The Beast of Gévaudan: A Reign of Terror in 18th Century France

In the mid-1700s, while France was still reeling from the Seven Years' War and the Austrian War of Succession, a new terror gripped the region of Gévaudan. A beast, monstrous and savage, began a reign of terror, leading locals to believe it was divine punishment for their sins. This is the story of the Beast of Gévaudan.

"Beast of Gévaudan, feared no sword and feared no gun

Sent from heaven, the seventh of creatures

Beast of Gévaudan, for the wrath of God to come

Came to sanction the mass and the preachers.."¹

While these words might sound like a Powerwolf lyric (and they are, from a "great chronicler"), they also reflect the fear and religious fervor that gripped the region.

The Beast, often described as a massive wolf or a wolf-like creature, stalked the lands of Gévaudan for four years, leaving a trail of death and mutilation. Fear of wolves was not new to the area; France had a long history of tumultuous encounters with these predators. However, the Beast of Gévaudan was different, a creature of unprecedented savagery.

The first recorded attack occurred in April 1764, when a young woman tending cows was attacked by a creature described as "like a wolf, yet not a wolf." Though badly bitten, she was saved by the protective herd. The attacks escalated in frequency and brutality. By June, the Beast claimed its first fatality: 14-year-old Jeanne Boulet. Over the following months, more victims fell prey, the majority being women and children.

The attacks grew deadlier, and soon, the people of Gévaudan realized they were facing something far beyond a typical wolf. Militias were formed, hunts were organized, but the Beast eluded capture. Descriptions of the creature varied wildly, from its immense size (some claiming it was as large as a cow) to its unusual gait (some claiming it could bound like it was flying) and its coloring (striped, russet, dappled). These inconsistencies, coupled with the wide geographic range of the attacks, led some to believe that there was more than one beast, perhaps a pack, even with reports of seeing young with the creature.

By New Year's Eve 1764, the Bishop of Mende, also the Count of Gévaudan, declared the Beast a "scourge of God," quoting Deuteronomy: "They will be wasted from hunger and ravaged by pestilence and bitter plague; I will send the fangs of wild beasts against them, with the venom of vipers that slither in² the dust…" Mass prayers were offered, but the killings continued. In January 1765, young Jacques Portefaix, aged between ten and twelve, and his friends, armed with makeshift spears (knives tied to sticks at Jacques' urging), bravely defended themselves against the Beast, even managing to wound it. Their story reached King Louis XV, who rewarded them and took notice of the growing crisis.

The King mobilized royal hunts, but even the efforts of experienced hunters, like Jean Charles Marc Antoine Vaumesle d'Enneval and his son, proved fruitless. The Beast seemed to possess an uncanny ability to survive attacks, even gunshot wounds, and local assistance was deemed incompetent. The creature's cunning and ferocity fueled the legends, with some whispering of werewolves, shapeshifters, or even a supernatural origin, some even suggesting trained mastiffs coated in leather armor.

The attacks continued, drawing international attention and ridicule. The King, under increasing pressure, replaced d'Enneval with François Antoine, his gunbearer and knight equerry. Antoine, a skilled hunter, organized massive hunts and employed a military-style approach. He too suspected a pack and focused on eliminating the entire group.

Finally, in September 1765, Antoine and his men cornered a massive wolf, Le Loup de Chazes, in the Pommier Woods. Antoine, using an overcharged musket, managed to wound the creature, but it still charged him. A second shot from his cousin, Rinchard, finally brought the beast down. Many survivors, including Marie-Jeanne Valet (who had previously fought off the beast), identified it as the creature that had terrorized the region, pointing out the wound in its flank she had dealt. Antoine, comparing her to Joan of Arc, requested she be rewarded as Jacques had been, but she received no such recognition. The wolf's carcass was sent to the King.

However, the peace was short-lived. Attacks continued, and it became clear that the slain wolf was not the only threat. Antoine and his hunters tracked a she-wolf and two pups, eventually killing them as well. With the pack seemingly eliminated, the attacks subsided, and Antoine was hailed as a hero, receiving a generous pension and honors.

But the peace was illusory. In December 1765, attacks resumed, and the killings continued into 1766, which proved to be the deadliest year. The locals, realizing that royal help was not forthcoming, took matters into their own hands, trying everything from hunts to poisoned carcasses. The Beast, or whatever it was, seemed more cautious now.

Finally, in June 1767, nearly four years after the first fatal attack, Jean Chastel, a local farmer, encountered the creature during a hunt. Armed with his gun and his faith (he was said to be reading his bible as he waited), he waited. When the Beast approached, Chastel took aim and fired, killing the creature. This wolf, while large, was smaller than the one killed by Antoine. It was believed to be one of the offspring of the original beast. Legend has it that Chastel's bullet was cast from melted-down silver from a religious icon, though this is likely a later embellishment.

The second wolf was also examined by physicians and naturalists, who noted its unusual characteristics: larger teeth, a different tail shape, a shorter ribcage, and longer legs and claws. This, along with the fact that the first wolf survived gunshots, suggests that the Beast of Gévaudan may have been a hybrid, perhaps a cross between a large wolf and a large dog like a Beauceron (noting the extra dewclaws on one of the younger wolves).

The attacks ended, but the legend of the Beast of Gévaudan lived on. The final wolf's carcass, poorly stuffed, was sent to Paris, where it reportedly stank so badly that the man accompanying it fell ill. It was examined by naturalist Buffon, who declared it "a large wolf, nothing more," though this account is disputed. The wolf was buried in Paris, its final resting place now lost beneath buildings.

The Beast of Gévaudan remains a mystery, a chilling tale of a creature that terrorized a region and defied capture for years. Whether it was a large wolf, a hybrid, or something more supernatural, the legend of the Beast continues to fascinate and frighten, a reminder of the dark side of nature and the power of fear. And as the local saying goes, “Don’t stray too far, don’t leave the light. He watched on at the edge of night.”

Check out the podcast on the beast of Gévaudan here