashamed of myself,\" the Countess cried, \"so there!\" and she\nflung her arms round his neck and kissed him.\n\nThe following morning they left the inn, and, retracing their steps,\njourneyed homewards. The Count looked at his wife somewhat critically;\nshe was very pale, and there were dark rims under her eyes.\n\n\"I do believe, Hilda,\" he observed with an assumed gaiety, \"you are\nstill worrying about that water!\"\n\n\"I am,\" she replied; \"I had such queer dreams.\"\n\nHe asked her to narrate them, but she refused; and as her sleep now\nbecame constantly disturbed, and she was getting thin and worried, the\nCount determined that as soon as he reached home he would call in a\ndoctor. The latter, examining the Countess, attributed the cause of her\nindisposition to dyspepsia, and ordered her a diet of milk food. But she\ndid not get better, and now insisted upon sleeping alone, choosing a\nbedroom situated in a secluded part of the house, where there was\nabsolute silence.\n\nThe Count remonstrated. \"You might at least let me occupy the room next\nto you!\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" she replied; \"I should hear you if you did. I am sensible now of\nthe very slightest sounds, and besides disturbing me, they are a source\nof the greatest annoyance. I feel I shall never get well again unless I\ncan have complete rest and quiet. Do let me!\" and she fixed her big blue\neyes on him so earnestly, that he vowed he would see that all her\nwishes, no matter how fanciful, were gratified.\n\n\"I hope she won't go mad!\" he said to himself; \"her behaviour is odd, to\nsay the least of it. Odd!--wholly inexplicable.\"\n\nIt was rather too bad that just now, when his mind was harassed with\nmisgivings at home, he should also be bothered with disturbances outside\nhis own home. But so it was. Events of an unprecedented nature were\ntaking place in the town, and it fell to his lot to cope with them.\nNight after night children--mostly of the poorer class--disappeared, and\ndespite frantic yet careful and thorough searches, no clue as to what\nhad befallen them had, so far, been discovered. The Count doubled the\nmen on night duty, but in spite of these and other extraordinary\nprecautions the disappearances continued, and the affair--already of the\nutmost gravity--promised to be one that would prove disastrous, not\nmerely to the heads of families, but to the head of the police himself.\nSo long as the missing ones had been of the lower orders only, the Count\nhad not had much to fear--the murmurings of their parents could easily\nbe held in check--but now that a few of the children of the rich had\nbeen spirited away, there was every likelihood of the matter reaching\nthe ears of the Court. One evening, when the Count had hardly recovered\nhis equanimity after a stormy interview with Herr Meichen, the banker,\nwhose three-year-old daughter had vanished, and a still more distressing\nscene with Otto Schmidt, the lawyer, whose six-year-old daughter had\ndisappeared, his patience was called upon to undergo a still further\ntrial in consequence of a visit from General Carl Rittenberg, a person\nof the greatest importance, not only in the town, but in the whole\nprovince. Purple in the face with suppressed fury, the General burst\ninto the room where the head of the police sat.\n\n\"Count!\" he cried, striking the table with his fist, \"this is beyond a\njoke. My child--my only child--Elizabeth, whom my wife and I\npassionately love, has been stolen. She was walking by my side in\nFrederick Street this afternoon, and as it suddenly became foggy, I left\nher a moment to hail a vehicle to take us home. I wasn't gone from her\nmore than half a minute at the most, but when I returned she had gone. I\nsearched everywhere, shouting her name; and passers by, compassionate\nstrangers, joined me in my search; but though we have looked high and\nlow not a trace of her have we been able to discover. I have not told\nher mother yet. God help me--I dare not! I dare not even show my face at\nhome without her--my wife will never forgive me----\"; and so great was\nhis emotion that he buried his face in his hands, and his great body\nheaved and shook. Then he started to his feet, his eyes bulging and\nlurid. \"Curse you!\" he shrieked; \"curse you, Count! it's all your fault!\nDay after day you've sat here, when you ought to have been hunting up\nthese rascally police of yours. You've no right to rest one second--not\none second, do you hear?--till the mystery surrounding these poor lost\nchildren has been cleared up, and, living or dead--God forbid it should\nprove to be the latter!--they are restored to their parents. Now, mark\nmy words, Count, unless my child Elizabeth is found, I'll make your name\na byword throughout the length and breadth of the country--I'll----\";\nbut words failed him, and, shaking his fist, he staggered out of the\nroom.\n\nThe Count was much perturbed. The General was one of the few people in\nthe town who really had it in their power to do him harm--the one man\nabove all others with whom he had hitherto made it his business to keep\nin. He had not the least doubt but that the General meant all he said,\nand he recognized only too well that his one and only hope of salvation\nlay in the recovery of Elizabeth. But, God in heaven, where could he\nlook for her? Sick at heart, he marshalled every policeman in the force,\nand within an hour every street in Magdeburg was being subjected to a\nmost rigorous search. The Count was just quitting his office, resolved\nto join in the hunt himself, when a shabbily dressed woman brushed past\nthe custodian at the door, and racing up to him, flung herself at his\nfeet.\n\n\"What the devil does she want?\" the Count demanded savagely. \"Who is\nshe?\"\n\n\"Martha Brochel, your honour, a poor half-witted creature, who was one\nof the first in the town to lose a child,\" the door-porter replied; \"and\nthe shock of it has driven her mad!\"\n\n\"Mad! mad! Yes! that is just what I am--mad!\" the woman broke out.\n\"Everything is in darkness. It is always night! There are no houses, no\nchimneys, no lanterns, only trees--big, black trees that rustle in the\nwind, and shake their heads mockingly. And then something hideous comes!\nWhat is it? Take it away! Take it away! Give her back to me!\" And as\nMartha's voice rose to a shriek, she threw her hands over her head, and,\nclenching them, growled and snarled like a wild animal.\n\n\"Put her outside!\" the Count said with an impatient gesture; \"and take\ngood care she does not get in here again.\"\n\n\"No! Don't turn me away! Don't! don't!\" Martha screamed; \"I forgot what\nit was I wanted to tell you--but I remember now. I've seen it!--seen the\nthing that stole my child. There is light--light again! Oh! hear me!\"\n\n\"Where have you seen it, Martha?\" the porter inquired; and looking at\nthe Count, he said respectfully: \"It is just possible, your honour,\nthis woman might be of use to us, and that she has actually seen the\nperson who stole her child.\"\n\n\"Rubbish! What right has she to have children?\" the Count snapped, and\nhe spurned the supplicant with his boot.\n\nThe moment she was in the street, however, the head of the police was\nafter her. Keeping close behind her, he resolutely dogged her steps. The\nevening was now far advanced, and the fog so dense that the Count,\nthough he knew the city, was soon at a total loss as to his whereabouts.\nBut on and on the woman went, now deviating to the right, now to the\nleft; sometimes pausing as if listening, then tearing on again at such a\nrate that the Count was obliged to run to keep up with her. Suddenly she\nuttered a shrill cry:\n\n\"There it is! There it is! The thing that took my child!\" and the figure\nof what certainly appeared to be a woman, muffled, and carrying a sack\non her shoulder, glided across the road just in front of them and\ndisappeared in the impenetrable darkness. Martha sped after her, and the\nCount, his hopes raised high, followed in hot pursuit. He failed to\nrecognize the ground they were traversing, and presently they came to a\nhigh wall, over which Martha scrambled with the agility of an acrobat.\nThe Count, in attempting to imitate her, damaged his knee and tore his\nclothes, but he also landed safely on the other side. Then on they went,\nMartha with unabated energy, the Count horribly exhausted, and beginning\nto think of turning back, when they were abruptly brought to a\nstandstill. The walls of some building loomed right ahead of them. The\nobject of their pursuit, again visible, darted through a doorway; whilst\nMartha, with a loud cry of triumph, sprang in after her; but before the\nCount could cross the threshold the door was slammed and locked in his\nface. Then he heard a chorus of the most appalling sounds--sounds so\nstrange and unearthly that his blood turned to ice and his hair rose\nstraight on end. Rushing footsteps mingled with peculiar soft\npatterings; agonized human screams coupled with the growls and snappings\nof an animal; a heavy thud; gurgles; and then silence.\n\nThe Count's courage revived: he hurled himself against the door; it gave\nwith a crash, and the next moment he was inside. But what a sight met\nhis eyes! The place, which somehow or the other seemed oddly familiar to\nhim, was a veritable shambles--floor, walls, and furniture were sodden\nwith blood. In every corner were mangled human remains; whilst stretched\non the ground, opposite the doorway, lay the body of Martha, her face\nunrecognizable and her breast and stomach ripped right open. This was\nterrible enough, but more terrible by far was the author of it all, who,\nhaving cast aside wraps, now stood fully revealed in the yellow glow of\na lantern. What the Count saw was a monstrosity--a thing with a woman's\nbreast, a woman's hair, golden and curly, but the face and feet were\nthose of a wolf; whilst the hands, white and slender, were armed with\nlong, glittering nails, cruelly sharp and dripping with blood.\n\nTo the Count's astonishment the creature did not attack him, but\nuttering a low plaintive cry, veered round and endeavoured to escape.\nBut escape was the very last thing Van Breber would permit. Whatever the\nthing was--beast or devil--it had caused him endless trouble, and if\nallowed to get away now, would go on with its escapades, and so bring\nabout his ruin. No! he must kill it. Kill it even at the risk of his own\nlife. With a shout of wrath he plunged his sword up to its hilt in the\nthing's back.\n\nIt fell to the floor and the Count bent over it curiously. Something was\nhappening--something strange and terrifying; but he could not look--he\nwas forced to shut his eyes. When he opened them he no longer saw the\nhairy visage of a wolf--he was gazing fondly into the dying eyes of his\nbeautiful and much-loved wife. With a rapidity like lightning, he\nrecognized his surroundings. He was in a long disused summer-house that\nstood in a remote corner of his own grounds!\n\n\"God help me and you, too!\" the Countess Hilda whispered, clasping him\nfondly in her arms. \"It was the water!--the water I drank in the Harz\nMountains! I have been bewitched----\"; and kissing him feverishly on the\nlips, she sank back--dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nWERWOLVES IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AND THE BALKAN PENINSULA\n\n\nTHE CASE OF THE FAMILY OF KLOSKA AND THE LYCANTHROPOUS FLOWER\n\nIn the mountainous regions of Austria-Hungary and the Balkan Peninsula\nare certain flowers credited with the property of converting into\nwerwolves whoever plucks and wears them. Needless to say, these flowers\nare very rare, but I have heard of their having been found,\ncomparatively recently, both in the Transylvanian Alps and the Balkans.\nA story _a propos_ of one of these discoveries was told me last summer.\n\nIvan and Olga were the children of Otto and Vera Kloska--the former a\nstorekeeper of Kerovitch, a village on the Roumanian side of the\nTransylvanian Alps. One morning they were out with their mother,\nwatching her wash clothes in a brook at the back of their house, when,\ngetting tired of their occupation, they wandered into a thicket.\n\n\"Let's make a chaplet of flowers,\" Olga said, plucking a daisy. \"You\ngather the flowers and I'll weave them together.\"\n\n\"It's not much of a game,\" Ivan grumbled, \"but I can't think of anything\nmore exciting just now, so I'll play it. But let's both make wreaths and\nsee which makes the best.\"\n\nTo this Olga agreed, and they were soon busily hunting amidst the grass\nand undergrowth, and scrambling into all sorts of possible and\nimpossible places.\n\nPresently Ivan heard a scream, followed by a heavy thud, and running in\nthe direction of the noise, narrowly avoided falling into a pit, the\nsides of which were partly overgrown with weeds and brambles.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Olga shouted; \"I'm not hurt. I landed on soft ground.\nIt's not very deep, and there's such a queer flower here--I don't know\nwhat it is; I've never seen one like it before.\"\n\nIvan's curiosity thus aroused, he carefully examined the sides of the\npit, and, selecting the shallowest spot, lowered himself slowly over and\nthen dropped. It was nothing of a distance, seven or eight feet at the\nmost, and he alighted without mishap on a clump of rank, luxuriant\ngrass. \"See! here it is,\" his sister cried, pointing to a large, very\nvivid white flower, shaped something like a sunflower, but soft and\npulpy, and full of a sweet, nauseating odour. \"It's too big to put in a\nwreath, so I'll wear it in my buttonhole.\"\n\n\"Better not,\" Ivan said, snatching it from her; \"I don't like it. It's a\nnasty-looking thing. I believe it's a sort of fungus.\"\n\nOlga then began to cry, and as Ivan was desirous of keeping the peace,\nhe gave her back the flower. She was a prepossessing child, with black\nhair and large dark eyes, pretty teeth and plump, sunburnt cheeks. Nor\nwas she altogether unaware of her attractions, for even at so early an\nage she had a goodly share of the inordinate vanity common to her sex,\nand liked nothing better than appearing out-of-doors in a new frock\nplentifully besprinkled with rosettes and ribbons. The flower, she told\nherself, would look well on her scarlet bodice, and would be a good\nset-off to her black hair and olive complexion. All this was, of course,\nbeyond the comprehension of Ivan, who regarded his sister's weakness\nwith the most supreme contempt, and for his own part was never so happy\nas when skylarking with other boys and getting into every conceivable\nkind of mischief. Yet for all that he was in the main sensible, almost\nbeyond his years, and extremely fond, and--though he would not admit\nit--proud of Olga.\n\nShe fixed the flower in her dress, and imitating to the best of her\nknowledge the carriage of royalty, strutted up and down, saying \"Am I\nnot grand? Don't I look nice? Ivan--salute me!\"\n\nAnd Ivan was preparing to salute her in the proper military style,\ntaught him by a great friend of his in the village, a soldier in the\ncarabineers for whom he had an intense admiration, when his jaw suddenly\nfell and his eyes bulged.\n\n\"Whatever is the matter with you?\" Olga asked.\n\n\"There's nothing the matter with me,\" Ivan cried, shrinking away from\nher; \"but there is with you. Don't! don't make such faces--they frighten\nme,\" and turning round, he ran to the place where he had made his\ndescent and tried to climb up.\n\nSome minutes later the mother of the children, hearing piercing shrieks\nfor help, flew to the pit, and, missing her footing, slipped over the\nbrink, and falling some ten or more feet, broke one of her legs and\notherwise bruised herself. For some seconds she was unconscious, and the\nfirst sight that met her eyes on coming to was Ivan kneeling on the\nground, feebly endeavouring to hold at bay a gaunt grey wolf that had\nalready bitten him about the legs and thigh, and was now trying hard to\nfix its wicked white fangs into his throat.\n\n\"Help me, mother!\" Ivan gasped; \"I'm getting exhausted. It's Olga.\"\n\n\"Olga!\" the mother screamed, making frantic efforts to come to his\nassistance. \"Olga! what do you mean?\"\n\n\"It's all owing to a flower--a white flower,\" Ivan panted; \"Olga would\npluck it, and no sooner had she fixed it on her dress than she turned\ninto a wolf! Quick, quick! I can't hold it off any longer.\"\n\nThus adjured the wretched woman made a terrific effort to rise, and\nfailing in this, clenched her teeth, and, lying down, rolled over and\nover till she arrived at the spot where the struggle was taking place.\nBy this time, however, the wolf had broken through Ivan's guard, and he\nwas now on his back with his right arm in the grip of his ferocious\nenemy.\n\nThe mother had not a knife, but she had a long steel skewer she used for\nsticking into a tree as a means of fastening one end of her washing\nline. She wore it hanging to her girdle, and it was quite by a miracle\nit had not run into her when she fell.\n\n\"Take care, mother,\" Ivan cried, as she raised it ready to strike;\n\"remember, it is Olga.\"\n\nThis indeed was an ugly fact that the woman in her anxiety to save the\nboy had forgotten. What should she do? To merely wound the animal would\nbe to make it ten times more savage, in which case it would almost\ninevitably destroy them both. To kill it would mean killing Olga. Which\ndid she love the most, the boy or the girl? Never was a mother placed in\nsuch a dilemma. And she had no time to deliberate, not even a second.\nGod help her, she chose. And like ninety-nine out of a hundred mothers\nwould have done, she chose the boy; he--he at all costs must be saved.\nShe struck, struck with all the pent-up energy of despair, and in her\nblind, mad zeal she struck again.\n\nThe first blow, penetrating the werwolf's eye, sank deep into its brain,\nbut the second blow missed--missed, and falling aslant, alighted on the\nform beneath.\n\nAn hour later a villager on his way home, hearing extraordinary sounds\nof mirth, went to the side of the pit and peeped over.\n\n\"Vera Kloska!\" he screamed; \"Heaven have mercy on us, what have you\nthere?\"\n\n\"He! he! he!\" came the answer. \"He! he! he! My children! Don't they look\nfunny? Olga has such a pretty white flower in her buttonhole, and Ivan a\nred stain on his forehead. They are deaf--they won't reply when I speak\nto them. See if you can make them hear.\"\n\nBut the villager shook his head. \"They'll never hear again in this\nworld, mad soul,\" he muttered. \"You've murdered them.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBesides this white flower there is a yellow one, of the same shape and\nsize as a snapdragon; and a red one, something similar to an ox-eyed\ndaisy, both of which have the power of metamorphosing the plucker and\nwearer into a werwolf. Both have the same peculiar vividness of colour,\nthe same thick, sticky sap, and the same sickly, faint odour. They are\nboth natives of Austria-Hungary and the Balkan Peninsula, and are\noccasionally to be met with in damp, marshy places.\n\nCertain flowers (lilies-of-the-valley, marigolds, and azaleas), as also\ndiamonds, are said to attract werwolves, thus proving a source of danger\nto those who wear them. And _a propos_ of this magnetic property of\ndiamonds the following anecdote comes to me from the Tyrol:--\n\n\nA WERWOLF IN INNSBRUCK\n\nMadame Mildau was one of the prettiest women in Innsbruck. She had\ngolden hair, large violet eyes, a smile that would melt a Loyola, and\ndiamonds that set every woman's mouth watering. With such inducements to\nseduction, how could Madame Mildau help delighting in balls and fetes,\nand in promenading constantly before the public? She revelled in a\nuniversal admiration--she aimed at a monopoly--and she lived wholly and\nsolely to exact homage. To be deprived of any single opportunity of\ndisplaying her charms and consequent triumphs would indeed have been a\nhardship, and to nothing short of a very serious indisposition would\nMadame Mildau have sacrificed her pleasure.\n\nNow it so happened that three of the most brilliant entertainments of\nthe season fell on the same night, and Madame Mildau, with all the\nunreason of her sex, desired to attend each one of them.\n\n\"I have accepted these three invitations,\" she informed her husband,\n\"and to these three balls I mean to go. I shall apportion the time\nequally between them. You forget,\" she added, \"that the success of these\nentertainments really depends on me. Crowds go only to see me, and I\nshould never forgive myself if I disappointed them.\"\n\nBut her husband, with the perversity characteristic of gout and middle\nage, combined, no doubt, with a not unnatural modicum of jealousy,\nmaintained that one such fete should be sufficient amusement for one\nnight. She might take her choice of one; he would on no account permit\nher to attend all three. Much to his surprise and delight Madame Mildau\nmade no scene, but graciously submitted after a few mild protestations.\nA little later her husband remarked encouragingly:--\n\n\"I congratulate you, Julia, on your philosophy and self-restraint. In\nyielding to my wishes you have pleased me immeasurably, and I should\nlike to show my gratification in some substantial manner. As it is some\nmonths since I gave you a present, I have resolved to make you one now.\nYou may choose what you like.\"\n\n\"I have chosen,\" Madame Mildau replied calmly.\n\n\"What, already!\" her husband cried. \"You sly creature. You have been\nkeeping this up your sleeve. What is it?\"\n\n\"A diamond tiara,\" was the cool reply. \"The one you said you could not\nafford last Christmas.\"\n\n\"Mon Dieu!\" her husband gasped. \"I shall be ruined.\"\n\n\"You will be ruined if you do not give it to me,\" Madame Mildau replied,\n\"for in that case I should leave you. I couldn't live with a liar.\"\n\nHer husband wrung his hands. He implored her to choose something else,\nbut it was of no avail, and within two hours Madame Mildau had visited\nthe jeweller and the tiara was hers.\n\nThe eventful day came at last, and Madame Mildau, escorted by her\nhusband, attended one of the most popular balls of the season. She did\nnot wear her tiara. There had been several highway jewellery robberies\nin the neighbourhood of late, and she pleased her husband immensely by\nleaving her diamonds carefully locked up at home.\n\n\"You are prudence itself,\" he said, gazing at her in admiration. \"And as\na reward you shall dance all the evening whilst I look on and admire\nyou.\"\n\nBut soon Madame Mildau could dance no longer. She had a very bad\nheadache, and begged her husband to take her home. M. Mildau was very\nsympathetic. He was very sorry for his wife, and suggested that she\nshould take some brandy. She readily agreed that a little brandy might\ndo her good, and they took some together in their bedroom, after which\nmadame's husband remembered little more. He had a vague notion that his\nwife was rolling his neck-handkerchief round his forehead in the form of\na Turkish turban, and patting him on the cheeks and smilingly wishing\nhim a thousand pleasant dreams, and then--all was a blank. He might as\nwell have been dead. With madame it was otherwise. The headache was, of\ncourse, a ruse. The brandy she had given her husband had been well\ndrugged, and no sooner had she made sure it had taken effect than she\nsnapped her daintily manicured finger-tips in the air, and retiring to\nher dressing-room, changed the dress she was wearing for one ten times\nmore costly and beautiful--a dress of rose-coloured gauze, upon which a\ndrapery of lace was suspended by agraffes of diamonds. A wreath of pale\nroses, that seemed to have been bathed in the dew of the morning, the\nbetter to harmonize with the delicate complexion of her lovely face,\nnestled in her hair, and above it, more magnificent than anything yet\nseen in Innsbruck, and setting off to perfection the dazzling lustre of\nher yellow curls, the tiara of diamonds.\n\nAfter a final survey of herself in the glass, she slipped on her cloak,\nand stole softly out to join her intimate friend, the Countess Linitz,\nwho was also going to the ball. All things so far had worked wonderfully\nwell; not even a servant suspected her. In order to avoid trusting her\nsecret to anyone in the house, she had employed a stranger to hire an\nelegant carriage, which was in waiting for her at a discreet distance\nfrom the front door. The ball at which Madame Mildau soon arrived with\nher friend was much more to her liking than the one to which she had\nbeen previously escorted by her husband. The music was more harmonious,\nthe conversation more amiable, the dresses more elaborate, and, what\nwas more important than all, Madame Mildau's success was even more\ninstantaneous and complete. The whole room--host, guests, musicians,\neven waiters--one and all were literally dumbfounded at the\nextraordinary beauty of her face and costume, to say nothing of her\njewels. Such an entrancing spectacle was without parallel in a ballroom\nin Innsbruck; and when she left, before the entertainment was over, all\nthe life, the light, the gaiety went with her.\n\nBut it was at the third ball, to which the same equipage surreptitiously\nbore her, that Madame Mildau's enjoyment and triumphs reached their\nzenith; and it was only towards the close of that entertainment--when\nshe felt, by that revelation of instinct which never deceives women on\nsimilar occasions, that it was time to depart; that the brilliancy of\nher eyes, no less than the beauty of her dress, was fading; that her\nlips, parched with fatigue, had lost that humid red which rendered them\nso pretty and inviting, and that the dust had taken the beautiful gloss\noff her hair--that she experienced, for the first time, a sentiment of\nuneasiness in reviewing the rashness of her conduct. How was it\npossible, she asked herself, to prevent a casual acquaintance--her\nfriends she could warn--letting out in conversation before her husband\nthat she had been to these balls. And supposing he thus got to know of\nher deceit, what then?\n\nThis idea--the idea of being found out--with all its consequences, rose\nbefore her. Her exhausted imagination could find nothing to oppose it,\nnothing to relieve the feeling of depression which took possession of\nher, and she almost felt remorse when she threw herself into her\ncarriage. It was a very dark night, cold and windy, and she was only too\nthankful to nestle close into the soft cushions at her back, and bury\nher face in the warm fur of her costly wrap. For some minutes she\nremained absorbed in thought; but it was not long before the monotonous\nrumble, rumble of the carriage produced a sensation of drowsiness, from\nwhich she was rudely awakened by the sound of a cough. Glancing in the\ndirection from whence it came, to her utmost dismay and astonishment she\nsaw, seated in the opposite corner of the vehicle, a young man of good,\nif somewhat peculiar appearance, and extremely well dressed. Madame\nMildau instantly took in all the disadvantages of her situation, and,\noverwhelmed by the imprudence of her conduct, exclaimed in a tone in\nwhich dignity and terror struggled for mastery, \"Sir, what audacity!\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, what audacity!\" the stranger replied, affecting to be\nshocked. \"What pride! What a love of display!