The werewulf by Eugene Field. In the reign of Egbert the Saxon. There
dwelt in Britain a maiden named esolt who was beloved of all, both for
her goodness and for her beauty. But though many a youth came wooing her,
she loved Harold only, and to him she plighted her Trothe Among the
other youth of whom Isolta was beloved was Alfred, and he was sore angered
that isolt showed favor to Harold, so that one day Alfred said to Harold,
is it right that old Siegfried should come from his grave and have is
Isolta to wife? Then added he prithee, good sir, Why do you
turn so white when I speak your grandsire name? Then Harold asked, what
know you of Siegfried that you taunt me? What memory of him should vex
me? Now we know and we know, retorted Alfred, there are some
tales told us by our grandma's we have not forgot. So Ever, after
that, Alfred's words and Alfred's bitter smile haunted Harold by day and night.
Harold's grandsire, Sigfried the Teuton, had been a man of cruel violence.
The legend said that a curse rested upon him, and that at certain times
he was possessed of an evil spirit that wreaked its fury on mankind. But
Ziegfried had been dead full many years, and there was nought to mind the
world of him, save the legend and a cunning wrought spear, which he
had from Brunhilde, the witch. This spear was such a weapon that it
never lost its brightness, nor had its point been blunted. It hung in
Harold's chamber, and it was the marvel among weapons of that time. Hisolt
knew that Alfred loved her, but she did not know of the bitter words
which Alfred had spoken to Harold. Her love for Harold was perfect in its
trust and gentleness. But Alfred had hit the truth. The curse of old
Ziegfried was upon Harold, slumbering. A century had awakened in the blood of
the grandson. And Harold knew the curse that was upon him, and it
was this that seemed to stand between him and Isault. But love is stronger
than all else, and Harold loved Harold did not tell Isult of the curse
that was upon him, for he feared that she would not love him if
she knew. Whensoever he felt the fire of the curse burning in his veins,
he would say to her, Tomorrow I hunt the wild boar in the
uttermost forest, or next week I go stag stalking among the distant northern hills.
Even so it was that he ever made good excuse for his absence,
and is Old thought no evil things, for she was trustful. Aye,
though he went many times away and was long gone, is Old suspected no
wrong. So none beheld Harold, when the curse was upon him in its
violence, Alfred alone bethought himself of evil things. Tis passing strange quoth he
that ever and Anon, this gallant lover, should quit our company and betake
himself. Whither none knoweth in sooth twill be well to have an eye on
Old. Ziegfried's grandson. Harold knew that Alfred watched him zealously, and he
was tormented by a constant fear that Alfred would discuss the curse that was on
him. But what gave him greater anguish was the fear that mayhap, at
some moment when he was in Eaesault's presence, the curse would seize upon him
and cause him to do great evil unto her, whereby she would be destroyed,
or her love for him would be undone forever. So Harold lived in
terror, feeling that his love was hopeless, yet knowing not how to combat
it. Now it befell in those times that the country round about was ravaged
of a werewolf, a creature that was feared by all men. Howe'er so
valorous. This werewolf was by day a man, but by night a wolf,
given to ravage and to slaughter, and having a charmed life against which
no human agency availed aught. Wheeresoever he went, he attacked and devoured mankind,
spreading terror and desolation round about. And the dream readers said that the
earth would not be freed from the werewolf until some man offered himself a voluntary
sacrifice to the monster's rage. Now, although Harold was known far and wide
as a mighty huntsman, he had never set forth to hunt the werewolf,
And strange eno, the werewolf never ravaged the domain while Harold was therein whereat.
Alfred marveled much, and oftentimes he said, our Harold is a wondrous
huntsman, who is like unto him in stalking the timid doe and in crippling
the fleeing boar. But how passing well doth he time his absence from the
haunts of the werewolf? Such valor beseemeth our young Ziegfried, which, being
brought to Harold, his heart flamed with anger. But he made no answer,
lest he should betray the truth he feared. It happened so about that
time that he is Old said to Harold, wilt thou go with me tomorrow,
even to the feast in the Sacred Grove? That can I not do?
