Of the Huntsman, Elio da Silva
In the spring of 1767, the papacy reluctantly sought the services of a Jesuit huntsman, one Elio da Silva, to track and exterminate a lycanthrope that had been killing the people of Gévaudan for several years. News of the attacks had circulated through Europe for some time. The region became infamous for the scandal. It was widely accepted by the public that the attacks were perpetrated by a fierce lone wolf, or a small pack that had taken a liking to human flesh. How the Holy Church discovered the cause remains unanswered, but the mastery with which they covered up the affair was sinister and telling. In the earlier years of the affliction, the wolves of Mende in southwestern France had been hunted fiercely by soldiers of King Louis XV. Low- and high-born hunters alike joined in the effort to rid France of the beast, but to no avail. Years of attacks had turned Gévaudan into a region of fear, while Church and crown failed to bring the violence to an end.
It was a hot evening in June; Elio had returned to his room from another long, disappointing day. Tracking the creature had proven difficult, and he was having his doubts. Downstairs, there was a small concert for private guests. The harpsichord sent the whimsical notes of an adagio by Schobert directly up to him, riding the beautiful string arrangement of a lone violinist. He listened intently while pouring fresh water into the basin. As he washed the grime from his hands, the events of the day began to replay. That morning, he had spent resetting empty traps placed days prior, certain the creature would have stalked those areas. That afternoon, he had examined the corpse of a peasant boy killed the night before. The throat was torn open and the body nearly bloodless. He closed the lids over the bright blue eyes left wide open in shock. Later, he stole solitude in a small copse of oak, where, through tears, he prayed for forgiveness in his failure to conclude this holy mission. He flicked the water from his hands and refocused on the present task of planning for tomorrow. While lighting a pierced tin lantern, he began to ponder. It had been a few months since his arrival, yet he had nothing to show for his efforts. Not even a dog’s leg could be found in his traps. At times, it seemed nearly every wolf had been killed by the King’s men while they were in the area. Louis XV had eventually receded in his efforts concerning the beast. After all, it was only the peasants who were prey. Staring into the lantern’s flame, Elio tried to divine what details eluded him and what could be done next. Then he groaned as he recalled supper with the count the next night. Meetings with Count Gabriel, the Bishop of Mende, had been a semi-frequent affair that Elio had rather enjoyed in the beginning. They would discuss all manner of subjects, and the bishop was eager to hear of the hunt and his strategies. Then, however, after a while, he began to feel weighed down by the obligation. The bishop had treated him with the utmost respect and care. It was the discomfort he felt when Gabriel would inevitably begin preaching that “the beast was a scourge sent by God to punish the sinners of Gévaudan.” Those ravings, as Elio deemed them, left the guests quiet and ashamed.
As the violinist carried the adagio to its end, there came a beating at the door, breaking the mesmerism cast by the lantern’s light. Grabbing a pistol, Elio opened a small iron cover to see who was rapping so hastily. It was his friend Jean Chastel, a local hunter and farmer with whom he had been working closely since his arrival. Jean looked seriously at Elio through the opening and said, “The beast has been seen, my friend, in Auvers! Come, we must go now or it will surely be gone!”
Elio quickly grabbed his gear and rushed out through the main hall with Jean. Their excitement left the guests at the concert gasping as they raced by. The two men on horseback hit the road at full gallop and rode into the evening toward Auvers. Jean yelled out, “When I left the Marquis d’Apcher, he was gathering men. I suspect they will arrive in the coming hours!” Elio nodded while contemplating how the coming events might unfold. Outside the church, only Jean and he knew the truth. It could not be known that the beast troubling these lands was an unholy creature. He shook away the thoughts and allowed himself to feel the fresh evening air. As it washed over him, the overbearing heat of summer was pacified, as were the lingering doubts from before. Jean looked over at him again and smiled reservedly. His countenance had always been pleasant and reassuring. Elio concluded that it must have come from age and wisdom. A look of knowing was exchanged between the two.
