1765 news update: The Beast as depicted on a broadsheet of the time. Photo Schwalb. Archives départementales de l’Hérault.
Pourcher tells us that this same day, a “robust” man from Marvejols, hunting “with a well-loaded gun,” suddenly realized La Bête was seven paces from him, believed he was going to be its next meal, and, forgetting his rifle, “began to run away crying for help.”
CHAPTER 9
Wolf-Stalk
February 1765
Massive hunts resulted in more near-misses for Duhamel, whose relationship with his network of superiors were becoming as frosty as the fastnesses of the Gévaudan.
On the first day of February 1765, the Beast went after an eight-year-old boy in Javols, but his father and their dog put the enemy to rout. Duhamel, however, was not immediately told of this incident, and later imprisoned the father for withholding information.
A complex wolf-stalk involving twenty parishes and thousands of participants in two provinces was slated for the morning of February 16, 1765.
Contingents of nobles, dragoons, peasants, outlanders (Pourcher tells us hunters came from all over central and southern France and from Spain), horses, and dogs gathered in fog and falling snow under a leaden sky, their breath condensing in the cold air.
Their goal: Drive the Beast out of the forest and into the open. Surround it. Destroy it.
***
The aromas of animals, men, and leather mixed with those of fir trees and woodsmoke. The fog and snow muffled the sounds of creaking saddles, jangling bridles, panting dogs, and men’s voices: talking somberly, laughing raucously, whistling.
The nobles exchanged wineskins and portions of a flaxen-hued wheat bread, among them Count Morangiès, one of his brothers, and a Count d’Apcher of Besques, France, accompanied by his excited teenage son, the Marquis d’Apcher.
Huddled beaters shivered, backs to the wind, blankets and cloaks around their shoulders, tricorn hats tied under their chins. They gnawed on hunks of coarse black bread and warmed their lower halves around fires lit here or there, keeping their weapons—pikes, tree limbs, garden cultivators, pitchforks, whatever might be employed to both beat the bushes and defend themselves against the Beast—beside them.
Lafont scanned the gloomy horizon, patting his mount anxiously. He checked his bridle and saddle, the reins, the girth strap. The subdelegate turned up one of the shoulder capes of his woolen topcoat and held it around his neck.
Duhamel rode into view, his skittish horse trying to anticipate the demands its impatient rider would make. The captain reined in the animal with one hand, the other protecting a sheaf of papers inside his coat.
“Here,” he said to the beaters. “Copies of a sketch of the Beast, from an interview I conducted with a witness in December.”
Jean (John) Chastel, a local farmer and tavernkeeper, took a copy and shared the image with his sons, Pierre and Antoine.
“A decent likeness,” he commented.
Chastel’s mount, a bay mare, rubbed her head against her master’s arm.
“Steady, girl.” He reached in a pocket for a piece of the dark bread and held it out flat in his palm. The mare took it greedily.
Trocelier, the priest of Aumont, asked for another copy of the sketch as his pony pawed the snow-covered ground, seeking the grass beneath. The curate dreaded these confounded hunts, knowing his steed would seek to scrape its rider’s legs against any fence post, wall, or tree trunk they passed, in hopes of dislodging him.
The dogs began to bay, sensing their forthcoming release.
“Take care. Let us have no accidents!” Lafont called out. “Let’s locate this Beast once and for all. Spring will be here before we realize it!”
“Hah! When?” A peasant laughed. “Lafont, you think only of planting and farming and the economy.”
“Know that His Excellency, our bishop, prays for us,” the subdelegate responded, as if focused elsewhere.
Duhamel interrupted. This was his moment. “This Beast lays waste to the countryside, attacks and kills herd boys, girls, women, and men,” he shouted, his horse tossing its head. “We must cooperate to destroy it. Think of the rewards we will share when we bag this animal! Men from all over Europe will wish that they had been here with us on this day!”
“I dare say the king the most!” said the Earl of Saint-Paul, a colonel of advanced years.
“Count Morangiès, take command,” Duhamel said.
