THE ORIGIN OF THE SCANDINAVIAN WERE-WOLF.
Advantage of the Study of Norse Literature—Bear and Wolf-skin
Dresses—The Berserkir—Their Rage—The Story of Thorir—Passages from the
Aigla—The Evening Wolf—Skallagrim and his Son—Derivation of the Words
Hamr and Vargr—Laws affecting Outlaws—“To become a
Boar”—Recapitulation.
One Of the great advantages of the study of old Norse or Icelandic
literature is the insight given by it into the origin of world-wide
superstitions. Norse tradition is transparent as glacier ice, and its
origin is as unmistakable.
Mediæval mythology, rich and gorgeous, is a compound like Corinthian
brass, into which many pure ores have been fused, or it is a full
turbid river drawn from numerous feeders, which had their sources in
remote climes. It is a blending of primæval Keltic, Teutonic,
Scandinavian, Italic, and Arab traditions, each adding a beauty, each
yielding a charm, bat each accretion rendering the analysis more
difficult.
Pacciuchelli says:—“The Anio flows into the Tiber; pure as crystal it
meets the tawny stream, and is lost in it, so that there is no more
Anio, but the united stream is all Tiber.” So is it with each tributary
to the tide of mediæval mythology. The moment it has blended its waters
with the great and onward rolling flood, it is impossible to detect it
with certainty; it has swollen the stream, but has lost its own
identity. If we would analyse a particular myth, we must not go at once
to the body of mediæval superstition, but strike at one of the
tributaries before its absorption. This we shall proceed to do, and in
selecting Norse mythology, we come upon abundant material, pointing
naturally to the spot whence it has been derived, as glacial moraines
indicate the direction which they have taken, and point to the
mountains whence they have fallen. It will not be difficult for us to
arrive at the origin of the Northern belief in were-wolves, and the
data thus obtained will be useful in assisting us to elucidate much
that would otherwise prove obscure in mediæval tradition.
Among the old Norse, it was the custom for certain warriors to dress in
the skins of the beasts they had slain, and thus to give themselves an
air of ferocity, calculated to strike terror into the hearts of their
foes.
Such dresses are mentioned in some Sagas, without there being any
supernatural qualities attached to them. For instance, in the Njála
there is mention of a man _i geitheðni_, in goatskin dress. Much in the
same way do we hear of Harold Harfagr having in his company a band of
berserkir, who were all dressed in wolf-skins, _ulfheðnir_, and this
expression, wolf-skin coated, is met with as a man’s name. Thus in the
Holmverja Saga, there is mention of a Björn, “son of _Ulfheðin_,
wolfskin coat, son of _Ulfhamr_, wolf-shaped, son of _Ulf_, wolf, son
of _Ulfhamr_, wolf-shaped, who could change forms.”
But the most conclusive passage is in the Vatnsdæla Saga, and is as
follows:—“Those berserkir who were called _ulfheðnir_, had got
wolf-skins over their mail coats” (c. xvi.) In like manner the word
_berserkr_, used of a man possessed of superhuman powers, and subject.
to accesses of diabolical fury, was originally applied to one of those
doughty champions who went about in bear-sarks, or habits made of
bear-skin over their armour. I am well aware that Björn Halldorson’s
derivation of berserkr, bare of sark, or destitute of clothing, has
been hitherto generally received, but Sveibjörn Egilsson, an
indisputable authority, rejects this derivation as untenable, and
substitutes for it that which I have adopted.
It may be well imagined that a wolf or a bear-skin would make a warm
and comfortable great-coat to a man, whose manner of living required
him to defy all weathers, and that the dress would not only give him an
appearance of grimness and ferocity, likely to produce an unpleasant
emotion in the breast of a foe, but also that the thick fur might prove
effectual in deadening the blows rained on him in conflict.
The berserkr was an object of aversion and terror to the peaceful
inhabitants of the land, his avocation being to challenge quiet country
farmers to single combat. As the law of the land stood in Norway, a man
who declined to accept a challenge, forfeited all his possessions, even
to the wife of his bosom, as a poltroon unworthy of the protection of
the law, and every item of his property passed into the hands of his
challenger. The berserkr accordingly had the unhappy man at his mercy.
