The Book of Were-Wolves by Sabine Baring-Gould (free ebook novel .TXT) 📖

and Adventures of Nathaniel Pierce, written by himself

during a residence in Abyssinia from 1810-19. London, 1831.]

 

He says that in Abyssinia the gold. and silversmiths are highly

regarded, but that the ironworkers are looked upon with contempt, as

an inferior grade of beings. Their kinsmen even ascribe to them the

power of transforming themselves into hyænas, or other savage beasts.

All convulsions and hysterical disorders are attributed to the effect

of their evil eye. The Amhara call them Buda, the Tigré, Tebbib.

There are also Mahomedan and Jewish Budas. It is difficult to explain

the origin of this strange superstition. These Budas are distinguished

from other people by wearing gold ear-rings, and Coffin declares that

he has often found hyænas with these rings in their ears, even among

the beasts which he has shot or speared himself. But how the rings got

into their ears is more than Coffin was able to ascertain.

 

Beside their power to transform themselves into hyænas or other wild

beasts, all sorts of other strange things are ascribed to them; and

the Abyssinians are firmly persuaded that they rob the graves by

midnight, and no one would venture to touch what is called quanter,

or dried meat in their houses, though they would not object to partake

of fresh meat, if they had seen the animal, from which it came, killed

before them. Coffin relates, as eye-witness of the fact, the following

story:—

 

Among his servants was a Buda, who, one evening, whilst it was still

light, came to his master and asked leave of absence till the

following morning. He obtained the required leave and departed; but

scarcely had Coffin turned his head, when one of his men

exclaimed,—“Look! there he is, changing himself into hyæna,” pointing

in the direction taken by the Buda. Coffin turned to look, and

although he did not witness the process of transformation, the young

man had vanished from the spot on which he had been standing, not a

hundred paces distant, and in his place was a hyæna running away. The

place was a plain without either bush or tree to impede the view. Next

morning the young man returned, and was charged by his companions with

the transformation: this he rather acknowledged than denied, for he

excused himself on the plea that it was the habit of his class. This

statement of Pierce is corroborated by a note contributed by Sir

Gardner Wilkinson to Rawlinson’s Herodotus (book iv. chap. 105). “A

class of people in Abyssinia are believed to change themselves into

hyænas when they like. On my appearing to discredit it, I was told by

one who lived for years there, that no well-informed person doubted

it, and that he was once walking with one of them, when he happened to

look away for a moment, and on turning again towards his companion, he

saw him trotting off in the shape of a hyæna. He met him afterwards in

his old form. These worthies are blacksmiths.—G. W.”

 

A precisely similar superstition seems to have existed in America, for

Joseph Acosta (_Hist. Nat. des Indes_) relates that the ruler of a

city in Mexico, who was sent for by the predecessor of Montezuma,

transformed himself, before the eyes of those who were sent to seize

him, into an eagle, a tiger, and an enormous serpent. He yielded at

last, and was condemned to death. No longer in his own house, he was

unable to work miracles so as to save his life. The Bishop of Chiapa,

a province of Guatemala, in a writing published in 1702, ascribes the

same power to the Naguals, or national priests, who laboured to bring

back to the religion of their ancestors, the children brought up as

Christians by the government. After various ceremonies, when the child

instructed advanced to embrace him, the Nagual suddenly assumed a

frightful aspect, and under the form of a lion or tiger, appeared

chained to the young Christian convert.—(_Recueil de Voyages_, tom.

ii. 187.)

 

Among the North American Indians, the belief in transformation is very

prevalent. The following story closely resembles one very prevalent

all over the world.

 

“One Indian fixed his residence on the borders of the Great Bear lake,

taking with him only a dog big with young. In due time, this dog

brought forth eight pups. Whenever the Indian went out to fish, he

tied up the pups, to prevent the straying of the litter. Several

times, as he approached his tent, he heard noises proceeding from it,

which sounded like the talking, the laughing, the crying, the wail,

and the merriment of children; but, on entering it, he only perceived

the pups tied up as usual. His curiosity being excited by the noises

he had heard, he determined to watch and learn whence these sounds

proceeded, and what they were. One day he pretended to go out to fish,

but, instead of doing so, he concealed himself in a convenient place.

In a short time he again heard -voices, and, rushing suddenly into the

tent, beheld some beautiful children sporting and laughing, with the

dog-skins lying by their side. He threw the dog-skins into the fire,

and the children, retaining their proper forms, grew up, and were the

ancestors of the dog-rib nation.”—(_Traditions of the North American

Indians_, by T. A. Jones, 1830, Vol. ii. p. 18.)

 

In the same work is a curious story entitled _The Mother of the

World_, which bears a close analogy to another world-wide myth: a

woman marries a dog, by night the dog lays aside its skin, and appears

as a man. This may be compared with the tale of Björn and Bera already

given.