\" and he rolled his big\neyes at her and bared his teeth.\n\n\"But, sir,\" Madame Mildau cried in horror, concluding that the unknown\nwas a madman, \"this is _my_ carriage. I beg you will depart--I beseech\nyou--I command you. I will summon my servants.\"\n\n\"That will be a vain waste of valuable breath,\" replied the young man\ncoolly. \"You may call your servants--but there is only one, and he is\nmine. He will not answer you.\"\n\n\"Where am I, then? How infamous!\" exclaimed Madame Mildau, and she burst\ninto tears. \"Oh, how cruelly punished I am!\"\n\n\"It is true, madame, you will be punished for having been agreeable,\ngay, and brilliant to-night without the consent of your husband; but at\npresent he knows nothing about it, for at this moment he reposes in the\nsleep of the just, confident that you are enjoying the same repose close\nto him. As to yourself, madame, why this fear? You will have nothing to\ndread, I assure you, from my indiscretion; but, as you may be aware,\nthere is no fault, however small, that has not its expiation. Nay, do\nnot weep. Am I so ugly? Why should you dread me so, madame? I am a great\nadmirer of your charms, desirous to know you better. Nay, have no\nsuspicions as to my morality--I am no profligate. I came to the ball\nto-night for quite another purpose.\"\n\n\"Sir, I understand you. You are employed by my husband. A spy!\nDetestable!\"\n\n\"Stop, madame,\" the stranger said, laying his hand gently on hers.\n\"Debase not the dignity of man by imagining for one instant that there\nis anyone who would lend himself so readily to act the odious part you\nimpute to me. I am no spy.\"\n\n\"In Heaven's name, then,\" Madame Mildau exclaimed, \"what brings you\nhere? What do you want? Who are you?\"\n\n\"One at a time, madame,\" the young man ejaculated. \"To begin with, it\nwas those diamonds of yours--those rings on your soft and delicate\nfingers, those bracelets on your slender rounded wrists, that necklace\nand pendant on your snowy breast, and over and above all that splendid\ntiara on your matchless hair. It was the sight of all those bright and\ngleaming stars that attracted me, just as the light of a candle attracts\na moth. I could not resist them.\"\n\n\"Then you--you are a robber!\" stammered the lady, ready to faint with\nterror.\n\n\"Wrong again!\" the young man said; \"I admire your jewels, it is true,\nbut I am no thief.\"\n\n\"Then, in mercy's name, what are you?\" demanded the lady.\n\n\"Well!\" the stranger replied, speaking with a slight snarl, \"I am a man\nnow, but I shall soon change.\"\n\n\"A man and will soon change?\" Madame Mildau cried; \"oh, you're mad,\nmad--and I'm shut up in here with a lunatic! Help! help!\"\n\n\"Calmly, calmly,\" the stranger exclaimed, lifting her hands to his lips\nand kissing them. \"I'm perfectly sane, and at present perfectly\nharmless. Now tell me, madame--and mind, be candid with me--why don't\nyou love your husband?\"\n\n\"How do you know I don't?\" Madame Mildau faltered.\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" the young man said. \"Anyone could see that with half an eye.\nBesides, consider your conduct to-night! Answer my questions.\"\n\n\"Well, you see!\" Madame Mildau stammered, having come to the conclusion\nthat even if the man were not mad it would be highly impolitic to\nprovoke him, \"I'm so much younger than he is. I'm only twenty-three,\nwhereas he is forty-five. Besides, he detests all amusements, and I love\nthem--especially dances. He is too fat to----\"\n\n\"Are you sure he is fat? Will you swear he is fat?\" the stranger asked,\ngrasping her hands so tightly that she screamed.\n\n\"I swear it!\" she said, \"he is quite the fattest man I know.\"\n\n\"And tender! But no, he can't be very tender!\"\n\n\"What questions to ask!\" Madame Mildau said. \"How do I know whether he\nis tender! Besides, what does it concern you?\"\n\n\"It concerns me much,\" the young man retorted; \"and you, too, madame.\nYou asked me just now a question concerning myself. Your curiosity shall\nbe satisfied. I am a werwolf. My servant on the box who took the place\nof your employe is a werwolf. In an hour the metamorphosis will take\nplace. You are out here in the Wood of Arlan alone with us.\"\n\n\"In the Wood of Arlan!\"\n\n\"Yes, madame, in the Wood of Arlan, which is, as you know, one of the\nwildest and least frequented spots in this part of the Tyrol. We are\nboth ravenously hungry, and--well, you can judge the rest!\"\n\nMadame Mildau, who regarded werwolves in the same category as satyrs and\nmermaids, was once more convinced that she had to deal with a lunatic,\nbut thinking it wisest to humour him, she said, \"I shouldn't advise you\nto eat me. I'm not at all nice. I'm dreadfully tough.\"\n\n\"You're not that,\" the young man said, \"but I'm not at all sure that\nthe paint and powder on your cheeks might not prove injurious. Anyhow, I\nhave decided to spare you on one condition!\"\n\n\"Yes! and that is?\" Madame Mildau exclaimed, clapping her hands\njoyfully.\n\n\"That you let me have your husband instead. Give me the keys of your\nhouse, and my man and I will fetch him. Did you leave him sound asleep?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" Madame Mildau faltered.\n\n\"In other words you drugged him! I knew it! I can read it in your eyes.\nWell--so much the better. Your foresight has proved quite providential.\nWe will bind you securely and leave you here whilst we are gone, and\nwhen we return with your husband you shall be freed, and my man shall\ndrive you home. The key?\"\n\nMadame Mildau gave it him. With the aid of his servant--a huge man, well\nover six feet and with the chest and limbs of a Hercules--the stranger\nthen proceeded to gag and bind Madame Mildau hand and foot, and lifting\nher gently on to the road, fastened her securely to the trunk of a tree.\n\n\"Au revoir!\" he exclaimed, kissing her lightly on the forehead. \"We\nshan't be long! These horses go like the wind.\"\n\nThe next moment he was gone. For some seconds Madame Mildau struggled\ndesperately to free herself; then, recognizing the futility of her\nefforts, resigned herself to her fate. At last she heard the clatter of\nhorses' hoofs and the rumble of wheels, and in a few minutes she was\nonce again free.\n\n\"Quick!\" the stranger said, leading her by the arm, \"there's not a\nmoment to lose. The transmutation has already begun. In a few seconds we\nshall both be wolves and your fate will be sealed. We've got your\nhusband, and, fortunately for you, he is as you described him, nice and\nplump. If you want to take a final peep at him, do so at once; it's your\nlast chance.\"\n\nBut Madame Mildau had no such desire. She moved aside as her husband,\nclad in his pyjamas and still sleeping soundly, was lifted out of the\nvehicle and placed on the ground, and then, hurriedly brushing past him,\nwas about to enter the carriage, when the young man interposed.\n\n\"On the box, madame. We could not find you a coachman--you must drive\nyourself; and as you value your life, drive like the----\"\n\nBut madame did not wait for further instructions. Springing lightly on\nthe box, she picked up the reins, and with a crack of the whip the\nhorses were off. A minute later, and the wild howl of wolves, followed\nby a piercing human scream, rang out in the still morning air.\n\n\"That's my husband! I recognize his voice,\" Madame Mildau sighed. \"Ah,\nwell! thank God, the man wasn't a robber. My diamonds are safe.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE WERWOLF IN SPAIN\n\n\nWerwolves are, perhaps, rather less common in Spain than in any other\npart of Europe. They are there almost entirely confined to the\nmountainous regions (more particularly to the Sierra de Guadarrama, the\nCantabrian, and the Pyrenees), and are usually of the male species.\nGenerally speaking the property of lycanthropy in Spain appears to be\nhereditary; and, as one would naturally expect in a country so\npronouncedly Roman Catholic, to rid the lycanthropist of his unenviable\nproperty it is the custom to resort to exorcism. Though they are\nextremely rare, both flowers and streams possessing the power of\ntransmitting the property of werwolfery are to be found in the\nCantabrian mountains and the Pyrenees.\n\nAnd in Spain, as in Austria-Hungary, precious stones--particularly\nrubies--not infrequently, and often with disastrous results, attract\nthe werwolf.\n\nThe following case of a Spanish werwolf may be taken as typical:--\n\nIn the month of September, 1853, a young man, one Paul Nicholas, arrived\nfrom Paris at Pamplona, and took up his abode at l'Hotel Hervada.\n\nHe was rich, idle, sleek; and the sole object of his stay at Pamplona\nwas the pursuit of some little adventure wherewith he might be\ntemporarily employed, and whereof perchance he might afterwards boast.\nWell, in the hotel there had arrived, a day or two before Monsieur\nNicholas, a young and beautiful lady, the effect of whose personal\nattractions was intensified by certain mysterious circumstances. No one\nknew her; she had no one with her--not even a servant to be bribed--and\nalthough eminently fitted to shine in society, she went neither to the\nopera nor the dance. As may be readily understood, she was soon the sole\ntopic of conversation in the hotel. Every one talked of her rare beauty,\nelegance, and musical genius, and immediately after dinner, when she\nretired to her room, many of the guests would steal upstairs after her,\nand, stationing themselves outside her door, would remain there for\nhours to listen to her singing.\n\nPaul Nicholas's head was completely turned. To have such a neighbour,\nwith the face and voice of an angel, and yet not to know her! It was\nenough to drive him wild. At last, to every one's surprise, the\nmysterious lady, apparently so exclusive, permitted the advances of a\nvery commonplace, middle-aged gentleman with hardly a hair on his head\nand a paunch that was voted quite disgusting.\n\nThe friendship between the two ripened fast. In defiance of all\nconventionality, the lady took to sitting out late at night with her\nelderly admirer, and, with an absolute disregard of decorum, accompanied\nhim on long excursions. Finally, she went away with him altogether. On\nthe occasion of this latter event every one in the hotel heaved a sigh\nof relief, saving Paul.\n\nPaul was disconsolate. He stayed on, hovering about the places she had\nmost frequented, and hoping to see in every fresh arrival at the hotel\nhis adored one come back. His pitiable condition gained no sympathy.\n\n\"Silly fellow!\" was the general comment. \"He is desperately in love! And\nwith such a creature! What an idiot!\"\n\nBut Paul's patience was at length rewarded, his devotion apparently\njustified, for the lady returned, unaccompanied; and so great was the\ncharm of her personality that within two days of her reappearance she\nhad completely won back the hearts of her fellow-guests. Again every\none raved of her.\n\nMeanwhile, Paul Nicholas became more enamoured than ever. He bought a\nguitar, and composed love lyrics--which he sang outside her door, from\nmorning till night, with all that wealth of tenderness so uniquely\nexpressible in a human voice--but it was all in vain. For the lady,\nwhose name had at last leaked out--it was Isabelle de Nurrez--had\nyielded to the attentions of another stout, middle-aged gentleman, with\nwhom in due course she departed.\n\nThis was too much even for her most ardent admirers. Every guest in the\nhotel protested, and petitioned that she might not be readmitted.\n\nBut mine host shook his head with scant apology. \"I cannot help it,\" he\nsaid. \"The lady pays more for her rooms than all the rest of you put\ntogether, so why should I turn her out? After all, if she likes to have\nmany sweethearts, why shouldn't she? It is her own concern, neither\nyours nor mine. It harms no one!\"\n\nAnd some of the guests, seeing logic in their landlord's views,\nremained; others went. As for Paul, he was immeasurably shocked at the\nbad taste of his adored one; but he stayed on, and within a few days, as\nhe had fondly hoped, the fickle creature returned--and, as before,\nreturned alone. It was then that he resolved on writing to her. With a\ncrow-quill almost as fine as the long silky eyelashes of Isabella, on a\nsheet of paper whose border of Cupids, grapes, vases, and roses left\nlittle--too little--space for writing, he indited his letter, which,\nwhen completed, he sealed with a seal of azure blue wax, bearing the\ndevice of a dove ready for flight. And so scented was this epistle that\nit perfumed the entire hotel in its transit by means of a servant (well\npaid for the purpose) to mademoiselle's room. Again--this time for an\nendless amount of trouble and expense--Paul was rewarded. When next he\nmet mademoiselle, and an opportune moment arrived, she looked at him,\nand as her lovely eyes scanned his manly, if somewhat portly figure, she\nsmiled--smiled a smile of satisfaction which meant much. Paul Nicholas\nwas in ecstasies. He hardly knew how to contain himself; he sighed,\nradiated, and wriggled about to such an extent that the attention of\nevery one in the place was directed to him; whereupon Mlle de Nurrez\nturned very red and frowned. Paul's expectations now sank to zero; for\nthe rest of the day he was almost too miserable to live. But Mlle de\nNurrez, no doubt perceiving him to be truly penitent for having so\nembarrassed her, forgave him, and on his way to dinner he received a\nnote in her own pretty handwriting giving him permission to make her\nacquaintance without any further introduction. The way thus paved,\nMonsieur Paul Nicholas, overjoyed, lost no time in seeking out the lady.\nShe was singing a wild sweet song as he entered her sitting-room, and\nher back, turned to the door, gave him an opportunity of observing, as\nshe leant over her guitar, the most exquisite shoulders and the\nprettiest-shaped head in the world. With graceful confusion she rose to\ngreet him, and her long eyelashes fell over eyes black and brilliant as\nthose that awakened the furore of two continents--the eyes of Lola\nMontez. She was dressed in white; her rich dark hair was held in place\nwith combs of gold; her girdle was of gold, and so also were the massive\nbracelets on her arms, which--so perfect was their symmetry--might well\nhave been fashioned by a sculptor.\n\nMonsieur Paul Nicholas, with the air of a prince, escorted her to the\ndining-room; and over champagne, coffee, and liqueurs their friendship\ngrew apace. Some hours later, when ensconced together in a cosy retreat\non the terrace, and the fast disappearing lights in the hotel windows\nwarned them it would soon be prudent to retire, Mlle de Nurrez exclaimed\nwith a sigh:--\n\n\"You have told me so much about yourself, whilst I--I have told you\nnothing in return. Alas! I have a history. My parents are dead--my\nmother died when I was a baby, and my father, who was a very wealthy\nman--having accumulated his money in the business of a cork merchant\nwhich he carried on for years in Portugal--died just six months ago. He\nwas on a voyage for his health in the Mediterranean, when he formed an\nacquaintance with a young Hindu, Prince Dajarah who soon acquired\nunbounded influence over him. My father died on this voyage, and--God\nforgive my suspicions!--but his death was strange and sudden. On opening\nhis will, it was found that all his property was left to me--but only on\nthe condition that I married Prince Dajarah.\"\n\n\"Marry a black man! Mon Dieu, how terrible!\" Paul Nicholas cried.\n\n\"You are right. It was terrible!\" Mlle de Nurrez went on. \"And if I\nrefused to marry Prince Dajarah, he, according to the will, would\ninherit everything. Well, Prince Dajarah was persistent; he declared\nthat it was my duty to marry him, to fulfil my father's dying wish. It\nwas in vain that I implored his mercy--that I told him I could never\nreturn his affections. And at last, finding that upon Prince Dajarah\nneither remonstrance nor reproach had any effect, I fled to a town some\nten miles distant from this hotel, taking with me what money and\njewellery I possessed.\n\n\"Alas! he soon discovered my whereabouts, and with the sole object of\ncontinuing his persecution of me, speedily established himself in the\nhouse--which, unfortunately for me, happened to be vacant--next to mine.\nMy money is nearly exhausted, I have no resources, and unless some one\nintervenes, some one brave and fearless, some one who really loves me, I\nshall undoubtedly be forced into a marriage with this odious wretch.\nHeavens, the bare idea of it is poisonous! You remember the two men who\npaid such marked attentions to me a short time ago?\"\n\nPaul Nicholas nodded. His emotion was such he could not speak.\n\n\"They both imagined they were in love with me. They swore they would\nconfront the black tyrant and kill him; but when they were put to the\ntest--when I took them and pointed him out to them--they went white as a\nsheet, and--fled.\"\n\n\"Why torture me thus?\" Paul Nicholas cried. \"Tell me--only tell me what\nit is you want me to do!\"\n\n\"Do you love me?\"\n\n\"More than my life.\"\n\n\"More than your soul?\"\n\n\"More than my soul.\"\n\n\"Will you save me from a fate more horrible than death?\"\n\n\"If I go to Hell for you--yes!\" Paul said, gazing on a face lovely as a\ndream.\n\n\"You must come with me to his house to-morrow then! You must come armed.\nYou must kill him.\"\n\n\"Kill him!\" Paul cried, turning pale.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"But it will be murder--assassination.\"\n\n\"Murder, to kill him--a tyrant--a black man! Bah! Are you too a coward?\"\nAnd she sprang to her feet, the veins swelling on her white brow, her\ncheeks colouring, her eyes flashing fire, as if she, at least, knew not\nthe meaning of fear. \"Sooner than let such a wretch inherit my father's\nwealth,\" she cried out, \"I will kill him myself--kill him, or perish in\nthe attempt.\"\n\nPaul Nicholas encountered the earnest gaze of her large, bright eyes,\nthe pleading of her beautiful mouth, and the sweetness of her breath\nfanned his nostrils. A terrific wave of passion swept over him. He loved\nas he had never loved before--as he had never deemed it possible to\nlove: and in his mad worship of the woman he believed to be as pure as\nshe was fair, he forgot that the devil hides safest where he is least\nsuspected. Seizing her small white hands in his, he swore upon them to\ndo her will; and he would have gone on making all sorts of wild,\nimpassioned speeches had not Mlle de Nurrez reminded him that it was\npast locking-up time.\n\nShe crossed the main hall of the hotel with him, and as she turned to\nbid him good night prior to ascending to her quarters, her eyes met\nhis--met his in one long, lingering glance that he assured himself could\nonly have meant love.\n\nNext morning the guests in the hotel received another shock. Mlle de\nNurrez had gone off again--this time with Monsieur Paul Nicholas--that\ngood-looking, well-to-do young man, at whom all the matrons with\nmarriageable daughters had in vain cast longing eyes.\n\nNow, although Paul Nicholas had little knowledge of geography, he could\nnot help remarking, as he journeyed with Mlle Nurrez, that their route\nwas in an exactly opposite direction to that leading to the town which\nhis companion had named to him as her place of residence. He pointed out\nhis difficulty, but Mlle de Nurrez only laughed.\n\n\"Wait!\" she said. \"Wait and see. We shall get there all right. You must\ntrust to my wit.\"\n\nPaul Nicholas made no further comment. He was already in the seventh\nheaven--that was enough for him; and leaning back, he continued gazing\nat her profile.\n\nThe afternoon passed away, the sun sank, and night and its shadows moved\nsolemnly on them. Gradually the roadside trees became distinguishable\nonly as deeper masses of shadow, and Paul Nicholas could only tell they\nwere trees by the peculiar sodden odour that, from time to time,\nsluggishly flowed in at the open window of the carriage. Of necessity,\nthey were proceeding slowly--the road was for the most part uphill, and\nthe horses, though tough and hardy natives of the mountains, had begun\nto show signs of flagging. They did not pass by a soul, and even the\nsighs of astonished cattle, whose ruminating slumbers they had routed,\nat last became events of the greatest rarity. At each yard they advanced\nthe wildness of the country increased, and although the landscape was\nhidden, its influence was felt. Paul Nicholas knew, as well as if he had\nseen them, that he was in the presence of grotesque, isolated boulders,\nwide patches of bare, desolate soil, gaunt trees, and profound\nstraggling fissures.\n\nBeing so long confined in a limited space, although in that space was a\nparadise, he felt the exquisite agony of cramp, and when, after sundry\nattempts to stretch himself, he at length found a position that afforded\nhim temporary relief, it was only to become aware of a more refined\nspecies of torture. The springs of the carriage rising and falling\nregularly, produced a rhythmical beat, which began to painfully absorb\nhis attention, and to slowly merge into a senseless echo of one of his\nobservations to Mlle de Nurrez. And when he was becoming reconciled to\nthis inferno, another forced itself upon him. How quiet the driver was!\nWas there any driver? He couldn't see any. Possibly, nay, probably--why\nnot?--the driver was lying gagged and bound on the roadside, and a\nbandit, one of the notorious Spanish bandits, against whom his friends\nin Paris had so emphatically warned him, was on the box driving him to\nhis obscure lair in the heart of the mountains. Or was the original\ndriver himself a bandit, and the beautiful girl reclining on the\ncushions a bandit's daughter? He dozed, and on coming to his waking\nsenses again, discovered that the darkness had slightly lifted. He could\nsee the distant horizon, defined by inky woods, outlined on a lighter\nsky. A few stars, scattered here and there in this tableau, whilst\nemphasizing the vastness of the space overhead--a vastness that was\npositively annihilating--at the same time conveyed a sense of solitude\nand loneliness, in perfect harmony with the trees, and rocks, and\ngorges. The effect was only transitory, for with a suddenness almost\nreminding one of stage mechanism, the moon burst through its temporary\ncovering of clouds, and in a moment the whole country-side was illumined\nwith a soft white glow. It was a warm night, and the breeze that rolled\ndown from the mountain peaks, so remote and passionless, was charged to\noverflowing with resinous odours, mingled with which, and just strong\nenough to be recognizable, was the faint, pungent smell of decay. A\ncouple of hares, looking somewhat ashamed of themselves, sprang into\nupright positions, and with frightened whisks of their tails disappeared\ninto a clump of ferns. With a startled hiss a big snake drew back under\ncover of a boulder, and a hawk, balked of its prey by the sudden\nbrilliant metamorphosis, uttered an indignant croak. But none of these\nprotests against the moon's innocent behaviour were heeded by Paul\nNicholas, whose whole attention was riveted on a large sombre building\nstanding close by the side of the road. At the first glimpse of the\nplace, so huge, grim, and silent, he was seized with a sensation of\nabsolute terror. Nothing mortal could surely inhabit such a house. The\ndark, frowning walls and vacant, eye-like windows threw back a thousand\nshadows, and suggested as many eerie fancies--fancies that were\ncorroborated by a few rank sedges and two or three white trunks of\ndecayed trees that rose up on either side of the building; but of\nlife--human life--there was not the barest suspicion.\n\n\"What a nightmare of a house!\" Paul Nicholas exclaimed, gazing with a\nshudder upon the remodelled and inverted images of the grey sedge, the\nghastly tree-stems, and the vacant, eye-like windows in a black and\nlurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre along the edge of the wood.\n\n\"It's where he lives!\" Mlle de Nurrez whispered.\n\n\"What! do you mean to say that it is to this house you have brought me?\"\nPaul shrieked. \"To this awful, deserted ghostly mansion! Why have you\nlied to me?\"\n\n\"I was afraid you wouldn't care to come if I described the place too\naccurately,\" Mlle de Nurrez said. \"Forgive me--and pity me, too, for it\nis here that Prince Dajarah would have me spend my life.\"\n\nPaul trembled.\n\n\"For God's sake, don't desert me!\" Mlle de Nurrez exclaimed, laying her\nhand softly on his shoulder. \"Think of the terrible fate that will\nbefall me! Think of your promises, your vows!\"\n\nBut Paul Nicholas did not respond all at once. His brain was in a\nwhirl. He had been deceived, cruelly deceived! And with what motive? Was\nMlle de Nurrez's explanation genuine? Could there be anything genuine\nabout a girl who told an untruth? Once a liar always a liar! Did not\nthat maxim hold good? Was it not one he had heard repeatedly from\nchildhood? What should he do? What could he do? He was here, alone with\nthis woman and her coachman, in one of the wildest and most outlandish\nregions of Spain. God alone knew where! To attempt to return would be\nhopeless--sheer imbecility; he would most certainly get lost on the\nmountains, and perish from hunger and thirst, or fall over some\nprecipice, or into the jaws of a bear; or, at all events, come to some\nkind of an untimely end. No! there was no alternative, he must remain\nand trust in Mlle de Nurrez. But the house was appalling; he did not\nlike looking at it, and the bare thought of its interior froze his\nblood. Then he awoke to the fact that she was still addressing him, that\nher soft hands were lying on his, that her beautiful eyes were gazing\nentreatingly at him, that her full ripe lips were within a few inches of\nhis own. The moon lent her its glamour, and his old love reasserting\nitself with quick, tempestuous force, he drew her into his arms and\nkissed her repeatedly. Some minutes later and they had crossed the\nthreshold of the mansion. All was as he had pictured it--grim and\nhushed, and bathed in moonbeams.\n\nThe coachman led the way, and with muffled, stealthy footstep conducted\nthem across dark halls and along intricate passages, up long and winding\nstaircases--all bare and cold; through vast gloomy rooms, the walls and\nfloors of which were of black oak, the former richly carved, and in\nplaces hung with ancient tapestry, displaying the most grotesque and\nstartling devices. The windows, long, narrow, and pointed, with\ntrellised panes, were at so great a height from the ground that the\nlight was limited, and whilst certain spots were illuminated, many of\nthe remoter angles and recesses were left in total darkness. Monsieur\nPaul Nicholas did not attempt to explore. At each step he took he fully\nanticipated a something, too dreadful to imagine, would spring out on\nhim. The rustling of drapery and the rattling of phantasmagoric armorial\ntrophies, in response to the vibration of their footsteps, made his hair\nstand on end, and he was reduced to a state of the most abject terror\nlong before they arrived at their destination.\n\nAt last he was ushered into a small, bare, dimly lighted room. From the\ncentre of the ceiling was suspended an oil lamp, and immediately under\nit was a marble table. Walls and floor were composed of rough uncovered\ngranite. The atmosphere was fetid, and tainted with the same peculiar,\npungent odour noticeable outside.