If he slew him, the farmer’s possessions became his, and if the poor
fellow declined to fight, he lost all legal right to his inheritance. A
berserkr would invite himself to any feast, and contribute his quota to
the hilarity of the entertainment, by snapping the backbone, or
cleaving the skull, of some merrymaker who incurred his displeasure, or
whom he might single out to murder, for no other reason than a desire
to keep his hand in practice.
It may well be imagined that popular superstition went along with the
popular dread of these wolf-and-bear-skinned rovers, and that they were
believed to be endued with the force, as they certainly were with the
ferocity, of the beasts whose skins they wore.
Nor would superstition stop there, but the imagination of the trembling
peasants would speedily invest these unscrupulous disturbers of the
public peace with the attributes hitherto appropriated to trolls and
jötuns.
The incident mentioned in the Völsung Saga, of the sleeping men being
found with their wolf-skins hanging to the wall above their heads, is
divested of its improbability, if we regard these skins as worn over
their armour, and the marvellous in the whole story is reduced to a
minimum, when we suppose that Sigmund and Sinfjötli stole these for the
purpose of disguising themselves, whilst they lived a life of violence
and robbery.
In a similar manner the story of the northern “Beauty and Beast,” in
Hrolf’s Saga Kraka, is rendered less improbable, on the supposition
that Björn was living as an outlaw among the mountain fastnesses in a
bearskin dress, which would effectually disguise him—_all but his
eyes_—which would gleam out of the sockets in his hideous visor,
unmistakably human. His very name, Björn, signifies a bear; and these
two circumstances may well have invested a kernel of historic fact with
all the romance of fable; and if divested of these supernatural
embellishments, the story would resolve itself into the very simple
fact of there having been a King Hring of the Updales, who was at
variance with his son, and whose son took to the woods, and lived a
berserkr life, in company with his mistress, till he was captured and
slain by his father.
I think that the circumstance insisted on by the Saga-writers, of the
eyes of the person remaining unchanged, is very significant, and points
to the fact that the skin was merely drawn over the body as a disguise.
But there was other ground for superstition to fasten on the berserkir,
and invest them with supernatural attributes.
No fact in connection with the history of the Northmen is more firmly
established, on reliable evidence, than that of the berserkr rage being
a species of diabolical possession. The berserkir were said to work
themselves up into a state of frenzy, in which a demoniacal power came
over them, impelling them to acts from which in their sober senses they
would have recoiled. They acquired superhuman force, and were as
invulnerable and as insensible to pain as the Jansenist convulsionists
of S. Medard. No sword would wound them, no fire would barn them, a
club alone could destroy them, by breaking their bones, or crushing in
their skulls. Their eyes glared as though a flame burned in the
sockets, they ground their teeth, and frothed at the mouth; they gnawed
at their shield rims, and are said to have sometimes bitten them
through, and as they rushed into conflict they yelped as dogs or howled
as wolves.[1]
[1] Hic (Syraldus) septem filios habebat, tanto veneficiorum usu
callentes, ut sæpe subitis furoris viribus instincti solerent ore
torvum infremere, scuta morsibus attrectare, torridas fauce prunas
absumere, extructa quævis incendia penetrare, nec posset conceptis
dementiæ motus alio remedii genere quam aut vinculorum injuriis aut
cædis humanæ piaculo temperari. Tantam illis rabiem site sævitia
ingenii sive furiaram ferocitas inspirabat.—_Saxo Gramm_. VII.
According to the unanimous testimony of the old Norse historians, the
berserkr rage was extinguished by baptism, and as Christianity
advanced, the number of these berserkir decreased.
But it must not be supposed that this madness or possession came only
on those persons who predisposed themselves to be attacked by it;
others were afflicted with it, who vainly struggled against its
influence, and who deeply lamented their own liability to be seized
with these terrible accesses of frenzy. Such was Thorir Ingimund’s son,
of whom it is said, in the _Vatnsdæla Saga_, that “at times there came
over Thorir berserkr fits, and it was considered a sad misfortune to
such a man, as they were quite beyond control.”
The manner in which he was cured is remarkable; pointing as it does to
the craving in the heathen mind for a better and more merciful creed:—
“Thorgrim of Kornsá had a child by his concubine Vereydr, and, by order
of his wife, the child was carried out to perish.