Morangiès, in a familiar role, that of field marshal, ordered the dogs set loose.
Baying in excitement, the dogs ran ahead joyfully, noses deployed, seeking their target in the mists beyond.
The peasants advanced to the woods before them, and began whooping, shouting, and beating their implements against the trees and underbrush, creating the din intended to rouse the Beast from its lair.
Hunters swung themselves up and astride their mounts. The horses nickered, adjusting to the weight of men and equipment.
They were off.
***
The Beast would be observed in Prunières that morning, and hunters from that community trailed it to the river Truyère. Residents of nearby Le Malzieu had been instructed to guard the opposite bank, but, in protest of Duhamel’s pushy ways, the townsfolk shirked their duty. (King Louis XV later ordered a reprimand of their officials.) And so La Bête paddled across the river and loped away. The Prunières party followed, braving the benumbing water and tracking the animal in the snow until it disappeared into a stand of timber. Others from Le Malzieu sighted it later, fired upon it, and even hit it. Once more the creature got up, fled, and evaded its pursuers.
Two days later, a stunned parishioner from Le Malzieu beheld the Beast on the move, a human head in its jaws. It had just slain twelve-year-old Marie-Jeanne Rousset. Its gruesome spoils were recovered by outraged neighbors. The poor girl’s body was used by Duhamel as bait with no result, and she was at last buried. Hunts continued over the next two days, but they too were fruitless.
More than three hundred miles from the dark winter wilderness of the Gévaudan, in Versailles, ablaze with candles, it had apparently been understood for some time that it was time for Duhamel to go.
CHAPTER 10
“An Old Norman Gentleman Who Has Grown Gray in the Pursuit of Wolves”
Duhamel’s relations with locals continued to cool, as the Beast set upon twenty peasants in February 1765, killing five. The dedicated yet unlucky captain was eventually replaced by Jean-Charles d’Enneval, a virtuoso wolf hunter from the province of Normandy, more than two hundred miles to the north.
D’Enneval, who was said to have destroyed twelve hundred wolves, had been recommended by Laverdy, the king’s controller-general. D’Enneval would have the aid of his son Jean-François after the latter’s release from the military as a captain of the Alençon, France, recruits regiment.
The father/son team estimated that it would take them a couple of weeks to bag the Beast.
***
Young d’Enneval wrote to the Bishop of Mende, describing their plans, and letting him know they would bring “six hunting dogs, perfect for the wolf, and specialized for this purpose…. With this help and our [two] huntsmen plus thirty good shots chosen from the district, we hope to succeed.”
Young d’Enneval also added that if another party managed to kill La Bête, the animal was to be brought to the Normans in order that they might identify its species. “A surgeon has been appointed to open her up on the spot….” D’Enneval, son, also petitioned Saint-Priest to direct Lafont to advance them thirty louis, gold coins.
The d’Ennevals arrived while Duhamel was still on the ground and, though the captain of the Clermont-Prince unit was technically still in charge, there were conflicts. These were refereed by Lafont, who asked his brother Trophime to keep tabs on the Normans, headquartered in Saint-Alban. The bickering did not help the hunters with their main objective: locating the Beast. It killed five more people over the course of more than a dozen atta
cks in February.
Pourcher, from his research, was convinced Duhamel did all he could, every day he could, “to deceive and surprise La Bête … [what he took upon himself] is today very difficult to appreciate.”
Artificial Women and Little-Girl Lambs
Well-intentioned people—and those hoping for reward money—proposed a wide-ranging assortment of ideas and contrivances for the capture of La Bête.
A Mr. Joas de Papoux wrote to officials in February of 1765 to suggest the counterfeiting of women. “To this end, seeing that the monster is ravenous for females, it is only necessary to place in the places where it appears artificial females, composed of the most subtle poison and expose them on flexible posts on the various roads to invite the cursed animal to show its unbridled fury and swallow its own end.” Three expanded pig bladders, seasoned with poison, would make up a “woman’s” head and breasts. A painted face would be affixed.