\n\n\"This is the room,\" Mlle de Nurrez said. \"Prince Dajarah will be here in\na minute. Have you your pistol ready?\"\n\n\"Yes, see!\" and Paul Nicholas pulled it out from his coat-pocket and\nshowed it her.\n\n\"Have you any other weapons?\" she asked, examining it curiously.\n\n\"Yes, a sheath-knife,\" Paul Nicholas replied a trifle nervously.\n\n\"Let me look at it,\" Mlle de Nurrez exclaimed. \"I have a weakness for\nknives--a rather uncommon trait in a woman, isn't it?\"\n\nHe handed it to her, and she fingered the blade cautiously. Then with a\nsudden movement she leaped away from him.\n\n\"Fool!\" she cried. \"Do you think I could ever love a man as fat as you?\nThe story I told you was a lie from beginning to end. I don't remember\neither of my parents--my mother ran away from home when I was two, and\nmy father died the following year. I married entirely of my own free\nwill--married the man I loved, and he--happened to be a werwolf!\"\n\n\"A werwolf!\" Paul Nicholas shrieked. \"God help me! I thought there were\nno such things!\"\n\n\"Not in France, perhaps,\" Mlle de Nurrez said derisively; \"but in Spain,\nin the Pyrenees, many! At certain times of the year my husband won't\ntouch animal food, and if I didn't procure him human flesh he would die\nof starvation, or in sheer despair eat me. Here he is.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke the door opened, and on the threshold stood a\nsingularly handsome young man clad in the gay uniform of a Carlist\ngeneral.\n\n\"Capital!\" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell on Paul. \"Magnificent! He is\nquite as fat as the other two. How clever of you, darling!\" and throwing\nhis arms round her, he embraced her tenderly. A few seconds later and he\nsuddenly thrust her from him.\n\n\"Quick! quick!\" he cried. \"Run away, darling! run away instantly. I can\nfeel myself changing!\" and he pushed her gently to the door.\n\nMlle de Nurrez took one glance at Paul as she left the room. \"Poor\nfool!\" she said, half pityingly, half mockingly. \"Poor fat fool! Though\nyou may no longer believe in women you will certainly believe in\nwerwolves--now.\" And as the door slammed after her, the wildest of\nshrieks from within demonstrated that, for once in her life, Mlle de\nNurrez had spoken the truth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE WERWOLF IN BELGIUM AND THE NETHERLANDS\n\n\nBelgium abounds in stories of werwolves, all more or less of the same\ntype. As in France, the werwolf, in Belgium, is not restricted to one\nsex, but is, in an equal proportion, common to both.\n\nBy far the greater number of werwolfery cases in this country are to be\nmet with amongst the sand-dunes on the sea coast. They also occur in the\ndistrict of the Sambre; but I have never heard of any lycanthropous\nstreams or pools in Belgium, nor yet of any wolf-producing flowers, such\nas are, at times, found in the Balkan Peninsula.\n\nThough the property of lycanthropy here as elsewhere has been acquired\nthrough the invocation of spirits--the ceremony being much the same as\nthat described in an earlier chapter--nearly all the cases of werwolfery\nin Belgium are hereditary.\n\nIn Belgium, as in other Roman Catholic countries, great faith is\nattached to exorcism, and for the expulsion of every sort of \"evil\nspirit\" various methods of exorcism are employed. For example, a werwolf\nis sprinkled with a compound either of 1/2 ounce of sulphur, 4 drachms\nof asafoetida, 1/4 ounce of castoreum; or of 3/4 ounce of hypericum in\n3 ounces of vinegar; or with a solution of carbolic acid further diluted\nwith a pint of clear spring water. The sprinkling must be done over the\nhead and shoulders, and the werwolf must at the same time be addressed\nin his Christian name. But as to the success or non-success of these\nvarious methods of exorcism I cannot make any positive statement. I have\nneither sufficient evidence to affirm their efficacy nor to deny it. Rye\nand mistletoe are considered safeguards against werwolves, as is also a\nsprig from a mountain ash. This latter tree, by the way, attracts evil\nspirits in some countries--Ireland, India, Spain, for instance--and\nrepels them in others. It was held in high esteem, as a preservative\nagainst phantasms and witches, by the Druids, and it may to this day be\nseen growing, more frequently than any other, in the neighbourhood of\nDruidical circles, both in Great Britain and on the Continent.\n\nIn many parts of Belgium the peasantry would not consider their house\nsafe unless a mountain ash were growing within a few feet of it.\n\n\nA CASE OF WERWOLVES IN THE ARDENNES\n\nA case of werwolfery is reported to have happened, not so long ago, in\nthe Ardennes. A young man, named Bernard Vernand, was returning home one\nnight from his work in the fields, when his dog suddenly began to bark\nsavagely, whilst its hair stood on end. The next moment there was a\ncrackle in the hedge by the roadside, and three trampish-looking men\nslouched out. They looked at Vernand, and, remarking that it was\nbeautiful weather, followed closely at his heels.\n\nVernand noticed that the eyebrows of all three met in a point over their\nnoses, a peculiarity which gave them a very singular and unpleasant\nappearance. When he quickened his pace, they quickened theirs; whilst\nhis dog still continued to bark and show every indication of excessive\nfear. In this way they all four proceeded till they came to a very dark\nspot in the road, where the trees nearly met overhead. The sound of\ntheir footsteps then suddenly ceased, and Vernand, peeping stealthily\nround, perceived to his horror lurid eyes--that were not the eyes of\nhuman beings--glaring after him. His dog took to its heels and fled,\nand, ignominious though he felt it to be, Vernand followed suit. The\nnext moment there was a chorus of piercing whines, and a loud pattering\nof heavy feet announced the fact that he was pursued.\n\nFortunately Vernand was a fast runner--he had carried off many prizes in\nraces at the village fair--and now that he was running for his life, he\nwent like the wind.\n\nBut his pursuers were fleet of foot, too, and, despite his pace, they\ngradually gained on him. Happily for Vernand, he retained a certain\namount of presence of mind, and possessing rather more wit than many of\nthe peasants, he suddenly bethought him of a possible avenue of escape.\nIn a conversation with the pastor of the village some months before, the\nlatter had told him how an old woman had once escaped from a wode[215:1]\nby climbing up a mountain ash. And if, reasoned Vernand, the ash is a\nprotection against one form of evil spirits, why not against another? He\nrecollected that there was an ash-tree close at hand, and diverting his\ncourse, he instantly headed for it. Not a moment too soon. As he swarmed\nup the slender trunk, his pursuers--three monstrous werwolves--came to a\ndead halt at the foot of the tree. However, after giving vent to the\ndisappointment of losing their supper in a series of prodigious howls,\nthey veered round and bounded off, doubtless in pursuit of a less\nknowing prey.\n\n\nA SIMILAR CASE NEAR WATERLOO\n\nA similar case once happened to a young man when returning from Quatre\nBras to Waterloo. He was attacked by three werwolves and saved himself\nby leaping into a rye-field.\n\n\nA CASE ON THE SAND-DUNES\n\nThe following story of werwolfery is of traditional authenticity only:--\n\nVon Grumboldt, a young man of good appearance, and his sweetheart, Nina\nGosset, were out walking together one evening on the sand-dunes near\nNina's home, when Von Grumboldt uttered an exclamation of astonishment,\nand bending down, picked up something which he excitedly showed to Nina.\nIt was a girdle composed of dark, plaited hair fastened with a plain\ngold buckle. To the young man's surprise Nina shrank away from it.\n\n\"Oh!\" she cried, \"don't touch it! I don't know why--but it gives me such\na horrid impression. I'm sure there is an unpleasant history attached to\nit.\"\n\n\"Pooh!\" Von Grumboldt said laughingly; \"that's only your fancy. I think\nit would look remarkably well round your waist,\" and he made pretence\nto encircle her with it.\n\nNina, turning very white, fainted, and Von Grumboldt, who was really\nvery much in love with her, was greatly alarmed. He ran to a brook,\nfetched some water, and sprinkled her forehead with it. To his intense\nrelief his sweetheart soon came to. As soon as she could speak she\nimplored him, as he valued her life, on no account to touch her with the\ngirdle. To this request Von Grumboldt readily assented, and whistling to\nhis dog--a big collie--in spite of Nina's protests and the animal's\nfrantic struggles, he playfully fastened the belt round the creature's\nbody. Then turning to Nina he began: \"Doesn't Nippo (that was the\ncollie's name) look fine----\" and suddenly left off. The expression in\nNina's eyes made his blood run cold.\n\n\"For Heaven's sake,\" he cried, \"what is it? What's the matter?\"\n\nWhite as death again, Nina pointed a finger, and Von Grumboldt, looking\nin the direction she indicated, saw--not Nippo, but an awful-looking\nthing in Nippo's place--a big black object, partly dog and partly some\nother animal, that grew and grew until, within a few seconds, it had\ngrown to at least thrice Nippo's size. With a hideous howl it rushed at\nVon Grumboldt. The latter, though a strong athletic young man, was\nspeedily overcome, and being dashed to the ground, would soon have been\ntorn to pieces had not Nina, recovering from a temporary helplessness,\ncome to the rescue.\n\nCatching hold of the girdle round the creature's body, she unclasped the\nbuckle, and in a trice the evil thing had vanished; and there was Nippo,\nhis own self, standing before them.\n\n\"It is a werwolf belt!\" Nina exclaimed, throwing it away from her. \"You\nsee, I was right; it is devilish, and no doubt belongs to some one near\nhere who practises Black Magic--Mad Valerie, perhaps. This cross that I\nwear round my neck, which is made of yew, no doubt warned me of this\ndanger and so saved me from an awful fate. You smile!--but I am certain\nof it. The yew-tree is just as efficacious in the case of evil spirits\nas the ash!\"\n\n\"What shall we do with the beastly thing?\" Von Grumboldt asked. \"It\ndoesn't seem right to leave it here, in case some one else, with less\nsense than you, should find it and a dreadful catastrophe result.\"\n\n\"We must burn it,\" Nina said. \"That's the only way of getting rid of the\nevil influence. Let us do so at once.\"\n\nVon Grumboldt was nothing loath, and in a few minutes all that remained\nof the lycanthropous girdle was a tiny heap of ashes.\n\nTo burn the object to which the lycanthropous property is attached is\nthe only recognized method of destroying that property. I have had many\nproofs, too, of the efficacy of burning in the case of superphysical\ninfluences other than lycanthropy; such, for example, as haunted\nfurniture, trees, and buildings; and I am quite sure the one and only\nway to get rid of an occult presence attached to any particular object\nis to burn that object.\n\nI have been told of \"burning\" having been successfully practised in the\nfollowing cases:--\n\n     _Case No. 1._--A barrow in the North of England that had long\n     been haunted by a Barrowian order of Elemental. (The barrow\n     was excavated, and when the remains therein had been burnt,\n     the hauntings ceased.)\n\n     _Case No. 2._--A cave in Wales haunted by the phantasm of a\n     horse, though, whether the real spirit of the horse or merely\n     an Elemental I cannot say. (On the soil in the cave being\n     excavated, and the several skeletons, presumably of\n     prehistoric animals, found being burnt, there were no longer\n     any disturbances.)\n\n     _Case No. 3._--A house in London containing an oak chest,\n     attached to which was the phantasm of an old woman, who used\n     to disturb the inmates of the place nightly. (On the chest\n     being burnt she was seen no more.)\n\n     _Case No. 4._--A tree in Ireland, haunted every night by a\n     Vagrarian. (Immediately after the tree had been burnt the\n     manifestations ceased.)\n\nBurial is a great mistake. As long as a single bone remains, the spirit\nof the dead person may still be attracted to it, and consequently remain\nearthbound; but when the corpse is cremated, and the ashes scattered\nabroad, then the spirit is set free. And, for this reason alone, I\nadvocate cremation as the best method possible of dealing with a corpse.\n\nBefore concluding this chapter on the werwolf in Belgium, let me add\nthat werwolfery was not the only form of lycanthropy in that country.\nAccording to Grimm, in his \"Deutsche Sagen,\" two warlocks who were\nexecuted in the year 1810 at Liege for having, under the form of\nwerwolves, killed and eaten several children, had as their colleague a\nboy of twelve years of age. The boy, in the form of a raven, consumed\nthose portions of the prey which the warlocks left.\n\n\nWERWOLVES IN THE NETHERLANDS\n\nCases of werwolves are of less frequent occurrence in Holland than in\neither France or Belgium. Also, they are almost entirely restricted to\nthe male sex.\n\nExorcism here is seldom practised, the working of a spell being the\nusual means employed for getting rid of the evil property. The procedure\nin working the spell is as follows:--\n\nFirst of all, a night when the moon is in the full is selected. Then at\ntwelve o'clock the werwolf is seized, securely bound, and taken to an\nisolated spot. Here, a circle of about seven feet in diameter is\ncarefully inscribed on the ground, and in the exact centre of it the\nwerwolf is placed, and so fastened that he cannot possibly get away.\nThen three girls--always girls--come forward armed with ash twigs with\nwhich they flog him most unmercifully, calling out as they do so:--\n\n     \"Greywolf ugly, greywolf old,\n      Do at once as you are told.\n      Leave this man and fly away--\n      Right away, far away,\n      Where 'tis night and never day.\"\n\nThey keep on repeating these words and whipping him; and it is not until\nthe face, back, and limbs of the werwolf are covered with blood that\nthey desist.\n\nThe oldest person present then comes forward and gives the werwolf a\nhearty kick, saying as he (or she) does so:--\n\n     \"Go, fly, away to the sky;\n      Devil of greywolf, thee we defy.\n      Out, out, with a howl and yell,\n      'Twill carry thee faster and surer to hell.\"\n\nEvery one present then dips a cup or mug in a concoction of sulphur,\ntar, vinegar, and castoreum, just removed from boiling-point, and,\nforming a circle round the werwolf, they souse him all over with this\nunpleasant and painfully hot mixture, calling out as they do so:--\n\n          \"Away, away, shoo, shoo, shoo!\n           Do you think we care a jot for you?\n     We'll whip thee again, with a crack, crack, crack!\n     Scourge thee and beat thee till thou art black;\n     Fool of a greywolf, we have thee at last,\n     Back to thy hell home, out of him fast--\n               Fast, fast, fast!\n           Our patience won't last.\n         We'll scratch thee, we'll prick thee,\n         We'll prod thee, we'll scald thee.\n           Fast, fast, out of him, fast!\"\n\nThey keep on shouting these words over and over again till the liquid\nhas given out and the clock strikes one; when, with a final blow or kick\nat the prostrate werwolf, they run away.\n\nThe evil spirit is then said to leave the man, who quickly recovers his\nproper shape, and with a loud cry of joy rushes after his friends and\nrelations.\n\nWhen the Spaniards invaded Holland they resorted to a surer, if a\nsomewhat more drastic, mode of getting rid of lycanthropy--they burned\nthe subject possessed of it.\n\nOne of the best known cases of a werwolf in the Netherlands is as\nfollows:--\n\nA young man, whilst on his way to a shooting match at Rousse, was\nsuddenly startled by hearing loud screams for help proceeding from a\nfield a few yards distant. To jump a dike and scramble over a low wall\nwas but the work of a few seconds, and in less time than it takes to\ntell, the young man, whose name was Van Renner, found himself face to\nface with a huge grey wolf. Quick as thought, he fitted an arrow to his\nbow, and shot. The missile struck the wolf in the side, and with a howl\nof pain the wounded creature turned tail and fled for his life.\n\nAll might now have ended like some delightful romance, for the rescued\none proved to be an exceedingly attractive maiden, with bright yellow\nhair and big blue eyes; but unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately, who\nknows?--the girl had a husband, and Van Renner a wife; and so, instead\nof the incident being the prelude to a love affair, it was merely an\noccasion for grateful acknowledgment--and--farewell. On his return home\nthat evening Van Renner was met with an urgent request to visit his\nfriend, the Burgomaster. He hastened to obey the summons, and found the\nBurgomaster in bed, suffering agonies of pain from a wound which he had\nreceived in his side some hours previously.\n\n\"I can't die without telling you,\" he whispered, clutching Van Renner by\nthe hand. \"God help me, I'm a werwolf! I've always been one. It's in my\nfamily--it's hereditary. It was your arrow that has wounded me fatally.\"\n\nVan Renner was too aghast to speak. He was really fond of the\nBurgomaster, and to think of him a werwolf--well! it was too dreadful to\ncontemplate. The dying man gazed eagerly, hungrily, piteously into his\nfriend's face.\n\n\"Don't say you hate me,\" he cried. \"There is little hope for me, if any,\nin the next world; and in all probability I shall either go direct to\nhell or remain earthbound; but, for God's sake, let me die in the\nknowledge that I leave behind me at least one friend!\"\n\nVan Renner tried hard to speak; he made every effort to speak; his lungs\nswelled, his tongue wobbled, the muscles of his lips twitched; but not a\nsyllable could he utter--and the Burgomaster died.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[215:1] A phantom horseman, that goes hunting on certain nights in the\nyear, accompanied by phantom dogs. The author has witnessed the\nphenomenon himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE WERWOLVES AND MARAS OF DENMARK\n\n\nSince so much has already been written upon the subject of werwolves in\nDenmark, it is my intention only to touch upon it briefly. It is, I\nbelieve, generally acknowledged that, at one time, werwolves were to be\nmet with almost daily in Denmark, and that they were almost always of\nthe male sex; but I can find no records of any particular form of\nexorcism practised by the Danes with the object of getting rid of the\nwerwolf, nor of any spell used by them for the same purpose; neither\ndoes there appear to be, amongst their traditions, any reference to a\nlycanthropous flower or stream. Opinions differ as to whether werwolves\nare yet to be found in Denmark, but, from all I have heard, I am\ninclined to think that they still exist in the more remote districts of\nthat country.\n\nThe following case may be regarded as illustrative of a typical Danish\nwerwolf:--\n\n\nTHE CASE OF PETER ANDERSEN, WERWOLF\n\nPeter Andersen, who was a werwolf by descent, his ancestors having been\nwerwolves for countless generations, fell in love with a beautiful young\ngirl named Elisa, and without telling her he was a werwolf, for fear\nthat she would give him up, married her.\n\nShortly after his marriage, he was returning home one evening with Elisa\nfrom a neighbouring fair, where there had been much merrymaking, when,\nsuddenly feeling that the metamorphosis was coming on, he got down from\nthe cart in which they were driving, and said to his wife, very\nearnestly, \"If anything comes towards you, do not be afraid, and do not\nhurt it; merely strike it with your apron.\" He then ran off at a great\nrate into the fields, leaving Elisa very much surprised and impressed. A\nfew minutes afterwards she heard the howl of a wild animal, and, while\nshe was holding in the horse and endeavouring to pacify it, a huge grey\nwolf suddenly leaped into the road and sprang at her.\n\nRecollecting what her husband had told her, with wonderful presence of\nmind she whipped off her apron and struck the wolf in the face with it.\nThe animal tore at the apron, and biting a piece out of it, turned tail\nand ran away. Some time afterwards Andersen returned, and holding out to\nElisa the missing piece of her apron, asked if she guessed how he came\nby it.\n\n\"Good God, man!\" Elisa cried, the pupils of her eyes dilating with\nterror, \"it was you! I know it by the expression in your face. Heaven\npreserve me! You're a werwolf!\"\n\n\"I was a werwolf,\" Peter said, \"but thanks to your brave action in\nthrowing the apron in my face, I am one no longer. I know I did wrong in\nnot telling you of my misfortune before we were married, but I dreaded\nthe idea of losing you. Forgive me, forgive me, I implore you!\" and\nElisa, after some slight hesitation, granted his request.\n\nThis method of getting rid of the lycanthropous spirit seems to have\nbeen (and still to be) the one most in vogue in Denmark.\n\nAnother well-known story, of a similar kind, is to the effect that while\na party of haymakers were at work in a field, a man, who, like Andersen,\nhad kept the fact of his being a werwolf from his family, feeling that\nhe was about to be transmuted, gave his son injunctions that if an\nanimal approached him he was on no account to hurt it, but merely to\nthrow his hat at it. The boy promising to obey, the father hastily left\nthe field. Some minutes later a grey wolf appeared, swimming a stream.\nIt rushed at the boy, who, mad with terror, forgot his father's\ninstructions, and struck at it with a pitchfork.\n\nThe prongs of the fork, entering the wolf's side, pierced its heart; and\ntransmutation again taking place, to the horror of all present there lay\non the ground, not the body of a beast, but the corpse of the boy's\nfather.\n\nIn Denmark it is said that if a woman stretches between four sticks the\nmembrane of a newly born foal, and creeps through it naked, she will\nbring forth children without pain, but all the boys will be werwolves\nand the girls maras.\n\nAs is the case with the werwolf of other countries, the Danish werwolf\nretains its human form by day; but after sunset, unlike the werwolf of\nany other nationality, it sometimes adopts the shape of a dog on three\nlegs before it finally metamorphoses into a wolf.\n\nIn addition to these methods (alluded to above) of expelling a\nlycanthropous spirit in Denmark, there may be added that of addressing\nthe obsessed person as a werwolf and reproaching him roundly. But as I\nhave no proof of the effectiveness of this crude mode of exorcism, I\ncannot commit myself to any verdict with regard to it.\n\n\nMARAS\n\nThe mara, to which I have briefly alluded in a foregoing chapter, is to\nbe met with in Denmark almost as often as the werwolf; and the\nsuperphysical property, characteristic of the mara no less than of the\nwerwolf, justifies me in a somewhat detailed description of the former\nhere.\n\nA mara is popularly understood to be a woman by day and at night a\nspirit that torments human beings and horses by sitting astride them and\ncausing them nightmare.\n\nIn the main I agree with this definition; though I am inclined to think\nthat the mara is, in reality, less hoydenish and more subtle and complex\nthan public opinion would have us believe. In all probability maras are\nwomen who have either inherited or, by the practice of Black Magic,\nacquired the faculty of a certain species of projection--differing from\nthe projection which is common to both sexes in the following points,\nviz., that it can always be accomplished (during certain hours) at will;\nthat it is invariably practised with the sole desire to do ill; that the\nprojected spirit is fully conscious of all that is happening around it;\nand that it possesses most--if not all--of the faculties, motives, and\nnervous susceptibilities of the physical body.\n\nWhatever may be the character of the mara by day, she is essentially\nmischievous by night--owing, no doubt, to the fact that this faculty of\nprojection has come to her through the occult powers inimical to man.\n\nFrom the complexity of their nature, maras present the same difficulty\nof classification as werwolves--both are human, both are Elemental, and\nconsequently both are an anomaly.\n\nThe belief in maras is still prevalent in all parts of Scandinavia,\nincluding Jutland, whence comes the following case which I quote for the\npurpose of comparison.\n\n\nA CASE OF A MARA IN JUTLAND\n\nSome reapers in a field, near a village in Jutland, came one evening\nupon a naked woman lying under a hedge, apparently asleep. Much\nsurprised, they regarded her closely, and at length coming to the\nconclusion that her sleep was not natural, they summoned a shepherd who\nwas generally regarded as very intelligent. On seeing the woman the\nshepherd at once said, \"She is not a real person, though she looks like\none. She is a mara, and has stripped for the purpose of riding some one\nto-night.\" At this there was loud laughter, and the reapers said, \"Tell\nus another, Eric. A mara indeed! If this isn't a woman, our mothers are\nnot women, for she is just as much of flesh and blood as they are.\"\n\"All right,\" the shepherd replied, \"wait and see.\" And bending over her,\nhe whispered something in her ear, whereupon a queer little animal about\ntwo inches long came out of the grass, and running up her body,\ndisappeared in her mouth. Then Eric pushed her, and she rolled over\nthree times, then sprang to her feet, and with a wild startled cry\nleaped a high bush and disappeared. Nor could they, when they ran to the\nother side of the bush, find any traces of her.\n\nAnother recorded case is the following:\n\n\nTHE MARA OF VILVORDE\n\nChristine Jansen had two lovers--Nielsen and Osdeven. Nielsen, who was a\nvery good-looking young man, began to suffer from nightmare. He had the\nmost appalling dreams of being strangled and suffocated, and they at\nlast grew so frightful, and proved such a strain on his nerves, that he\nwas forced to consult a doctor. The doctor attributed the cause to\nindigestion, and prescribed a special diet for him. But it was all of no\navail; the bad dreams still continued, and Nielsen's health became more\nand more impaired.\n\nAt length, when he was almost worn out, having spent the greater part of\nmany nights reading instead of sleeping, in order to avoid the\nfrightful visions, he happened to mention his insufferable condition to\nOsdeven. Far from ridiculing his rival, Osdeven, with great earnestness,\nencouraged him to relate everything that had happened to him in his\nsleep; and when Nielsen had done so, exclaimed, \"I'll tell you what it\nis--these dreams you have are not ordinary nightmares; they are due to a\nmara--I know their type well.\"\n\n\"To a mara!\" Nielsen cried; \"how ridiculous! Why not say to a\nmise--or--grim? It would be equally sensible; they are all idle\nsuperstitions.