Medieval Ghost Stories

by Andrew Joynes

  Bisclavret the Werewolf

  In ancient days many stories were told of men who turned into wolves and made their dwelling in the wild. Each of them became the creature known as the werewolf. This is a savage beast which, as long as it remains in its animal form, goes around devouring people and causing harm, lurking in the depths of the forests. But let me tell you the particular story of the werewolf Bisclavret.

  In Brittany there lived a nobleman of whom many good stories were told. He was a handsome and courageous knight who always bore himself with honour. He was one of those closest to his overlord, and was much admired by all his neighbours. He had married a woman who was herself noble and beautiful: as he loved her, so she loved him in return. But she became greatly concerned about the fact that every week he went away for three full days without her knowing what became of him. During this time, no-one in their household knew what happened to him. And so one day, when he had returned home in great good humour, she broached the matter with him.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘my own sweet love, I want to ask you something, if I dare; but I am afraid above all of your fury.’

  When he heard this, he kissed her, folding her in his arms and pressing her against him. ‘Come, my sweet lady,’ he said, ‘ask away! There is no question you can put to me for which I shall not provide an answer, as long as I know it myself.’

  ‘I am greatly relieved to hear this, by my faith,’ she said. ‘Indeed, my lord, I am so anxious on the days when you are absent, my heart weighs so heavy, and I am so afraid of losing you, that all of this will surely cause my death unless I soon get help. Do please tell me where you go off to and what happens to you. I fear you have another love and in going to her you are doing wrong.’

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘for God’s sake, have pity! For if I tell you about this, it will cause me great sorrow, for I will surely lose your love and end up losing my life.’

  Listening to him, the lady realised how serious the matter was. She kept on questioning him, cajoling him so effectively that at last he told her the truth, keeping nothing back from her. ‘My lady, I go off to become a werewolf. As Bisclavret I enter the depths of the forest and feed off whatever prey I can hunt down.’ When he had related everything to her, she asked him whether he went naked or kept on his human clothing. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I go about completely naked.’

  ‘But for God’s sake, tell me where you leave your clothes.’

  ‘I cannot tell you that, alas, for if ever I lost them and remained without them, I would have to stay forever in the form of Bisclavret. There would be no help for me until I retrieved my clothes, and that is why I cannot reveal this.’

  ‘But my lord,’ the lady objected, ‘you are dearer to me than the world itself. You must not conceal anything from me or mistrust me in this way. After all, that is not how it should be between true lovers. What have I done that you should have such doubts about me? Give me at least some indication, for it would be more sensible if you were to do so.’ She kept on chivvying him in this way until at last he had no choice but to tell her. ‘At the edge of the forest, beside the path which I always take, there is an old chapel which often meets my need. There underneath a copse is a large boulder, with a hollow at the centre, where I always place my clothes until I come home.’

  The lady reddened with alarm when she heard this astonishing news. She became deeply fearful, and started to think of different ways she might separate from him, as she no longer wished to share a bed with him. She sent a message to a knight who lived nearby who had always been in love with her, showing her his admiration by devoted and generous service. Until now she had never responded or given this knight cause for hope, but now she confided in him. ‘Rejoice, my friend,’ said her message, ‘without further delay, I am ready to give you that which I have refused you until now, so causing you great torture. Never again will you be rebuffed, for I pledge you my body for love, and wish to become your mistress.’

  The knight sent his ardent thanks and accepted her pledge enthusiastically. She in turn received his oath of loving allegiance and went on to tell him about her husband and his wanderings as a wolf. She told him of the path leading into the forest and sent him off to fetch her husband’s clothes. In this way the werewolf Bisclavret was betrayed by his wife, who did him great wrong. Because he had been away so often in the past, everyone thought that this time perhaps he had gone away forever. A search was mounted, enquiries were made, but eventually, when no trace had been found of him for a long time, the matter was left alone. The ardent knight married the woman he had so long admired.

  An entire year later, the king went out hunting and rode towards the forest where Bisclavret had his lair. When the hounds were let off the lead to hunt, they soon found the traces of Bisclavret. Pack and huntsmen spent a whole day tracking him until they brought him to bay and were on the verge of ripping him to pieces and putting an end to him. But as soon as the werewolf caught sight of the king, he loped towards him and pleaded for mercy. He seized the royal stirrup and kissed the king’s foot. At the sight of Bisclavret, the king was terrified, and summoned his retinue. ‘Come here, my lords. Look at the marvellous way this creature abases itself before me! It seems to be as intelligent as a human and to be pleading for mercy. Keep the hounds away and see that no one injures it! The beast has both intelligence and comprehension, and I shall bestow my protection upon it. Hurry, let us away, for I have had enough of hunting for today.’

