Men Who Become Wolves

Men Who Become Wolves

A fairy tale from Lithuania: The Man Who Became a Wolf

There once lived a farmer who led his horses out into the field. When he dismounted from his steed, he tied it to the fence rail. At once the animal began to snort through his nostrils and ran away. But the farmer mulled it over to himself “Why is the horse shying so? “ he wondered. Then he looked down and, saw he had become a wolf. What to do? The poor man ran home to his wife. When she saw the wolf coming, she screamed out “A wolf! A wolf!” The wolf didn’t know where to go and ran into the forest. There he found animals to eat and could scrape by.

But in winter there was nothing left for sustenance. And so he had to run after horses and nourish himself with their dung or the occasional lost stirrup he found in the snow. He ran around as wolf for four years. During this time his wife waited for him, but finally she decided he was not coming home. She decided to marry another.

The wolf had just fallen asleep when he heard a voice, as if in a dream, say to him: “Go home! Your wife wants to marry again!” The wolf hurried home. He saw his courtyard filled with horses. When the horses caught sight of the wolf, they all fled from the yard, dragging their wagons with them. The wedding guests noticed the horses running from the yard and saw the reason why. There stood a wolf. They immediately fell upon the animal and the wolf soon understood things were going badly for him and he would soon meet a woeful end. He tried jumping over the fence, but his buckle became caught on the wooden post. The belt was ripped open by the fall and behind the fence now stood a man.

The wedding guests departed when they saw the bridegroom had returned home. The man now told his wife everything that had happened. The belt had been given him by an old woman. As soon as he put on the belt and had fastened the buckle, he was transformed into a wolf.


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The Long Man in Murder Lane

Grimm’s Saga No. 168: The Long Man in Murder Lane (in Hof)

Before the plague came to Hof in 1519, a large, dark, long man could be seen at night in Murder Lane. His long legs touched down on both sides of the narrow street, where he walked with head held high above the rooftops. My ancestor, Frau Walburg Widmaennin, saw this man one evening as she walked along the old passageway. She saw how he placed one foot near the entrance of the pub but placed his other foot on the opposite side of the street next to the big house there. Out of terror she knew not what to do, whether to go back the way she had come or to continue along the street. So she continued on her way and walked down the center of the lane, crossing herself and commending herself to God. She walked straight through the long man’s legs and thought to herself, that such a ghost might hasten after her. She had hardly passed underneath him, when the ghost slammed his legs shut so hard, that a shudder reverberated off the walls of the buildings and it sounded as if they all were about to collapse. Terrible plague then came to the land and the people in Murder Lane were the first to die.

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Fairy Tale for Autumn: The Butterfly

The Butterfly
A fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen

A butterfly longed to find a bride; so of course it sought a pretty one amongst the flowers. It inspected an entire meadow full but found that each bloom sat quietly and respectably on its stalk (exactly as is fitting for a young maiden when she is not yet engaged). The only problem was that there were so many flowers and the huge selection threatened to become overwhelming.

The butterfly did not like exerting all this effort. That is why he flew to visit the daisies. The French call this flower “Margerite” because they know that the Margerite can prophesy the future. And this the flower gladly does, if a lover pulls out each petal one by one, while asking a question about his or her intended true love: “Does she love me from the bottom of her heart? – Love so deep, it causes pain? – Does he love me truly? – A little? -- Not at all? –“ These and many other questions the flower will gladly answer.

The butterfly came to the Margerite to ask his question. But he did not pull off the petals. Instead he pressed a kiss onto each little bud. He did this because he reasoned, he would get much farther by showing good will. “Margerite, best of all blooms!” he said to the flower. “You are the smartest woman among all the flowers. You can foretell the future. Please, please tell me, shall I win her or another? Which one shall be my bride? When I know the answer, I will fly straight away to her and ask for her hand in marriage.”

But the Margerite Daisy did not respond. She was angry that he had called her a “woman”, when in fact she was a young maiden. There is a difference! He asked a second and third time. When the flower remained silent and would not utter a single word, he decided not to linger any longer and flew away to find his own bride. It was the last days of spring. All around the snowdrops and crocuses bloomed. “They are all very nice indeed,” the butterfly thought. But they are all small fish! Then he flew to the anemones. They were a little too bitter. The violets a bit too effusive. The tulips were too proud. The narcissus too domestic. The lime blossoms were too small and had too many relatives. The apple blossoms, they were as beautiful as roses, but here today, gone tomorrow, depending on how the wind was blowing. The pea blossoms pleased him the most. They were red and white, delicate and fine. They were like good domestic help: pleasant to look at and great in the kitchen. He was just about to ask one to be his bride when he spied a dried-out pod standing nearby, from its tip hung an old blossom. “Who is that?” he asked. “It is my sister,” the pea flower replied. “Aha! Later she will look exactly the same!” he exclaimed and fled because her appearance startled him.
Spring passed and summer also ended. Now it was autumn, but the butterfly was still indecisive. Now the flowers all appeared in their finest gowns – but it was all for naught! They were all lacking the fresh, balmy scent of youth. A fragrant aroma is what the heart longs for when it is no longer young. The butterfly now flew to the mum and aster, but there were few to be found. So finally he settled on some crinkly mint. “The mint has no blossom, but its entire being is bud! It is fragrant from top to bottom and emits a flower’s perfume in every blade. I will take the mint as bride!” said the butterfly. And so, he asked the mint for her hand in marriage. But the crinkly mint stood there stiffly and listened silently. Finally it said “We can be friends, but not more than that! I am old and you are old. We can live and help each other, even amuse each other. But marry? Never!”

And so the butterfly did not marry. He had waited too long, and one should never do that! And so the butterfly remained a confirmed bachelor.

Soon it was late autumn with rain and dark weather. The wind blew cold over the backs of the old willow trees and the branches groaned. It wasn’t the type of weather to fly about in one’s summer outfit! But the butterfly wasn’t flying outside anymore. He had managed to fly into a house, where the logs in the oven burned so brightly and it was as warm as a summer’s day. He considered whether or not he could live in such a cozy little room. “Merely living is not enough!” He finally said. “Sunshine, freedom and a small flower are what I require!” And he flew against the windowpane. The children all came running, admired him, then stuck him through with a needle and placed him in their box of treasures. Nothing else could be done for the fellow now.

“Here I sit, pricked through by this needle instead of sitting on a flower!” the butterfly sighed. “This truly is not very pleasant! It must be what it’s like to be married, you are stuck to one spot!” And so he tried to console himself.

“That’s cold comfort, indeed,” said the houseplant on the windowsill. “But,” the butterfly thought to himself “One can’t really trust a houseplant. They spend far too much time among people!”

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