\"\n\n\"So you say now,\" Osdeven rejoined, \"but wait! When you get into bed\nto-night, lie on your back, and in your right hand hold a sharp knife on\nyour breast, the point upwards. Remain in this attitude from between\neleven o'clock till two, and see what happens.\"\n\nNielsen laughed, but all the same decided to do as Osdeven suggested.\nNight came, and, knife in hand, he lay in his bed.\n\nMinutes passed, and nothing happening, he was beginning to think what a\nfool he was for wasting his time thus, when suddenly he perceived\nbending over him the luminous figure of a beautiful nude woman, whom, to\nhis utter astonishment, he identified as Christine Jansen--Christine\nJansen in all but expression. The expression in the eyes he now looked\ninto was not human--it was hellish. The figure got on the bed and was\nin the act of sitting astride him, when it came in contact with the\nknife. Then it uttered a frightful scream of baffled rage and pain, and\nvanished.\n\nNielsen, shaking with terror and dreading another visitation, struck a\nlight. The point of his knife was dripping with blood.\n\nAn hour later, overcome with weariness, he fell asleep, and for the\nfirst time for weeks his slumber was sound and undisturbed. Awaking in\nthe morning much refreshed, he would have attributed his experience to\nimagination or to a dream, had it not been for the spots of blood on the\nbedclothes and the stains on his knife, and this evidence, as to the\nreality of what had happened, was strengthened by his discovery of\ncertain circumstances in connexion with Miss Jansen, towards whom his\nsentiments had now undergone a complete change.\n\nCurious to learn if anything had befallen her, he made cautious\ninquiries, and was informed that owing to a sudden indisposition--the\nnature of which was carefully hidden from him--she had been ordered\nabroad, where, in all probability, she would remain indefinitely.\n\nNielsen now had no more nightmare, and he and Osdeven, becoming firm\nfriends, agreed that the next time they fell in love they would take\ngood care it was not with a mara.\n\nAnother method of getting rid of maras was to sprinkle the air with\nsand, at the same time uttering a brief incantation. For example, in a\nvillage on the borders of Schleswig-Holstein, a woman who suffered\nagonies from nightmare consulted a man locally reported to be well\nversed in occult matters.\n\n\"Make your mind easy,\" said this man, after she had described her dreams\nto him; \"I will soon put an end to your disturbances. It is a mara that\nis tormenting you. Don't be frightened if she suddenly manifests herself\nwhen I sprinkle this sand, for there will be nothing very alarming in\nher appearance, and she won't be able to harm you.\" He then proceeded to\nscatter several handfuls about the room, repeating as he did so a brief\nincantation.\n\nHe was still occupied thus, when, without a moment's warning, the figure\nof a very tall, naked woman appeared crouching on the bed. With a yell\nof rage she leaped on to the floor, her eyes flashing, and her lips\ntwitching convulsively; and raising her hands as if she would like to\nscratch the incantator's face to pieces, she rushed furiously at him.\n\nFar from being intimidated, however, he quite coolly dashed a handful of\nsand in her eyes, whereupon she instantly disappeared. \"Now,\" he said,\nturning to the lady, who was half dead with terror, \"you won't have the\nnightmare again\"--which prophecy proved to be correct.\n\nThese instances will, I think, suffice to show the similarity between\nwerwolves and maras. Both anomalies are dependent on properties of an\nentirely baneful nature; and both properties are either hereditary,\nhaving been established in families through the intercourse of those\nfamilies in ages past with the superphysical Powers inimical to man; or\nare capable of being acquired through the practice of Black Magic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nWERWOLVES IN NORWAY AND SWEDEN\n\n\nAs in Denmark, werwolves were once so numerous in Norway and Sweden,\nthat these countries naturally came to be regarded as the true home of\nlycanthropy.\n\nWith the advent of the tourist, however, and the consequent springing up\nof fresh villages, together with the gradual increase of native\npopulation, Norway and Sweden have slowly undergone a metamorphosis,\nwith the result that it is now only in the most remote districts, such\nas the northern portion of the Kiolen Mountains and the borders of\nLapland, that werwolves are to be found.\n\nHere, amid the primitive solitude of vast pine forests, flow\nlycanthropous rivers; here, too, grow lycanthropous shrubs and flowers.\n\nWerwolfery in Norway and Sweden is not confined to one sex; it is common\nto both; and in these countries various forms of spells, both for\ninvoking and expelling lycanthropous spirits, are current.\n\nAs far as I can gather, a Norwegian or Swedish peasant, when he wishes\nto become a werwolf, kneels by the side of a lycanthropous stream at\nmidnight, having chosen a night when the moon is in the full, and\nincants some such words as these:--\n\n     \"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the moon shines white\n        Over pine and snow-capped hill;\n      The shadows stray through burn and brae\n        And dance in the sparkling rill.\n\n     \"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the devil's light\n        Casts glimmering beams around.\n      The maras dance, the nisses prance\n        On the flower-enamelled ground.\n\n     \"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the werwolf's might\n        Makes man and nature shiver.\n      Yet its fierce grey head and stealthy tread\n        Are nought to thee, oh river!\n            River, river, river.\n\n     \"Oh water strong, that swirls along,\n        I prithee a werwolf make me.\n      Of all things dear, my soul, I swear,\n        In death shall not forsake thee.\"\n\nThe supplicant then strikes the banks of the river three times with his\nforehead; then dips his head into the river thrice, at each dip gulping\ndown a mouthful of the water. This concludes the ceremony--he has\nbecome a werwolf, and twenty-four hours later will undergo the first\nmetamorphosis.\n\nLycanthropous water is said, by those who dwell near to it, to differ\nfrom other water in subtle details only--details that would, in all\nprobability, escape the notice of all who were not connoisseurs of the\nsuperphysical. A strange, faint odour, comparable with nothing,\ndistinguishes lycanthropous water; there is a lurid sparkle in it,\nstrongly suggestive of some peculiar, individual life; the noise it\nmakes, as it rushes along, so closely resembles the muttering and\nwhispering of human voices as to be often mistaken for them; whilst at\nnight it sometimes utters piercing screams, and howls, and groans, in\nsuch a manner as to terrify all who pass near it. Dogs and horses, in\nparticular, are susceptible to its influence, and they exhibit the\ngreatest signs of terror at the mere sound of it.\n\nAnother means of becoming a werwolf, resorted to by the Swedish and\nNorwegian peasant, consists in the plucking and wearing of a\nlycanthropous flower after sunset, and on a night when the moon is in\nthe full. Lycanthropous flowers, no less than lycanthropous water,\npossess properties peculiar to themselves; properties which are,\nprobably, only discernible to those who are well acquainted with them.\nTheir scent is described as faint and subtly suggestive of death, whilst\ntheir sap is rather offensively white and sticky. In appearance they are\nmuch the same as other flowers, and are usually white and yellow.\n\nYet another method of acquiring the property of lycanthropy consists in\nmaking: first, a magic circle on the ground, at twelve o'clock, on a\nnight when the moon is in the full (there is no strict rule as to the\nmagnitude of the circle, though one of about seven feet in diameter\nwould seem to be the size most commonly adopted); then, in the centre of\nthe circle, a wood fire, heating thereon an iron vessel containing one\npint of clear spring water, and any seven of the following ingredients:\nhemlock (1/2 ounce to 1 ounce), aloe (30 grains), opium (2 to 4-1/2\ndrachms), mandrake (1 ounce to 1-1/2 ounces), solanum (1/2 ounce), poppy\nseed (1/2 ounce to 1 ounce), asafoetida (3/4 ounce to 1 ounce), and\nparsley (2 to 3 ounces).\n\nWhilst the mixture is heating, the experimenter prostrates himself in\nfront of the fire and prays to the Great Spirit of the Unknown to confer\non him the property of metamorphosing, nocturnally, into a werwolf. His\nprayers take no one particular form, but are quite extempore; though he\nusually adds to them some such recognised incantation as:--\n\n     \"Come, spirit so powerful! come, spirit so dread,\n      From the home of the werwolf, the home of the dead.\n      Come, give me thy blessing! come, lend me thine ear!\n      Oh spirit of darkness! oh spirit so drear!\n\n     \"Come, mighty phantom! come, great Unknown!\n      Come from thy dwelling so gloomy and lone.\n      Come, I beseech thee; depart from thy lair,\n      And body and soul shall be thine, I declare.\n\n     \"Haste, haste, haste, horrid spirit, haste!\n      Speed, speed, speed, scaring spirit, speed!\n      Fast, fast, fast, fateful spirit, fast!\"\n\nHe then makes the following formal declaration:--\n\n\"I (here insert name) offer to thee, Great Spirit of the Unknown, this\nnight (here insert date), my body and soul, on condition that thou\ngrantest me, from this night to the hour of my death, the power of\nmetamorphosing, nocturnally, into a wolf. I beg, I pray, I implore\nthee--thee, unparalleled Phantom of Darkness, to make me a werwolf--a\nwerwolf!\"--and striking the ground three times with his forehead, he\ngets up. As soon as the concoction in the vessel is boiling, he dips a\ncup into it, and sprinkles the contents on the ground, repeating the\naction until he has sprinkled the whole interior of the circle.\n\nThen he kneels on the ground close to the fire, and in a loud voice\ncries out, \"Come, oh come!\" and, if he is fortunate, a phantom suddenly\nmanifests itself over the fire. Sometimes the phantom is indefinite--a\ncylindrical, luminous, pillar-like thing, about seven feet in height,\nhaving no discernible features; sometimes it assumes a definite shape,\nand appears either as a monstrous hooded figure with a death's head, or\nas a sub-human, sub-animal type of Elemental.\n\nWhatever form the Unknown adopts, it is invariably terrifying. It never\nspeaks, but indicates its assent by stretching out an arm, or what\nserves as an arm, and then disappears. It never remains visible for more\nthan half a minute. As soon as it vanishes the supplicant, who is always\nhalf mad with terror, springs from the ground and rushes home--or\nanywhere to get again within reach of human beings. By the morning,\nhowever, all his fears have departed; and at sunset he creeps off into\nthe forest, or into some equally secluded spot, to experience, for the\nfirst time, the extraordinary sensations of metamorphosing into a wolf,\nor, perhaps, a semi-wolf, _i.e._, a creature half man and half wolf; for\nthe degree of metamorphosis varies according to locality. The hour of\nmetamorphosis also varies according to locality--though it is at sunset\nthat the change most usually takes place, the transmutation back to man\ngenerally occurring at dawn.\n\nWhen a werwolf, in human shape at the time, is killed, he sometimes\n(not always) metamorphoses into a wolf, and if in wolf's form at the\ntime he is killed he sometimes (not always) metamorphoses into a human\nbeing--here again the nature of the transmutation depending on locality.\n\nIn certain of the forests of Sweden dwell old women called Vargamors,\nwho are closely allied to werwolves, and exercise complete control over\nall the wolves in the neighbourhood, keeping the latter well supplied in\nfood. As an illustration of the Vargamor I have chosen the following\nstory:--\n\n\nLISO OF SOROA\n\nLiso was thoroughly spoilt. Every one had told her how beautiful she was\nfrom the day she had first learned to walk, and, consequently, it was\nonly natural that when she grew up she cared for no one but herself, and\nfor nothing so much as gazing at herself in the looking-glass and\nexpatiating on the loveliness of her own reflection. As a girl at home\nshe was allowed to do precisely what she liked--neither father nor\nmother, relatives (with one exception) nor friends ever thwarted her;\nand when she married it was the same: her husband bowed down to her, and\nwas always ready to indulge her every wish and whim.\n\nShe had three children, two boys and a girl, whom she occasionally\ncondescended to notice; but only when there was nothing else at hand to\nentertain her.\n\nThe one person of whom Liso stood in awe was her aunt, a rich old lady\nwith distinct views of her own, and a vigorous method of expressing\nthem. Now, one of the old lady's peculiar ideas--at least peculiar in\nLiso's estimation--was that woman was made to be man's helpmate, and\nthat married women should think of their husbands first, their children\nnext, and themselves last--an order of consideration which Liso thought\nwas exactly the reverse of what it should be.\n\nHad her aunt been poor, it is quite certain that Liso would have had\nnothing whatsoever to do with her. But circumstances alter cases. This\naunt was rich, and, moreover, had no one more nearly related to her than\nLiso.\n\nOne day, in the depth of winter, Liso received a letter from her aunt\ncontaining a pressing invitation to start off at once on a visit to the\nlatter at Skatea, a small town some twelve miles from Soroa. \"Bring your\nchildren,\" so the letter ran, \"I should so love to see them, and stay\nthe night.\" Liso was greatly annoyed. She had just arranged a meeting\nwith one of her numerous lovers, and this invitation upset everything.\nHowever, as it was of vital importance to her to keep in with her aunt,\nshe at once decided to put off her previous engagement and take her\nchildren to see their rich old relative.\n\nHoping that her lover might perhaps join her on the road and thus\nconvert a boring journey into a pleasant pastime, Liso, in spite of her\nhusband's entreaties, refused to take a servant, and insisted upon\ndriving herself. As she had anticipated, her lover met her on the\noutskirts of the town, but, to her chagrin, was unable to accompany her\nany part of the way to Skatea. He was most profuse in his apologies,\nadding, \"I wish you weren't going; I hear the road you will be\ntraversing is infested with bears and wolves.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" she exclaimed mockingly, \"I am not afraid, if you are. I\ncan quite understand now why you cannot come. Good-bye!\" And with a\nhaughty inclination of her head she drove off, without deigning to\nnotice the young man's outstretched hand. Liso was now in a very bad\ntemper; and, having no other means of venting it, savagely silenced the\nchildren whenever they attempted to speak.\n\nThe vehicle in which the party travelled was a light sledge, drawn by\none horse only--a beast of matchless beauty and size, which, under\nordinary circumstances, could cover twelve miles in an almost\ninconceivably short space of time. But now, owing to a heavy fall of\nsnow, the track, though well beaten, was heavy, and the piled-up snow\non each side so deep that to turn back, without the risk of sticking\nfast, was an impossibility.\n\nThe first half of the journey passed without accident, and they were\nskirting the borders of a pine forest when Liso suddenly became\nconscious of a suspicious noise behind her. Looking round, she saw, to\nher horror, a troop of gaunt grey wolves issue from the forest and\ncommence running after the sledge. She instantly slashed the horse with\nher whip, and the next moment the chase began in grim earnest. But,\ngallop as fast as it would, the horse could not outpace the wolves, whom\nhunger had made fleet as the wind, and it was not many minutes before\ntwo of the biggest of them appeared on either side of the vehicle.\nThough their intention was, in all probability, only to attack the\nhorse, yet the safety both of Liso and the children depended on the\npreservation of the animal.\n\nIt was indeed a beautiful creature, and the danger only enhanced its\nvalue; it seemed, in fact, almost entitled to claim for its preservation\nan extraordinary sacrifice. And Liso did not hesitate. It was one life\nagainst three--the world would excuse her, if God did not.\n\n\"You, Charles,\" she said hoarsely, \"you are the eldest; it is your duty\nto go first\"--and before Charles had time to realize what was\nhappening, she had gripped him round the waist, and with strength\ngenerated by the crisis hurled him into the snow. She did not see where\nhe fell--the sledge was moving far too fast for that; but she heard the\nsound of the concussion, and then frantic screaming, accompanied by\nhowls of triumph and joyful yapping. There was a momentary lull--only\nmomentary--and then the patting footsteps recommenced.\n\nNearer and nearer they came, until she could hear a deep and regular\npant, pant, pant, drowned every now and then by prolonged howls and\npiercing, nerve-racking whines. Once again two murder-breathing forms\nare racing along at the side of the sledge, biting and snapping at the\nhorse's legs with their gleaming, foam-flecked jaws.\n\n\"George,\" Liso shouted, \"you must go now. You are a boy, and boys and\nmen should always die to save their sisters.\" But George, though\nyounger, was not so easy to dispose of as Charles. Charles had been\ntaken unawares, but George guessed what was coming and was on his guard.\n\n\"No, no,\" he cried, clinging on to the sledge with both his chubby\nhands. \"The wolves will eat me! Take sissy.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" shrieked Liso, boxing his ears furiously. \"Selfish little\nwretch! So this is the result of all the kindness I have lavished on\nyou. Let go at once\"--and tearing at his baby wrists with all her\nmight, she succeeded in loosening them, and the next instant he was in\nthe road.\n\nThen there was a repetition of what had happened before--a few wild\nscreeches, savage howls of triumph, and snarls and grunts that suggested\nmuch. Then--comparative quiet, and then--patterings. Mad with fear, Liso\nstood up and lashed the horse. God of mercy! there was now only one more\nlife between hers and the fate that, of all fates in the world, seemed\nto her just then to be the most dreadful. With the thick and gloomy\nforest before and behind her, and the nearer and nearer trampling of her\nravenous pursuers, she almost collapsed from sheer anguish; but the\nthought of all her beauty perishing in such an ignominious and painful\nfashion braced her up. Perhaps, too--at least, let us hope\nso--underlying it all, though so much in the background, there was a\ngenuine longing to save the little mite--her exact counterpart, so\npeople said--that nestled its sunny head in the folds of her soft and\ncostly sealskin coat.\n\nShe did not venture to look behind her, only in front--at the seemingly\nnever-ending white track; at the dense mass of trees--trees that shook\ntheir heads mockingly at her as the wind rustled through them; at the\ngreat splash of red right across the sky, so horribly remindful of\nblood that she shuddered. Night birds hoot; wild cats glare down at her;\nand shadows of every kind glide noiselessly out from behind the great\ntrunks, and await her approach with inexplicable flickerings and\nflutterings.\n\nAll at once two rough paws are laid on her shoulders, and the wide-open,\nbloody jaws of an enormous wolf hang over her head. It is the most\nferocious beast of the troop, which, having partly missed its leap at\nthe sledge, is dragged along with it, in vain seeking with its hinder\nlegs for a resting-place to enable it to get wholly on to the frail\nvehicle. Liso looks down at the little girl beside her and their eyes\nmeet.\n\n\"Not me! not me!\" the tiny one cried, clutching hold of her wrist in its\nanxiety. \"I have been good, have I not? You will not throw me into the\nsnow like the others?\" Liso's lips tightened. The weight of the body of\nthe wolf drew her gradually backwards--another minute and she would be\nout of the sledge. Her life was of assuredly more value than that of the\nchild. Besides, one so young would not feel the horrors of death so\nacutely as she would, who was grown up. Anything rather than such a\ndevilish ending. Providence willed it--Providence must bear the\nresponsibility. And, steeling her soul to pity, she snatches up her\ndaughter and throws her into the gleaming jaws of the wolf, which,\nspringing off the sledge, hastily departs with its prey into the forest,\nwhere it is followed by hosts of other wolves. Exhausted, stunned,\nsenseless--for her escape has been extremely narrow--Liso drops the\nreins, and, sinking back into the luxurious cushions of the vehicle,\ngives a great sigh of relief and shuts her eyes.\n\nMeantime the trees grow thinner, and an isolated house, to which a\nside-road leads, appears at no great distance off. The horse, left to\nitself, follows this new path; it enters through an open gate, and,\npanting and foaming, comes to a dead halt before a ponderous oak door\nstudded with huge iron nails. Presently Liso recovers. She finds herself\nseated before a roaring fire; and a woman with a white face, dark,\npiercing eyes, and a beak-like nose, is bending over her. The woman\npresents such an extraordinary spectacle that Liso is oblivious of\neverything else, and gazes at her with a cold sensation of fear creeping\ndown her spine.\n\n\"You've had a narrow escape,\" the woman presently exclaims in peculiarly\nhoarse tones. \"And the danger is not over yet! Listen!\" To Liso's terror\nan inferno of howls and whines sounds from the yard outside, and she\nsees, gleaming in at her through the window-panes, scores of wild, hairy\nfaces with pale, lurid eyes. \"They are there!\" the woman remarks, a\nsaturnine smile in her eyes and playing round her lips. \"There--all\nready to rend and tear you to pieces as they did your children--your\nthree pretty, loving children. I've only to open the door, and in they\nwill rush!\"\n\n\"But you won't,\" Liso gasped feebly. \"You won't be so cruel. Besides,\nthey could eat you, too.\"\n\n\"Oh no, they couldn't,\" the woman laughed. \"I'm a Vargamor. Every one of\nthese wolves knows me and loves me as a mother. With you it is very\ndifferent. Shall I----?\"\n\n\"Oh no! for pity's sake spare me!\" Liso cried, throwing herself at the\nwoman's feet and catching hold of her hands. \"Spare me, and I will do\nanything you want.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the woman, after some consideration, \"I will spare you on\none condition, namely, that you live with me and do the housework; I'm\ngetting too old for it.\"\n\n\"I suppose I may see my family occasionally?\" Liso said.\n\n\"No!\" the old woman snapped, \"you may not. You must never go out of\nsight of this house. Now, what do you say? Recollect, it is either that\nor the wolves! Quick,\" and she hobbled to the door as she spoke.\n\n\"I've chosen!\" Liso shrieked. \"I'll stay with you. Anything rather than\nsuch an awful death. Tell me what I have to do and I'll begin at once.\"\n\nThe old woman took her at her word. She speedily set Liso a task, and\nfrom that time onward, kept her so continuously employed, not allowing\nher a moment to herself, that her life soon became unbearable. She tried\nto escape, but each time she left the house the fierce howling of the\nwolves sent her back to it in terror, and she discovered that, night and\nday, certain of the beasts were supervising her movements. After she had\nbeen there a week the old woman said to her, \"I fear it is useless to\nthink of keeping you any longer! Times are bad--food is scarce. The\nwolves are hungry--I must give you to them.\"\n\nBut Liso fell on her knees and pleaded so hard that the Vargamor\nrelented, \"Well, well!\" she said, \"I will spare you, provided you can\nprocure me a substitute. If you like to sit down and write to some one I\nwill see that the note is delivered.\"\n\nThen Liso, almost beside herself at the thought of the hungry wolves,\nsat down and wrote a letter to her husband, telling him she had met with\nan accident, and desiring him to come to her at once. She dared not give\nhim the slightest hint as to what had actually befallen her, as she knew\nthe old woman would read the letter.\n\nWhen she had finished her note, the Vargamor took it, and for the next\ntwelve hours Liso had a very anxious time.\n\n\"If he doesn't come soon,\" the old woman at length said to her, with an\nevil chuckle, \"I shall have to let the wolves in. They are famishing;\nand I, too, want something tastier than rabbits and squirrels.\"\n\nThe minutes passed, and Liso was nearly fainting with suspense, when\nthere suddenly broke on her ears the distant tramp of horses' feet; and\nin a very few moments a droshky dashed up to the door.\n\n\"Call him in here,\" the Vargamor said, \"and run up and hide in your\nbedroom. My pets and I will enjoy him all the better by the fire, and\nthere won't be so much risk of them being hurt.\"\n\nLiso, afraid to do otherwise, ran up the rickety ladder leading to her\nroom, shouting as she did so, \"Oscar! Oscar! come in, come in.\"\n\nThe joyful note in her husband's voice as he replied to her invitation\nstruck a new chord in Liso's nature--a chord which had been there all\nthe time, but had got choked and clogged through over-indulgence. Full\nof a courage that dared anything in its determination to save him, she\ncrept cautiously down the stairs, and just as he crossed the threshold,\nand the Vargamor was about to summon the wolves, she dashed up to the\nold woman and struck her with all her might. Then, seizing her husband,\nshe dragged him out of the house, and, hustling him into the carriage,\njumped in by his side and told the coachman to drive home with the\nutmost speed.\n\nAll this was done in less time than it takes to tell, and once again the\nfamiliar sounds of pattering--patterings on the snow in the wake of the\ncarriage--fell on Liso's ears, and all the old horrors of the preceding\njourney came back to her with full force.\n\nSlowly, despite the fact that there were two horses now, the wolves\ngained on them, and once again the same harrowing question arose in\nLiso's mind. Some one must be sacrificed. Which should it be? The\ncoachman! without doubt the coachman. He was only a poor, uneducated\nman, a hireling, and his life was as nothing compared either with that\nof her husband or her own.\n\nBut she now remembered that Oscar, though usually a mere straw in her\nhands, and ready to do anything she asked him, had one or two\npeculiarities--fondness for children and animals, and a great respect\nfor life--life in every grade. Would he consent to sacrifice the\ncoachman? And as she glanced at him, a feeling of awe came over her.\nWhat a big, strong man this husband of hers was, and what strength he\nhad--strength of all kinds, physical as well as mental--if he cared to\nexert it. But then he loved, worshipped, and adored her; he would never\ntreat her with anything but the utmost deference and kindness, no matter\nwhat she said or did. Still, when she got ready to whisper the fatal\nsuggestion in his ear, her heart failed her. And then the new something\nwithin her--that something that had already spoken and seemed inclined\nto be painfully officious--once more asserted itself. The coachman was\nmarried, he had children--four people dependent on him, four hearts that\nloved him! With her it was different: no one was actually dependent on\nher--there were no children now! Nothing but the memory of them!