M. Toussenel, in his transcendental interpretations, has identified

the Wolf as the bandit and outlaw. [102] The proverbial mediæval
phrase for an outlaw--one who wears a teste loeve, caput lupinum,
wulfesheofod, which the ingenious author perhaps remembered--is
of good antiquity. The wolf is called robber in the 'Rig-Veda,'
and he is there also demonised, since we find him fleeing before a
devotee. (In the Zend 'Vendidad' the souls of the pious fear to meet
the wolf on the way to heaven.) The god Pushan is invoked against the
evil wolf, the malignant spirit. [103] Cardano says that to dream of
a wolf announces a robber. There is in the wolf, at the same time,
that always attractive love of liberty which, in the well-known fable,
makes him prefer leanness to the comfort of the collar-wearing dog,
which makes him among demonic animals sometimes the same as the mighty
huntsmen Nimrod and shaggy Esau among humanised demons. One is not
surprised to find occasionally good stories about the wolf. Thus the
Nez Perces tribe in America trace the origin of the human race to a
wolf. They say that originally, when there were nothing but animals,
there was a huge monster which devoured them whole and alive. This
monster swallowed a wolf, who, when he entered its belly, found
the animals therein snarling at and biting one another as they had
done on the earth outside. The wolf exhorted them that their common
sufferings should teach them friendliness, and finally he induced them
to a system of co-operation by which they made their way out through
the side of the monster, which instantly perished. The animals so
released were at once transformed to men, how and why the advocates
of co-operation will readily understand, and founded the Nez Perces
Indians. The myths of Asia and Europe are unhappily antipodal to this
in spirit and form, telling of human beings transformed to wolves. In
the Norse Mythology, however, there stands a demon wolf whose story
bears a touch of feeling, though perhaps it was originally the mere
expression for physical law. This is the wolf Fenris, which, from being
at first the pet of the gods and lapdog of the goddesses, became so
huge and formidable that Asgard itself was endangered. All the skill
and power of the gods could not forge chains which might chain him;
he snapped them like straws and toppled over the mountains to which
he was fastened. But the little Elves working underground made that
chain so fine that none could see or feel it,--fashioned it out of
the beards of women, the breath of fish, noise of the cat's footfall,
spittle of birds, sinews of bears, roots of stones,--by which are meant
things non-existent. This held him. Fenris is chained till the final
destruction, when he shall break loose and devour Odin. The fine chain
that binds ferocity,--is it the love that can tame all creatures? Is
it the sunbeam that defines to the strongest creature its habitat?

The two monsters formed when Ráhu was cloven in twain, in Hindu
Mythology, reappear in Eddaic fable as the wolves Sköll and Hati,
who pursue the sun and moon. As it is said in the Völuspá:--


Eastward in the Iron-wood
The old one sitteth,
And there bringeth forth
Fenrir's fell kindred.
Of these one, the mightiest,
The moon's devourer,
In form most fiend-like,
And filled with the life-blood
Of the dead and the dying,
Reddens with ruddy gore
The seats of the high gods.


Euphemism attending propitiation of such monsters may partly explain
the many good things told of wolves in popular legend. The stories of
the she-wolf nourishing children, as Romulus and Remus, are found in
many lands. They must, indeed, have had some prestige, to have been
so largely adopted in saintly tradition. Like the bears that Elisha
called to devour the children, the wolves do not lose their natural
ferocity by becoming pious. They devour heretics and sacrilegious
people. One guarded the head of St. Edmund the Martyr of England;
another escorted St. Oddo, Abbot of Cluny, as his ancestors did the
priests of Cluny. The skin of the wolf appears in folklore as a charm
against hydrophobia; its teeth are best for cutting children's gums,
and its bite, if survived, is an assurance against any future wound
or pain.