Answered, Hold, I am privily summoned hence to Normandy upon a mission
of which I shall some time tell THEE. And I pray THEE on thy
love for me. Go not to the feast in the Sacred Grove without me?
What sayest thou cried, isould shall I not go to the feast of
Saint ALFREDA? My father would be sore displeased were I not there with the
other maidens. Tware greatest pity that I should despite his love. Thus,
but do not I beseech THEE? Harald implored, Go not to the feast
of Saint Alfreda in the Sacred Grove, and thou would thus love me?
Go not see thou my life on my two knees. I ask it how
pale thou art, said Isoult, and trembling, go not to the sacred
grove. Upon the morrow night he begged. Isoult marveled at his acts and
at his speech. Then for the first time she thought him to be jealous,
whereat she secretly rejoiced being a woman. Ah quoth she thou dost doubt
my love? But when she saw a look of pain come on his face,
she added, as if she repented of the words she had spoken.
Or dost thou fear the werewolf? Then Harald answered, fixing his eyes on
hers, Thou hast said it it is the werewolf that I fear. Why
dost thou look at me so strangely? Harold, cried Isoult. By the
cruel light in thine eyes, one might almost take THEE to be the werewolf.
Come hither, sit beside me, said Harold, tremblingly, and I
will tell THEE why I fear to have thee Go to the feast of Saint
Alfreda to morrow evening hear what I dreamt last night? I dreamt I was
the werewolf. Do not shudder, dear love, for twas only a dream.
A grizzled old man stood at my bedside and strove to pluck my soul
from my bosom. What wouldst thou? I cried, Thy soul is mine?
He said, thou shalt live out my curse. Give me thy soul,
hold back thy hands, give me thy soul. I say, thy
curse shall not be upon me. I cried, What have I done that
thy curse should rest upon me? Thou shalt not have my soul for my
offense, shalt thou suffer? And in my curse thou shalt endure hell.
It is so decreed, So spake the old man. And he strove with
me, and he prevailed against me, and he plucked my soul from my
bosom, and he said, go search and kill. And and lo I
was a wolf upon the moor. The dry grass crackled beneath my tread.
The darkness of the night was heavy, and it oppressed me. Strange horrors
tortured my soul, and it groaned and groaned, jailed in that wolfish body.
The wind whispered to me with its myriad voices. It spake to me
and said, go search and kill. And above these voices sounded the hideous
laughter of an old man. I fled the more whither I knew not,
nor knew I what motive lashed me on. I came to a river,
and I plunged in. A burning thirst consumed me, and I lapped the
waters of the river. They were waves of flame, and they flashed around
me and hissed. And what they said was go search and kill. And
I heard the old man's laughter again. A forest lay before me, with
its gloomy thickets and its somber shadows, with its ravens, its vampires,
its serpents, its reptiles, and all its hideous brood of night. I
darted among its thorns and crouched amid the leaves, the nettles, and the
brambles. The owls hooted at me, and the thorns pierced my flesh.
Go search and kill, said everything. The hares sprang from my pathway,
the other beasts ran bellowing away. Every form of life shrieked in my ears.
The curse was on me. I was the werewolf. On on I
went with the fleetness of the wind, and my soul groaned in its wolfish
prison. And the winds and the waters and the trees bade me go search
and kill. Thou, a cursed brute, go search and kill? Nowhere
was there pity for the wolf? What mercy? Thus should I the werewolf
show? The curse was on me, and it filled me with a hunger
and a thirst for blood. Skulking on my way within myself, I cried,
let me have blood, Oh, let me have human blood, that
this wrath may be appeased, that this curse may be removed. At last,
I came to the sacred grove. Somber loomed, the poplars, the
oaks frowned upon me. Before me stood an old man, twas he grizzled
and taunting, whose curse I bore. He feared me. Not all other
living things fled before me, But the old man feared me. Not A
maiden stood beside him. She did not see me, for she was blind.