“The brothers (Thorsteinn and Thorir) often met, and it was now the
turn of Thorsteinn to visit Thorir, and Thorir accompanied him
homeward. On their way Thorsteinn asked Thorir which he thought was the
first among the brethren; Thorir answered that the reply was easy, for
‘you are above us all in discretion and talent; Jökull is the best in
all perilous adventures, but I,’ he added, ‘I am the least worth of us
brothers, because the berserkr fits come over me, quite against my
will, and I wish that you, my brother, with your shrewdness, would
devise some help for me.’
“Thorsteinn said,—‘I have heard that our kinsman, Thorgrim, has just
suffered his little babe to be carried out, at the instigation of his
wife. That is ill done. I think also that it is a grievous matter for
you to be different in nature from other men.’
“Thorir asked how he could obtain release from his affliction . . . .
Then said Thorsteinn, ‘Now will I make a vow to Him who created the
sun, for I ween that he is most able to take the ban of you, and I will
undertake for His sake, in return, to rescue the babe and to bring it
up for him, till He who created man shall take it to Himself-for this I
reckon He will do!’ After this they left their horses and sought the
child, and a thrall of Thorir had found it near the Marram river. They
saw that a kerchief had been spread over its face, but it had rumpled
it up over its nose; the little thing was all but dead, but they took
it up and flitted it home to Thorir’s house, and he brought the lad up,
and called him Thorkell Rumple; as for the berserkr fits, they came on
him no more.” (c. 37)
But the most remarkable passages bearing on our subject will be found
in the _Aigla_.
There was a man, Ulf (the wolf) by name, son of Bjálfi and Hallbera.
Ulf was a man so tall and strong that the like of him was not to be
seen in the land at that time. And when he was young he was out viking
expeditions and harrying . . . He was a great landed proprietor. It was
his wont to rise early, and to go about the men’s work, or to the
smithies, and inspect all his goods and his acres; and sometimes he
talked with those men who wanted his advice; for he was a good adviser,
he was so clear-headed; however, every day, when it drew towards dusk,
he became so savage that few dared exchange a word with him, for he was
given to dozing in the afternoon.
“People said that he was much given to changing form (_hamrammr_), so
he was called the evening-wolf, _kveldúlfr_.”—(c. 1.) In this and the
following passages, I do not consider _hamrammr_ to have its primary
signification of actual transformation, but simply to mean subject to
fits of diabolical possession, under the influence of which the bodily
powers were greatly exaggerated. I shall translate pretty freely from
this most interesting Saga, as I consider that the description given in
it of Kveldulf in his fits greatly elucidates our subject.
“Kveldulf and Skallagrim got news during summer of an expedition.
Skallagrim. was the keenest-sighted of men, and he caught sight of the
vessel of Hallvard and his brother, and recognized it at once. He
followed their course and marked the haven into which they entered at
even. Then he returned to his company, and told Kveldulf of what he had
seen . . . . Then they busked them and got ready both their boats; in
each they put twenty men, Kveldulf steering one and Skallagrim the
other, and they rowed in quest of the ship. Now when they came to the
place where it was, they lay to. Hallvard and his men had spread an
awning over the deck, and were asleep. Now when Kveldulf and his party
came upon them, the watchers who were seated at the end of the bridge
sprang up and called to the people on board to wake up, for there was
danger in the wind. So Hallvard and his men sprang to arms. Then came
Kveldulf over the bridge and Skallagrim with him into the ship.
Kveldulf had in his hand a cleaver, and he bade his men go through the
vessel and hack away the awning. But he pressed on to the quarter-deck.
It is said the were-wolf fit came over him and many of his companions.
They slow all the men who were before them. Skallagrim did the same as
he went round the vessel. He and his father paused not till they had
cleared it. Now when Kveldulf came upon the quarter-deck he raised his
cleaver, and smote Hallvard through helm and head, so that the haft was
buried in the flesh; but he dragged it to him so violently that he
whisked Hallvard into the air., and flung him overboard. Skallagrim
cleared the forecastle and slew Sigtrygg. Many men flung themselves
overboard, but Skallagrim’s men took to the boat and rowed about,
killing all they found. Thus perished Hallvard with fifty men.
