You can read the story The Tale Of Agapito The Werewolf here. What follows are the author's notes.
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Author’s notes.
The Tale Of Agapito The Werewolf is my retelling of ‘Bisclavret’, one of the lais, or narrative poems, of Marie de France, a French poet and translator most likely living in England during the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries A.D.
My main source for this retelling is this blog post: <http://www.dxsuperpremium.com/2010/10/bisclavret-lay-of-werewolf.html>, but I have consulted other sources too, including Judith P. Shoaf’s 1996 verse translation.
Names and other modifications.
In Marie de France’s version of this story, none of the characters are given names, except for the werewolf himself, who is called ‘Bisclavret’ or ‘Bisclavaret’: names which simply mean ‘werewolf’.
In my retelling, I decided to name the characters, and chose names that are all derived from Italian, and have significant meanings.
- Agapito is ultimately from a Greek name that means ‘beloved’, for this character’s fate is defined by who loves him and who does not.
- Tancredi comes from a Germanic name that means ‘thought and counsel’, for this character is the king’s advisor and friend who notices what others do not, thinks deeply, and wisely counsels the king.
- Genoveffa is a name with uncertain origins which might mean ‘kin, family’ and ‘wife, woman’, and this character is the wife of Agapito and represents the families who often reject their queer members.
- Damiano comes ultimately from a Greek word which means ‘to tame’, for this character ‘tames’ the wolf and solves the problems of the plot with love and respect.
- Baldovino comes from ‘Baldwin’, which means ‘bold/brave friend’, for this character is bold to the point of shamelessness and selfishness, and is a friend and fellow conspirator of Genoveffa.
- Lupo, of course, simply means ‘wolf’.
In Marie’s lai, we are never told how, or when, Bisclavret became a werewolf. I created an explanation, positing that Bisclavret/Agapito must have become a werewolf after he was married, for if he were a werewolf beforehand then (A) how on earth would he hide it from everyone? — and (B) he would be a bad man if he married someone without telling her of his condition or informing her that he would have to leave her for three days every week.
In keeping with my explanation for how Agapito became a werewolf, Lady Genoveffa must also become one, which is my own addition to the story, and replaces the use of the torture that Marie’s version states is used by the king to make the lady and her second husband confess. I had Baldovino reveal his wife’s werewolfism to the king without Genoveffa’s permission, just as Genoveffa revealed her first husband’s werewolfism to Baldovino without Agapito’s permission.
In Marie’s lai, Bisclavret bites off his wife’s nose when he attacks her. To Marie’s audience, this may have echoed the widespread custom of punishing an adulterous wife by cutting off her nose: by biting off her nose, the werewolf is indicating that this woman is his unfaithful wife. In my retelling, I decided to have Agapito lunge for his faithless wife’s throat, be interrupted and accidentally tear her lip instead, primarily for reasons explained below, but also because losing one’s nose in the age of medieval medicine would have been truly disfiguring. Thus, I arranged a different, but I hope equally poetic, punishment for the faithless wife.
I have made little attempt at historical accuracy. My retelling, like the original, can be assumed to take place in a real-world medieval setting, such as Marie de France’s Brittany; alternatively, the reader can imagine an indeterminate fairytale realm.
Themes.
One of the great joys of retelling an old story is reading between the lines and noticing what points the story may be making, while remembering that what a modern audience perceives from a tale may not be what its original, intended audience understood. I confess that, upon first reading this story, and subsequently encountering it in other forms, I did not see much of significance in it; it seemed a fairly standard fairytale, containing familiar tropes. Only when others mentioned the alleged ‘queer themes’ in the story (discussed below) did I look harder at the tale and notice its depth. Here follow the ideas that I, personally, have noticed in ‘Bisclavret’.
Communication is a persistent theme in the story. Who can communicate, who cannot; what can be communicated, what cannot; what is communicated, what is not; what things — such as the werewolf’s secrets — should not be communicated but are; what things — such the wife’s fears — should be communicated but are not; who attempts to communicate and who does not; how verbal communication is infeasible when our protagonist is in wolf form but how his actions can still be interpreted; et cetera. This is partly why I had Genoveffa’s lip be torn, instead of her nose bitten off as in Marie’s version: the wolf bites the mouth that urged him to give up his secrets and thence betrayed them to another.
We are not given the werewolf’s perspective while he is in wolf form. I altered this only a little, as I found the story more compelling when we are left to wonder what, exactly, is motivating the wolf to act as he does, and how much of his human mind and memory he retains. In this way, we, the readers, are left to guess the intentions of the wolf by interpreting his actions, just as the other characters are.
The story is less about the werewolf and more about the people who love him: the king who loves him no matter what he is, and the lady who only loves him when he is what she thinks he should be; the king who tries to communicate with the wolf whether or not the creature understands him, and the lady who demands to be told her husband’s secrets but refuses to communicate her own feelings and worries to him; the king who risks life and limb to befriend a wild predator, and the lady who abandons her own husband at the first sign of potential danger; the king who invites a wild wolf into his bedroom, and the lady who no longer wants to lie beside her own husband even when he is in human form. The king who trusts actions despite appearances, and the lady who distrusts regardless of both. The king who gives second chances, and the lady who does not. The king who is chosen by the wolf and stays faithful to him, and the lady who chooses her husband but betrays him.