Monsieur de Papoux wrote again in ten weeks with another plan, this one involving twenty-five “intrepid” men dressed in assorted animal skins and feathers, with headgear trimmed in feathers and small knife edges. Everything should be coated in honey and fragrant with musk. Then, the hunters should combine twelve ounces of human fat (from a Christian) with viper’s blood (if available) [the asp viper is found throughout much of France], and distribute to the parties in boxes. The men should be armed with Urson pistols and three square bullets, “bitten by the teeth of a woman or girl,” then joined with pieces of iron and also covered in fat, plus hunting knives and iron claws, also greased. They should patrol three by three in silence in a large triangle. “A single one of them could be the vanquisher of the cruel Bête.”
Another plan proposed by a Monsieur Herbert of Vernières, France, was to dress a sheep like a little girl, fasten a bonnet on its head, and tie it out. “Note that it is best to arrange that the sheep is upright and of about the same size as a child.” Children fashioned from straw could be placed by the sheep. Marksmen were to lie in wait nearby. He also suggested having children cavort before another contingent of hidden marksmen. Says Herbert in a letter to Monsieur de Montluc, sub-delegate of Saint-Flour, “The whole universe must be touched by so many massacres so often repeated.”
A curate from Reims, who thought the Beast was a tiger-cat from Mexico, directed officials to grease the backs of veal calves with poison and surround them with traps, luring the Beast to its doom.
A Lieutenant-Colonel Duparquet advised that the Beast’s hunters should switch to steel musket balls since the Beast, rumored to be covered in scales, was impervious to lead. Monsieur Lespinasse de Mongibaud proposed an “infallible wooden machine” on a twenty-five-foot track to take the creature alive for the king. A model of a child would be inside as bait, while, in a tree nearby, someone would “cry and lament all day and even more at night” to attract the Beast.
CHAPTER 11
“Courage, Hunters of France”
March 1765
The king re-announced his reward in March 1765 as the d’Ennevals situated themselves, awaited their dogs, which arrived on March 9, and petitioned for Duhamel’s dismissal. La Bête, meanwhile, was busy with more ravages—twenty-three attacks in March—and was responsible for the deaths of two more women and six more children.
But mid-month, the Beast would famously clash with another force of nature: the femme Jouve.
March 13, 1765
Jeanne, the femme (woman or wife) Jouve, spouse of tenant farmer Pierre, was in the garden beside their house in La Bessière, France, parish of Saint-Alban, with three of her six children.
Jeanne’s daughter was holding her youngest child, a baby boy, and singing to him. Her six-year-old son, meanwhile, was playing with a stick, poking it into the receding snow and mud beneath in the shade of the garden wall.
The late-winter sun felt good on Jeanne’s face, and the fresh air was invigorating, but a glance at the forest beyond confirmed: The trees were not yet ready to leaf out. Spring was still a long way away.
The six-year-old bent down to pat the mud with a small hand. Jeanne sighed. “No, no.”
An unexpected breeze made her shiver. The slender mère drew her shawl around her. “It’s too cold to stay out, children. Let’s go inside.” She reached down, taking the stick from the boy.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a stone falling from the wall. And something else. An animal plummeting from the top. A brute. A monster! It was like a wolf, but not a wolf, large, reddish. Its coat was scarred, diseased.
Jeanne froze, gripping her shawl.
The brute landed, splattering snow and mud, lashing its tail, appraising the stunned mother and her brood. “La Bête,” Jeanne whispered. She began to shudder. “In our garden.”
Our Lady, protect us!
And then it pounced.
Jeanne watched in horror as it struck her daughter, grabbing an arm. The impact caused the girl and her baby brother to fall to the ground. Her daughter cried out, but managed to hold onto the babe.
Jeanne fell upon the Beast, flailing it with her son’s little stick. “Let them go!” she screamed. The stick broke. The Beast growled and clawed at Jeanne’s arms and head, ripping out tufts of hair. She fought back, punching it. “Let them go!” Her daughter gave it a kick. The Beast roared, slamming all three against the wall. Jeanne’s face scraped against rough stone. Her daughter shrieked. The baby cried. Weeping herself in pain and fear and anger, the mother shielded the pair with her body.