Skallagrim and his party took the ship and all the goods which had
belonged to Hallvard . . . and flitted it and the wares to their own
vessel, and then exchanged ships, lading their capture, but quitting
their own. After which they filled their old ship with stones, brake it
up and sank it. A good breeze sprang up, and they stood out to sea.
It is said of these men in the engagement who were were-wolves, or
those on whom came the berserkr rage, that as long as the fit was on
them no one could oppose them, they were so strong; but when it had
passed off they were feebler than usual. It was the same with Kveldulf
when the were-wolf fit went off him—he then felt the exhaustion
consequent on the fight, and he was so completely ‘done up,’ that he
was obliged to take to his bed.”
In like manner Skallagrim had his fits of frenzy, taking after his
amiable father.
“Thord and his companion were opposed to Skallagrim in the game, and
they were too much for him, he wearied, and the game went better with
them. But at dusk, after sunset, it went worse with Egill and Thord,
for Skallagrim became so strong that he caught up Thord and cast him
down, so that he broke his bones, and that was the death of him. Then
he caught at Egill. Thorgerd Brák was the name of a servant of
Skallagrim, who had been foster-mother to Egill. She was a woman of
great stature, strong as a man and a bit of a witch. Brák
exclaimed,—‘Skallagrim! are you now falling upon your son?’ (hamaz þú
at syni þínum). Then Skallagrim let go his hold of Egill and clutched
at her. She started aside and fled. Skallagrim. followed. They ran out
upon Digraness, and she sprang off the headland into the water.
Skallagrim cast after her a huge stone which struck her between the
shoulders, and she never rose after it. The place is now called Brak’s
Sound.”—(c. 40.)
Let it be observed that in these passages from the _Aigla_, the words
að hamaz, hamrammr, &c. are used without any intention of conveying the
idea of a change of bodily shape, though the words taken literally
assert it. For they are derived from _hamr_, a skin or habit; a word
which has its representatives in other Aryan languages, and is
therefore a primitive word expressive of the skin of a beast.
The Sanskrit ### _carmma_; the Hindustanee ### _cam_, hide or skin; and
### _camra_, leather; the Persian ### _game_, clothing, disguise; the
Gothic _ham_ or _hams_, skin; and even the Italian _camicia_, and the
French _chemise_, are cognate words.[2]
[2] I shall have more to say on this subject in the chapter on the
Mythology of Lycanthropy.
It seems probable accordingly that the verb _að hamaz_ was first
applied to those who wore the skins of savage animals, and went about
the country as freebooters; but that popular superstition soon invested
them with supernatural powers, and they were supposed to assume the
forms of the beasts in whose skins they were disguised. The verb then
acquired the significance “to become a were-wolf, to change shape.” It
did not stop there, but went through another change of meaning, and was
finally applied to those who were afflicted with paroxysms of madness
or demoniacal possession.
This was not the only word connected with were-wolves which helped on
the superstition. The word _vargr_, a wolf, had a double significance,
which would be the means of originating many a were-wolf story. _Vargr_
is the same as _u-argr_, restless; _argr_ being the same as the
Anglo-Saxon _earg_. _Vargr_ had its double signification in Norse. It
signified a wolf, and also a godless man. This _vargr_ is the English
_were_, in the word were-wolf, and the _garou_ or _varou_ in French.
The Danish word for were-wolf is _var-ulf_, the Gothic _vaira-ulf_. In
the _Romans de Garin_, it is “Leu warou, sanglante beste.” In the _Vie
de S. Hildefons_ by Gauthier de Coinsi,—
Cil lou desve, cil lou garol,
Ce sunt deable, que saul
Ne puent estre de nos mordre.
Here the loup-garou is a devil. The Anglo-Saxons regarded him as an
evil man: _wearg_, a scoundrel; Gothic _varys_, a fiend. But very often
the word meant no more than an outlaw. Pluquet in his _Contes
Populaires_ tells us that the ancient Norman laws said of the criminals
condemned to outlawry for certain offences, _Wargus esto_: be an
outlaw!
In like manner the Lex Ripuaria, tit. 87, “Wargus sit, hoe est
expulsus.” In the laws of Canute, he is called verevulf. (_Leges
Canuti_, Schmid, i. 148.) And the Salic Law (tit. 57) orders: “Si quis
corpus jam sepultum effoderit, aut expoliaverit, _wargus_ sit.” “If any
one shall have dug up or despoiled an already buried corpse, let him be
a varg.”
