The Man-Wolf (Cryptofiction Classics - Weird Tales of Strange Creatures)

Alexandre Chatrian, Emile Erckmann

Description

This early work by Emile Erckmann and Alexandre Chatrian was originally published in 1876 and we are now republishing it with brand new introductory biographies as part of our Cryptofiction Classics series. 'The Man-Wolf' is a short story about a werewolf set in France. The Cryptofiction Classics series contains a collection of wonderful stories from some of the greatest authors in the genre, including Ambrose Bierce, Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Jack London. From its roots in cryptozoology, this genre features bizarre, fantastical, and often terrifying tales of mythical and legendary creatures. Whether it be giant spiders, werewolves, lake monsters, or dinosaurs, the Cryptofiction Classics series offers a fantastic introduction to the world of weird creatures in fiction.

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Read Books Ltd.
• Date de parution: 17 février 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781473399518
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Man-Wolf

By Emile Erckmann & Alexandre Chatrian
A Cryptofiction Classic



Copyright © 2013 Read Books Ltd.
This book is copyright and may not be
reproduced or copied in any way without
the express permission of the publisher in writing
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library


Introduction

The genre of cryptofiction has grown up in the shadow of its older brothers, science fiction and fantasy. While the latter two continue to move towards the mainstream of literary tastes – as evidenced by reaction to modern series such as Neal Stephenson’s The Baroque Cycle and George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire – many readers have probably never even heard of cryptofiction. Odd, when one considers that some of the most famous authors in the Western tradition have dabbled in cryptofiction, and that even today works of cryptofiction frequently feature on bestseller lists.
Cryptofiction takes its name from another, non-literary practice: cryptozoology. Cryptozoology is generally regarded as a pseudoscience by mainstream scientists, relying as it does upon anecdotal, often unverifiable evidence. However, it still boasts many enthusiasts, and continues to exert considerable artistic allure. Focused on the search for animals whose existence has not been established – who are literally kryptos , Greek for “hidden” – cryptozoology traces its roots to the work of the 19th-century Dutch zoologist Anthonie Cornelis Oudemans (1858-1943). Oudemans’ 1892 work, The Great Sea Serpent , was a collected study of global sea serpent sightings, which hypothesised that all these serpents might stem from a previously unknown species of giant seal.
Around the same time that Oudemans’ work came to prominence, cryptozoology experienced its early crossovers with the fiction of the day. Following in the footsteps of Jules Verne’s famous Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870) – which featured a mysterious giant sea monster – the 1890s saw an explosion of cryptofictional short stories, such as Rudyard Kipling’s “A Matter of Fact” (1892) and H. G. Wells’ “The Sea Raiders” (1896). Into the 20th-century, Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World (1912) centred on an expedition to a plateau of the Amazon basin where prehistoric animals continued to thrive, and Edgar Rice Burroughs’ The Land That Time Forgot (1924) picked up a similar theme, featuring not just dinosaurs but also Neanderthals. Less than a decade later, a prehistoric ape took centre stage in the 1933 film King Kong .
The fifties witnessed what was probably the heyday of cryptozoology. It was in 1955 that Belgian-French zoologist Bernard Heuvelmans – known as “the father of cryptozoology” – published his On the Track of Unknown Animals , in which he both coined the field’s name and mapped out its intellectual boundaries. Four years later, Willy Ley’s popular Exotic Zoology (1959) was published, featuring discussion of the Yeti and sea serpents. To modern cryptozoology enthusiasts, these works are still seen as the subject’s defining texts.
While the popularity of cryptozoology has surely waned since the fifties – perhaps mainly due to the the ongoing non-discovery of creatures such as Bigfoot, the Yeti, and the Loch Ness Monster – cryptofiction may well be more popular than ever. The towering cryptofiction text of the modern era is undoubtedly Michael Crichton’s 1990 novel, Jurassic Park . It was Crichton’s book which helped trigger a renaissance in cryptofiction, which saw the publication of works such as John Darnton’s Neanderthal (1996), Phillip Kerr’s Esau (1996), Frank E. Peretti’s Monster (2006), and Steve Alten’s Meg series. 2005 even saw a $207 million remake of the original cryptofiction movie, King Kong .
Ultimately, then, despite its obscured and messy roots, the genre of cryptofiction may just be more alive than ever. One wonders why this is: perhaps it stems from an attempt to inject some mystery and wonder back into a natural world that is largely discovered and pacified; perhaps it has to do with modern readers being more sympathetic to creatures that at least have some vague basis in scientific fact. Whatever the reason, cryptofiction is here to stay, and the stories in this collection map the development of a genre which is as strange as it is fascinating.



