The Werewolf Blood Trail: Tales of Gore, Terror & Hunt. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

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       E. F. Benson, Marie de France, Alexandre Dumas Père, George W. M. Reynolds, Eugene Field, ÉmileErckmann, AlexandreChatrian, Rudyard Kipling, Robert E. Howard, Gladys Gordon Trenery, Clifford Ball, Clemence Housman, Sabine Baring-Gould, Caroline Taylor Stewart

      The Werewolf Blood Trail: Tales of Gore, Terror & Hunt

       The Mark of the Beast, In the Forest of Villefére, The Man-Wolf, The Werewolf Howls…

      Translator: Eugene Mason Illustrator: Laurence Housman

      e-artnow, 2020

       Contact: [email protected]

      EAN: 4064066391973

      Table of Contents

       The Lay of the Were-Wolf (Marie de France)

       The Wolf Leader (Alexandre Dumas Père)

       Wagner the Wehr-wolf (George W. M. Reynolds)

       The Werewolf (Eugene Field)

       The Man-Wolf (Émile Erckmann & Alexandre Chatrian)

       The Mark of the Beast (Rudyard Kipling)

       The Horror-Horn (E. F. Benson)

       In the Forest of Villefére (Robert E. Howard)

       Wolfshead (Robert E. Howard)

       Werewolf of the Sahara (Gladys Gordon Trenery)

       The Werewolf Howls (Clifford Ball)

       The Were-Wolf (Clemence Housman)

       Werwolves (Elliott O'Donnell)

       The Book of Were-Wolves (Sabine Baring-Gould)

       The Origin of the Werewolf Superstition (Caroline Taylor Stewart)

      The Lay of the Were-Wolf

       (Marie de France)

       Table of Contents

      Amongst the tales I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.

      It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I have to tell.

      In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did any of his house know the business which called him forth.

      On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this fashion, "Husband," said she, "and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty hand, than to gain hard words."

      When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her.

      "Wife," he answered, "ask what you will. What would you have, for it is yours already?"

      "By my faith," said the lady, "soon shall I be whole. Husband, right long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now, where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who loves so closely, bring you to harm?"

      "Wife," made answer the lord, "nothing but evil can come if I tell you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost indeed."

      When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.

      "Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey and roots, within the thickest of the wood."

      After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.

      "Wife," said he, "I go naked as a beast."

      "Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?"

      "Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my lair."

      "Husband," replied the lady to him, "I love you better than all the world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now your heart, and tell what is good to be known."

      So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could no longer refrain, but told her all.

      "Wife," said he, "within this wood, a little from the path, there is a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I would return to my own home."

      On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.

      "Fair friend," said she, "be happy. That which you have coveted