  The king then departed with Bisclavret at his heels. The werewolf stayed very close to the king, having no wish to leave him and be set apart from him. The king took him straight back to his castle, and was filled with joy and delight at the day’s events, for he had never come across such a thing before. He considered the wolf to be a great marvel, and he cherished it deeply, giving orders that it should be protected by all his people, and commanding that no harm should come to it. No-one was to injure it and it must be provided with food and water at all times. The king’s servants were content to look after the creature, and everyday it slept among the royal retinue of knights, close beside the king himself. Everyone loved the werewolf, and so noble and docile was it that it never tried to cause any violence or harm. Everywhere the king went, the werewolf wanted to go also. It was his constant companion, and gave every sign of love and reverence for him.

  But listen to what happened next. The king held a great feast, summoning all the barons who held their fiefs by his permission to attend the celebrations and show by their presence their service to him. One of those who came, kitted out in magnificent apparel, was the knight who had married Bisclavret’s wife. He was completely unaware and unsuspecting that Bisclavret was so near to him. When Bisclavret saw him on his arrival at the castle, he raced towards him and mauled him with his teeth, dragging him to the ground. Bisclavret would have seriously injured the knight if the king had not called him to heel and menaced him with a cane. Twice more that day he attempted to take a bite out of the knight. Many at the court were amazed at this for never before had Bisclavret behaved like this towards anyone. Throughout the king’s household people said he would never have behaved like this without good reason. The knight must have done him some wrong or other, for he seemed to be determined to take revenge. But for a time that was the end of the matter. The feast ended, the fief-holders sought permission to depart, and it is my belief that the knight whom Bisclavret had mauled was among the first to go. It was hardly any wonder that Bisclavret loathed him so.

  As I heard the story, shortly afterwards the king in his wisdom and nobility went on a journey through the forest where Bisclavret had been tracked down. The werewolf went along with him, and on his return the king decided to stay for a night in that region. The wife of Bisclavret heard of this and, adorning herself with great elegance, set off next day to do homage to the king, taking him a costly gift. When Bisclavret caught sight of her, no one could hold him back. He lunged towards her as though he were insane. And listen to
what vengeance he took upon her. He bit the nose from off her face. Was there a worse punishment that could have been inflicted on her? Everyone made as if to attack Bisclavret and he was about to be torn apart when one of the courtiers, a man of great wisdom, said to the king: ‘Your highness, listen to me. This creature has made its dwelling with you for a very long time, and all of us have consorted with it closely. Never before has he injured anyone or attempted violence except against this woman. I swear, by the pledges I have given to you, that he has some grievance against her and her present husband. She is the former wife of the nobleman whom you used to love so dearly, and who went away a long time ago without anyone knowing what happened to him. Ask this woman to tell you why the beast hates her. Get her to tell you everything she knows. After all, here in Brittany, we have been witness to many marvellous happenings.’

  The king listened to what he said. Detaining the knight, he ordered the woman to be taken away and tortured. In her pain and terror, she revealed everything about her former husband: she told how she had betrayed him and stolen his clothing after he had given her an account of his wanderings as a werewolf. Since the theft of his clothing he had not been seen again in the region. She was absolutely sure that the creature was Bisclavret himself. The king ordered her to bring the clothes, whether she liked it or not, and give them back to Bisclavret. When they were piled in front of him, however, Bisclavret paid no attention to them. The wise man who had earlier given advice to the king called out: ‘Lord, this is not the way to do it. Nothing would persuade the creature to get dressed in front of you or change his shape in public. You do not realise the importance of this; it is a matter of great indignity for him. Take him to your chamber and give him the clothes there. Leave him in there for a time and let us see if he changes into the shape of a man.’

  The king himself proceeded to shut every door behind the wolf. After a while he returned, taking two companions with him. As all three entered the room, they found the nobleman fast asleep on the king’s bed. Rushing towards him, the king embraced and kissed him many times. Shortly afterwards he gave him back all his lands, bestowing on him more possessions that I can say. He also sent the woman into banishment, so that she was exiled from her country. The man who betrayed her husband with her also went into exile. She had many children afterwards who could always be instantly recognised. For it is the honest truth that many of the women in her family were born without noses and had to live their whole lives through with such an appearance …

  Source: Re-told from Les Lais de Marie de France, trans. P. Tuffrau, Paris (L’Édition d’Art) 1923, pp. 117–26. A translation of the Lais of Marie de France by G.S. Burgess and K. Busby was published by Penguin in 1986.

  The ‘Lay du Trot’

  This 300-line verse narrative in Medieval French (its title means in effect ‘the song of the jolting horse’) probably dates from the late thirteenth century. Its theme, the punishment in the after-life of those who disdain to love while they are alive, was taken up and developed across Europe throughout the late Middle Ages. There are variations on the theme in Latin, Italian and English literature, and such works reveal the formative influence of a twelfth-century treatise on courtly love written by Andreas Capellanus, which he called De Arte Honeste Amandi (‘The Art of Respectful Love’). In this treatise, the God of Love is depicted as a demanding deity with palaces and temples who requires all mortals to serve him; as the elaborate codes of courtly love developed still further, the convention was established that Love would take supernatural revenge upon those who refused to give their lives over to amatory pursuit. What is perhaps most striking about the Lay du Trot and its account of the two groups of loving and lovelorn ghosts is the narrative similarity to earlier medieval accounts of ghostly processions purporting to show conditions in the afterlife. The poem opens with the knight Lorois who, like the priest Walchelin in the account of ‘Hellequin’s Hunt’ by Orderic Vitalis, is to be the witness of the procession, setting off on a springtime quest.