\nMemory--what a hateful thing it was! She had forced them to give her\ntheir lives; would it not be some atonement for her act if she were now\nto offer hers? She made the offer--breathed it with a shuddering soul\ninto her husband's ears--and with a great round oath he rejected it.\n\n\"What! You! Let you be thrown to the wolves?\" he roared. \"No--sooner\nthan that, ten thousand times sooner, I will jump out! But I don't think\nthere is any need. Knowing there were wolves about, I brought arms. If\noccasion arises we can easily account for half of them. But we shall\noutdistance them yet.\"\n\nHe spoke the truth. Bit by bit the powerful horses drew away from the\npack, and ere the last trees of the forest were passed, the howlings\nwere no longer heard and all danger was at an end.\n\nThen, and not till then, did Oscar learn what had become of the\nchildren.\n\nHe listened to Liso's explanation in silence, and it was not until she\nhad finished that the surprise came. She was anticipating\ncommiseration--commiseration for the awful hell she had undergone. She\nlittle guessed the struggle that was taking place beneath her husband's\nseemingly calm exterior. The revelation came with an abruptness that\nstaggered her. \"Woman!\" he cried, \"you are a murderess. Sooner than have\nsacrificed your children you should have suffered three deaths\nyourself--that is the elementary instinct of all mothers, human and\notherwise. You are below the standard of a beast--of the Vargamor you\nslew. Go! go back to those parents who bore you, and tell them I'll have\nnought to do with you--that I want a woman for my wife, not a\nmonstrosity.\"\n\nHe bade the coachman pull up, and, alighting, told the man to drive Liso\nto the home of her parents.\n\nBut Liso did not hear him--she sat huddled up on the seat with her eyes\nstaring blankly before her. For the first time in her life she was\nconscious that she loved!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWERWOLVES IN ICELAND, LAPLAND, AND FINLAND\n\n\nThe Bersekir of Iceland are credited with the rare property of dual\nmetamorphosis--that is to say, they are credited with the power of being\nable to adopt the individual forms of two animals--the bear and the\nwolf.\n\nFor substantiation as to the _bona-fide_ existence of this rare property\nof dual metamorphosis one has only to refer to the historical literature\nof the country (the authenticity of which is beyond dispute), wherein\nmany cases of it are recorded.\n\nThe following story, illustrative of dual metamorphosis, was told to me\non fairly good authority.\n\nA very unprepossessing Bersekir, named Rerir, falling in love with\nSigni, the beautiful daughter of a neighbouring Bersekir, proposed to\nher and was scornfully rejected. Smarting under the many insults that\nhad been heaped on him--for Signi had a most cutting tongue--Rerir, who,\nlike most of the Bersekir, was both a werwolf and a wer-bear, resolved\nto be revenged. Assuming the shape of a bear--the animal he deemed the\nmore formidable--Rerir stole to the house where Signi and her parents\nlived, and climbing on the roof, tore away at it with his claws till he\nhad made a hole big enough to admit him. Dropping through the aperture\nhe had thus effected, he alighted on the top of some one in bed--one of\nthe servants of the house--whom he hugged to death before she had time\nto utter a cry. He then stole out into the passage and made his way,\ncautiously and noiselessly, to the room in which he imagined Signi\nslept. Here, however, instead of finding the object of his passions, he\ncame upon her parents, one of whom--the mother--was awake; and aiming a\nblow at the latter's head, he crushed in her skull with one stroke of\nhis powerful paw. The noise awoke Signi's father, who, taking in the\nsituation at a glance, also metamorphosed into a bear and straightway\nclosed with his assailant. A desperate encounter between the two\nwer-animals now commenced, and the whole household, aroused from their\nslumber, came trooping in. For some time the issue of the combat was\ndubious, both adversaries being fairly well matched. But at length\nRerir began to prevail, and Signi's father cried out for some one to\nhelp him. Then Signi, anxious to save her parent's life, seized a knife,\nand, aiming a frantic blow, inadvertently struck her father, who\ninstantly sank on the ground, leaving her at the mercy of his furious\nopponent.\n\nWith a loud snarl of triumph, Rerir rushed at the girl, and was bearing\nher triumphantly away, when the cook--an old woman who had followed the\nfortunes of the Bersekir all her life--had a sudden inspiration.\nStanding on a shelf in the corner of the room was a jar containing a\npreparation of sulphur, asafoetida, and castoreum, which her mistress\nhad always given her to understand was a preventive against evil\nspirits. Snatching it up, she darted after the wer-bear and flung the\ncontents of it in its face, just as it was about to descend the stairs\nwith Signi. In a moment there was a sudden and startling metamorphosis,\nand in the place of the bear stood the ugly, misshapen man, Rerir.\n\nThe hunchback now would gladly have departed without attempting further\nmischief; for although the household boasted no man apart from its\nincapacitated master, there were still three formidable women and some\nbig dogs to be faced.\n\nBut to let him escape, after the irreparable harm he had done, was the\nvery last thing Signi would permit; and with an air of stern authority\nshe commanded the servants to fall on him with any weapons they could\nfind, whilst she would summon the hounds.\n\nNow, indeed, the tables were completely turned. Rerir was easily\noverpowered and bound securely hand and foot by Signi and her servants,\nand after undergoing a brief trial the following morning he was\nsummarily executed.\n\nThose Icelanders who possessed the property of metamorphosis into wolves\nand bears (they were always of the male sex), more often than not used\nit for the purpose of either wreaking vengeance or of executing justice.\nThe terrible temper--for the rage of the Bersekir has been a byword for\ncenturies--commonly attributed to Icelanders and Scandinavians in\ngeneral, is undoubtedly traceable to the werwolves and wer-bears into\nwhich the Bersekirs metamorphosed.\n\nIt is said that in Iceland there are both lycanthropous streams and\nflowers, and that they differ little if at all from those to be met with\nin other countries.\n\n\nTHE WERWOLVES OF LAPLAND\n\nIn Lapland werwolves are still much to the fore. In many families the\nproperty is hereditary, whilst it is not infrequently sought and\nacquired through the practice of Black Magic. Though, perhaps, more\ncommon among males, there are, nevertheless, many instances of it among\nfemales.\n\nThe following case comes from the country bordering on Lake Enara.\n\nThe child of a peasant woman named Martha, just able to trot alone, and\nconsequently left to wander just where it pleased, came home one morning\nwith its forehead apparently licked raw, all its fingers more or less\ninjured, and two of them seemingly sucked and mumbled to a mere pulp.\n\nOn being interrogated as to what had happened, it told a most astounding\ntale: A very beautiful lady had picked it up and carried it away to her\nhouse, where she had put it in a room with her three children, who were\nall very pretty and daintily dressed. At sunset, however, both the lady\nand her children metamorphosed into wolves, and would undoubtedly have\neaten it, had they not satiated their appetites on a portion of a girl\nwhich had been kept over from the preceding day. The newcomer was\nintended for their meal on the morrow, and obeying the injunctions of\ntheir mother, the young werwolves had forborne to devour the child,\nthough they had all tasted it.\n\nThe child's parents were simply dumbfounded--they could scarcely credit\ntheir senses--and made their offspring repeat its narrative over and\nover again. And as it stuck to what it had said, they ultimately\nconcluded that it was true, and that the lady described could be none\nother than Madame Tonno, the wife of their landlord and patron--a person\nof immense importance in the neighbourhood.\n\nBut what could they do? How could they protect their children from\nanother raid?\n\nTo accuse the lady, who was rich and influential, of being a werwolf\nwould be useless. No one would believe them--no one dare believe\nthem--and they would be severely punished for their indiscretion. Being\npoor, they were entirely at her mercy, and if she chose to eat their\nchildren, they could not prevent her, unless they could catch her in the\nact.\n\nOne evening the mother was washing clothes before the door of her house,\nwith her second child, a little girl of four years of age, playing about\nclose by. The cottage stood in a lonely part of the estate, forming\nalmost an island in the midst of low boggy ground; and there was no\nhouse nearer than that of M. Tonno. Martha, bending over her wash-tub,\nwas making every effort to complete her task, when a fearful cry made\nher look up, and there was the child, gripped by one shoulder, in the\njaws of a great she-wolf, the arm that was free extended towards her.\nMartha was so close that she managed to clutch a bit of the child's\nclothing in one hand, whilst with the other she beat the brute with all\nher might to make it let go its hold. But all in vain: the relentless\njaws did not show the slightest sign of relaxing, and with a saturnine\nglitter in its deep-set eyes it emitted a hoarse burr-burr, and set off\nat full speed towards the forest, dragging the mother, who was still\nclinging to the garment of her child, with it.\n\nBut they did not long continue thus. The wolf turned into some low-lying\nuneven track, and Martha, falling over the jagged trunk of a tree, found\nherself lying on the ground with only a little piece of torn clothing\ntightly clasped in her hand. Hitherto, comforted by Martha's presence,\nthe little one had not uttered a sound; but now, feeling itself\ndeserted, it gave vent to the most heartrending screams--screams that\nabruptly disturbed the silence of that lonely spot and pierced to the\ndepths of Martha's soul. In an instant she rose, and, dashing on,\nbounded over stock and stone, tearing herself pitiably, but heeding it\nnot in her intense anxiety to save her child. But the wolf had now\nincreased its speed; the undergrowth was thick, the ground heavier, and\nsoon screams became her only guide. Still on and on she dashed, now\nsnatching up a little shoe which was clinging to the bushes, now\nshrieking with agony as she saw fragments of the child's hair and\nclothes on the low jagged boughs obstructing her path. On, on, on, until\nthe screams grew fainter, then louder, and then ceased altogether.\n\nLate that night the husband, Max, found his wife lying dead, just\noutside the grounds of his patron's chateau. Guessing what had happened,\nand having but one thought in his mind--namely, revenge--Max, arming\nhimself with the branch of a tree, marched boldly up to the house, and\nrapped loudly at the door.\n\nM. Tonno answered this peremptory summons himself, and demanded in an\nangry voice what Max meant by daring to announce himself thus.\n\nMax pointed in the direction of the corpse. \"That!\" he shrieked; \"that\nis the reason of my visit. Madame Tonno is a werwolf--she has murdered\nboth my wife and child, and I am here to demand justice.\"\n\n\"Come inside,\" M. Tonno said, the tone of his voice suddenly changing.\n\"We can discuss the matter indoors in the privacy of my study.\" And he\nconducted Max to a room in the rear of the house.\n\nBut no sooner had Max crossed the threshold than the door was slammed\non him, and he found himself a prisoner. He turned to the window, but\nthere was no hope there--it was heavily barred. But although a\npeasant--and a fool, so he told himself, to have thus deliberately\nwalked into a trap--Max was not altogether without wits, and he searched\nthe room thoroughly, eventually discovering a loose board. Tearing it\nup, he saw that the space under the floor--that is to say, between the\nfloor and the foundation of the house--was just deep enough for him to\nlie there at full length. Here, then, was a possible avenue of escape.\nSetting to work, he succeeded, after much effort, in wrenching up\nanother board, and then another, and getting into the excavation thus\nmade, he worked his way along on his stomach, until he came to a\ngrating, which, to his utmost joy, proved to be loose. It was but the\nwork of a few minutes to force it out and to dislodge a few bricks, and\nMax was once again free. His one idea now was to tell his tale to his\nbrother peasants and rouse them to immediate action, and with this end\nin view he set off running at full speed to the nearest settlement.\n\nThe peasants of Lapland are slow and stolid and take a lot of rousing,\nbut when once they are roused, few people are so terrible.\n\nFortunately for Max, he was not the only sufferer; several other people\nin the neighbourhood had lately lost their children, and the story he\ntold found ready credence. In less than an hour a large body of men and\nwomen, armed with every variety of weapon, from a sword to a pitchfork,\nhad gathered together, and setting off direct to the chateau, they\nsurrounded it on all sides, and forcing an entrance, seized M. Tonno and\nhis werwolf wife and werwolf children, and binding them hand and foot,\nled them to the shores of Lake Enara and drowned them. They then went\nback to the house and, setting fire to it, burned it to the ground, thus\nmaking certain of destroying any werwolf influence it might still\ncontain.\n\nWith this wholesale extermination a case that may be taken as a\ncharacteristic type of Lapland lycanthropy in all its grim and sordid\ndetails concludes.\n\n\nFINLAND WERWOLVES\n\nFinland teems with stories of werwolves--stories ancient and modern, for\nthe werwolf is said to still flourish in various parts of the country.\n\nThe property is not restricted to one sex; it is equally common to both.\nSpells and various forms of exorcism are used, and certain streams are\nheld to be lycanthropous.\n\nHowever, in Finland as in Scandinavia, it is very difficult to procure\ninformation as to werwolves. The common peasant, who alone knows\nanything about the anomaly, is withheld by superstition from even\nmentioning its name; and if he mentions a werwolf at all, designates him\nonly as the \"old one,\" or the \"grey one,\" or the \"great dog,\" feeling\nthat to call this terror by its true name is a sure way to exasperate\nit. It is only by strategy one learns from a peasant that when a fine\nyoung ox is found in the morning breathing hard, his hide bathed in\nfoam, and with every sign of fright and exhaustion, while, perhaps, only\none trifling wound is discovered on the whole body, which swells and\ninflames as if poison had been infused, the animal generally dying\nbefore night; and that when, on examination of the corpse, the\nintestines are found to be torn as with the claws of a wolf, and the\nwhole body is in a state of inflammation, it is accounted certain that\nthe mischief has been caused by a werwolf.\n\nIt is thus a werwolf serves his quarry when he kills for the mere love\nof killing, and not for food.\n\nIn Finland, perhaps more than in other countries, werwolves are credited\nwith demoniacal power, and old women who possess the property of\nmetamorphosing into wolves are said to be able to paralyse cattle and\nchildren with their eyes, and to have poison in their nails, one wound\nfrom which causes certain death.\n\nTo illustrate the foregoing I have selected an incident which happened\nnear Diolen, a village on the eastern shore of the Gulf of Finland, at\nthe distance of about a hundred wersts from the ancient city of Mawa.\nHere vegetation is of a more varied and luxuriant kind than is usually\nfound in the Northern latitude; the oak and the bela, intermingled with\nrich plots of grass, grow at the very edge of the sea--a phenomenon\naccountable for by the fact that the Baltic is tideless.\n\nFor about half a werst in breadth, the shore continues a level,\nluxuriant stretch, when it suddenly rises in three successive cliffs,\neach about a hundred feet in height, and placed about the same space of\nhalf a werst, one behind the other, like huge steps leading to the\ntable-land above. In some places the rocks are completely hidden from\nthe view by a thick fence of trees, which take root at their base, while\neach level is covered by a minute forest of firs, in which grow a\nvariety of herbs and shrubs, including the English whitethorn, and wild\nstrawberries.\n\nIt was to gather the latter that Savanich and his seven-year-old son,\nPeter, came one afternoon early in summer. They had filled two baskets\nand were contemplating returning home with their spoil, when Caspan, the\nbig sheepdog, uttered a low growl.\n\n\"Hey, Caspan, what is it?\" Peter cried. \"Footsteps! And such curious\nones!\"\n\n\"They are curious,\" Savanich said, bending down to examine them. \"They\nare larger and coarser than those of Caspan, longer in shape, and with a\ndeep indentation of the ball of the foot. They are those of a wolf--an\nold one, because of the deepness of the tracks. Old wolves walk heavy.\nAnd here's a wound the brute has got in its paw. See! there is a slight\nirregularity on the print of the hind feet, as if from a dislocated\nclaw. We must be on our guard. Wolves are hungry now: the waters have\ndriven them up together, and the cattle are not let out yet. The beast\nis not far off, either. An old wolf like this will prowl about for days\ntogether, round the same place, till he picks up something.\"\n\n\"I hope it won't attack us, father,\" Peter said, catching hold of\nSavanich by the hand. \"What should you do if it did?\"\n\nBut before Savanich could reply, Caspan gave a loud bark and dashed into\nthe thicket, and the next moment a terrible pandemonium of yells, and\nsnorts, and sharp howls filled the air. Drawing his knife from its\nsheath, and telling Peter to keep close at his heels, Savanich followed\nCaspan and speedily came upon the scene of the encounter. Caspan had\nhold of a huge grey wolf by the neck, and was hanging on to it like grim\ndeath, in spite of the brute's frantic efforts to free itself.\n\nThere was but little doubt that the brave dog would have, eventually,\npaid the penalty for its rashness--for the wolf had mauled it badly, and\nit was beginning to show signs of exhaustion through loss of blood--had\nnot Savanich arrived in the nick of time. A couple of thrusts from his\nknife stretched the wolf on the ground, when, to his utmost horror, it\nsuddenly metamorphosed into a hideous old hag.\n\n\"A werwolf!\" Savanich gasped, crossing himself. \"Get out of her way,\nPeter, quick!\"\n\nBut it was too late. Thrusting out a skinny hand, the hag scratched\nPeter on the ankle with the long curved, poisonous nail of her\nforefinger. Then, with an evil smile on her lips, she turned over on her\nback, and expired. And before Peter could be got home he, too, was dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE WERWOLF IN RUSSIA AND SIBERIA\n\n\nThe ideal home of all things weird and uncanny--is cold, grey, gaunt,\nand giant Russia. Nowhere is the werwolf so much in evidence to-day as\nin the land of the Czar, where all the primitive conditions favourable\nto such anomalies, still exist, and where they have undergone but little\nchange in the last ten thousand years.\n\nA thinly-populated country--vast stretches of wild uncultivated land,\nfull of dense forests, rich in trees most favourable to Elementals, and\nwatered by deep, silent tarns, and stealthily moving streams,--its very\natmosphere is impregnated with lycanthropy.\n\nAt the base of giant firs and poplars, or poking out their heads\nimpudently, from amidst brambles and ferns, are werwolf flowers--flowers\nwith all the characteristics of those found in Hungary and the Balkan\nPeninsula, but of a greater variety. There are, for example, in\naddition to the white, yellow, and red species, those of a bluish-white\nhue, that emit a glow at night like the phosphorescent glow emanating\nfrom decaying animal and vegetable matter; and those of a brilliant\norange, covered with black, protruding spots, suggestive of some\nparticularly offensive disease, that show a marked preference for damp\nplaces, and are specially to be met with growing in the slime and mud at\nthe edge of a pool, or in the soft, rotten mould of morasses.\n\nWerwolves haunt the plains, too--the great barren, undulating deserts\nthat roll up to the foot of the Urals, Caucasus, Altai, Yablonoi, and\nStanovoi Mountains--and the Tundras along the shores of the Arctic\nOcean--dreary swamps in summer and ice-covered wastes in winter. Here,\nat night, they wander over the rough, stony, arid ground, picking their\nway surreptitiously through the scant vegetation, and avoiding all\nfrequented localities; pausing, every now and then, to slake their\nthirst in deep sunk wells, or to listen for the sounds of quarry. Hazel\nhen, swans, duck, geese, squirrels, hares, elk, reindeer, roes,\nfallowdeer, and wild sheep, all are food to the werwolf, though nothing\nis so heartily appreciated by it as fat tender children or young and\nplump women.\n\nIn its nocturnal ramblings the werwolf often encounters enemies--bears,\nwolves, and panthers--with which it struggles for dominion--dominion of\nforest, plain and mountain; and when the combat ends to its\ndisadvantage, its metamorphosed corpse is at once devoured by its\nconqueror.\n\nOf all parts of Russia, the werwolf loves best the Caucasus and Ural\nMountains. They are to Russia what the Harz Mountains were to Germany,\ncenturies ago--the head-quarters of all manner of psychic phenomena, the\nhappy hunting ground of phantom and fairy; and over them still lingers,\nalmost, if not quite, as forcibly as ever, the glamour and mystery\ninseparable from the superphysical.\n\nTimes without number have the great black beetling crags of these\nmountains been scaled by the furry, sinewy feet of werwolves; times\nwithout number have the shadows of these anomalies fallen on the\nmoon-kissed, snowy peaks, towering high into the sky, or mingled with\nthe rank and dewy herbage in the pine-clad valleys, and narrow abysmal\ngorges deep down below.\n\nIt was here, in these lone Russian mountains, so legend relates, that\nPeter and Paul turned an impious wife and husband, who refused them\nshelter, into wolves: but Peter and Paul, apparently, had not the\nmonopoly of this power; for it was here, too, in a Ural village, that\nthe Devil is alleged to have metamorphosed half a dozen men into wolves\nfor not paying him sufficient homage.\n\nThere is no restriction as to the sex of werwolves in Russia and\nSiberia--male and female werwolves are about equal in number, though\nperhaps there is a slight preponderance in favour of the female.\nVargamors are to be encountered in almost all the less frequented woody\nregions, but more especially in those in the immediate vicinity of the\nUrals and Caucasus.\n\nThough many of the werwolves inherit the property, many, too, have\nacquired it through direct intercourse with the superphysical; and the\ninvocation of spirits, whether performed individually or collectively,\nis far from uncommon.\n\nBlack Magic is said to be practised in the Urals, Caucasus, Yerkhoiansk,\nand Stanovoi Mountains; in the Tundras, the Plains of East Russia, the\nTiman Range, the Kola Peninsula, and various parts of Siberia.\n\nI am told that the usual initiating ceremony consists of drawing a\ncircle, from seven to nine feet in radius, in the centre of which circle\na wood fire is kindled--the wood selected being black poplar, pine or\nlarch, never ash. A fumigation in an iron vessel, heated over the fire,\nis then made out of a mixture of any four or five of the following\nsubstances: Hemlock (2 to 3 ounces), henbane (1 ounce to 1-1/2 ounces),\nsaffron (3 ounces), poppy seed (any amount), aloe (3 drachms), opium\n(1/4 ounce), asafoetida (2 ounces), solanum (2 to 3 drachms), parsley\n(any amount).\n\nAs soon as the vessel is placed over the fire so that it can heat, the\nperson who would invoke the spirit that can bestow upon him the property\nof metamorphosing into a wolf kneels within the circle, and prays a\npreliminary impromptu prayer. He then resorts to an incantation, which\nruns, so I have been told, as follows:--\n\n     \"Hail, hail, hail, great wolf spirit, hail!\n      A boon I ask thee, mighty shade. Within this circle I have made,\n      Make me a werwolf strong and bold,\n      The terror alike of young and old.\n      Grant me a figure tall and spare;\n      The speed of the elk, the claws of the bear;\n      The poison of snakes, the wit of the fox;\n      The stealth of the wolf, the strength of the ox;\n      The jaws of the tiger, the teeth of the shark;\n      The eyes of a cat that sees in the dark.\n      Make me climb like a monkey, scent like a dog,\n      Swim like a fish, and eat like a hog.\n      Haste, haste, haste, lonely spirit, haste!\n      Here, wan and drear, magic spell making,\n      Findest thou me--shaking, quaking.\n      Softly fan me as I lie,\n      And thy mystic touch apply--\n      Touch apply, and I swear that when I die,\n      When I die, I will serve thee evermore,\n      Evermore, in grey wolf land, cold and raw.\"\n\nThe incantation concluded, the supplicant then kisses the ground three\ntimes, and advancing to the fire, takes off the iron vessel, and\nwhirling it smoking round his head, cries out:--\n\n     \"Make me a werwolf! make me a man-eater!\n      Make me a werwolf! make me a woman-eater!\n      Make me a werwolf! make me a child-eater!\n      I pine for blood! human blood!\n      Give it me! give it me to-night!\n      Great Wolf Spirit! give it me, and\n      Heart, body, and soul, I am yours.\"\n\nThe trees then begin to rustle, and the wind to moan, and out of the\nsudden darkness that envelops everything glows the tall, cylindrical,\npillar-like phantom of the Unknown, seven or eight feet in height. It\nsometimes develops further, and assumes the form of a tall, thin\nmonstrosity, half human and half animal, grey and nude, with very long\nlegs and arms, and the feet and claws of a wolf. Its head is shaped like\nthat of a wolf, but surrounded with the hair of a woman, that falls\nabout its bare shoulders in yellow ringlets. It has wolf's ears and a\nwolf's mouth. Its aquiline nose and pale eyes are fashioned like those\nof a human being, but animated with an expression too diabolically\nmalignant to proceed from anything but the superphysical.\n\nIt seldom if ever speaks, but either utters some extraordinary noise--a\nprolonged howl that seems to proceed from the bowels of the earth, a\npiercing, harrowing whine, or a low laugh full of hellish glee, any of\nwhich sounds may be taken to express its assent to the favour asked.