Sidonius Apollinaris. says, “Unam feminam quam forte _vargorum_, hoc
enim nomine indigenas latrunculos nuncupant,”[3] as though the common
name by which those who lived a freebooter life were designated, was
varg.
[3] SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS: Opera, lib. vi. ep. 4.
In like manner Palgrave assures us in his _Rise and Progress of the
English Commonwealth_, that among the Anglo, Saxons an _utlagh_, or
out-law, was said to have the head of a wolf. If then the term _vargr_
was applied at one time to a wolf, at another to an outlaw who lived
the life of a wild beast, away from the haunts of men “he shall be
driven away as a wolf, and chased so far as men chase wolves farthest,”
was the legal form of sentence—it is certainly no matter of wonder that
stories of out-laws should have become surrounded with mythical
accounts of their transformation into wolves.
But the very idiom of the Norse was calculated to foster this
superstition. The Icelanders had curious expressions which are
sufficiently likely to have produced misconceptions.
Snorri not only relates that Odin changed himself into another form,
but he adds that by his spells he turned his enemies into boars. In
precisely the same manner does a hag, Ljot, in the Vatnsdæla Saga, say
that she could have turned Thorsteinn and Jökull into boars to run
about with the wild beasts (c. xxvi.); and the expression _verða at
gjalti_, or at _gjöltum_, to become a boar, is frequently met with in
the Sagas.
“Thereupon came Thorarinn and his men upon them, and Nagli led the way;
but when he saw weapons drawn he was frightened, and ran away up the
mountain, and became a boar. . . . And Thorarinn and his men took to
run, so as to help Nagli, lest he should tumble off the cliffs into the
sea” (Eyrbyggja Saga, c. xviii.) A similar expression occurs in the
Gisla Saga Surssonar, p. 50. In the Hrolfs Saga Kraka, we meet with a
troll in boar’s shape, to whom divine honours are paid; and in the
Kjalnessinga Saga, c. xv., men are likened to boars—“Then it began to
fare with them as it fares with boars when they fight each other, for
in the same manner dropped their foam.” The true signification of
_verða at gjalti_ is to be in such a state of fear as to lose the
senses; but it is sufficiently peculiar to have given rise to
superstitious stories.
I have dwelt at some length on the Northern myths relative to
were-wolves and animal transformations, because I have considered the
investigation of these all-important towards the elucidation of the
truth which lies at the bottom of mediæval superstition, and which is
nowhere so obtainable as through the Norse literature. As may be seen
from the passages quoted above at length, and from an examination of
those merely referred to, the result arrived at is pretty conclusive,
and may be summed up in very few words.
The whole superstructure of fable and romance relative to
transformation into wild beasts, reposes simply on this basis of
truth—that among the Scandinavian nations there existed a form of
madness or possession, under the influence of which men acted as though
they were changed into wild and savage brutes, howling, foaming at the
mouth, ravening for blood and slaughter, ready to commit any act of
atrocity, and as irresponsible for their actions as the wolves and
bears, in whose skins they often equipped themselves.
The manner in which this fact became invested with supernatural
adjuncts I have also pointed out, to wit, the change in the
significance of the word designating the madness, the double meaning of
the word _vargr_, and above all, the habits and appearance of the
maniacs. We shall see instances of berserkr rage reappearing in the
middle ages, and late down into our own times, not exclusively in the
North, but throughout France, Germany, and England, and instead of
rejecting the accounts given by chroniclers as fabulous, because there
is much connected with them which seems to be fabulous, we shall be
able to refer them to their true origin.
It may be accepted as an axiom, that no superstition of general
acceptance is destitute of a foundation of truth; and if we discover
the myth of the were-wolf to be widely spread, not only throughout
Europe, but through the whole world, we may rest assured that there is
a solid core of fact, round which popular superstition has
crystallized; and that fact is the existence of a species of madness,
during the accesses of which the person afflicted believes himself to
be a wild beast, and acts like a wild beast.
In some cases this madness amounts apparently to positive possession,
and the diabolical acts into which the possessed is impelled are so
horrible, that the blood curdles in reading them, and it is impossible
to recall them without a shudder.