WERWOLVES IN NORWAY AND SWEDEN
As in Denmark, werwolves were once so numerous in Norway and Sweden,
that these countries naturally came to be regarded as the true home of
lycanthropy.
With the advent of the tourist, however, and the consequent springing up
of fresh villages, together with the gradual increase of native
population, Norway and Sweden have slowly undergone a metamorphosis,
with the result that it is now only in the most remote districts, such
as the northern portion of the Kiolen Mountains and the borders of
Lapland, that werwolves are to be found.
Here, amid the primitive solitude of vast pine forests, flow
lycanthropous rivers; here, too, grow lycanthropous shrubs and flowers.
Werwolfery in Norway and Sweden is not confined to one sex; it is common
to both; and in these countries various forms of spells, both for
invoking and expelling lycanthropous spirits, are current.
As far as I can gather, a Norwegian or Swedish peasant, when he wishes
to become a werwolf, kneels by the side of a lycanthropous stream at
midnight, having chosen a night when the moon is in the full, and
incants some such words as these:--
"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the moon shines white
Over pine and snow-capped hill;
The shadows stray through burn and brae
And dance in the sparkling rill.
"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the devil's light
Casts glimmering beams around.
The maras dance, the nisses prance
On the flower-enamelled ground.
"'Tis night! 'tis night! and the werwolf's might
Makes man and nature shiver.
Yet its fierce grey head and stealthy tread
Are nought to thee, oh river!
River, river, river.
"Oh water strong, that swirls along,
I prithee a werwolf make me.
Of all things dear, my soul, I swear,
In death shall not forsake thee."
The supplicant then strikes the banks of the river three times with his
forehead; then dips his head into the river thrice, at each dip gulping
down a mouthful of the water. This concludes the ceremony--he has
become a werwolf, and twenty-four hours later will undergo the first
metamorphosis.
Lycanthropous water is said, by those who dwell near to it, to differ
from other water in subtle details only--details that would, in all
probability, escape the notice of all who were not connoisseurs of the
superphysical. A strange, faint odour, comparable with nothing,
distinguishes lycanthropous water; there is a lurid sparkle in it,
strongly suggestive of some peculiar, individual life; the noise it
makes, as it rushes along, so closely resembles the muttering and
whispering of human voices as to be often mistaken for them; whilst at
night it sometimes utters piercing screams, and howls, and groans, in
such a manner as to terrify all who pass near it. Dogs and horses, in
particular, are susceptible to its influence, and they exhibit the
greatest signs of terror at the mere sound of it.
Another means of becoming a werwolf, resorted to by the Swedish and
Norwegian peasant, consists in the plucking and wearing of a
lycanthropous flower after sunset, and on a night when the moon is in
the full. Lycanthropous flowers, no less than lycanthropous water,
possess properties peculiar to themselves; properties which are,
probably, only discernible to those who are well acquainted with them.
Their scent is described as faint and subtly suggestive of death, whilst
their sap is rather offensively white and sticky. In appearance they are
much the same as other flowers, and are usually white and yellow.
Yet another method of acquiring the property of lycanthropy consists in
making: first, a magic circle on the ground, at twelve o'clock, on a
night when the moon is in the full (there is no strict rule as to the
magnitude of the circle, though one of about seven feet in diameter
would seem to be the size most commonly adopted); then, in the centre of
the circle, a wood fire, heating thereon an iron vessel containing one
pint of clear spring water, and any seven of the following ingredients:
hemlock (1/2 ounce to 1 ounce), aloe (30 grains), opium (2 to 4-1/2
drachms), mandrake (1 ounce to 1-1/2 ounces), solanum (1/2 ounce), poppy
seed (1/2 ounce to 1 ounce), asafoetida (3/4 ounce to 1 ounce), and
parsley (2 to 3 ounces).
Whilst the mixture is heating, the experimenter prostrates himself in
front of the fire and prays to the Great Spirit of the Unknown to confer
on him the property of metamorphosing, nocturnally, into a werwolf. His
prayers take no one particular form, but are quite extempore; though he
usually adds to them some such recognised incantation as:--
"Come, spirit so powerful! come, spirit so dread,
From the home of the werwolf, the home of the dead.
Come, give me thy blessing! come, lend me thine ear!
Oh spirit of darkness! oh spirit so drear!
"Come, mighty phantom! come, great Unknown!
Come from thy dwelling so gloomy and lone.