The tragedy which is so foolishly sprung upon the nerves of children,
Little Red Riding-Hood, shows the wolf as a crafty animal. There are
many legends of a like character which have made it a favourite figure
in which to represent pious impostors. In our figure 10, the wolf
appears as the 'dangerous confessor;' it was intended, as Mr. Wright
thought, for Mary of Modena, Queen of James II., and Father Petre. At
the top of the original are the words 'Converte Angliam' and beneath,
'It is a foolish sheep that makes the wolf her confessor.' The craft
of the wolf is represented in a partly political partly social turn
given by an American fabulist to one of Æsop's fables. The wolf
having accused the lamb he means to devour of fouling the stream, and
receiving answer that the lamb was drinking farther down the current,
alters the charge and says, 'You opposed my candidature at the caucus
two years ago.' 'I was not then born,' replies the lamb. The wolf then
says, 'Any one hearing my accusations would testify that I am insane
and not responsible for my actions,' and thereupon devours the lamb
with full faith in a jury of his countrymen. M. Toussenel says the wolf
is a terrible strategist, albeit the less observant have found little
in his character to warrant this attribute of craft, his physiognomy
and habits showing him a rather transparent highwayman. It is probable
that the fables of this character have derived that trait from his
association with demons and devils supposed to take on his shape.

In a beautiful hymn to the Earth in the 'Atharva Veda' it is said, 'The
Earth, which endureth the burden of the oppressor, beareth up the abode
of the lofty and of the lowly, suffereth the hog, and giveth entrance
to the wild boar.' Boar-hounds in Brittany and some other regions
are still kept at Government expense. There are many indications of
this kind that in early times men had to defend themselves vigorously
against the ravages of the wild boar, and, as De Gubernatis remarks,
[104] its character is generally demoniacal. The contests of Hercules
with the Erymanthian, and of Meleager with the Calydonian, Boar,
are enough to show that it was through its dangerous character that
he became sacred to the gods of war, Mars and Odin. But it is also
to be remembered that the third incarnation of Vishnu was as a Wild
Boar; and as the fearless exterminator of snakes the pig merited
this association with the Preserver. Provided with a thick coat of
fat, no venom can harm him unless it be on the lip. It may be this
ability to defy the snake-ordeal which, after its uncleanliness had
excepted the hog from human voracity in some regions, assigned it a
diabolical character. In rabbinical fable the hog and rat were created
by Noah to clear the Ark of filth; but the rats becoming a nuisance,
he evoked a cat from the lion's nose.