The Man-Wolf

by Emile Erckmann and Alexandre Chatrian
CHAPTER I.
About Christmas time in the year 18—, as I was lying fast asleep at the Cygne at Fribourg, my old friend Gideon Sperver broke abruptly into my room, crying—
“Fritz, I have good news for you; I am going to take you to Nideck, two leagues from this place. You know Nideck, the finest baronial castle in the country, a grand monument of the glory of our forefathers?”
Now I had not seen Sperver, who was my foster-father, for sixteen years; he had grown a full beard in that time, a huge fox-skin cap covered his head, and he was holding his lantern close under my nose. It was, therefore, only natural that I should answer—
“In the first place let us do things in order. Tell me who you are.”
“Who I am? What! don’t you remember Gideon Sperver, the Schwartzwald huntsman? You would not be so ungrateful, would you? Was it not I who taught you to set a trap, to lay wait for the foxes along the skirts of the woods, to start the dogs after the wild birds? Do you remember me now? Look at my left ear, with a frost-bite.”
“Now I know you; that left ear of yours has done it; Shake hands.”
Sperver, passing the back of his hand across his eyes, went on—
“You know Nideck?”
“Of course I do—by reputation; what have you to do there?”
“I am the count’s chief huntsman.”
“And who has sent you?”
“The young Countess Odile.”
“Very good. How soon are we to start?”
“This moment. The matter is urgent; the old count is very ill, and his daughter has begged me not to lose a moment. The horses are quite ready.”
“But, Gideon, my dear fellow, just look out at the weather; it has been snowing three days without cessation.”
“Oh, nonsense; we are not going out boar-hunting; put on your thick coat, buckle on your spurs, and let us prepare to start. I will order something to eat first.” And he went out, first adding, “Be sure to put on your cape.”
I could never refuse old Gideon anything; from my childhood he could do anything with me with a nod or a sign; so I equipped myself and came into the coffee-room.
“I knew,” he said, “that you would not let me go back without you. Eat every bit of this slice of ham, and let us drink a stirrup cup, for the horses are getting impatient. I have had your portmanteau put in.”
“My portmanteau! what is that for?”
“Yes, it will be all right; you will have to stay a few days at Nideck, that is indispensable, and I will tell you why presently.”
So we went down into the courtyard.
At that moment two horsemen arrived, evidently tired out with riding, their horses in a perfect lather of foam. Sperver, who had always been a great admirer of a fine horse, expressed his surprise and admiration at these splendid animals.
“What beauties! They are of the Wallachian breed, I can see, as finely formed as deer, and as swift. Nicholas, throw a cloth over them quickly, or they will take cold.”
The travellers, muffled in Siberian furs, passed close by us just as we were going to mount. I could only discern the long brown moustache of one, and his singularly bright and sparkling eyes.
They entered the hotel.
The groom was holding our horses by the bridle. He wished us bon voyage , removed his hand, and we were off.
Sperver rode a pure Mecklemburg. I was mounted on a stout cob bred in the Ardennes, full of fire; we flew over the snowy ground. In ten minutes we had left Fribourg behind us.
The sky was beginning to clear up. As far as the eye could reach we could distinguish neither road, path, nor track. Our only company were the ravens of the Black Forest spreading their hollow wings wide over the banks of snow, trying one place after another unsuccessfully for food, and croaking, “Misery! misery!”
Gideon, with his weather-beaten countenance, his fur cloak and cap, galloped on ahead, whistling airs from the Freyschütz ; sometimes as he turned I could see the sparkling drops of moisture hanging from his long moustache.
“Well, Fritz, my boy, this is a fine winter’s morning.”
“So it is, but it is rather severe; don’t you think so?”
“I am fond of a clear hard frost,” he replied; “it promotes circulation. If our old minister Tobias had but the courage to start out in weather like this he would soon put an end to his rheumatic pains.”
I smiled, I am afraid, involuntarily.
After an hour of this rapid pace Sperver slackened his speed and let me come abreast of him.
“Fritz, I shall have to tell you the object of this journey at some time, I suppose?”
“I was beginning to think I ought to know what I am going about.”
“A good many doctors have already been consulted.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, some came from Berlin in great wigs who only asked to see the patient’s tongue. Others from Switzerland examined him another way. The doctors from Paris stared at their patient through magnifying glasses to learn something from his physiognomy. But all their learning was wasted, and they got large fees in reward of their ignorance.”
“Is that the way you speak of us medical gentlemen?”
“I am not alluding to you at all. I have too much respect for you, and if I should happen to break my leg I don’t know that there is another that I should prefer to yourself to treat me as a patient, but you have not discovered an optical instrument yet to tell what is going on inside of us.”
“How do you know that?”
At this reply the worthy fellow looked at me doubtful