Kill, kill, cried the old man, and he pointed at the
girl beside him. Hell raged within me. The curse impelled me. I
sprang at her throat. I heard the old man's laughter once more, and
then then I awoke, trembling cold, horrified. Scarce was this dream told
when Alfred strode that way? Now by our lady, quoth he I bethink
me never to have seen a sorrier twain. Then Isoult told him of Harald's
going away, and how that Harald had besought her not to venture to the
feast of Saint Alfreda in the sacred grove. These fears are childish, cried
Alfred boastfully. And thou sufferest me, sweet lady, I will bear thee
company to the feast, and a score of my lusty yeomen, with their
good ewbows and honest spears, they shall attend me. There be no werewolf
I trow will chance about with us whereat Isoult laughed merrily, and Harold said,
tis well, thou shalt go to the sacred grove, and may my
love and Heaven's grace forefend all evil. Then Harald went to his abode,
and he fetched Old Ziegfried's spear back unto his olt, and he gave it
into her two hands, saying, take this spear with thee to the feast
tomorrow night. It is Old Ziegfried's spear, possessing mighty virtue and marvelous,
and Harold took Isoult to his heart and blessed her, and he kissed her
upon her brow and upon her lips, saying, well, oh, my
beloved, how wilt thou love me when thou knowest my sacrifice? Farewell,
farewell forever, oh alderlifest mine. So Harald went his way, and Esult
was lost in wonderment. On the morrow night came Eesult to the sacred grove,
wherein the feast was spread, and she bore Old Ziegfried's spear with her
in her girdle. Alfred attended her, and a score of lusty yeomen were
with him. In the grove. There was great merriment, and with singing
and dancing and games withal did the honest folk celebrate the feast of the fairs
Saint ALFREDA. But suddenly a mighty tumult arose, and there were cries of
the werewolf. The werewolf terror seized upon all stout hearts were frozen with fear.
Out from the further forest rushed the werewolf wood Wroth, bellowing hoarsely,
gnashing his fangs and tossing hither and thither the yellow foam from his snapping jaws.
He sought Exult straight, as if an evil power drew him to the
spot where she stood. But Ezult was not afeared. Like a marble statue,
she stood and saw the werewolfs coming. The Yeomen, dropping their torches
and casting aside their bows, had fled. Alfred alone abided there to do
the monster battle. At the approaching wolf, he hurled his heavy lance,
but as it struck the werewolf's bristling back, the weapon was all too shivered.
Then the werewolf, fixing his eyes upon Isoult, skulked for a moment
in the shadow of the Ewes, and thinking then of Harald's words, Esult
plucked Old Siegfried's spear from her girdle, raised it on high, and with
the strength of despair, sent it hurtling through the air. The werewolf saw
the shining weapon, and a cry burst from his gaping throat of human agony,
and Isoult saw in the werewolf's eyes the eyes of someone she had seen
and known, but twas for an instant only, and then the eyes were
no longer human, but wolfish in their ferocity. A supernatural force seemed to
speed the spear in its flight. With fearful precision, the weapon smote home
and buried itself by half its length in the werewolf's shaggy breast, just above
the heart. And then, with a monstrous sigh, as if he yielded
up his life without regret, the werewolf fell dead in the shadow of the
Ewes. Then Ah, Then in very truth, there was great joy,
and loud were the acclaims. While beautiful in her trembling, Pallor Isult was
led unto her home, where the people set about to give great feast to
do her homage, for the werewolf was dead, and she it was that
had slain him. But Isoult cried out, go search for Harold, Go
bring him to me, Nor eat nor sleep till he be found. Good,
my lady, quoth Alfred, how can that be, since he hath
betaken himself to Normandy. I care not where he be, She cried,
My heart stands still until I look into his eyes again. Surely he hath
not gone to Normandy. Out spake Ubert, this very eventide I saw him
enter his abode, They hastened thither a vast company. His chamber door was
barred. Harold Harold come forth, They cried as they beat upon the door,
but no answer came to their calls, and knockings afeared. They battered
down the door, and when it fell, they saw that Harold lay upon
his bed. He sleeps, said one. See he holds a portrait in
his hand, and it is her portrait. How fair he is, and
how tranquility he sleeps. But no, Harold was not asleep. His face
was calm and beautiful, as if he dreamt of his beloved. But his
raiment was red with the blood that streamed from a wound in his breast,
a gaping, ghastly spear wound just above his heart, And of the werewolf,