It is clear that our Asiatic and Norse ancestors never had such a
ferocious beast to encounter as the Grisly Bear (Ursus horribilis)
of America, else the appearances of this animal in Demonology could
never have been so respectable. The comparatively timid Asiatic
Bear (U. labiatus), the small and almost harmless Thibetan species
(U. Thibetanus), would appear to have preponderated over the fiercer
but rarer Bears of the North in giving us the Indo-Germanic fables,
in which this animal is, on the whole, a favourite. Emerson finds in
the fondness of the English for their national legend of 'Beauty and
the Beast' a sign of the Englishman's own nature. 'He is a bear with
a soft place in his heart; he says No, and helps you.' The old legend
found place in the heart of a particularly representative American
also--Theodore Parker, who loved to call his dearest friend 'Bear,' and
who, on arriving in Europe, went to Berne to see his favourites, from
which its name is derived. The fondness of the Bear for honey--whence
its Russian name, medv-jed, 'honey-eater'--had probably something to do
with its dainty taste for roses and its admiration for female beauty,
as told in many myths. In his comparative treatment of the mythology
of the Bear, De Gubernatis [105] mentions the transformation of King
Trisankus into a bear, and connects this with the constellation of the
Great Bear; but it may with equal probability be related to the many
fables of princes who remain under the form of a bear until the spell
is broken by the kiss of some maiden. It is worthy of note that in the
Russian legends the Bear is by no means so amiable as in those of our
Western folklore. In one, the Bear-prince lurking in his fountain holds
by the beard the king who, while hunting, tries to quench his thirst,
and releases him only after a promise to deliver up whatever he has
at home without his knowledge; the twins, Ivan and Maria, born during
his absence, are thus doomed--are concealed, but discovered by the
bear, who carries them away. They are saved by help of the bull. When
escaping the bear Ivan throws down a comb, which becomes a tangled
forest, which, however, the bear penetrates; but the spread-out
towel which becomes a lake of fire sends the bear back. [106] It
is thus the ferocious Arctic Bear which gives the story its sombre
character. Such also is the Russian tale of the Bear with iron hairs,
which devastates the kingdom, devouring the inhabitants until Ivan
and Helena alone remain; after the two in various ways try to escape,
their success is secured by the Bull, which, more kindly than Elisha,
blinds the Bear with his horns. [107] (The Bear retires in winter.) In
Norwegian story the Bear becomes milder,--a beautiful youth by night,
whose wife loses him because she wishes to see him by lamplight: her
place is taken by a long-nosed princess, until, by aid of the golden
apple and the rose, she recovers her husband. In the Pentameron,
[108] Pretiosa, to escape the persecutions of her father, goes into
the forest disguised as a she-bear; she nurses and cures the prince,
who is enamoured of her, and at his kiss becomes a beautiful maid. The
Bear thus has a twofold development in folklore. He used to be killed
(13th century) at the end of the Carnival in Rome, as the Devil. [109]
The Siberians, if they have killed a bear, hang his skin on a tree and
apologise humbly to it, declaring that they did not forge the metal
that pierced it, and they meant the arrow for a bird; from which it
is plain that they rely more on its stupidity than its good heart. In
Canada, when the hunters kill a bear, one of them approaches it and
places between his teeth the stem of his pipe, breathes in the bowl,
and thus, filling with smoke the animal's mouth, conjures its soul not
to be offended at his death. As the bear's ghost makes no reply, the
huntsman, in order to know if his prayer is granted, cuts the thread
under the bear's tongue, and keeps it until the end of the hunt, when
a large fire is kindled, and all the band solemnly throw in it what
threads of this kind they have; if these sparkle and vanish, as is
natural, it is a sign that the bears are appeased. [110] In Greenland
the great demon, at once feared and invoked, especially by fishermen,
is Torngarsuk, a huge Bear with a human arm. He is invisible to all
except his priests, the Anguekkoks, who are the only physicians of
that people.

The extreme point of demonic power has always been held by the
Serpent. So much, however, will have to be said of the destructiveness
and other characteristics of this animal when we come to consider
at length its unique position in Mythology, that I content myself
here with a pictorial representation of the Singhalese Demon of
Serpents. If any one find himself shuddering at sight of a snake,
even in a country where they are few and comparatively harmless,
perhaps this figure (11) may suggest the final cause of the shudder.

In conclusion, it may be said that not only every animal ferocity,
but every force which can be exerted injuriously, has had its
demonic representations. Every claw, fang, sting, hoof, horn,
has been as certain to be catalogued and labelled in demonology
as in physical science. It is remarkable also how superstition
rationalises. Thus the horn in the animal world, though sometimes
dangerous to man, was more dangerous to animals, which, as foes of
the horned animals, were foes to man's interests. The early herdsman
knew the value of the horn as a defence against dog and wolf, besides
its other utilities. Consequently, although it was necessary that the
horn-principle, so to say, in nature must be regarded as one of its
retractile and cruel features, man never demonised the animals whose
butt was most dangerous, but for such purpose transferred the horns
to the head of some nondescript creature. The horn has thus become
a natural weapon of man-demons. The same evolution has taken place
in America; for, although among its aboriginal legends we may meet
with an occasional demon-buffalo, such are rare and of apocryphal
antiquity. The accompanying American figure (12) is from a photograph
sent me by the President of Vanderbilt University, Tennessee, who
found it in an old mound (Red Indian) in the State of Georgia. It is
probably as ancient as any example of a human head with horns in the
world; and as it could not have been influenced by European notions,
it supplies striking evidence that the demonisation of the forces and
dangers of nature belongs to the structural action of the human mind.