\n\nIt only remains visible for a minute at the most, and then disappears\nwith startling abruptness. The supplicant is now a werwolf. He undergoes\nhis first metamorphosis into wolf form the following evening at sunset,\nreassuming his human shape at dawn; and so on, day after day, till his\ndeath, when he may once more metamorphose either from man form to wolf\nform, or vice versa, his corpse retaining whichever form has been\nassumed at the moment of death. However, with regard to this final\nmetamorphosis there is no consistency: it may or may not take place. In\nthe practice of exorcism, for the purpose of eradicating the evil\nproperty of werwolfery, all manner of methods are employed. Sometimes\nthe werwolf is soundly whipped with ash twigs, and saturated with a\npotion such as I described in a previous chapter; sometimes he is made\nto lie or sit over, or lie or stand close beside, a vessel containing a\nfumigation mixture composed of sulphur, asafoetida, and castoreum, or\nhypericum and vinegar; or sometimes, again, he is well whipped and\nrubbed all over with the juice of the mistletoe berry. Occasionally a\npriest is summoned, and then a formal ceremony takes place.\n\nAn altar is erected. On it are placed lighted candles, a Bible, a\ncrucifix. The werwolf, in wolf form, bound hand and foot, is then placed\non the ground at the foot of the altar, and fumigated with incense and\nsprinkled with holy water. The sign of the cross is made on his\nforehead, chest, back, and on the palms of his hands. Various prayers\nare read, and the affair concludes when the priest in a loud voice\nadjures the evil influence to depart, in the name of God the Father, the\nSon, the Holy Ghost, and the Virgin Mary.\n\nI have never, however, heard of any well-authenticated case testifying\nto the efficacy of this or of any other mode of exorcism. As far as I\nknow, once a werwolf always a werwolf is an inviolable rule.\n\nApparently women are more desirous of becoming werwolves than men, more\nwomen than men having acquired the property of werwolfery through their\nown act. In the case of women candidates for this evil property, the\ninspiring motive is almost always one of revenge, sometimes on a\nfaithless lover, but more often on another woman; and when once women\nmetamorphose thus, their craving for human flesh is simply\ninsatiable--in fact, they are far more cruel and daring, and much more\nto be dreaded, than male werwolves. The following story seems to bear\nout the truth of this assertion:--\n\n\nTHE CASE OF IVAN OF SHIGANSKA\n\nShiganska was--for it no longer exists, having been obliterated about\nfifty years ago by a blizzard--a small village on the left bank of the\nPetchora, about a hundred miles from its mouth.\n\nOwing chiefly to the character of the adjacent country, Shiganska was\nwanting in every beauty and variety that charms the eye. It was situated\non a stretch of flat land between two mountain ranges, _i.e._, the Ural\non one side and the Taman on the other, and surrounded by a wood so\nthick that it was with the greatest difficulty anyone could force a way\ninto it, supposing they had been sufficiently fortunate to escape\nsticking fast in the morasses of soft, rotten mould, that lie hidden in\nthe least suspicious looking places, on its borders. Here were to be\nfound lycanthropous blue and white flowers, which those desirous of\nbecoming werwolves sought from far and wide, some even coming from\nSiberia, and some from away down South as far as Astrakan. And the woods\nabounded not only in werwolves, but in all sorts of supernatural\nhorrors--phantoms of the dead, _i.e._ (of murderers and suicides) Vice\nElementals and Vagrarians, vampires and ghouls; no region in Russia\nboasted so many, and for this reason it was scrupulously avoided by all\nsensible people after sunset.\n\nIvan, like most of the male inhabitants of Shiganska, lived by the\nchase: the black fox, the sable, the fox with the dark-coloured throat,\nthe red fox, white fox, squirrel, ermine, and black bear alike fell\nvictims to his gun; whilst in the Petchora, when the weather permitted\nit, he caught, besides many other kinds of fish, a goodly proportion of\nsalmon, nelma (a kind of salmon trout), bleak, sturgeon, sterlet, tochue,\nmuksun, omul, and _Salmo Lavaretus_.\n\nIt was a good living, that of the chase, albeit fraught with grave\ndangers; and Ivan, thanks to his exceptional powers with the rod as well\nas the rifle, was on the high road to prosperity.\n\nHe lived with his mother and two sisters in a pretty house about a koes\nfrom Shiganska, and facing it was a level stretch of reed-grass\nterminating in the hemlock-covered banks of the Petchora. A few trees,\nchiefly birch and larch, dotted about the reed-grass afforded a\ndelightful shade from the fierce heat of the short summer sun; and birds\nof all sorts, whose singing was a source of the keenest delight to Ivan\nand his sisters, made their homes in them.\n\nUnlike any other hunter in Shiganska, Ivan was fond of poetry and\nmusic; moreover, he had a dreamy disposition, and when his day's work\nwas done he was content--nay, more than content--to watch the changing\ncolours in the sky, or see in the glowing embers of the charcoal fire\nstrange scenes and wildly familiar faces.\n\nOne morning, in the month of April, Ivan set off to the woods, gun in\nhand, accompanied by his old and faithful dog, Dolk, in search of big\ngame. He paused every now and then to look at the ice on the summits of\nthe distant mountains. The sunlight falling on it imparted to it many\ndifferent hues, and made it sparkle like flaming jewels. He stopped\nrepeatedly to listen to the croaking of the raven, the cawing of the\ncrows, and the piping of the bullfinches--sounds of which he was never\nweary, and never tired of trying to interpret.\n\nOn this occasion, as usual, it was not until long after noon that he\nbegan seriously to think of looking for his quarry, and it was not until\nhe had searched for some time that he at length came upon the tracks of\na wild reindeer. Loosing Dolk, and tightening the buckles of his\nsnow-shoes, he set to work to stalk the animal, and eventually sighted\nit browsing on a clump of reed-grass that grew on the bank of a mountain\nstream. The chase now began in earnest. It was a beautiful animal, and\nIvan strained every effort to get within shooting range by leaping from\nrock to rock, and springing over stream after stream. In this manner he\nhad progressed for more than a koes, when blood from the feet of the\nreindeer began to be visible on the fresh frozen snow; from its\nfaltering pace the poor creature was evidently tired out, and Dolk was\ndrawing closer and closer to it. In these circumstances Ivan was\ncounting on the likelihood of his soon being near enough to fire, when\nsuddenly the joyful barking of the dog changed to a prodigious howl of\nagony. With redoubled speed Ivan pushed ahead, and, presently, at a\ndistance of about two gunshots, he saw two small black objects lying on\nthe snow covered with blood.\n\nThey were the remains of Dolk, who, having come up with the reindeer and\ndriven it into a small brook, was keeping it there until Ivan arrived,\nwhen a hungry wolf had leaped down the side of a rock and, seizing him\nin his powerful jaws, had bitten him in half. The wolf had evidently\nintended to eat Dolk, but, catching sight of Ivan, had made off.\n\nIvan was inconsolable. Dolk had hunted with him as a puppy of six months\nold, and for eight years the dog had never let him know a hungry day.\nIvan had been offered ten reindeer for him, but he would not have parted\nwith him for any number, and without Dolk he knew not how to show\nhimself at home, for both his mother and sisters were devoted to the\nfaithful animal.\n\nDetermined on vengeance, Ivan followed the wolf's tracks, which led, by\nan unfamiliar path, to the mouth of a vast and gloomy cavern. There he\nlost sight of them, and he was deliberating what to do next, when a loud\npeal of silvery laughter broke on his ears and awoke the silent echoes\nof the grim walls around him. Ivan started in open-mouthed astonishment.\nStanding before him was a girl more lovely--ten thousand times more\nlovely--than any woman he had hitherto seen. To the magic of a beautiful\nform in woman--the necromancy of female grace--there was no more ready\nand willing subject than Ivan; and here, at last, he had found grace\npersonified, incarnate, the highest ideal of all his wildest and most\ncherished dreams. His most magnificent \"castle\" had never contained a\nprincess half as fair as this one. Her figure was rather above the\nmedium height, supple and slender. Her feet and hands were small, her\nwrists well rounded, her fingers long and white, and tipped with pink\nand glossy almond-shaped nails--if anything a trifle too long. But it\nwas her face that so attracted Ivan as to almost hold him\nspellbound--the neat and delicately moulded features all in perfect\nharmony; the daintily cut lips; the white gleaming teeth; the low\nforehead crowned with golden curls; the long, thick-lashed, blue eyes\nthat looked steadily into his, and seemed to read his very soul.\n\nMoreover, in her blue eyes there was bewildering depth; a sense of\ncoldness that was positively benumbing, and which was reminiscent of the\nblue petrifying waters of the Ural Lakes; a magnetism that was\nparalysing, that held in complete obeisance both mind and limb, and was\ncomparable to nothing so nearly as the hypnotic influence of the tiger\nor snake, but which differed from the latter inasmuch as its\ninspirations were just as delightful as those of the tiger and snake are\nharrowing and terrifying.\n\nShe was clad from head to foot in fur--white fur--but neither her dress\nnor her presence excited any other thoughts in Ivan except those of\nintense admiration--admiration which surged through every pore of his\nskin.\n\n\"Well!\" she demanded, \"what brings you here, my good man? There is no\ngame in this cave.\"\n\n\"Isn't there?\" Ivan stammered, his eyes looking at her adoringly. \"All\nthe same I would cheerfully forgo all the pleasures of the chase to come\nhere.\"\n\n\"You are very gallant for a huntsman, sir,\" the girl replied with a\nsmile; \"but for your own sake I must urge you to go away at once. I live\nhere with my father--a confirmed recluse who detests the sight of human\nbeings; were he to discover me talking to one I should get into sad\ntrouble, and with regard to you I could not say what might happen.\"\n\nBut Ivan came of a race that paid little heed to any warning when once\ntheir blood was fired; consequently, despite the repeated admonitions of\nhis beautiful companion--admonitions which her eyes seemed to\ncontradict--he stayed and stayed, whilst--forgetful of mother and\nsisters, home, and even Dolk--he made a passionate avowal of his love.\nThe afternoon quickly passed, and the sun was beginning to set, when the\ngirl, whose name he had learned was Breda, almost pushed him out of the\ncavern.\n\n\"If you don't go now,\" she urged, \"I may never see you again.\"\n\n\"And would you care?\" he asked.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she replied; \"perhaps, just a little--a wee, wee bit. You\nsee, I don't get the opportunity of meeting many people!\"\n\nHe caught her by the hand and kissed it passionately; and with the sound\nof her light, intoxicating laughter thrilling through his soul, he\ndescended to the bed of the mountain streamlet, and turned his steps\nblithely towards home.\n\nThat was the beginning, but not the end. He courted her--he married her\nand she came to live with his mother and sisters, who for his sake tried\nto like her and even pretended that they did like her. But in secret\nthey said to one another, \"She has no heart; she is cold as an icicle;\nher lips are thin and cruel. She would serve Ivan badly if we were not\nhere to check her.\"\n\nAnd Breda certainly had her idiosyncrasies. She preferred raw to cooked\nmeat, and would not sleep in the same room as her husband. She grew very\nangry when Ivan expostulated, saying, \"You promised you would never\nthwart me. If you do not keep your word, I shall despise you, scorn you,\nhate you.\" And Ivan, who loved his wife beyond anything, yielded.\n\nSome weeks after their marriage, neighbours complained of losing cattle\nand horses. They said there was a wolf about, and that its tracks, which\nthey had followed, always ended under the walls of Ivan's house. They\nasked Ivan if he had not heard the brute. But he had heard nothing, he\nslept very soundly. Then they inquired of Ivan's sisters and mother, who\nalso replied in the negative; but there was hesitation in their voices,\nand they looked very frightened and ashamed. And then people began to\ntalk. They looked at Breda curiously, and finally they cut her. One\nnight, when there was a downfall of snow, and the wind howled down the\nchimneys of Ivan's house and blew the snow, with heavy thumps against\nthe window-panes, Ivan, who could not sleep for the storm, heard the\ndoor of Breda's room open very softly, and light steps steal stealthily\ndown the passage. Then there came a half-suppressed, half-smothered cry,\na groan, and all was still. Ivan got out of bed and opened his door, but\nhis wife's voice called to him from the darkness and bade him go back.\n\n\"Do not be alarmed and make a fuss,\" she said; \"I was ill a moment ago,\nbut am quite well again now. Go back to bed at once, or I shall be very\nangry.\" And Ivan obeyed her.\n\nIn the morning his eldest sister, Beata, was found dead in bed, her\nthroat, breast, and stomach slit open, as is the custom with wolves, and\nher flesh all mangled and eaten.\n\nBreda took no food that day, and Ivan's mother and other sister,\nMalvina, looked at her out of the corner of their eyes and shuddered.\nBut Ivan said nothing. A week later the same fate befell Malvina. Then\nIvan's mother spoke. She told him that he must assuredly be under some\nevil spell, or he would never remain idle whilst his sisters' destroyer\nwas at large, and she adjured him, by all that he held holy, not to\nallow himself a moment's rest till he had had ample vengeance for the\nloss of two such valuable lives.\n\nRoused at last, Ivan, instead of going to bed, sat up, gun in hand, and\nwatched. He passed many nights thus, and his patience was well nigh\nexhausted when, during one of the vigils, he fell asleep, dreaming as\nusual of the blue eyes and golden curls of Breda, whose beauty held him\njust as much enthralled as ever. From this slumber he was awakened by\nloud screams for help. Seizing his gun, and taking a random aim at a\nhuge white wolf as he went (though without stopping to see the effects\nof the shot), he ran to his mother's bedside. She was dead. Her throat\nand body were slit; but she was not eaten.\n\nWild with grief and thirsting for revenge, Ivan started off in pursuit\nof the wolf, and discovered, in the passage, a track of blood which\nterminated at his wife's door. Receiving no reply when he asked for\nadmittance, he entered the room and found Breda lying on the floor, in\nher nightdress, the blood streaming from a wound in her shoulder. Ivan\nknelt down and examined her. She had been struck by a bullet, and the\nbullet fitted the bore of his gun.\n\nHe knew the truth then--the truth he might have known all along, had he\nnot, in his blind love, thrust it far from him--and, in the sudden\nalteration of his feeling, he raised his knife to kill her. But Breda\nopened her eyes, and the weapon fell from his hand.\n\n\"You know part of my secret now,\" she whispered, \"but you don't know\neverything. I am a werwolf, not by inheritance, but of my own free will.\nIn order to become one I ate the blue flowers in the wood. I did so to\nbe avenged on my husband.\"\n\n\"Your husband!\" Ivan cried; \"good God! then you were a widow when I met\nyou?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Breda said slowly and with apparent effort. \"I was forced into my\nfirst marriage by my all too worldly parents, and my husband ill-used\nand beat me!\"\n\n\"The devil! the cold-hearted, cowardly devil!\" Ivan ejaculated, \"I would\nhave killed him.\"\n\n\"That is what I did,\" Breda remarked; \"I did kill him, and it was in\norder to make certain of killing him that I became a werwolf.\"\n\n\"Did you eat him?\" Ivan asked, horribly fascinated.\n\n\"Don't ask questions,\" Breda said, averting her eyes, \"and for God's\nsake don't lose any more time. As you love me, screen me from detection;\nhide all traces of to-night's handiwork as quickly as possible.\"\n\nAs usual, Ivan did as she requested him, and giving out that his mother\nhad died suddenly, from heart failure, he had her interred with as\nlittle publicity as possible.\n\nBefore very long, however, the neighbours began to ask such pointed\nquestions, that Ivan now lived in a state of chronic suspense. He feared\nevery moment that the truth would leak out, and that his beautiful young\nwife would receive condign punishment.\n\nAt last, finding such a state of apprehension intolerable, he confided\nin an old man who was reputed a sage and metaphysician--one who was\nextremely well versed in all matters appertaining to the spiritual\nworld. \"There is only one course to pursue,\" the old man said, \"you must\nhave the evil spirit in her exorcized, and you must have it done\nimmediately. Otherwise, she will continue her depredations, and your\ngood neighbours will find her out and kill her. They more than half\nsuspect her now, and are talking of paying a visit some night, when you\nare snug and safe in bed, to the cemetery, to see if the story you told\nthem about your mother's and sisters' sudden deaths is correct.\"\n\n\"What kind of exorcism would you use?\" Ivan inquired nervously. \"You\nwould not hurt her?\"\n\n\"The form of exorcism I should make use of would do her no lasting\nharm,\" the old man said feelingly; \"you can rely on me for that.\"\n\n\"But is exorcism always effectual?\" Ivan persisted.\n\n\"When exorcism is ineffectual it is the exception, not the rule,\" the\nold man replied, \"and there are very few cases of exorcism being\nemployed ineffectually upon those who have become werwolves through the\npractice of magic, or the medium of flowers or of water.\"\n\n\"Should my wife refuse to undergo the ceremony, what would you advise\nthen?\" Ivan asked.\n\n\"Strategy and force,\" the old man said, \"anything to prevent her\ncontinuing in her demoniacal ways, and being burned or drowned by an\ninfuriated mob.\"\n\nThus admonished, Ivan, without delay, broached the matter to Breda. But\nshe was so angry with him for having dared even to mention exorcism,\nthat he thought it best to act on the advice of the old occultist and to\ncatch her unawares. Consequently, one evening, when the moon was in the\nfull, and she had just changed into wolf form, he stole into her room\naccompanied by the old man and two assistants. After a desperate\nstruggle, Ivan and the three exorcists overpowered her, and bound her so\nsecurely that she could not move.\n\nThey then took her out of doors, to a lonely spot at the back of the\nhouse, and placed her in the centre of an equilateral triangle that had\nbeen carefully marked on the ground, in red chalk. At seven or eight\nfeet to the west of the triangle they then kindled a wood fire, and\nplaced over it a vessel containing a fumigation mixture of hypericum,\nvinegar, sulphur, cayenne, and mountain ash berries.\n\nThe old man then knelt down, and crossing himself on his forehead and\nchest, prayed vigorously, until the preparation in the pot began to give\noff strong fumes. He then arose, and both he and his assistants took up\nspecially prepared switches, cut from a mountain ash, and gripping them\ntightly in their hands, approached the recumbent form of the werwolf.\nThis, however, was more than Ivan could stand--he had objected strongly\nenough to the fumigation, which, being nauseous and irritating, had made\nhis wolf-wife gasp and choke; but when it came to flogging her--well, it\nturned him sick and cold. He forgot discretion, prudence, everything,\nsaving the one great fact--monstrous, incredible, abominable--that the\nbeing he loved, adored, and worshipped was about to be beaten with rods!\nWith a shout of wrath he rushed at the trio, and snatching their wands\nfrom them, laid them so soundly about their backs that they all three\nfled from the ground, shrieking with pain and terror. Then he knelt by\nhis prostrate wife, and cutting the thongs that bound her, set her free.\nShe rose on her feet a huge, white wolf. Regarding him steadily for a\nmoment from out of her gleaming grey eyes, she swung slowly round, and\nwith one more look, more human than animal, she darted swiftly away, and\nwas speedily lost in the gloom.\n\n\n\n\nMETHUEN'S POPULAR NOVELS\n\nAUTUMN 1912\n\n\nTHE BIG FISH\n\nBy H. B. Marriott Watson, Author of 'Alise of Astra.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[July\n\nThis strange tale of adventure in the mountains of Peru has a certain\nbasis in fact. 'The Big Fish' is the name by which the lost treasure of\nthe Incas is known, and the story describes the search for it, which\nopens in a London auction room and, after many tragic adventures, ends\nin the lonely mountains in a manner which neither of the seekers had\nanticipated, but with which both are satisfied.\n\n\nHER SERENE HIGHNESS\n\nBy Philip Laurence Oliphant. Cr. 8vo, 6s. [July\n\nDisillusioned, and disgusted with Western civilization, the hero of this\nstory, a man of remarkable force and quality, turns to the ideals of the\nEast, becomes to all intents an Oriental, and makes for himself a great\nposition as the white ruler of a black people in Central India. His wife\ndeserted him in early life under a misunderstanding, goes in search of\nhim, and finding him at last, throws in her lot with his, and succeeds\nin winning him back; but not until through jealousy and other passions,\nhe is forced to witness the sacrifice of his power and fly for very\nlife.\n\n\nJUDITH LEE: Some Pages from her Life\n\nBy Richard Marsh, Author of 'A Royal Indiscretion.' With Four\nIllustrations. Crown 8vo, 6s. [July\n\nThe world has already been introduced to the famous female detective\nJudith Lee in the pages of the Strand Magazine, where her popularity\nwas very great. The child of parents who were teachers of the oral\nsystem to the deaf and dumb, as soon almost as she learnt to speak she\nlearnt to read what people were saying by watching their lips. Devoting\nher whole life to the improvement of a very singular natural aptitude,\nand employing it in the discovery and frustration of crime, she has\nbecome, as we find in this book, a constant source of wonder and\ndelight, and a very encyclopaedia of adventure.\n\n\nTHE OAKUM PICKERS\n\nBy L. S. Gibson, Author of 'The Heart of Desire.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [July\n\nA story treating of modern social life, and incidentally of the\nhardships inflicted by certain phases of the Divorce Laws upon the\ninnocent partner in an unhappy marriage. The two very dissimilar women\nare well delineated and contrasted. Cynthia and Elizabeth, each in her\nown way, are so human and sympathetic that the reader can hardly fail to\nendorse the quotation on the title-page, 'I do not blame such women, but\nfor love they pick much oakum.' The men are drawn with no less strength\nand sincerity; while Lady Juliet--the brilliant, heartless, little\nmondaine who precipitates the tragedy of three lives--is a thumb-nail\nsketch of a fascinating, if worthless, type.\n\n\nHAUNTING SHADOWS; or, The House of Terror\n\nBy M. F. Hutchinson. Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nAn English girl, brought up under harsh surroundings, considers that\nopportunity suddenly opens the doors of Life. But these doors swing back\nto the accompaniment of sinister and terrible things. The very threshold\nof the new life is a place of terror. A harsh and inexorable fate forces\nher reluctant feet along a difficult way, where it seems as if none of\nthe joys of existence can lighten the darkness. The story shows with\nwhat results to herself and others Elaine Westcourt became an inmate of\nthe 'House of Terror.'\n\n\nA WILDERNESS WOOING\n\nBy W. Victor Cook, Author of 'Anton of the Alps.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nA thrilling story of the early French-Canadian pioneers, and the\nromantic adventures of a young heir to an English earldom. The novel,\nwhich is full of excitement and dramatic incident, presents a series of\nvivid pictures of the days when the great pathfinder La Salle was\ncarrying the lilies of France at utmost hazard into the Western wilds.\nThe love interest is strong, and attractively handled, and even such\nstrange-seeming affairs as the 'Ship of Women' and the marriage market\nat Quebec have their historical sanction.\n\n\nNANCE OF MANCHESTER\n\nBy Orme Agnus, Author of 'Sarah Fuldon's Lovers.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nDr. Anthony Belton called Nance 'the bravest girl in Manchester,' and he\nwas a good judge. She assumed maternal cares at an early age, and she\nlived for her children. Later she took up her residence in the South of\nEngland with Mrs. Nolliver, and there struck up a friendship with Miss\nDenise Martayne, a lady whose gifts had put her in an exalted if not a\nhappy position. It was a friendship that dispelled gloom and created\nhappiness. 'Nance of Manchester' is a tribute to the omnipotence of\nlove.\n\n\nA KINGDOM DIVIDED\n\nBy David Lisle, Author of 'A Painter of Souls.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nThis new novel by the author of A Painter of Souls may be described as\nactively controversial. It deals largely with poignant chapters in the\nlife of a young clergyman, and in its pages we find an amazing array of\nstartling facts connected with the march of Ritualism and the future of\nEngland. Side by side with the history of a tragic struggle we find\nglowing descriptions of scenery and of brilliant social life. The scene\nis laid in Devon, and, later on, at Biarritz.\n\n\nA WOMAN IN THE LIMELIGHT\n\nBy Charles Gleig, Author of 'The Nancy Manoeuvres.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nA Woman in the Limelight presents candidly a typical actress of the\nMusical Comedy Stage, treating of her career and her love affairs with a\nrealism that is convincing, but free of offence. The heroine allures and\nfor a long time retains the devotion and affection of a typical solitary\nLondoner, who is not less devoted to the bon motif; but the inevitable\nbreak occurs. There is plenty of humour and of first-hand knowledge in\nthis study of upper Bohemian life of to-day, and the characters are\nvividly drawn.\n\n\nBURIED ALIVE\n\nBy Arnold Bennett, Author of 'Clayhanger.' A New Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nThis is a reprint of one of Mr. Bennett's most delightful stories. It\nhas been out of print for some time.\n\n\nTHE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT\n\nBy the Author of 'The Wild Olive.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nThe anonymous author of those very interesting novels The Inner Shrine\nand The Wild Olive has in the new book dealt with a financial man's\ncase of conscience. The story, which is laid for the most part in\nBoston, illustrates the New England proverb, 'By the street called\nstraight'--should it not be strait?--'we come to the house called\nbeautiful.'\n\n\nIT HAPPENED IN SMYRNA\n\nBy Thomas Edgelow. Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nA vivid record of Eastern travel and adventure by a new author, who is\nintroduced to the novel-reading public by no less a sponsor than\nBaroness von Hutten--the authoress of Pam whose cheery preface in the\nform of an open letter will be found in Mr. Edgelow's first book. The\nstory opens on a German liner off the East African coast, and leads us\nvia Port Said to Smyrna. There and in the interior of Turkey-in-Asia\nare laid the scenes of Tony Paynter's adventures. It is in the Smyrna\nbazaars that he and Sylvia Sayers first encounter the Turk who is\ndestined to play so important a role in their two lives, and it is\nfrom Smyrna that, at last, they sail away when all has happily ended.\n\n\nDEVOTED SPARKES\n\nBy W. Pett Ridge, Author of 'Thanks to Sanderson.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nMr. Pett Ridge's new novel, an animated story of London life, concerns a\ngirl sent out to service by her stepmother. Taking the management of\nher career into her own hands, and holding the reins, goes first to a\nhouse on the north side of Regent's Park, afterwards to the\nneighbourhood of Berkeley Square; and her adventures in both situations,\nher acquaintances, and the person to whom she is devoted, are described\nin Mr. Pett Ridge's brightest manner.\n\n\nTHE ANGLO-INDIANS\n\nBy Alice Perrin, Author of 'The Charm.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nThe background of this novel is the contrast between official life in\nIndia and a pensioned existence in England. The theme of the story is\nthe affection, almost amounting to a passion, that the heroine feels\ntowards India, where she has spent part of her childhood and her early\ngirlhood; it leads to a love adventure involving the chief problem\nbetween the East and West.\n\n\nTHE HEATHER MOON\n\nBy C. N. and A. M. Williamson, Authors of 'The Lightning Conductor.'\nCrown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nThe story of a motor tour in Scotland and many quests. The drama shows\nus a girl in search of her mother, who has her own reasons for not\nwishing to be found by a pretty grown-up daughter. A man in search of\nsome lost illusions is also here, and the girl helps him to discover\nthat they are not illusions but splendid truths. Other seekers are a\nwoman in search of love, and her brother in search of materials for a\nnovel. In finding or failing to find these things a romance of a very\noriginal kind with many conflicting interests has been evolved.\n\n\nTHE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN ROSE\n\nBy John Oxenham, Author of 'The Long Road.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nBy 'The Golden Rose' the author means the Spirit of Romance--Love--and\nall that pertains thereto. The story tells how three very typical\nEnglishmen--surgeon--artist--barrister--encounter it in odd fashion\nwhile tramping the High Alps, and follow it up each in his own peculiar\nway to his destined end. Their various testings, mental, moral, and\nphysical, make the story, which is replete with the joy, the sorrow, and\nthe tragedy of life.\n\n\nOLIVIA MARY\n\nBy E. Maria Albanesi, Author of 'The Glad Heart.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nIn this, her first new novel to be published since The Glad Heart,\nMadame Albanesi strikes new ground. Although full of able and\nsympathetic characterization and that elusive charm which belongs to all\nher books, this story is unlike any that she has yet written. The author\ndeals with a problem which is the outcome of emotions at once simple,\neven ordinary, and yet at the same time profound and most touching.\n\n\nSALLY\n\nBy Dorothea Conyers, Author of 'Two Impostors and Tinker.' Crown 8vo,\n6s. [August\n\nA hunting novel of Irish life. The scene is laid in the wilds of\nConnemara, where a man suffering from melancholia starts hunting over\nthe mountains and the bogs. A seaside lodge close to him is taken by\nsome strangers, and the plot of the book then turns on the lonely man,\nwho has not spoken for years save when obliged to, being charmed from\nhis loneliness by Sally Stannard, and the subsequent complications which\nensue betwixt her and her various lovers.\n\n\nLAMORNA\n\nBy Mrs. A. Sidgwick, Author of 'The Severins.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [August\n\nThe story of two girls united by kinship and affection, but divided by\ncharacter and temperament. Lamorna, the elder one, has to look on while\nher cousin makes a tragedy of her life and successively becomes the\nvictim of a roue and a mischief-monger. Lamorna's own fate is at one\ntime so enmeshed with her cousin's that she requires all her sense and\nstrength to escape from the toils set by a man who would override all\nscruple and all honour to win her.\n\n\nTHE HAPPY FAMILY\n\nBy Frank Swinnerton, Author of 'The Young Idea.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[August\n\nThe Happy Family is a realistic comedy of life in London suburbs. The\nscenes are laid principally in Kentish Town, with excursions to\nHampstead, Highgate, and Gospel Oak; while unusual pictures of the\npublishing trade form a setting to the highly-important office-life of\nthe chief male characters. The interplay of diverse temperaments, the\nconflict between the ideal and the actual, are the basis of the story,\nwhich, however, is concerned with people rather than problems.\n\n\nDARNELEY PLACE\n\nBy Richard Bagot, Author of 'Donna Diana.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nThe scene of Mr. Richard Bagot's new novel is laid partly in England and\npartly in Italy. The story turns upon the double life led by a wealthy\nEnglish landowner in consequence of the abduction in his more youthful\ndays of the daughter of an old Italian house at a period when he had no\nprospect of succeeding to the position he subsequently attained.\nIncidentally, the novel deals with certain phases of Italian\nSpiritualism, and Mr. Bagot's readers will again resume their\nacquaintance with some of the most sympathetic characters described in\nhis previous work The Passport.\n\n\nA KNIGHT OF SPAIN\n\nBy Marjorie Bowen, Author of 'I Will Maintain.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[September\n\nThis story is laid in the stormy and sombre last half of the sixteenth\ncentury, and deals with the fortunes of the Royal House of Spain, the\nmost powerful, cruel, and tragic dynasty of modern Europe. The hero is\nCharles V's son, the gay, beautiful, and heroic Don Juan of Austria, who\nrose to an unparalleled renown in Christendom as the victor of Lepanto,\nintoxicated himself with visions of a crown and the rank of 'Infant' of\nSpain, and from the moment of his apogee was swiftly cast down by his\nbrother, Philip II, sent to undertake the impossible task of ruling the\nLow Countries, and left to die, forsaken, of a mysterious illness, at\nthe age of twenty-eight, in a camp outside Namur. The story embraces the\ngreater part of this Prince's short life, which was one glowing romance\nof love and war, played in the various splendours of Spain, Genoa,\nVenice, Naples, Sicily, Africa, Paris, and Brussels.\n\n\nREMITTANCE BILLY\n\nBy Ashton Hilliers, Author of 'Memoirs of a Person of Quality.' Crown\n8vo, 6s. [September\n\nIn this book Mr. Ashton Hilliers, again finding his material in the\nworld we live in, tells of the quite excusable muddling of a straight,\nbut rather stupid young gentleman, whose ignorance of 'business' is too\nseverely punished by 'business-like relations,' who regard him as\nhopeless, until he, saved by his love of nature, and befriended by\noutsiders who see stuff in the fellow, muddles through, to the surprise\nof his family and himself. There is a nice girl in it, and a militant\nsuffragette, but only two unfortunate marriages, and one of these comes\nright at last.\n\n\nHONOURS EASY\n\nBy Mrs. J. O. Arnold, Author of 'The Fiddler.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[September\n\nThe interest of this story centres in the will of a Professor Clifford,\nin which a large sum of money is left to the scientist who shall within\na specified time finish the testator's life research. Failing its\ncompletion the money is to revert to his stepdaughter. Humphrey Wyatt\nundertakes the task, incidentally falling in love with the stepdaughter,\nof whose relationship to the Professor he is unaware. What happens\nbefore and after he discovers her identity makes a charming romantic\nending to the book.\n\n\nLONDON LAVENDER: An Entertainment\n\nBy E. V. Lucas, Author of 'Mr. Ingleside.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nThis will make Mr. Lucas's fourth novel, or 'Entertainment' as he\nprefers to call his stories; and readers of the preceding three may find\nsome old acquaintances. The scene is again laid principally in London,\nand again an odd company of types converse and have urbane adventures.\n\n\nTHE HOLIDAY ROUND\n\nBy A. A. Milne, Author of 'The Day's Play.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nAmong our younger humorists none has so quickly found his way to the\nhearts of readers as 'A. A. M.' of Punch, whose special gift and\nprivilege it is to touch Wednesdays with irresponsibility and fun. He\nhas now brought together a further collection of his contributions to\nPunch, similar in character to The Day's Play published two years\nago. The history of the Rabbits is continued, and is supplemented by\n'Little Plays for Amateurs,' 'Stories of Successful Lives,' and many\nother of his recent dialogues and sketches.\n\n\nTHE ROYAL ROAD: Being the Story of the Life, Death, and Resurrection of\nEdward Hankey of London\n\nBy Alfred Ollivant, Author of 'Owd Bob.' Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nIn the pages of this book the reader follows the courageous spirit of a\nworking man down the alley of life. We hear his laughter; share his\njoys; and watch the heroic struggle of his soul against the circumstance\nthat is oppressing him. The book, remorseless in its representation of\nthings as they are, is strong in hope: for it finds its inspiration in\nthe Love that shall some day conquer the world. It is a story for all\nwho seek to succour our England in her distress. To read it is to\nunderstand something of her troubles of this present time, and to have a\nglimpse of the glory that shall be revealed in her. A stern book, it is\nto those who read aright a joyful one. For it is a prophecy of dawn.\n\n\nMARY PECHELL\n\nBy Mrs. Belloc Lowndes, Author of 'The Uttermost Farthing,' etc. Crown\n8vo, 6s. [September\n\nIn her new novel Mrs. Belloc Lowndes returns to the manner of Barbara\nRebell. It is an ample, spacious tale of English country-house life,\nlaid in a quiet Sussex village, dominated by the ruins of an ancient\ncastle, the scene of the last Lord Wolferstan's lawless but not ignoble\npassion. The writer shows all her old power of presenting the passion of\nlove in each of its Protean phases. Mary Pechell herself is a lovely,\ngracious figure, whose compelling charm the reader feels from the first.\nIn half-humorous, half-pathetic contrast is the middle-aged romance of\nMiss Rose Charnwood, touched with the tenderest sentiment, and not\nbelied by the happiness in store both for her and for Mary Pechell\nherself.\n\n\nTHE SILVER DRESS\n\nBy Mrs. George Norman, Author of 'Lady Fanny.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[September\n\nA novel describing the life of an attractive and still young woman whose\ncircumstances are those of so many others of her type in England, for\nshe has no acquaintances but women, is approaching 'the youth of middle\nage' without yet knowing love or any vital interest. Then, quite\nunexpectedly, adventure, and, subsequently, love coming to her, she\nlives for the first time.\n\n\nTHE SUBURBAN\n\nBy H. C. Bailey, Author of 'Storm and Treasure.' Crown 8vo, 6s.\n[September\n\nIn this novel Mr. H. C. Bailey, who is best known by his spirited\nhistorical romances, has deserted the past for the present. He tells a\nstory of modern London. The scenes are laid in poor middle-class life,\nin the worlds of journalism and theoretical revolutionaries and\nbusiness. His hero is one of the most ordinary of men, fighting his way\nup from the borders of poverty to respectable suburban comfort. With him\nis contrasted a much more brilliant creature, an apostle of the newest\ncreeds of revolt. Both have to do with the master of one of the great\nmodern organizations of finance and industry. In the heroine Mr. Bailey\nhas given us a study of one of the newest types of young women of the\nmiddle class.\n\n\nBETTY HARRIS\n\nBy Jennette Lee, Author of 'Uncle William' and 'Happy Island.' Crown\n8vo, 3s. 6d. [September\n\nBetty Harris, the only child of an American millionaire, strays one day\ninto the shop of a Greek fruit-dealer, Achilles Alexandrakis, and\nwatches the flight of a butterfly that the Greek liberates from its grey\ncocoon. The story is of the friendship that grew out of this meeting,\nand a rescue that grew out of the friendship. This blend of the spirit\nof the old world and the new, meeting in the grimy Chicago shop and\nfinding out their need of each other, gives the book a piquancy.\n\n\nTHE FOOL IN CHRIST\n\nBy Gerhart Hauptmann. Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nA translation of Hauptmann's most wonderful novel--a work that attempts\nto place the living human Christ before sophisticated twentieth-century\neyes. Whatever other effect it may have, the book cannot fail to cause\ndiscussion. In Quint, a figure at once pathetic and inspiring, the\nauthor has drawn a character whose divine charm should be felt by every\nreader.\n\n\nCHARLES THE GREAT\n\nBy Mrs. H. H. Penrose, Author of 'The Sheltered Woman,' etc. Crown 8vo,\n6s. [September\n\nCharles the Great is a very light comedy, and it therefore counts as a\nnew departure for Mrs. H. H. Penrose. Those who like their fiction to\nprovide them with 'a good laugh' will doubtless prefer this book, which\nis packed from cover to cover with mirth-provoking material, to those\nother books by the same author, in which humour acts chiefly as\ntrain-bearer to tragedy. The determination of Charles to invent for\nhimself a greatness which he is incapable of otherwise achieving, and\nits effect on his circle of intimates, are set forth in an exceedingly\nlively story, the plot of which it would be unfair to give away.\n\n\nTHE ACE OF HEARTS\n\nBy C. Thomas-Stanford. Crown 8vo, 6s. [September\n\nAn English Member of Parliament, spending a holiday in the Portuguese\nisland of Madeira in January 1912, becomes unwittingly privy to a plot\nagainst the Republican Government. The conspirators, fearful that he\nwill betray their secrets, make him prisoner; but he escapes to\nexperience a series of adventures on the rugged coast, and amid the wild\nmountains of the island. Through the tangled web of plot and\ncounter-plot runs the thread of a love story.\n\n\nMETHUEN & CO. LTD., 36 ESSEX STREET, LONDON, W.C.\n\n\n\n\nA SELECTION OF BOOKS\nPUBLISHED BY METHUEN\nAND CO. LTD., LONDON\n36 ESSEX STREET\nW.C.\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                             PAGE\n\nGeneral Literature                                              2\n  Ancient Cities                                               12\n  Antiquary's Books                                            12\n  Arden Shakespeare                                            13\n  Classics of Art                                              13\n  \"Complete\" Series                                            13\n  Connoisseur's Library                                        14\n  Handbooks of English Church History                          14\n  Handbooks of Theology                                        14\n  \"Home Life\" Series                                           14\n  Illustrated Pocket Library of Plain and Coloured Books       15\n  Leaders of Religion                                          15\n  Library of Devotion                                          16\n  Little Books on Art                                          16\n  Little Galleries                                             17\n  Little Guides                                                17\n  Little Library                                               18\n  Little Quarto Shakespeare                                    19\n  Miniature Library                                            19\n  New Library of Medicine                                      19\n  New Library of Music                                         19\n  Oxford Biographies                                           19\n  Three Plays                                                  20\n  States of Italy                                              20\n  Westminster Commentaries                                     20\n  \"Young\" Series                                               20\n  Shilling Library                                             21\nBooks for Travellers                                           21\nSome Books on Art                                              21\nSome Books on Italy                                            22\nFiction                                                        23\n  Two-Shilling Novels                                          27\n  Books for Boys and Girls                                     27\n  Shilling Novels                                              28\n  Novels of Alexandre Dumas                                    28\n  Sixpenny Books                                               29\n\n\nJULY 1912\n\n\n\n\nA SELECTION OF\nMessrs. Methuen's\nPUBLICATIONS\n\n\nIn this Catalogue the order is according to authors. An asterisk denotes\nthat the book is in the press.\n\nColonial Editions are published of all Messrs. Methuen's Novels issued\nat a price above 2s. 6d., and similar editions are published of some\nworks of General Literature. Colonial editions are only for circulation\nin the British Colonies and India.\n\nAll books marked net are not subject to discount, and cannot be bought\nat less than the published price. Books not marked net are subject to\nthe discount which the bookseller allows.\n\nMessrs. Methuen's books are kept in stock by all good booksellers. If\nthere is any difficulty in seeing copies, Messrs. Methuen will be very\nglad to have early information, and specimen copies of any books will be\nsent on receipt of the published price plus postage for net books, and\nof the published price for ordinary books.\n\nThis Catalogue contains only a selection of the more important books\npublished by Messrs. Methuen. A complete and illustrated catalogue of\ntheir publications may be obtained on application.\n\n\nAndrewes (Lancelot). PRECES PRIVATAE. Translated and edited, with Notes,\nby F. E. Brightman. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nAristotle. THE ETHICS. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by John\nBurnet. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nAtkinson (C. T.). A HISTORY OF GERMANY, 1715-1815. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.\nnet.\n\n\nAtkinson (T. D.). ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. Illustrated. Fcap. 8vo. 3s.\n6d. net.\n\nA GLOSSARY OF TERMS USED IN ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. Illustrated. Second\nEdition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\nENGLISH AND WELSH CATHEDRALS. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBain (F. W.). A DIGIT OF THE MOON: A Hindoo Love Story. Ninth Edition.\nFcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\nTHE DESCENT OF THE SUN: A Cycle of Birth. Fifth Edition. Fcap. 8vo.\n3s. 6d. net.\n\nA HEIFER OF THE DAWN. Seventh Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.\n\nIN THE GREAT GOD'S HAIR. Fifth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.\n\nA DRAUGHT OF THE BLUE. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.\n\nAN ESSENCE OF THE DUSK. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.\n\nAN INCARNATION OF THE SNOW. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\nnet.\n\nA MINE OF FAULTS. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\nTHE ASHES OF A GOD. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\n*BUBBLES OF THE FOAM. Fcap 4to. 5s. net. Also Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\nnet.\n\n\nBalfour (Graham). THE LIFE OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Illustrated.\nFifth Edition in one Volume. Cr. 8vo. Buckram, 6s. Also Fcap.\n8vo. 1s. net.\n\n\nBaring (Hon. Maurice). A YEAR IN RUSSIA. Second Edition. Demy 8vo.\n10s. 6d. net.\n\nLANDMARKS IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s.\nnet.\n\nRUSSIAN ESSAYS AND STORIES. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.\n\nTHE RUSSIAN PEOPLE. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.\n\n\nBaring-Gould (S.). THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. Illustrated. Second\nEdition. Royal 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\nTHE TRAGEDY OF THE CAESARS: A Study of the Characters of the Caesars of\nthe Julian and Claudian Houses. Illustrated. Seventh Edition. Royal\n8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\nTHE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW. With a Portrait. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n3s. 6d. *Also Fcap. 8vo. 1s. net.\n\nOLD COUNTRY LIFE. Illustrated. Fifth Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA BOOK OF CORNWALL. Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA BOOK OF DARTMOOR. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA BOOK OF DEVON. Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBaring-Gould (S.) and Sheppard (H. Fleetwood). A GARLAND OF COUNTRY\nSONG. English Folk Songs with their Traditional Melodies. Demy 4to.\n6s.\n\nSONGS OF THE WEST: Folk Songs of Devon and Cornwall. Collected from the\nMouths of the People. New and Revised Edition, under the musical\neditorship of Cecil J. Sharp. Large Imperial 8vo. 5s. net.\n\n\nBarker (E.). THE POLITICAL THOUGHT OF PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. Demy 8vo.\n10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBastable (C. F.). THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n2s. 6d.\n\n\nBeckford (Peter). THOUGHTS ON HUNTING. Edited by J. Otho Paget.\nIllustrated. Third Edition. Demy 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBelloc (H.). PARIS. Illustrated. Second Edition, Revised. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nHILLS AND THE SEA. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUBJECTS. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nON EVERYTHING. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nON SOMETHING. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nFIRST AND LAST. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nMARIE ANTOINETTE. Illustrated. Third Edition. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.\n\nTHE PYRENEES. Illustrated. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBennett (W. H.). A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s.\n6d.\n\n\nBennett (W. H.) and Adeney (W. F.). A BIBLICAL INTRODUCTION. With a\nconcise Bibliography. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. Also in Two\nVolumes. Cr. 8vo. Each 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBenson (Archbishop). GOD'S BOARD. Communion Addresses. Second Edition.\nFcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBicknell (Ethel E.). PARIS AND HER TREASURES. Illustrated. Fcap. 8vo.\nRound corners. 5s. net.\n\n\nBlake (William). ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE BOOK OF JOB. With a General\nIntroduction by Laurence Binyon. Illustrated. Quarto. 21s. net.\n\n\nBloemfontein (Bishop of). ARA COELI: An Essay in Mystical Theology.\nFifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\nFAITH AND EXPERIENCE. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBowden (E. M.). THE IMITATION OF BUDDHA: Quotations from Buddhist\nLiterature for each Day in the Year. Sixth Edition. Cr. 16mo. 2s.\n6d.\n\n\nBrabant (F. G.). RAMBLES IN SUSSEX. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBradley (A. G.). ROUND ABOUT WILTSHIRE. Illustrated. Second Edition.\nCr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE ROMANCE OF NORTHUMBERLAND. Illustrated. Second Edition. Demy\n8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBraid (James). ADVANCED GOLF. Illustrated. Seventh Edition. Demy\n8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBrodrick (Mary) and Morton (A. Anderson). A CONCISE DICTIONARY OF\nEGYPTIAN ARCHAEOLOGY. A Handbook for Students and Travellers.\nIllustrated. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\n\nBrowning. (Robert). PARACELSUS. Edited with an Introduction, Notes, and\nBibliography by Margaret L. Lee and Katharine B. Locock. Fcap. 8vo.\n3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nBuckton (A. M.). EAGER HEART: A Christmas Mystery-Play. Tenth Edition.\nCr. 8vo. 1s. net.\n\n\nBull (Paul). GOD AND OUR SOLDIERS. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBurns (Robert). THE POEMS AND SONGS. Edited by Andrew Lang and W. A.\nCraigie. With Portrait. Third Edition. Wide Demy 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCalman (W. T.). THE LIFE OF CRUSTACEA. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCarlyle (Thomas). THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Edited by C. R. L. Fletcher.\nThree Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 18s.\n\nTHE LETTERS AND SPEECHES OF OLIVER CROMWELL. With an Introduction by C.\nH. Firth, and Notes and Appendices by S. C. Lomas. Three Volumes.\nDemy 8vo. 18s. net.\n\n\nCelano (Brother Thomas of). THE LIVES OF S. FRANCIS OF ASSISI.\nTranslated by A. G. Ferrers Howell. With a Frontispiece. Cr. 8vo. 5s.\nnet.\n\n\nChambers (Mrs. Lambert). LAWN TENNIS FOR LADIES. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo.\n2s. 6d. net.\n\n\n*Chesser, (Elizabeth Sloan). PERFECT HEALTH FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN. Cr.\n8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nChesterfield (Lord). THE LETTERS OF THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD TO HIS SON.\nEdited, with an Introduction by C. Strachey, and Notes by A. Calthrop.\nTwo Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 12s.\n\n\nChesterton (G. K.). CHARLES DICKENS. With two Portraits in Photogravure.\nSeventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nALL THINGS CONSIDERED. Sixth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nTREMENDOUS TRIFLES. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nALARMS AND DISCURSIONS. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nTHE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\n*TYPES OF MEN. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\n\nClausen (George). SIX LECTURES ON PAINTING. Illustrated. Third\nEdition. Large Post 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.\n\nAIMS AND IDEALS IN ART. Eight Lectures delivered to the Students of the\nRoyal Academy of Arts. Illustrated. Second Edition. Large Post 8vo.\n5s. net.\n\n\nClutton-Brock (A.). SHELLEY: THE MAN AND THE POET. Illustrated. Demy\n8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\n\nCobb (W. F.). THE BOOK OF PSALMS. With an Introduction and Notes. Demy\n8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nConrad (Joseph). THE MIRROR OF THE SEA: Memories and Impressions. Third\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCoolidge (W. A. B.). THE ALPS: IN NATURE AND HISTORY. Illustrated. Demy\n8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\n\n*Correvon (H.). ALPINE FLORA. Translated and enlarged by E. W.