The lady’s concerns are valid, but her actions are awful. She did not sign up to be married to a werewolf. She was not expecting her husband to be absent from her and their home for almost half of every week. When she discovers the reasons for his actions, her reaction of fear is understandable and natural. But at that point her loving husband has never harmed her: he confesses that his reason for secrecy was not malice or selfishness but his fear that his beloved wife would leave him. And what is Genoveffa’s response? Does she reassure him that she still loves him and wishes to support him in his unusual condition? Does she discuss with her husband what contingency plans may be set in place if, for example, he becomes unable to reach the forest for his transformation? Does she express concern for him, and question him about his safety and his treatment of others while he is in his wolf form? Does she become his loving assistant and faithful protector of his secrets? Does she beg for a dignified divorce or separation? Does she even ask her husband if the affliction may be cured, or how it came upon him, or if he wishes to be free of it? Not at all: she immediately cheats on him and betrays him to a permanently inhuman state, robbing him of his home, his shape, his dignity, his wife, his love, his friends, his entire human life. In effect, she murders him. She unnecessarily involves Baldovino in the act, rendering him guilty also, and pointlessly sharing her husband’s sensitive secrets with another. Genoveffa’s concern over her husband’s perplexing absences is natural and understandable, as is her terror regarding his werewolfism; but from the moment she discovers his werewolfism — the moment she realises that he is not what she thought he was — her actions are supremely self-centred, starting with her tearful, manipulative harassment of her husband into admitting to her where his clothes are hidden, despite his fear and reluctance. Emotionally, she abandons him the instant she decides he is not what she wants him to be.
At no point in any of the translations that I found is Bisclavret’s condition referred to as a curse or disease. This is a small but intriguing detail. As discussed above, Marie de France’s version makes no mention of how or when Bisclavret became a werewolf. Historically, many different explanations are given, in various mythologies, as to how werewolves may come to exist, but Marie makes no reference to any possible means of becoming a werewolf, nor of ceasing to become one. At the end of ‘Bisclavret’, the protagonist is still a werewolf, and there is no indication that he will ever be ‘cured’. While Marie presents werewolfism as a negative thing because of the wicked deeds werewolves commit while in wolf form, including the eating of humans, Bisclavret himself reports only living in thick woods and eating prey animals and roots. It could be that Bisclavret desires not to confess his more savage or wicked deeds to his wife; or it could be that Marie de France was deliberately presenting her own werewolf character, her Bisclavret, as relatively harmless, highlighting the callousness of his wife in betraying a husband who showed no signs of being truly dangerous.
In my retelling, I have used the word ‘disease’ to describe Agapito’s werewolfism, as I imagine that that is how the character himself would view it, particularly since I gave it the explanation that Agapito seemingly caught it from another creature.
Queer themes.
It is uncertain to me whether Marie de France’s medieval audience would have identified any queer or homosexual themes in this story. In Marie’s culture, the idea of men embracing, kissing, or even sharing a bed did not necessarily carry any implication of homosexuality. A modern audience may — perhaps wishfully — view this differently, and while I have no desire to retroactively insert queer representation where previous storytellers intended none, in my own retelling I chose to accentuate any seemingly queer themes I might find in this story which is, ultimately, about unconditional, versus conditional, love.
When modern readers refer to this fairytale as having ‘queer themes’, I believe they are referring to the kissing and embracing that the king gives to his newly un-wolfed friend — upon the king’s bed, no less, which seems extra intimate — who had gone missing and was presumed dead; but as I retold the story myself, I found, more and more, that the werewolf’s relationships with his wife and his king are similar to the relationships that many queer people have. When people realise you are queer, when they find out what you really are, when they learn your secrets, they may reject you, as Bisclavret’s wife does, or they may love and embrace you no matter what you are, as Bisclavret’s king does.
Bisclavret is terrified that his beloved, and loving, wife will abandon him when she knows that he is both wolf and man, so he remains ‘closeted’, showing only his human aspect to his wife and the rest of the world. Sure enough, when Bisclavret’s wife discovers his other aspect, she immediately abandons him to what is effectively a living death and replaces him with another man — a ‘fully human’, ‘normal’ one. But Bisclavret cannot help being a werewolf, and his love is no less valuable or true because he spends much of his life in wolf form. A comparison to bisexuality suggests itself: Bisclavret’s wife assumed he was heterosexual, he hides his ‘other aspect’, or same-gender attraction, and, when it is discovered, his once-loving wife rejects him and replaces him with a strictly heterosexual man. But the love of a bisexual person is not less valuable simply because it is not restricted to one gender: Bisclavret is a faithful and loving husband, whose secrecy is not born of duplicity but of a desire to preserve his marriage and retain his wife’s affections, and it is not his fault that his trust is punished with betrayal. While bisexuals in reality are often accused of being ‘greedy’ or promiscuous, due to their attraction to multiple genders, in this story the metaphorically bisexual Bisclavret is not the one who cheats on his spouse: his metaphorically biphobic wife is.
Denying the werewolf the chance to change his form is like denying a transgender person the ability to transition. Trapping the werewolf in a form he did not choose and cannot escape is effectively stealing his life from him, and that is tantamount to murder. When transgender people are denied the ability to medically transition, they are trapped in bodies they did not choose and cannot modify or escape. Moreover, Bisclavret’s wife exiles him from their house like a transphobic parent evicting her transgender child. The king is ready to punish the faithless wife and her new husband with death, because condemning someone to the wrong identity, the wrong form, the wrong body, is denying them agency over theirself and, effectively, trapping them in a body without their consent.
At the end of the story, the werewolf is still a werewolf, as mentioned above, and there is no indication that he will ever be otherwise, even if Bisclavret himself would like to be. But there is also no indication that the king minds whether he is wolf or human: he loved the man, he loved the wolf, and he will love the werewolf. A happy ending in which Bisclavret’s werewolfism were cured would be less happy than an ending in which he is loved irrespective of it.
Being loved and accepted for who we are, no matter what form we take or how we may transform or transition, is better than being ‘cured’ of the attributes that supposedly make us unlovable, undeserving, or undesirable.
G. Wulfing,
April 2023.