 

I shall close this chapter with a Slovakian household tale given by T.

T. Hanush in the third volume of _Zeitschrift für Deutsche

Mythologie_.

 

The Daughter of the Vlkolak

 

“There was once a father, who had nine daughters, and they were all

marriageable, but the youngest was the most beautiful. The father was

a werewolf. One day it came into his head: ‘What is the good of

having to support so many girls?’ so he determined to put them all out

of the way.

 

“He went accordingly into the forest to hew wood, and he ordered his

daughters to let one of them bring him his dinner. It was the eldest

who brought it.

 

“‘Why, how come you so early with the food?’ asked the woodcutter.

 

“‘Truly, father, I wished to strengthen you, lest you should fall upon

us, if famished!’

 

“‘A good lass! Sit down whilst I eat.’ He ate, and whilst he ate he

thought of a scheme. He rose and said: I My girl, come, and I will

show you a pit I have been digging.’

 

“‘And what is the pit for? ‘

 

“‘That we may be buried in it when we die, for poor folk will not be

cared for much after they are dead and gone.’

 

“So the girl went with him to the side of the deep pit. ‘Now hear,’

said the werewolf, ‘you must die and be cast in there.’

 

“She begged for her life, but all in vain, so he laid hold of her and

cast her into the grave. Then he took a great stone and flung it in

upon her and crushed her head, so the poor thing breathed out her

soul. When the werewolf had done this he went back to his work, and

as dusk came on, the second daughter arrived, bringing him food. He

told her of the pit, and brought her to it, and cast her in, and

killed her as the first. And so he dealt with all his girls up to the

last. The youngest knew well that her father was a werewolf, and she

was grieved that her sisters did not return; she thought, ‘Now where

can they be? Has my father kept them for companionship; or to help him

in his work?’ So she made the food which she was to take him, and

crept cautiously through the wood. When she came near the place where

her father worked, she heard his strokes felling timber, and smelt

smoke. She saw presently a large fire and two human heads roasting at

it. Turning from the fire, she went in the direction of the

axe-strokes, and found her father.

 

“See,’ said she, ‘father, I have brought you food.’

 

“That is a good lass,’ said he. ‘Now stack the wood for me whilst I

eat.’

 

“‘But where are my sisters?’ she asked.

 

“‘Down in yon valley drawing wood,’ he replied ‘follow me, and I will

bring you to them.’

 

“They came to the pit; then he told her that he had dug it for a

grave. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘you must die, and be cast into the pit with

your sisters. ‘

 

“‘Turn aside, father,’ she asked, ‘whilst I strip of my clothes, and

then slay me if you will.’

 

“He turned aside as she requested, and then—tchich! she gave him a

push, and he tumbled headlong into the hole he had dug for her.

 

“She fled for her life, for the werewolf was not injured, and he soon

would scramble out of the pit.

 

“Now she hears his howls resounding through the gloomy alleys of the

forest, and swift as the wind she runs. She hears the tramp of his

approaching feet, and the snuffle of his breath. Then she casts behind

her her handkerchief. The werewolf seizes this with teeth and nails,

and rends it till it is reduced to tiny ribands. In another moment he

is again in pursuit foaming at the mouth, and howling dismally, whilst

his red eyes gleam like burning coals. As he gains on her, she casts

behind her her gown, and bids him tear that. He seizes the gown and

rives it to shreds, then again he pursues. This time she casts behind

her her apron, next her petticoat, then her shift, and at last rums

much in the condition in which she was born. Again the werewolf

approaches; she bounds out of the forest into a hay-field, and hides

herself in the smallest heap of hay. Her father enters the field, runs

howling about it in search of her, cannot find her, and begins to

upset the different haycocks, all the while growling and gnashing his

gleaming white fangs in his rage at her having escaped him. The foam

flakes drop at every step from his mouth, and his skin is reeking with

sweat. Before he has reached the smallest bundle of hay his strength

leaves him, he feels exhaustion begin to creep over him, and he

retires to the forest.

 

“The king goes out hunting every clay; one of his dogs carries food to

the hay-field, which has most unaccountably been neglected by the

haymakers for three days. The king, following the dog, discovers the

fair damsel, not exactly ‘in the straw,’ but up to her neck in hay.

She is carried, hay and all, to the palace, where she becomes his

wife, making only one stipulation before becoming his bride, and that

is, that no beggar shall be permitted to enter the palace.

 

“After some years a beggar does get in, the beggar being, of course,

none other than her werewolf father. He steals upstairs, enters the

nursery, cuts the throats of the two children borne by the queen to

her lord, and lays the knife under her pillow.

 

“In the morning, the king, supposing his wife to be the murderess,

drives her from home, with the dead princes hung about her neck. A

hermit comes to the rescue, and restores the babies to life. The king

finds out his mistake, is reunited to the lady out of the