\nClayforth. Illustrated. Square Demy 8vo. 16s. net.\n\n\nCoulton (G. G.). CHAUCER AND HIS ENGLAND. Illustrated. Second Edition.\nDemy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nCowper (William). THE POEMS. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by J.\nC. Bailey. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nCox (J. C.). RAMBLES IN SURREY. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCrowley (Ralph H.). THE HYGIENE OF SCHOOL LIFE. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo.\n3s. 6d. net.\n\n\nDavis (H. W. C.). ENGLAND UNDER THE NORMANS AND ANGEVINS: 1066-1272.\nThird Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\nDawbarn (Charles). FRANCE AND THE FRENCH. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 10s.\n6d. net.\n\n\nDearmer (Mabel). A CHILD'S LIFE OF CHRIST. Illustrated. Large Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\n\nDeffand (Madame du). LETTRES DE MADAME DU DEFFAND A HORACE WALPOLE.\nEdited, with Introduction, Notes, and Index, by Mrs. Paget Toynbee. In\nThree Volumes. Demy 8vo. L3 3s. net.\n\n\nDickinson (G. L.). THE GREEK VIEW OF LIFE. Seventh Edition. Crown\n8vo. 2s. 6d. net.\n\n\nDitchfield (P. H.). THE PARISH CLERK. Illustrated. Third Edition.\nDemy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\nTHE OLD-TIME PARSON. Illustrated. Second Edition. 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Angeli. Illustrated. Demy\n8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\nHome Life in Italy. Lina Duff Gordon. Illustrated. Second Edition.\nDemy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\nSkies Italian: A Little Breviary for Travellers in Italy. Ruth S.\nPhelps. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.\n\n*A Wanderer in Florence. E. V. Lucas. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*United Italy. F. M. Underwood. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n\n\n\nPart III.--A Selection of Works of Fiction\n\n\nAlbanesi (E. Maria). SUSANNAH AND ONE OTHER. Fourth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nLOVE AND LOUISA. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE BROWN EYES OF MARY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nI KNOW A MAIDEN. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE INVINCIBLE AMELIA: or, The Polite Adventuress. Third Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nTHE GLAD HEART. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*OLIVIA MARY. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBagot (Richard). A ROMAN MYSTERY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE PASSPORT. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nANTHONY CUTHBERT. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nLOVE'S PROXY. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nDONNA DIANA. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nCASTING OF NETS. Twelfth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE HOUSE OF SERRAVALLE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBailey (H. C.). STORM AND TREASURE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE LONELY QUEEN. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBaring-Gould (S.). IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nMARGERY OF QUETHER. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE QUEEN OF LOVE. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nJACQUETTA. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nKITTY ALONE. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nNOEMI. Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE BROOM-SQUIRE. Illustrated. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nDARTMOOR IDYLLS. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nGUAVAS THE TINNER. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBLADYS OF THE STEWPONEY. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nPABO THE PRIEST. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nWINEFRED. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nROYAL GEORGIE. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nCHRIS OF ALL SORTS. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nIN DEWISLAND. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nMRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBarr (Robert). IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE COUNTESS TEKLA. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE MUTABLE MANY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBegbie (Harold). THE CURIOUS AND DIVERTING ADVENTURES OF SIR JOHN\nSPARROW, Bart.; or, The Progress of an Open Mind. Second Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBelloc (H.). EMMANUEL BURDEN, MERCHANT. Illustrated. Second Edition.\nCr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA CHANGE IN THE CABINET. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBelloc-Lowndes (Mrs.). THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR. Fourth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\n*MARY PECHELL. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBennett (Arnold). CLAYHANGER. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE CARD. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nHILDA LESSWAYS. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*BURIED ALIVE. A New Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA MAN FROM THE NORTH. A New Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBenson (E. F.). DODO: A Detail of the Day. Sixteenth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBirmingham (George A.). SPANISH GOLD. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE SEARCH PARTY. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nLALAGE'S LOVERS. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nBowen (Marjorie). I WILL MAINTAIN. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nDEFENDER OF THE FAITH. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*A KNIGHT OF SPAIN. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE QUEST OF GLORY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nGOD AND THE KING. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nClifford (Mrs. W. K.). THE GETTING WELL OF DOROTHY. Illustrated. Second\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\n\nConrad (Joseph). THE SECRET AGENT: A Simple Tale. Fourth Ed. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nA SET OF SIX. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nUNDER WESTERN EYES. Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\n*Conyers (Dorothea.). THE LONELY MAN. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCorelli (Marie). A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS. Thirty-first Ed. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nVENDETTA; or, The Story of one Forgotten. Twenty-ninth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nTHELMA: A Norwegian Princess. Forty-second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nARDATH: The Story of a Dead Self. Twentieth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE SOUL OF LILITH. Seventeenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nWORMWOOD: A Drama of Paris. Eighteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBARABBAS: A Dream of the World's Tragedy. Forty-sixth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE SORROWS OF SATAN. Fifty-seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE MASTER-CHRISTIAN. Thirteenth Edition. 179th Thousand. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTEMPORAL POWER: A Study in Supremacy. Second Edition. 150th\nThousand. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nGOD'S GOOD MAN: A Simple Love Story. Fifteenth Edition. 154th\nThousand. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nHOLY ORDERS: the Tragedy of a Quiet Life. Second Edition. 120th\nThousand. Crown 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE MIGHTY ATOM. Twenty-ninth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBOY: a Sketch. Twelfth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nCAMEOS. Fourteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE LIFE EVERLASTING. Fifth Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCrockett (S. R.). LOCHINVAR. Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTHE STANDARD BEARER. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nCroker (B. M.). THE OLD CANTONMENT. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nJOHANNA. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE HAPPY VALLEY. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA NINE DAYS' WONDER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nPEGGY OF THE BARTONS. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nANGEL. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nKATHERINE THE ARROGANT. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBABES IN THE WOOD. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nDanby (Frank.). JOSEPH IN JEOPARDY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nDoyle (Sir A. Conan). ROUND THE RED LAMP. Twelfth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\n\nFenn (G. Manville). SYD BELTON: The Boy who would not go to Sea.\nIllustrated. Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\n\nFindlater (J. H.). THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. Fifth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE LADDER TO THE STARS. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nFindlater (Mary). A NARROW WAY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nOVER THE HILLS. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE ROSE OF JOY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA BLIND BIRD'S NEST. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nFry (B. and C. B.). A MOTHER'S SON. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nHarraden (Beatrice). IN VARYING MOODS. Fourteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nHILDA STRAFFORD and THE REMITTANCE MAN. Twelfth Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nINTERPLAY. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nHichens (Robert). THE PROPHET OF BERKELEY SQUARE. Second Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nTONGUES OF CONSCIENCE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE WOMAN WITH THE FAN. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBYEWAYS. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE GARDEN OF ALLAH. Twenty-first Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE BLACK SPANIEL. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE CALL OF THE BLOOD. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBARBARY SHEEP. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nTHE DWELLER ON THE THRESHOLD. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nHope (Anthony). THE GOD IN THE CAR. Eleventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA CHANGE OF AIR. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA MAN OF MARK. Seventh Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nPHROSO. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nSIMON DALE. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE KING'S MIRROR. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nQUISANTE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE DOLLY DIALOGUES. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTALES OF TWO PEOPLE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE GREAT MISS DRIVER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nMRS. MAXON PROTESTS. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nHutten (Baroness von). THE HALO. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\n'Inner Shrine' (Author of the). THE WILD OLIVE. Third Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\n\nJacobs (W. W.). MANY CARGOES. Thirty-second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s.\n6d. *Also Illustrated in colour. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.\n\nSEA URCHINS. Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nA MASTER OF CRAFT. Illustrated. Ninth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nLIGHT FREIGHTS. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nTHE SKIPPER'S WOOING. Eleventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nAT SUNWICH PORT. Illustrated. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nDIALSTONE LANE. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nODD CRAFT. Illustrated. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nTHE LADY OF THE BARGE. Illustrated. Ninth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s.\n6d.\n\nSALTHAVEN. Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nSAILORS' KNOTS. Illustrated. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nSHORT CRUISES. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\n\nJames (Henry). THE GOLDEN BOWL. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nLe Queux (William). THE HUNCHBACK OF WESTMINSTER. Third Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE CLOSED BOOK. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. Illustrated. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nBEHIND THE THRONE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nLondon (Jack). WHITE FANG. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nLucas (E. V.). LISTENER'S LURE: An Oblique Narration. Eighth Edition.\nFcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nOVER BEMERTON'S: An Easy-going Chronicle. Ninth Edition. Fcap. 8vo.\n5s.\n\nMR. INGLESIDE. Eighth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.\n\nLONDON LAVENDER. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nLyall (Edna). DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. 44th Thousand. Cr. 8vo.\n3s. 6d.\n\n\nMacnaughtan (S.). THE FORTUNE OF CHRISTINA M'NAB. Fifth Edition. Cr.\n8vo. 6s.\n\nPETER AND JANE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nMalet (Lucas). A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTHE WAGES OF SIN. Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE CARISSIMA. Fifth Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE GATELESS BARRIER. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nMaxwell (W. B.). THE RAGGED MESSENGER. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE GUARDED FLAME. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nODD LENGTHS. Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nHILL RISE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE COUNTESS OF MAYBURY: Between You and I. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTHE REST CURE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nMilne (A. A.). THE DAY'S PLAY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*THE HOLIDAY ROUND. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nMontague (C. E.). A HIND LET LOOSE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nMorrison (Arthur). TALES OF MEAN STREETS. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nA CHILD OF THE JAGO. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE HOLE IN THE WALL. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nDIVERS VANITIES. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nOllivant (Alfred). OWD BOB, THE GREY DOG OF KENMUIR. With a\nFrontispiece. Eleventh Ed. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE TAMING OF JOHN BLUNT. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*THE ROYAL ROAD. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nOnions (Oliver). GOOD BOY SELDOM: A Romance of Advertisement. Second\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nOppenheim (E. Phillips). MASTER OF MEN. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTHE MISSING DELORA. Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nOrczy (Baroness). FIRE IN STUBBLE. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n\n\nOxenham (John). A WEAVER OF WEBS. Illustrated. Fifth Ed. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nPROFIT AND LOSS. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE LONG ROAD. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE SONG OF HYACINTH, and Other Stories. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nMY LADY OF SHADOWS. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nLAURISTONS. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE COIL OF CARNE. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN ROSE. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nParker (Gilbert). PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nMRS. FALCHION. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. Illustrated. Tenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nWHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC: The Story of a Lost Napoleon. Seventh\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nAN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH. The Last Adventures of 'Pretty Pierre.'\nFifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE BATTLE OF THE STRONG: a Romance of Two Kingdoms. Illustrated.\nSeventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nNORTHERN LIGHTS. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nPasture (Mrs. Henry de la). THE TYRANT. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\n\nPemberton (Max). THE FOOTSTEPS OF A THRONE. Illustrated. Fourth\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nI CROWN THEE KING. Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nLOVE THE HARVESTER: A Story of the Shires. Illustrated. Third Edition.\nCr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN HEART. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nPerrin (Alice). THE CHARM. Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*THE ANGLO-INDIANS. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nPhillpotts (Eden). LYING PROPHETS. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nCHILDREN OF THE MIST. Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE HUMAN BOY. With a Frontispiece. Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nSONS OF THE MORNING. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE RIVER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE AMERICAN PRISONER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nKNOCK AT A VENTURE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE PORTREEVE. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE POACHER'S WIFE. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE STRIKING HOURS. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nDEMETER'S DAUGHTER. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nPickthall (Marmaduke). SAID THE FISHERMAN. Eighth Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\n\n'Q' (A. T. Quiller Couch). THE WHITE WOLF. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.\n6s.\n\nTHE MAYOR OF TROY. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nMERRY-GARDEN and other Stories. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nMAJOR VIGOUREUX. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nRidge (W. Pett). ERB. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nA SON OF THE STATE. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nA BREAKER OF LAWS. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\nMRS. GALER'S BUSINESS. Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHE WICKHAMSES. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nNAME OF GARLAND. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nSPLENDID BROTHER. Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nNINE TO SIX-THIRTY. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\nTHANKS TO SANDERSON. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n*DEVOTED SPARKES. Cr. 8vo. 6s.\n\n\nRussell (W. Clark). MASTER ROCKAFELLAR'S VOYAGE. Illustrated. Fourth\nEdition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.\n\n\nSidgwick (Mrs. Alfred). THE KINSMAN. Illustrated. 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Double Volumes, 1s.\n\n     Acte.\n     Adventures of Captain Pamphile, The.\n     Amaury.\n     Bird of Fate, The.\n     Black Tulip, The.\n     Black: the Story of a Dog.\n     Castle of Eppstein, The.\n     Catherine Blum.\n     Cecile.\n     Chatelet, The.\n     Chevalier D'Harmental, The. (Double volume.)\n     Chicot the Jester.\n     Chicot Redivivus.\n     Comte de Montgommery, The.\n     Conscience.\n     Convict's Son, The.\n     Corsican Brothers, The; and Otho the Archer.\n     Crop-Eared Jacquot.\n     Dom Gorenflot.\n     Duc d'Anjou, The.\n     Fatal Combat, The.\n     Fencing Master, The.\n     Fernande.\n     Gabriel Lambert.\n     Georges.\n     Great Massacre, The.\n     Henri de Navarre.\n     Helene de Chaverny.\n     Horoscope, The.\n     Leone-Leona.\n     Louise de la Valliere. (Double volume.)\n     Man in the Iron Mask, The. (Double volume.)\n     Maitre Adam.\n     Mouth of Hell, The.\n     Nanon. (Double volume.)\n     Olympia.\n     Pauline; Pascal Bruno; and Bontekoe.\n     Pere la Ruine.\n     Porte Saint-Antoine, The.\n     Prince of Thieves, The.\n     Reminiscences of Antony, The.\n     St. Quentin.\n     Robin Hood.\n     Samuel Gelb.\n     Snowball and the Sultanetta, The.\n     Sylvandire.\n     Taking of Calais, The.\n     Tales of the Supernatural.\n     Tales of Strange Adventure.\n     Tales of Terror.\n     Three Musketeers, The. (Double volume.)\n     Tourney of the Rue St. Antoine.\n     Tragedy of Nantes, The.\n     Twenty Years After. (Double volume.)\n     Wild-Duck Shooter, The.\n     Wolf-Leader, The.\n\n\nMethuen's Sixpenny Books.\n\nMedium 8vo.\n\n\nAlbanesi (E. Maria). LOVE AND LOUISA.\n\nI KNOW A MAIDEN.\n\nTHE BLUNDER OF AN INNOCENT.\n\nPETER A PARASITE.\n\n*THE INVINCIBLE AMELIA.\n\n\nAnstey (F.). A BAYARD OF BENGAL.\n\n\nAusten (J.). PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.\n\n\nBagot (Richard). A ROMAN MYSTERY.\n\nCASTING OF NETS.\n\nDONNA DIANA.\n\n\nBalfour (Andrew). BY STROKE OF SWORD.\n\n\nBaring-Gould (S.). FURZE BLOOM.\n\nCHEAP JACK ZITA.\n\nKITTY ALONE.\n\nURITH.\n\nTHE BROOM SQUIRE.\n\nIN THE ROAR OF THE SEA.\n\nNOEMI.\n\nA BOOK OF FAIRY TALES. Illustrated.\n\nLITTLE TU'PENNY.\n\nWINEFRED.\n\nTHE FROBISHERS.\n\nTHE QUEEN OF LOVE.\n\nARMINELL.\n\nBLADYS OF THE STEWPONEY.\n\nCHRIS OF ALL SORTS.\n\n\nBarr (Robert). JENNIE BAXTER.\n\nIN THE MIDST OF ALARMS.\n\nTHE COUNTESS TEKLA.\n\nTHE MUTABLE MANY.\n\n\nBenson (E. F.). DODO.\n\nTHE VINTAGE.\n\n\nBronte (Charlotte). SHIRLEY.\n\n\nBrownell (C. L.). THE HEART OF JAPAN.\n\n\nBurton (J. Bloundelle). ACROSS THE SALT SEAS.\n\n\nCaffyn (Mrs.). ANNE MAULEVERER.\n\n\nCapes (Bernard). THE GREAT SKENE MYSTERY.\n\n\nClifford (Mrs. W. K.). A FLASH OF SUMMER.\n\nMRS. KEITH'S CRIME.\n\n\nCorbett (Julian). A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS.\n\n\nCroker (Mrs. B. M.). ANGEL.\n\nA STATE SECRET.\n\nPEGGY OF THE BARTONS.\n\nJOHANNA.\n\n\nDante (Alighieri). THE DIVINE COMEDY (Cary).\n\n\nDoyle (Sir A. Conan). ROUND THE RED LAMP.\n\n\nDuncan (Sara Jeannette).THOSE DELIGHTFUL AMERICANS.\n\n\nEliot (George). THE MILL ON THE FLOSS.\n\n\nFindlater (Jane H.). THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE.\n\n\nGallon (Tom). RICKERBY'S FOLLY.\n\n\nGaskell (Mrs.). CRANFORD.\n\nMARY BARTON.\n\nNORTH AND SOUTH.\n\n\nGerard (Dorothea). HOLY MATRIMONY.\n\nTHE CONQUEST OF LONDON.\n\nMADE OF MONEY.\n\n\nGissing (G.). THE TOWN TRAVELLER.\n\nTHE CROWN OF LIFE.\n\n\nGlanville (Ernest). THE INCA'S TREASURE.\n\nTHE KLOOF BRIDE.\n\n\nGleig (Charles). BUNTER'S CRUISE.\n\n\nGrimm (The Brothers). GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES.\n\n\nHope (Anthony). A MAN OF MARK.\n\nA CHANGE OF AIR.\n\nTHE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO.\n\nPHROSO.\n\nTHE DOLLY DIALOGUES.\n\n\nHornung (E. W.). DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES.\n\n\nHyne (C. J. C.). PRINCE RUPERT THE BUCCANEER.\n\n\nIngraham (J. H.). THE THRONE OF DAVID.\n\n\nLe Queux (W.). THE HUNCHBACK OF WESTMINSTER.\n\nTHE CROOKED WAY.\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.\n\n\nLevett-Yeats (S. K.). THE TRAITOR'S WAY.\n\nORRAIN.\n\n\nLinton (E. Lynn). THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON.\n\n\nLyall (Edna). DERRICK VAUGHAN.\n\n\nMalet (Lucas). THE CARISSIMA.\n\nA COUNSEL OF PERFECTION.\n\n\nMann (Mrs. M. E.). MRS. PETER HOWARD.\n\nA LOST ESTATE.\n\nTHE CEDAR STAR.\n\nTHE PATTEN EXPERIMENT.\n\nA WINTER'S TALE.\n\n\nMarchmont (A. W.). MISER HOADLEY'S SECRET.\n\nA MOMENT'S ERROR.\n\n\nMarryat (Captain). PETER SIMPLE.\n\nJACOB FAITHFUL.\n\n\nMarch (Richard). A METAMORPHOSIS.\n\nTHE TWICKENHAM PEERAGE.\n\nTHE GODDESS.\n\nTHE JOSS.\n\n\nMason (A. E. W.). CLEMENTINA.\n\n\nMathers (Helen). HONEY.\n\nGRIFF OF GRIFFITHSCOURT.\n\nSAM'S SWEETHEART.\n\nTHE FERRYMAN.\n\n\nMeade (Mrs. L. T.). DRIFT.\n\n\nMiller (Esther). LIVING LIES.\n\n\nMitford (Bertram). THE SIGN OF THE SPIDER.\n\n\nMontresor (F. F.). THE ALIEN.\n\n\nMorrison (Arthur). THE HOLE IN THE WALL.\n\n\nNesbit (E.). THE RED HOUSE.\n\n\nNorris (W. E.). HIS GRACE.\n\nGILES INGILBY.\n\nTHE CREDIT OF THE COUNTY.\n\nLORD LEONARD THE LUCKLESS.\n\nMATTHEW AUSTEN.\n\nCLARISSA FURIOSA.\n\n\nOliphant (Mrs.). THE LADY'S WALK.\n\nSIR ROBERT'S FORTUNE.\n\nTHE PRODIGALS\n\nTHE TWO MARYS.\n\n\nOppenheim (E. P.). MASTER OF MEN.\n\n\nParker (Sir Gilbert). THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES.\n\nWHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC.\n\nTHE TRAIL OF THE SWORD.\n\n\nPemberton (Max). THE FOOTSTEPS OF A THRONE.\n\nI CROWN THEE KING.\n\n\nPhillpotts (Eden). THE HUMAN BOY.\n\nCHILDREN OF THE MIST.\n\nTHE POACHER'S WIFE.\n\nTHE RIVER.\n\n\n'Q' (A. T. Quiller Couch). THE WHITE WOLF.\n\n\nRidge (W. Pett). A SON OF THE STATE.\n\nLOST PROPERTY.\n\nGEORGE and THE GENERAL.\n\nA BREAKER OF LAWS.\n\nERB.\n\n\nRussell (W. Clark). ABANDONED.\n\nA MARRIAGE AT SEA.\n\nMY DANISH SWEETHEART.\n\nHIS ISLAND PRINCESS.\n\n\nSergeant (Adeline). THE MASTER OF BEECHWOOD.\n\nBALBARA'S MONEY.\n\nTHE YELLOW DIAMOND.\n\nTHE LOVE THAT OVERCAME.\n\n\nSidgwick (Mrs. Alfred). THE KINSMAN.\n\n\nSurtees (R. S.). HANDLEY CROSS.\n\nMR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR.\n\nASK MAMMA.\n\n\nWalford (Mrs. L. B.). MR. SMITH.\n\nCOUSINS.\n\nTHE BABY'S GRANDMOTHER.\n\nTROUBLESOME DAUGHTERS.\n\n\nWallace (General Lew). BEN-HUR.\n\nTHE FAIR GOD.\n\n\nWatson (H. B. Marriott). THE ADVENTURERS.\n\nCAPTAIN FORTUNE.\n\n\nWeekes (A. B.). PRISONERS OF WAR.\n\n\nWells (H. G.). THE SEA LADY.\n\n\nWhitby (Beatrice). THE RESULT OF AN ACCIDENT.\n\n\nWhite (Percy). A PASSIONATE PILGRIM.\n\n\nWilliamson (Mrs. C. N.). PAPA.\n\n\nPRINTED BY\nUNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED,\nLONDON AND WOKING.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:\n\n\nThe word \"earth-bound\" appears with and without an hyphen. The word has\nbeen spelled as in the original.\n\nVariations in spelling appear as in the original. Examples include the\nfollowing:\n\n     lechugilla/lechuguillas\n     RUBA'IYAT/Rubaiyat\n     werewolfes/werwolfs/werwolves/WEREWOLVES\n\nThe following words use an oe ligature in the original:\n\n     asafoetida\n     COELI\n     Manoeuvres\n\nThe name \"E. OE. Somerville\" uses an oe ligature in the original.\n\nEllipses appear as in the original.","title":"Werwolves","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":79337}