Come, I beseech thee; depart from thy lair,
And body and soul shall be thine, I declare.
"Haste, haste, haste, horrid spirit, haste!
Speed, speed, speed, scaring spirit, speed!
Fast, fast, fast, fateful spirit, fast!"
He then makes the following formal declaration:--
"I (here insert name) offer to thee, Great Spirit of the Unknown, this
night (here insert date), my body and soul, on condition that thou
grantest me, from this night to the hour of my death, the power of
metamorphosing, nocturnally, into a wolf. I beg, I pray, I implore
thee--thee, unparalleled Phantom of Darkness, to make me a werwolf--a
werwolf!"--and striking the ground three times with his forehead, he
gets up. As soon as the concoction in the vessel is boiling, he dips a
cup into it, and sprinkles the contents on the ground, repeating the
action until he has sprinkled the whole interior of the circle.
Then he kneels on the ground close to the fire, and in a loud voice
cries out, "Come, oh come!" and, if he is fortunate, a phantom suddenly
manifests itself over the fire. Sometimes the phantom is indefinite--a
cylindrical, luminous, pillar-like thing, about seven feet in height,
having no discernible features; sometimes it assumes a definite shape,
and appears either as a monstrous hooded figure with a death's head, or
as a sub-human, sub-animal type of Elemental.
Whatever form the Unknown adopts, it is invariably terrifying. It never
speaks, but indicates its assent by stretching out an arm, or what
serves as an arm, and then disappears. It never remains visible for more
than half a minute. As soon as it vanishes the supplicant, who is always
half mad with terror, springs from the ground and rushes home--or
anywhere to get again within reach of human beings. By the morning,
however, all his fears have departed; and at sunset he creeps off into
the forest, or into some equally secluded spot, to experience, for the
first time, the extraordinary sensations of metamorphosing into a wolf,
or, perhaps, a semi-wolf, _i.e._, a creature half man and half wolf; for
the degree of metamorphosis varies according to locality. The hour of
metamorphosis also varies according to locality--though it is at sunset
that the change most usually takes place, the transmutation back to man
generally occurring at dawn.
When a werwolf, in human shape at the time, is killed, he sometimes
(not always) metamorphoses into a wolf, and if in wolf's form at the
time he is killed he sometimes (not always) metamorphoses into a human
being--here again the nature of the transmutation depending on locality.
In certain of the forests of Sweden dwell old women called Vargamors,
who are closely allied to werwolves, and exercise complete control over
all the wolves in the neighbourhood, keeping the latter well supplied in
food. As an illustration of the Vargamor I have chosen the following
story:--
LISO OF SOROA
Liso was thoroughly spoilt. Every one had told her how beautiful she was
from the day she had first learned to walk, and, consequently, it was
only natural that when she grew up she cared for no one but herself, and
for nothing so much as gazing at herself in the looking-glass and
expatiating on the loveliness of her own reflection. As a girl at home
she was allowed to do precisely what she liked--neither father nor
mother, relatives (with one exception) nor friends ever thwarted her;
and when she married it was the same: her husband bowed down to her, and
was always ready to indulge her every wish and whim.
She had three children, two boys and a girl, whom she occasionally
condescended to notice; but only when there was nothing else at hand to
entertain her.
The one person of whom Liso stood in awe was her aunt, a rich old lady
with distinct views of her own, and a vigorous method of expressing
them. Now, one of the old lady's peculiar ideas--at least peculiar in
Liso's estimation--was that woman was made to be man's helpmate, and
that married women should think of their husbands first, their children
next, and themselves last--an order of consideration which Liso thought
was exactly the reverse of what it should be.
Had her aunt been poor, it is quite certain that Liso would have had
nothing whatsoever to do with her. But circumstances alter cases. This
aunt was rich, and, moreover, had no one more nearly related to her than
Liso.
One day, in the depth of winter, Liso received a letter from her aunt
containing a pressing invitation to start off at once on a visit to the
latter at Skatea, a small town some twelve miles from Soroa. "Bring your
children," so the letter ran, "I should so love to see them, and stay
the night." Liso was greatly annoyed. She had just arranged a meeting
with one of her numerous lovers, and this invitation upset everything.
However, as it was of vital importance to her to keep in with her aunt,
she at once decided to put off her previous engagement and take her
children to see their rich old relative.