  The Vision of the Knight Lorois

  The knight mounted his horse and on his feet the squire placed spurs of gold. He took up his sword with its golden hilt, and then, in solitary state, Lorois left his home and cantered towards the forest. Along the river-bank, through the meadows that were filled with many flowers, cream-coloured, vermilion and blue, he rode fast without stopping. He had resolved that he would not return before he had heard the nightingale for the first time in an entire year.

  As he neared the forest, he saw in front of him some eighty women in stately procession emerging from the trees. They were of noble appearance, well-dressed and lovely. They were without capes and headgear, but wore flowered posies of roses and eglantine upon their heads to give off the sweetest perfume. Each of them wore a light gown, which was uncovered because of the warm weather. Some of them had girdles around their waists but others were without belts to give them comfort in the heat, and they had left their hair unpinned so that their tresses fell down past their ears and rested against their pink cheeks. They made a lovely retinue, with every maiden wearing ribbons in her hair. All of them rode on cream-coloured horses which bore them so steadily along that any person seated on one of these horses who was not watching its movement would have thought the mount was standing still. And yet they moved along more quickly than the highest, fastest horse from Spain. Indeed, in all the region from that land to Germany, I say in truth there is no duke or castellan who would not have paid good money for the bridle with which the least of these maidens had adorned her steed.

  Riding next to each of these young girls was her lover, noble in appearance, well-dressed and handsome, who sang and laughed at her side. Truly I tell you these men were very well turned out, with each of them sporting the finest silk on his cloak and tunic, lining them with furs and ermine, and adorning his heels with spurs of gold. Their steeds moved speedily but gracefully along, and the wealthiest monarch in all the world could not have bought their harnesses. There was no rivalry or competition between them. Each lover had his own beloved, and all of them rejoiced in harmony, embracing and kissing and holding each other, young girl and young man, lover and beloved. Some of them talked of love and knightly conduct and it was clear they lived a life of sweet pleasure. As he watched them, Lorois made the sign of the cross at such a marvellous sight, and declared he would never see the like again. And as he sat there in wonder, he saw another eighty women coming through the trees, lovely as the others, each with her admirer like the ones who had gone before, and passed in a carefree procession.

  But then, shortly afterwards, a tumult was heard in the forest, a groaning, moaning sound, and Lorois saw some hundred young women emerging from the trees. They made a sad spectacle, mounted on thin dark steeds, worn with fatigue, and these women moved forward at an uncomfortable pace, faster than walking speed. Each was alone, for they had no loving companions, and it was clear they were suffering great pain. Truly, however, I say to you they earned this fate – as you will learn in due course if you hear me out. They were suffering greatly and were trotting forward so uncomfortably that there is neither scholar nor fool in all this earth who could have put up with such an ungainly motion for even a league’s journey, not even if he were bribed with fifteen thousand silver pieces. They controlled their horses clumsily with reins made from the bark of lime-trees. Their saddles were full of a hundred holes covered with awkward patches, filled with straw, so that one could have followed them for ten leagues by looking for the wisps that dropped from beneath their seats. They were riding without stirrups, and their legs were bare without shoes or stockings. Their feet were sore and covered with cuts and they wore plain black gowns. Their legs were bare right up to their knees, and their arms the same as far as the elbow. They were entirely lacking in grace, and were undergoing tremendous pain.

  The weather was so stormy, with thunder and pelting snow, that it was beyond endurance to do anything but observe the great torment and suffering which these wome
n were undergoing night and day – indeed, Lorois almost fainted as he watched them. A short time afterwards he caught sight of a hundred men whose suffering was just as great as that of the women, for their bodies were being jolted around with the clumsiness of their motion, and a short time after that he saw a woman approaching on a drab chestnut horse. Her gait was so awkward that her teeth jolted together as though they were about to shatter.

  Lorois decided to go over and ask this woman about the extraordinary sights that he had seen, and he urged his horse into a strenuous gallop towards her. He saluted her as he approached, and slowly and with great difficulty she returned the greeting, for the trotting motion of her horse meant she could hardly utter a word. Even if she had reined her horse in, she would have gone on shaking, for the horse continued to jerk around. No knightly horseman, young or old, could have held onto the saddle – or even the mane – of that horse if he had been mounted on it, and would have been thrown to the ground. But the woman was unable to fall off, and this was the cause of great torment to her.