Europe has countless stories of werewolves, mostly terrifying ones that predate on human and livestock alike, though occasionally benevolent (or at least humorous). There are werewolf stories to be found in any part of the world that currently or previously played host to wolves – so many stories that it is impossible to cover all variations in a short article. So, this will focus on the European versions. A recurrent theme within lycanthropic lore is the issue of how people become werewolves in the first place. The primary ways are through a misfortune of birth (usually, though not always, because they are descended from a werewolf); through the effect of some malevolent magic foisted upon them; or through the power of some equally malevolent magic which they have voluntarily entered into. In this latter case it is most commonly via an ointment or a section of enchanted wolf pelt.

Modern accounts of lycanthropy through birth have often linked the notion to known medical conditions, most often hypertrichosis – sometimes also called Ambas Syndrome. This genetic problem leads people to sprout copious amounts of hair all over their bodies, including their faces. This does lead to a somewhat wolfish appearance. The limitation of this argument is that those rare few with this condition have been largely integrated into society, albeit in often less-than-ideal ways (such as working in travelling freak shows, alongside other people with biological abnormalities). Even if the general public in centuries past lacked the scientific knowledge to understand the nature of hypertrichosis, they were quite aware that such people were otherwise ordinary humans (hairiness aside) and not flesh-eating monsters savaging victims at the full of the moon. The Gonzales Family, many of whom appear to have had Ambras Syndrome, lived quite openly in 16^th century France. They were a curiosity, certainly, but nobody tried shooting them with silver bullets or fled town for fear of being devoured!

There are other medical conditions linked to this mythical state, such as porphyria. Again, whether enough people thought sufferers of such conditions were monsters to generate the vast number of frightening tales, is open to much debate. The wish to rationalise may say more about modern readers than past generations.

Medical arguments aside, some cultures have accounts of werewolf families such as the Gandillon family in 16^th century France who were tried for carrying out attacks in wolf-form. Father, daughter, son and a grandson all met with a gruesome fate at the hands of the court. Whilst the accusations were doubtless trumped up or at least exaggerated, it was widely accepted that the curse could be passed down the bloodline. Some psychologists have pointed out that the XYY chromosome that used to be seen as a common indicator of psychopathy (the evidence is regarded as a bit more uncertain now) is inherited within families. Whilst people with XYY do not sprout fangs, they do have a predisposition to callousness and cruelty to a point which can often spill over into brutal violence. It makes them dangerous both to each other and to the wider community. Tales of volatile or murderous families could, with endless retelling and embellishing, become accounts of tribes of monsters.

The Ancient Greek story of King Lycaon and his sons epitomises the idea of lycanthropy through imposed magical powers. In that myth, Lycaon offends Zeus when he murders someone and has cooked human flesh served up during a feast for Zeus and other deities who have disguised themselves as mortal travellers. Lykaon does not know who they really are, but the offence (tricking people into cannibalism) would still have been considerable even if they were ordinary human visitors. It was not the first such cannibal feast that Lycaon had indulged in, and for his sins he and his sons were transformed into wolves. Their werewolf descendants are said to roam the mountains of Arcadia forever more. Historians have speculated that the divine punishment on the king may symbolise the end of an era in which human sacrifice (and possibly cannibalism) was institutionalised in Arcadia. Whether the Olympians called an end to it, or culture simply moved on to less horrific forms of ritual offering is open to debate.

The 12^th century cleric Giraldus Cambrensis described a missionary travelling through the Irish district of Ossory who encounters a talking wolf. The creature explains that it is a shapeshifted human labouring under a curse placed on his tribe by the little-known St Natalis. Members of this tribe are forced to take turns spending seven years in lupine guise before reverting to humanity. Similar tales of fixed periods of lupine servitude can be found in other parts of the world. The wolf informs the missionary that his wife is dying and requires Last Rites before it is too late. Needless to say, the holy man does his bit (despite quaking knees) and redeems the soul of the female werewolf. Whilst the story is doubtless apocryphal, it illustrates the belief that lycanthropy could be visited as a curse – not only on those who actually offended St Natalis but also their descendants (unto how many generations, nobody seems to know).  Quite what upset the saint in the first place is not stated in the surviving manuscripts. 