“Mama!”
Jeanne groaned. Her son! Her six-year-old boy! The Beast whirled to face the child who’d been left alone, lunged forward, wrapped its jaws around its new quarry … and shook.
Something within Jeanne snapped. “Take the baby to the house!” she screamed at her daughter. As the girl darted off, Jeanne rose, hands curled to fists, and scrambled, slipping on snow and mud, to the Beast. She shoved it over, freeing her son. There.
But the Beast got to its feet instantly and went for the boy again.
“Mama!”
“I am here!” shouted Jeanne. This time she leapt upon the monster’s back. Anything to distract it. Pulling its head backward to her chest, she screamed, “Leave us alone!” The Beast collapsed. Jeanne tumbled off, grasping for her son. The Beast snarled, breathing in her face. The smell. Woman and Bête were eye to eye, panting. Its eyes are as fiery as they say, Jeanne thought, as if from somewhere far away.
Without warning, the Beast swiped at her again. “Oh!’ cried Jeanne, clapping her hands to her head, feeling warm, sticky blood. La Bête took her son again, and this time, leapt up and over the wall, carrying the youngster away.
No.
Shaking, Jeanne got to her feet once more. She picked up the fallen stone. And went after them.
She ran around to the gate as quickly as she could and left the garden. Beast and boy were ahead. The Beast was strong, but the weight of the boy slowed its progress. Heart pounding, Jeanne rushed and, unbelievably, caught up with them.
And then she grabbed the creature’s tail. (Some accounts said she grabbed a foot, some that she “seized La Bête in the place she judged to be the most sensitive.”)
The Beast dropped the boy and gave a cry, spinning toward Jeanne. She let go of its tail and smacked it on the head with the stone. Take that.
The Beast, mad with pain, clawed her once more. Jeanne faltered.
Retrieving its prey, the creature made for a hole in a hedge before them, evidently striving for the open fields beyond.
Jeanne pushed herself again, this time grasping for her son’s feet, dragging along the ground. I can’t reach him. Her six-year-old was silent now.
“Help! Help!” Jeanne cried in despair.
“Mother!”
Jeanne started. Her two older sons appeared; they’d been moving the family’s flock of sheep. And there was their dog. Weak now, the femme pointed to the departing beast. “La Bête! Your brother!”
The dog was already making f
or the Beast, barking furiously. It threw La Bête to the ground. The six-year-old fell to one side. Enraged, the Beast twirled and body-slammed the dog, throwing it head over heels several yards.
Jeanne’s older son rushed to his mother. The other son, brandishing a spear, joined the dog in combat and stabbed the Beast in its haunches.
The Beast bailed, streaking away. The blood-soaked Jeanne flung her stone after it and went to her injured son.
Her courage and example were lauded throughout France, but despite best efforts, her six-year-old son died of massive wounds three days later. The king awarded her three hundred livres for her bravery. Trophime Lafont, brother of Étienne, would deliver the reward to the grieving Jeanne on April 25.
***
As with Portefaix, the skirmish with the femme Jouve failed to slow the Beast down. It actually killed and half-devoured a boy that very night. At dawn the next morning, it showed up almost at the doorstep of a woman of Estival; she shouted for everyone to “see La Bête,” and they did before the creature made a getaway.
While waiting for their dogs, which were transported separately from the Normans, the d’Ennevals squandered advance money and fumed about Duhamel. In a March 9 letter to Ballainvilliers, intendant of the province of Auvergne, the elder d’Enneval states, “The dragoons go on hunts in their own districts. That gives me a lot of trouble because I have no control over them. I will do all I can.”
The d’Ennevals and Duhamel both wrote to Count Moncan to complain about each other.
On March 19, Lafont penned a lengthy missive, about thirty-seven hundred words, to the governor regarding the situation. The letter also mentions the subdelegate’s receiving communication about Portefaix’s reward, three hundred livres, with an additional three hundred livres to be divided among the brave twelve-year-old’s friends.
Beast Page 6
