It was debated whether or not the wild man was human, and what of his spiritual status? He could not speak and so likely could not know God. “Wild” was equated with insanity, making his forest home a fitting refuge for fugitives of all sorts. Another vein of tradition painted the wild man as an über-naturalist and sylvan guardian, having knowledge of the properties of plants, sharing his arboreal expertise with humans for gain or good will. In mountainous Europe, especially in the Alps, the wild man was identified as a cannibalistic demon giant who preyed on unchristened children. He might also helm the Wild Hunt of myth, coursing nighttime skies and rural byways with a squad of phantoms, slaying all in their path.
Sometimes a human became a wild man after a personal tragedy, as did Geoffrey of Monmouth’s twelfth-century character, Merlinus Caledonicus, when his brothers were killed in war. Or one might go wild if rejected in love. Wild men might be captured, as was the hermit Saint John Chrysostom, who so resembled a beast that his captors believed him to be an “unheard-of animal crawling on the ground.” As with lycanthropy, wildness might be temporary. Some wild men, once domesticated, made excellent knights. Innocent of (as Robert Louis Stevenson calls it) “the Bastille of civilization” and its own madnesses, wild men were honorable and without guile. Bernheimer notes that in later feudal times, it “became fashionable to identify oneself with savage things … and thus to repudiate the very principle of hieratic order upon which medieval society was founded.”
In the seventeenth century, a popular book entitled Historie of Foure-footed Beastes by Edward Topsell catalogued varmints real and fabulous. One anthropophagous man-beast, the manticore or mantichoras (man-eater), was a hairy, Simba-sized creature native to India; it had three rows of teeth. Clark comments that Topsell’s woodcut depiction “seems in some extraordinary way to anticipate the typical Edwardian face.”
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Perhaps one of the most famous ancient instances in which man combines his identity with that of an animalistic one is that of the “Sorcerer, Shaman, or Warlock” in the Trois Frères cave, in Ariege, France. This Upper Paleolithic site, about fifteen thousand years old, is remarkable for its beautiful cave paintings—depicting bison, deer, horses, and more—attributed to Cro-Magnon man. For some researchers, the anthropomorphic figure represented here, which is possibly conducting a ritual dance or incantation, comprises human body parts (genitalia, legs, and a beard) and animal attributes (a wolf tail, deer horns, and bear paws). This shaman, which could play varying roles—magician, herbalist, shape-shifter, “doctor,” or medium—between the world of the living and that of the spirits, is also clothed in fur-covered ceremonial dress.
The figure could have multiple meanings: Perhaps the shaman seeks to conduct a ritual dance to promote hunting, or perhaps he worships a lord of animals. He may be trying to communicate with the spirits or with Mother Nature. What is clear is that the figure represented is using parts of animals in order to try and meld with them, acquiring their characteristics to achieve an enhanced connection to the natural world, trying to understand it in a more profound way.
In Trois Frères we also find the Bison Man, a hybrid playing, in a bipedal stance, what looks to be a musical instrument. Is he a transforming shaman or animal spirit?
This short journey through the world of prehistoric anthropomorphic representations combined with animal forms cannot end without mentioning the lion man or lion woman, from the Hohlenstein-Stadel cave, Germany. The thirty-centimeter (nearly a foot) tall figure is carved from a mammoth tusk and dates from about thirty thousand years ago. The small sculpture leaves no doubt: A bipedal and erect human body, provided with arms close to the torso, has a lion’s head without hair. This exquisite carving is executed with great detail. For many researchers it may represent a witch wearing a “mask” shaped like the head of a lion. Perhaps our ancestors sought to take on the characteristics of dreaded wild animals, such as the terrible cave lion of the past. Hence the use of tanned leather skins and other ornaments made from animals killed in death-defying real-life hunts.
Bison Man, left, and the “Lord of the Animals” shaman found at Trois Frères, French Paleolithic cave.
It is curious, as more than one paleontologist has pointed out, that these early human artists chose to depict only the strongest and fiercest animal opponents. Later Paleolithic bestiary representations include less savage animals: horses, bison, deer, reindeer, wild goats, etc. The phase in which the prehistoric environment was rife with fearsome animals shifts into an era in which man gained more dominance over nature.
So far we have seen anthropomorphic lions, biped deer, and human bison; an alleged connection between mind, body, and nature; and the possession of animal attributes that would allow us to become them in order to understand, venerate, and be inspired by them—something that could make us stronger.
A perfect example of this archaic process is found in the ways of Nordic and Germanic Berserkers. These ancient warriors formed a kind of professional army, possibly the earliest in history. Dressed in animal skins, usually bears’ and wolves’ hides (worn on the torso and around the waist; the animals’ tanned heads were used as rudimentary helmet motifs), they fought in brutal and bloody ways. And they were accomplished hunters. Apparently those who hunted bears had to wear, during certain ceremonies and festivals, the head and fur of the animals killed. They were also believed to drink the blood of the animal to acquire the carnivores’ strength and fierceness, all for victory in combat. The bear figure or spirit provided the warrior with brute force and power, important for individual and face-to-face combat.
The “human-lion” carved in a mammoth tusk and a possible reconstruction of what the artist had in mind.