Lycanthropy through voluntary magic can be seen in the peculiar trials of the Livonian werewolf Thiess – a very elderly man who freely confessed to having joined a mysterious cult which enabled the members to transform into werewolves in order to battle the forces of evil in Hell. This is a rare example of a benevolent lycanthrope (though the old man was still sentenced to a brutal punishment by the ungrateful authorities). Whether Thiess really was a member of some esoteric order engaging in shamanic spirit journeying or was simply delusional remains an open question. The former possibility hovers tantalisingly for modern pagans (though Thiess himself claimed to be a good Christian) and sits against a background of similar claims from werewolf and witchcraft trials in which the accused discussed being part of strange groups such as the Italian Benandanti.

The bizarre tale of the shepherd boy Jean Grenier, who was put on trial for murderous attacks against an unspecified number of other children in 17^th century France, shows the use of ointments. Grenier claimed to have been inducted into some kind of cult by a mysterious character who dispensed a potion that had to be rubbed on the skin. Doing so transformed Jean and the other men into wolves. There is a possibility that this story might be at least partially true, with the boy describing some kind of hallucinogenic substance absorbed via the skin. Why an illiterate teenage shepherd should have been provided with such a thing is uncertain. Possibly there were a group of people engaging in some kind of ceremonial behaviour in the French forests, though most of them were presumably not as aggressive as Grenier or there would have been a great many more accounts of murderous attacks. Another French werewolf from the 16^th century, Jacques Roulet, also claimed to use an unguent given him during a satanic ceremony. Unusually for the time, Jean’s sentence of death was commuted to consignment to a monastery on the basis that he was mad (which could be a side-effect of excess hallucinogen usage) and needed to be looked after.

By contrast, the late 16^th century German werewolf Peter Stubbe (or Stumppe) claimed to have received his shapeshifting powers through a wolfskin belt gifted him by the Devil. There are some echoes to the selkie stories of women who don seal skins in order to change shape. Some anthropologists have speculated that this may root back to shamanic practices of wearing animal skins as part of ceremonies to tune in to the psyche of other creatures. Similar kinds of hunting rituals can still be seen taking place around the world in tribal communities. These ceremonies tend to involve a full animal skin rather than just a belt or girdle, but this style of consciousness-shifting may have adjusted over time. It is also possible that the use of skins and unguents may not be mutually exclusive, in that ointments could be smeared inside the pelt and then absorbed by the wearer. The difficulty with hallucinogens is controlling the vision – five people eating fly agaric could have five totally different experiences. Expectation can have some impact in shaping what is seen, but it is still an unpredictable route to explore. The intensity of the ritual is likely to be a far more significant factor than strange herbs or mushrooms. Which might be considered a Health & Safety guideline to readers who might be wondering which particular concoction might liberate them into wolf-form. If, like the Nordic Úlfhéðnar warriors or the Irish diberga, the reader would like to go a-wolfing then they need to put in a great deal of psychic work on psychic preparation to avoid the fate of Stubbe or Grenier – smearing on the herbs is just not enough!

Robin Herne is a storyteller, poet, artist, dog-owner and Druid. He has written numerous articles for Pagan magazines (such as Pagan Dawn, Many Gods-Many Voices, & Dragonswood), Interfaith books (Pagan Pieces), and had poems included in the work of other authors (Galina Krasskovas’ ‘Full Fathom Five’). He has also contributed crime fiction to anthologies, appeared in television documentaries, and is a regular broadcaster with BBC Radio Suffolk. He regularly speaks at Interfaith seminars, Pagan conventions, and other events as both a lecturer and a storyteller. He currently lives in Suffolk, England and is a founder member of both the Druid group Clan Ogma and the Ipswich Pagan Council. He is also proud to be the first winner of the title Chief Bard of the Fens!

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