Elio and Jean arrived in Auvers hours later. They made their way to a small stone house where family and friends of the latest victim eagerly awaited the two men outside. They were crowded around the body of the young mother, which had been lovingly laid out in a wagon for burial. Elio, after a brief greeting, stepped in to examine her. Her throat was torn and her flank had been mauled. This latest attack was the beast. Elio made the sign of the cross upon her head, and the others followed his lead, tracing it upon themselves. He prayed, “Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.” After discussing details of the attack, they learned that many of the people who were there with them had chased the creature into the woods to the west. The two got on their horses, and Elio said, “This is the one we have been hunting. We have a real chance here, but we cannot afford to wait for the Marquis. He may be another few hours.” Jean nodded in stern agreement. Elio pulled up closer to Jean. “You brought the bullets I gave you? Those that have been blessed?” Jean patted his pouch. “Yes.” Elio smiled. “Let’s go.”
A large summer moon blanketed the fields with a ghostly light. The treetops of chestnut and oak were faintly set apart from the night sky by this effect. They swayed rhythmically in the calm breeze. Elio and Jean agreed it would be dangerous to go directly into the woods. With lanterns alight, they spent the next hour following the tree line on horseback, listening to the sounds of the night and filtering the chatter of insects from the rustling of small creatures. In earlier days, Elio loved the sounds and smells of the forest at twilight, when the primal language of earth could be heard and felt keenly. Then he stopped his horse and carefully observed the change. Everything around the two hunters had grown silent. The men scanned the tree line, then turned their attention to the fields and hills beyond. The mountain range in the distance was like a dark barricade of cathedral buttresses and spires along the horizon. The horses became restless and difficult to handle, as they sensed impending danger. Elio and Jean recognized the animal’s warning; they dismounted and began loading their rifles.
From the dark woods came the sound of rustling accompanied by heavy breathing. Twigs snapped and echoed through the trees, followed by silence. The beast suddenly lunged out from a bank of mist that had just formed. Its body was that of a huge wolf with exaggerated breadth and girth. Elio’s heart began to pound hard against his chest. When he saw the beast bounding after Jean, he steadied his rifle and took aim. Jean fell onto his side and rolled out of the way just as the creature pounced onto his position. Elio fired, but the bullet grazed the top of its neck and tore through the thick mane. He quickly drew one of his pistols while advancing toward Jean and fired again. In a plume of smoke, the bullet penetrated the creature’s side, fragmented, and burrowed deep into the muscle. It jumped back with a shrill groan, clearly affected by the blessed round. Panting, the beast made a show of its dominance through fanged growls. Elio grabbed his second rifle, hoping the powder was not compromised. The men moved closer together, steadied themselves, and took aim, knowing they could not miss these next shots. The creature paced to their left, breathing heavily, and then slowly to their right, carefully studying them. Elio noted that the thing did not completely act like a wolf. It was utterly unholy, beyond nature. In the blink of an eye, the creature vanished into a curl of mist. It reappeared instantly, grabbed Elio by the face, and threw him to the ground. Elio tried to get back up, but the beast was on him. Then there was a muzzle flash behind the creature’s head that sent a portion of it hurling away. The body immediately seized, stiffened, and then slumped lifelessly into the grass. Jean helped Elio up and handed him his rifle. Elio took aim and sent his round straight through the chest.
The two stood together marveling at the body when it began to vibrate in slow pulses that they could feel under their feet. Jean looked at him, confused. The creature’s limbs contorted inward, bones snapped under its own flesh, and its fur receded like burning grass. A human face emerged from the ruin: the bishop’s face, pale and still. Jean was stricken with disbelief when he saw the body in its complete reversal. He made the sign of the cross. “God forgive us, Elio. It’s the bishop!” he said in stern disgust. Elio turned and looked at his companion gravely. “Jean, my friend, you are older and wiser than I, and so you will know that what I am about to say must be done. The people cannot know of this.” Jean threw his arms up in bafflement and asked earnestly, “What do we do then?” Elio stared at the body for a moment and said, “Meet up with the Marquis and his party and lead them somewhere else, away from here. Shoot a wolf and let that be the end of it.” Jean thought for a moment and agreed. The two hunters said their farewell, and Elio watched him ride off until the light of his lantern was completely out of sight. His gaze drifted into the deep darkness of the hour as he contemplated God, the creator of all things. The implications of that truth broke his faith that night.