The wolf, on the other hand, hunts in packs, inspiring communal planning and split-second execution, also useful in the battlefield. Therefore, both species were esteemed for their intelligence and strength, crucial qualities for every warrior. There has been much discussion as to how the Berserkers reached such a degree of combat effectiveness and downright cruelty. It has been speculated that they received special training (almost certainly true), and maybe fighting under magic spells, or even “altering” their body with drugs and potions. The warrior ingested hallucinogenic mushrooms, plant-based concoctions, etc., and, Hyde- or Hulk-like, switched on a new physiognomy (where clues about one’s inner qualities might be found in one’s outer appearance): His eyes were injected with blood, his hair bristled like that of an angry wolf, his rage grew exponentially; he seemed even to increase in size. Possession, madness, pre-combat autosuggestion, or chemical alteration? Recent studies indicate that the latter option probably never happened. Tests have shown that reaction time decreases under the influence of powerful alkaloids, making it almost impossible to handle the heavy Viking weapons of the time. Therefore it is thought that the Berserker’s brutal state was something more psychological, not having yet discovered the mechanism triggering such fury and violence.
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In the eighteenth century, in the case of the Beast of the Gévaudan, strange individuals, reminiscent of the brutal Berserkers and others, were spotted on more than one occasion. Derek Brockis, prominent British researcher, presents two disturbing episodes in which “human beasts” appear on the scene:
There was the mysterious case of the three women of Pompeyrac, going to church near the wood of Favart, when a dark man offered to escort them through the wood. They refused, but before leaving, he touched one of them with a fur-covered hand. Dragoons arriving on the scene warned the terrified women not to go into the wood, because La Bête had just been seen there.
Coincidence, observed exaggeration, or magic man-animal influence? Consider the second case cited by Brockis:
Two women of Escures, also on the way to church, had a similar experience in an area where, unknown to them, La Bête had just been seen by several people. This time they saw that the man accosting them was covered in fur only when his shirt blew open in the wind. It
was said at the time that La Bête, instrument of the Devil, was trying to stop them from going to mass.
This time it is clear that the alleged assailant wears some fur under his clothing, perhaps as protection against the elements. The circumstances of these sightings were suspicious and alarming. Brockis comments:
As with all good monster murder mysteries, there has to be the wicked aristocrat solution. In one case the murderer was supposed to have hidden among the nuns of the Cistercian abbey of Mercoire, which is now a farm. The abbess was thought to have taken contributions for hiding fugitives. Some documents mention a name, Count Vargo or Vargas, as being a werewolf or having other connections with the La Bête story.
A human solution to the La Bête mystery is unacceptable to many students of the subject, but perhaps the person really did exist.
There are other instances where appearances or attacks by La Bête were associated with a human presence, including a famous moonlit sighting by a witness from a cottage near a river. A peasant by the name Pailleyre (nicknamed Bégou) of Pontajou, Venteugues parish, said he came upon a big man bathing in the river near his home (Servières) in the pre-dawn light of the full moon. Surprised, the man jumped out of the water, turned into a Beast, and dashed toward Bégou’s house so quickly that Pailleyre scarcely had time to shut himself inside. He was so afraid after this vision, he refused to come out again until the next day. Later, Pailleyre would admit that the beast bather reminded him of Antoine Chastel. French author Pascal Cazottes speculates in his book, La Bête du Gévaudan, about the incident:
Let’s ignore the “metamorphosed animal” and ask if Pailleyre actually saw Antoine Chastel bathing in a stream in the moonlight, and if, as some have suggested, the hairy man who caused, twice, extreme restlessness in two women, was none other than Antoine Chastel. He happened to belong to a family of witches, associated, allegedly, to lycanthropy and wolf training. He had also done some traveling, including a trip to North Africa in which, it was said, he had been castrated. Furthermore, apparently, Antoine Chastel suffered from hypertrichosis, as stated before. Hypertrichosis can be sometimes partial. There are known cases involving the face, neck, and shoulders, but not the rest of the body. Conversely, it can affect more than one body part, even the whole body but not the face, where it may only show as an overabundance of beard and hair. Affected by hypertrichosis, Antoine Chastel only had to wear a wolf-shaped mask (like those worn on the pagan solstice festivals) to take on the appearance of an animal. My reasoning is a bit farfetched, but in a case in which so many elements are included, intersected, and intertwined, I think nothing should be ruled out.
Other French writers and researchers, such as Xavier Pic, author of La Bête qui mangeait le monde en pays de Gévaudan et d’Auvergne (The Man-Eating Beast from Gévaudan and Auvergne) believe that these cases were just folk tales, gossip, small talk, and nonsense, not to be taken into account.
But what if the truth lay somewhere in the middle? A possible scenario brings into play the mysterious figure of the loup-garou: literally, a man who changes into an animal, in this case, a wolf. Could someone who was extremely hirsute, Antoine Chastel or another, disguise himself as a wolf-man and use superstitions and folktales to commit some of the horrible crimes attributed to the Beast and link the human figure clad in animal (wolf) skins with the strange sightings discussed above?