Hoping that her lover might perhaps join her on the road and thus
convert a boring journey into a pleasant pastime, Liso, in spite of her
husband's entreaties, refused to take a servant, and insisted upon
driving herself. As she had anticipated, her lover met her on the
outskirts of the town, but, to her chagrin, was unable to accompany her
any part of the way to Skatea. He was most profuse in his apologies,
adding, "I wish you weren't going; I hear the road you will be
traversing is infested with bears and wolves."
"Thank you!" she exclaimed mockingly, "I am not afraid, if you are. I
can quite understand now why you cannot come. Good-bye!" And with a
haughty inclination of her head she drove off, without deigning to
notice the young man's outstretched hand. Liso was now in a very bad
temper; and, having no other means of venting it, savagely silenced the
children whenever they attempted to speak.
The vehicle in which the party travelled was a light sledge, drawn by
one horse only--a beast of matchless beauty and size, which, under
ordinary circumstances, could cover twelve miles in an almost
inconceivably short space of time. But now, owing to a heavy fall of
snow, the track, though well beaten, was heavy, and the piled-up snow
on each side so deep that to turn back, without the risk of sticking
fast, was an impossibility.
The first half of the journey passed without accident, and they were
skirting the borders of a pine forest when Liso suddenly became
conscious of a suspicious noise behind her. Looking round, she saw, to
her horror, a troop of gaunt grey wolves issue from the forest and
commence running after the sledge. She instantly slashed the horse with
her whip, and the next moment the chase began in grim earnest. But,
gallop as fast as it would, the horse could not outpace the wolves, whom
hunger had made fleet as the wind, and it was not many minutes before
two of the biggest of them appeared on either side of the vehicle.
Though their intention was, in all probability, only to attack the
horse, yet the safety both of Liso and the children depended on the
preservation of the animal.
It was indeed a beautiful creature, and the danger only enhanced its
value; it seemed, in fact, almost entitled to claim for its preservation
an extraordinary sacrifice. And Liso did not hesitate. It was one life
against three--the world would excuse her, if God did not.
"You, Charles," she said hoarsely, "you are the eldest; it is your duty
to go first"--and before Charles had time to realize what was
happening, she had gripped him round the waist, and with strength
generated by the crisis hurled him into the snow. She did not see where
he fell--the sledge was moving far too fast for that; but she heard the
sound of the concussion, and then frantic screaming, accompanied by
howls of triumph and joyful yapping. There was a momentary lull--only
momentary--and then the patting footsteps recommenced.
Nearer and nearer they came, until she could hear a deep and regular
pant, pant, pant, drowned every now and then by prolonged howls and
piercing, nerve-racking whines. Once again two murder-breathing forms
are racing along at the side of the sledge, biting and snapping at the
horse's legs with their gleaming, foam-flecked jaws.
"George," Liso shouted, "you must go now. You are a boy, and boys and
men should always die to save their sisters." But George, though
younger, was not so easy to dispose of as Charles. Charles had been
taken unawares, but George guessed what was coming and was on his guard.
"No, no," he cried, clinging on to the sledge with both his chubby
hands. "The wolves will eat me! Take sissy."
"Wretch!" shrieked Liso, boxing his ears furiously. "Selfish little
wretch! So this is the result of all the kindness I have lavished on
you. Let go at once"--and tearing at his baby wrists with all her
might, she succeeded in loosening them, and the next instant he was in
the road.
Then there was a repetition of what had happened before--a few wild
screeches, savage howls of triumph, and snarls and grunts that suggested
much. Then--comparative quiet, and then--patterings. Mad with fear, Liso
stood up and lashed the horse. God of mercy! there was now only one more
life between hers and the fate that, of all fates in the world, seemed
to her just then to be the most dreadful. With the thick and gloomy
forest before and behind her, and the nearer and nearer trampling of her
ravenous pursuers, she almost collapsed from sheer anguish; but the
thought of all her beauty perishing in such an ignominious and painful
fashion braced her up. Perhaps, too--at least, let us hope
so--underlying it all, though so much in the background, there was a
genuine longing to save the little mite--her exact counterpart, so
people said--that nestled its sunny head in the folds of her soft and
costly sealskin coat.
She did not venture to look behind her, only in front--at the seemingly
never-ending white track; at the dense mass of trees--trees that shook
their heads mockingly at her as the wind rustled through them; at the
great splash of red right across the sky, so horribly remindful of
blood that she shuddered. Night birds hoot; wild cats glare down at her;
and shadows of every kind glide noiselessly out from behind the great
trunks, and await her approach with inexplicable flickerings and
flutterings.
All at once two rough paws are laid on her shoulders, and the wide-open,
bloody jaws of an enormous wolf hang over her head. It is the most
ferocious beast of the troop, which, having partly missed its leap at
the sledge, is dragged along with it, in vain seeking with its hinder
legs for a resting-place to enable it to get wholly on to the frail
vehicle. Liso looks down at the little girl beside her and their eyes
meet.
"Not me! not me!" the tiny one cried, clutching hold of her wrist in its
anxiety. "I have been good, have I not? You will not throw me into the
snow like the others?" Liso's lips tightened. The weight of the body of
the wolf drew her gradually backwards--another minute and she would be
out of the sledge. Her life was of assuredly more value than that of the
child. Besides, one so young would not feel the horrors of death so
acutely as she would, who was grown up. Anything rather than such a
devilish ending. Providence willed it--Providence must bear the
responsibility. And, steeling her soul to pity, she snatches up her
daughter and throws her into the gleaming jaws of the wolf, which,
springing off the sledge, hastily departs with its prey into the forest,
where it is followed by hosts of other wolves. Exhausted, stunned,
senseless--for her escape has been extremely narrow--Liso drops the
reins, and, sinking back into the luxurious cushions of the vehicle,
gives a great sigh of relief and shuts her eyes.
Meantime the trees grow thinner, and an isolated house, to which a
side-road leads, appears at no great distance off. The horse, left to
itself, follows this new path; it enters through an open gate, and,
panting and foaming, comes to a dead halt before a ponderous oak door
studded with huge iron nails. Presently Liso recovers. She finds herself
seated before a roaring fire; and a woman with a white face, dark,
piercing eyes, and a beak-like nose, is bending over her. The woman
presents such an extraordinary spectacle that Liso is oblivious of
everything else, and gazes at her with a cold sensation of fear creeping
down her spine.
"You've had a narrow escape," the woman presently exclaims in peculiarly
hoarse tones. "And the danger is not over yet! Listen!" To Liso's terror
an inferno of howls and whines sounds from the yard outside, and she
sees, gleaming in at her through the window-panes, scores of wild, hairy
faces with pale, lurid eyes. "They are there!" the woman remarks, a
saturnine smile in her eyes and playing round her lips. "There--all
ready to rend and tear you to pieces as they did your children--your
three pretty, loving children. I've only to open the door, and in they
will rush!"
"But you won't," Liso gasped feebly. "You won't be so cruel. Besides,
they could eat you, too."
"Oh no, they couldn't," the woman laughed. "I'm a Vargamor. Every one of
these wolves knows me and loves me as a mother. With you it is very
different. Shall I----?"
"Oh no! for pity's sake spare me!" Liso cried, throwing herself at the
woman's feet and catching hold of her hands. "Spare me, and I will do
anything you want."
"Well," said the woman, after some consideration, "I will spare you on
one condition, namely, that you live with me and do the housework; I'm
getting too old for it."
"I suppose I may see my family occasionally?" Liso said.
"No!" the old woman snapped, "you may not. You must never go out of
sight of this house. Now, what do you say? Recollect, it is either that
or the wolves! Quick," and she hobbled to the door as she spoke.
"I've chosen!" Liso shrieked. "I'll stay with you. Anything rather than
such an awful death. Tell me what I have to do and I'll begin at once."
The old woman took her at her word. She speedily set Liso a task, and
from that time onward, kept her so continuously employed, not allowing
her a moment to herself, that her life soon became unbearable. She tried
to escape, but each time she left the house the fierce howling of the
wolves sent her back to it in terror, and she discovered that, night and
day, certain of the beasts were supervising her movements. After she had
been there a week the old woman said to her, "I fear it is useless to
think of keeping you any longer! Times are bad--food is scarce. The
wolves are hungry--I must give you to them."
But Liso fell on her knees and pleaded so hard that the Vargamor
relented, "Well, well!" she said, "I will spare you, provided you can
procure me a substitute. If you like to sit down and write to some one I
will see that the note is delivered."
Then Liso, almost beside herself at the thought of the hungry wolves,
sat down and wrote a letter to her husband, telling him she had met with
an accident, and desiring him to come to her at once. She dared not give
him the slightest hint as to what had actually befallen her, as she knew
the old woman would read the letter.