Some citizens that author Sánchez had the opportunity to speak with in the Lozère region in 2013 believe this is the case. A striking bronze sculpture group in Le Malzieu, France, a community in which attacks occurred, depicts such a scene, frozen in motion: A sinister man in wolfskin, carrying a hooked metal implement and accompanied by a dog wearing a protective leather coat, stalks a young girl who sits watching her sheep. This sculpture group may represent part of the solution to the mystery of the killings in the Gévaudan. Is its menacing man similar to the figure Pailleyre spied in the river that moonlit dawn in early 1765?
Finally, it is said that two victims attacked by the Beast were found roughly “redressed” after death. Another victim was devoured after their clothing (a shirt and vest) had been removed, seemingly almost carefully, without damage. How could this be achieved by a wild animal? Fact, fiction, or imagination? Or human interference?
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Real-Life Lycan Serial Killers: Romasanta, a Classic but Little-Known Murderous Wolf-Man of Spain
My first transformation occurred in the mountains of Couso. I met two fierce-looking wolves. Suddenly I fell down, I began to feel convulsions, I wallowed three times uncontrollably and within seconds I myself was a wolf. I spent five days hanging with the other two until I got my body back. The one you see now, your honor. The other two wolves that were with me were also changed to human form. They were from Valencia. One was called Antonio and the other Mr. Genaro. And were also cursed, like me. For a long time I went as a wolf with Mr. Genaro and Antonio. We attacked and we ate several people because we were hungry.
—Manuel Blanco Romasanta, Case Number 1778: Case Against a Wolf-Man, Allariz Courts (Orense, Galicia, northern Spain).
Allariz, Spain, located in Galicia, is home to a number of curious legends, the most impressive being one of real-life werewolves. The lobisome (wolf-man) legend begins in the small village of Regueiro, of the council or municipality of Esgos, where Manuel Blanco Romasanta was born on November 18, 1809.
Romasanta became known as a lycanthrope at a young age. He married at twenty-two, but soon became a widower. He took up the trade of street peddling and began to travel. His first victim disappeared in 1843. A policeman from the vicinity (León, Spain) sought to arrest Romasanta for a debt of six hundred reales (local currency); instead, he ended up convicted of murder. Romasanta escaped from prison, returned to his hometown, stopped peddling for a time, and tried to go unnoticed.
But he started peddling again and apparently murdering as well. His next victims were two women from a nearby town, who trusted him to guide them to the city of Santander in search of better fortune. Upon his return, Romasanta claimed that both women had found good jobs there and were fine. After, and by chance, he met a priest looking for a maidservant. The younger sister of one of the two victims, who was also looking for work, set out with Romasanta to meet the priest. Romasanta found he was now trusted by locals seeking employment in far-off places. But what he was doing in reality was killing them and selling their clothes and belongings. As time passed, his victims’ families became worried, as they received no news from their loved ones. To calm them, Romasanta even began falsifying correspondence from those missing. But people were suspicious.
It ended when two brothers of one of the victims recognized their sister’s clothes. An unknown woman was wearing them and said Romasanta sold them to her. Over time, this occurred again. Romasanta was accused and prosecuted, but again escaped, this time to the town of Toledo. There he was found by happenstance by two Galicians who warned the mayor that Romasanta was a wanted fugitive. He was immediately arrested and taken to jail in Allariz.
At the time, his trial captured the attention of the press, and the summary file is kept nowadays in the archive of the Kingdom of Galicia, the only case of a werewolf sentenced to be executed by a national court of justice.
Romasanta confessed to all the murders (there were thirteen in total), claiming he was under the influence of the moon. He stated that he took his victims to discreet places in the Galician forest, where he would tear them up and devour them afterward. In addition he would remove their unto (body fat) which he sold profitably in Portugal.
He explained that as a teenager, he’d been affected by a family curse that would transform him unavoidably into a werewolf. When in that state, he lost human consciousness and was dominated by animal instinct, killing his victims and devouring their flesh. In his own words:
I could remain as a wolf up to eight days in a row, but usually did not exceed two or four. Antonio, however, could do it for ten days and Mr. Genaro fifteen, but usuall
y only between four and five days. With them I killed and devoured several people, although I attacked alone two women called Josefa and Benita, respectively, and their children.
Attempts from his lawyer to get Romasanta acquitted due to lack of evidence connected to the absurdity of his statement ceased when a reconstruction of the murders was performed. Romasanta also revealed precisely where he had killed and eaten several victims. The werewolf trial lasted a year, and at the end, Romasanta was sentenced to be strangled by garrote vil, after paying court costs and compensating victims’ families.
Artistic reconstruction of Romasanta by Spanish forensic experts Fernando Serrulla and Marga Sanín.
But the werewolf’s luck took a strange turn for the better when the Spanish queen, Isabella II, received a letter from a French hypnotist known as Mr. Philips, also a professor in Electro-Biology (probably French physician Joseph-Pierre Durand de Gros, 1826–1900), who’d followed the trial and called for Romasanta’s acquittal. Philips believed Romasanta suffered from the ancient affliction lycanthropy, the mental disorder causing hallucinogenic episodes in which the affected person believes that he is able turn into an animal.
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