When she had finished her note, the Vargamor took it, and for the next
twelve hours Liso had a very anxious time.
"If he doesn't come soon," the old woman at length said to her, with an
evil chuckle, "I shall have to let the wolves in. They are famishing;
and I, too, want something tastier than rabbits and squirrels."
The minutes passed, and Liso was nearly fainting with suspense, when
there suddenly broke on her ears the distant tramp of horses' feet; and
in a very few moments a droshky dashed up to the door.
"Call him in here," the Vargamor said, "and run up and hide in your
bedroom. My pets and I will enjoy him all the better by the fire, and
there won't be so much risk of them being hurt."
Liso, afraid to do otherwise, ran up the rickety ladder leading to her
room, shouting as she did so, "Oscar! Oscar! come in, come in."
The joyful note in her husband's voice as he replied to her invitation
struck a new chord in Liso's nature--a chord which had been there all
the time, but had got choked and clogged through over-indulgence. Full
of a courage that dared anything in its determination to save him, she
crept cautiously down the stairs, and just as he crossed the threshold,
and the Vargamor was about to summon the wolves, she dashed up to the
old woman and struck her with all her might. Then, seizing her husband,
she dragged him out of the house, and, hustling him into the carriage,
jumped in by his side and told the coachman to drive home with the
utmost speed.
All this was done in less time than it takes to tell, and once again the
familiar sounds of pattering--patterings on the snow in the wake of the
carriage--fell on Liso's ears, and all the old horrors of the preceding
journey came back to her with full force.
Slowly, despite the fact that there were two horses now, the wolves
gained on them, and once again the same harrowing question arose in
Liso's mind. Some one must be sacrificed. Which should it be? The
coachman! without doubt the coachman. He was only a poor, uneducated
man, a hireling, and his life was as nothing compared either with that
of her husband or her own.
But she now remembered that Oscar, though usually a mere straw in her
hands, and ready to do anything she asked him, had one or two
peculiarities--fondness for children and animals, and a great respect
for life--life in every grade. Would he consent to sacrifice the
coachman? And as she glanced at him, a feeling of awe came over her.
What a big, strong man this husband of hers was, and what strength he
had--strength of all kinds, physical as well as mental--if he cared to
exert it. But then he loved, worshipped, and adored her; he would never
treat her with anything but the utmost deference and kindness, no matter
what she said or did. Still, when she got ready to whisper the fatal
suggestion in his ear, her heart failed her. And then the new something
within her--that something that had already spoken and seemed inclined
to be painfully officious--once more asserted itself. The coachman was
married, he had children--four people dependent on him, four hearts that
loved him! With her it was different: no one was actually dependent on
her--there were no children now! Nothing but the memory of them!
Memory--what a hateful thing it was! She had forced them to give her
their lives; would it not be some atonement for her act if she were now
to offer hers? She made the offer--breathed it with a shuddering soul
into her husband's ears--and with a great round oath he rejected it.
"What! You! Let you be thrown to the wolves?" he roared. "No--sooner
than that, ten thousand times sooner, I will jump out! But I don't think
there is any need. Knowing there were wolves about, I brought arms. If
occasion arises we can easily account for half of them. But we shall
outdistance them yet."
He spoke the truth. Bit by bit the powerful horses drew away from the
pack, and ere the last trees of the forest were passed, the howlings
were no longer heard and all danger was at an end.
Then, and not till then, did Oscar learn what had become of the
children.
He listened to Liso's explanation in silence, and it was not until she
had finished that the surprise came. She was anticipating
commiseration--commiseration for the awful hell she had undergone. She
little guessed the struggle that was taking place beneath her husband's
seemingly calm exterior. The revelation came with an abruptness that
staggered her. "Woman!" he cried, "you are a murderess. Sooner than have
sacrificed your children you should have suffered three deaths
yourself--that is the elementary instinct of all mothers, human and
otherwise. You are below the standard of a beast--of the Vargamor you
slew. Go! go back to those parents who bore you, and tell them I'll have
nought to do with you--that I want a woman for my wife, not a
monstrosity."
He bade the coachman pull up, and, alighting, told the man to drive Liso
to the home of her parents.
But Liso did not hear him--she sat huddled up on the seat with her eyes
staring blankly before her. For the first time in her life she was
conscious that she loved!