Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

In the Breton tongue, what they call bisclavret we would call a werewolf. A long time ago there were quite a few, and many left their homes to live in the woods. The bisclavrets can be civil and live among men — except when the fury comes upon them, and then they are savage beasts. In that state, there's nothing they wouldn't do — any sort of harm or evil, even eating men.

In this story, the bisclavret was a noble lord, who lived in Brittany. He was a handsome knight, an able man. He always acted with true nobility. The king held him in high esteem, and so did all his neighbors.

As you'd expect, he married a worthy and beautiful woman, and brought her to live in his ancestral home. The woman's name was Gaelle.

They loved each other, and lived well together. But there was a problem: each week he was lost to her for three whole days. He never gave account of where he went, what he did, or who he saw. None of his people knew why it was so — he simply came and went.

One of these days, when he returned home, he was particularly glad and carefree. Gaelle thought it might be the time to pick the matter through, so she spoke: "My lover, my friend, my dear, I want to ask you just one thing, but don't know if I dare. I'm afraid you'll get angry, and I'm frightened of what you might do."

He hugged her, pulled her close, and gave her a kiss. "Afraid of me? Of what I might do? You are my life! Ask away! Ask me anything you like. If I can, I'll tell you. I swear on all that's holy I would never do you the smallest harm. Ask!" And he kissed her again.

"I feel a little better when you tell me that," Gaelle replied, "but the days when you are gone — those days I live in fear. I'm so afraid I'll lose you! It makes me ache so badly I could die! If only you knew how I suffer! Tell me, where do you go? What life do you live? Where do you stay? Do you love another? Is that it? You do me wrong, my husband, my lover, my life!"

"Oh, my lady!" he cried, "I beg you, by the Lord above! I'll harm myself if I tell you. The truth will drive you off! You'll love me no more! And if you leave me, I will lose my own heart, my own life! Believe me, I love no other!"

His answer did not please her at all. She brought it up repeatedly, and often tried to tease and coax the secret from him. At last, he could bear it no longer, and told her. "My lady," he said. "I turn bisclavret. I plunge into the deep forest, far from man. In the thick woods, I run, I sleep, I eat and drink. I live on what prey — on what wild beasts — I can get."

She contained herself as best she could, and asked him more: "And what about your clothes? Do go about dressed as a man? Or what do you wear?" She recalled that on his return, he wore the same clothes he'd left in, clean and in good repair.

"My lady, I wear nothing. I go bare. The fur of the bisclavret covers me."

Gaelle blushed, but wondered how his clothes kept clean. She asked where he left them.

"My love, my dear, this is one thing you cannot ask. If I lost my clothes, I could never change back until I found them again. This is why not a soul may know where I keep them."

"You try my love!" she scolded. "You've opened your heart, and told me of your curse, and yet I love you more than all the world. You should hide nothing from me, nor ever question my loyalty in this affair. Have I caused you to doubt? How have I sinned? What have I done to seem untrustworthy to you? Oh, you hurt me again with your secrets! If you love me, if I am truly your wife, tell me!"

She nagged and harassed him, until he had to tell.

He brought her to the window and pointed. "Near that wood, along that road, there is an old chapel. Behind the chapel, is a heavy, flat stone. Beneath that stone, is a hollow, dry place. I hide my clothing there until I can come home."

Gaelle passed the next four days in abject terror. Often she blushed bright red; often she paled death white. She was overcome with fear; her mind filled with plans — she looked for a way of escape. She no longer wanted to share his bed. She could not! The man-beast! She shuddered at the thought of his ghastly touch.

At last she knew of one who could help — would help! There was a knight who loved her, had wooed her, and held her in his heart. She had no love for him before this day, but knew that he was valiant, strong, and brave.

On the day Gaelle's husband next turned bisclavret, she sent a messenger to the knight. He flew to her side. She told him, "My friend, my dear, be glad! You've told me how you long for me, how you've been driven, been sad, distracted... What you have wanted and waited for, I will give you today. I will never tell you no, for I give you my love and my body. Take me as your own!"

He accepted gratefully, and pledged himself to her. Then she told him of her husband's curse — of the bisclavret. She brought him to the window and pointed out the wood, the road, the chapel. Gaelle sent him to get her husband's clothes.

That is how the bisclavret was betrayed.

No one was surprised when the lord did not return. He had left so often, they all agreed that this time he was gone for good. Inquiries were made, searches undertaken, but no one found a trace of the missing lord. At last the matter was closed, and the lady was free to marry her knight.

Gaelle and her new lord sent word to the king of a wolf who roamed their forest. The king, his huntsmen, and their coursing dogs came several times, but never saw the wolf, nor even any trace.

In fact, the lord and the wolf were never seen again, and this is why:

A pretty maid of the lord's estate overheard Gaelle's conversation with the knight. She thought to save her lord by bringing him a set of his own clothes, but the frightened wife was careful to burn every thread that could bring him back to her. During the three days of the bisclavret's absence, the maid sought spare clothing for the man, but so had the wife, ahead of her. There was not a pair of trousers to be had.

The time was nearly out — her lord would soon return, looking for his clothes. What could she do? Where could she go? How could she ask for what she needed? And then she had a thought: perhaps any human clothes would do. She ran to the road, to the wood, to the chapel, and sat upon the stone.

After a time, she heard a snarling and a growling, and the soul within her melted away for fear. She stood and backed herself against the chapel wall. "My lord," she whispered. "I am your servant. I know who and what you are. Please don't harm me! I have come to help."

She heard the beast's breath heavy in the underbrush. Quaking, she told the bisclavret of his betrayal. He came forward, and with muscles taut, lifted the heavy stone. His clothes were gone! The maid's story was true! A rage built within him, but he kept himself in check. The wolf wanted to howl and cry, but the man kept quiet.

Greatly embarrassed, the maid explained that man's clothes could not be had for love nor money, but perhaps any clothes would do? All she could find was the dress of a servant girl. The bisclavret, full of doubt, rose on his hind legs. He slipped the garment over his head. And lo! The bisclavret fur vanished; the pointed snout pulled in; the spindly wolf legs filled and formed themselves, and soon a comely girl stood where the wolf had been.

The good lord's wife had thought to doom her husband to eternal peril by burning all his clothes. If she'd kept and locked away a single shirt or shoe of his, he would have stayed a wolf until he died. But by burning all his clothes, she freed him from that form, and the first clothes he wore would stamp him anew.

If the lord had had a sister, this is how she'd look: dark curls, dark eyes, red lips, a little nose and chin, skin soft and light as cream, a pink rose blush on her cheeks; delicate arms, legs, hands, and feet, a tiny waist, and a full breast. It did a body good to look upon her. She had grace and charm born into her, and a lovely voice that fell on the ear like music.

And yet the first words she spoke were oaths and imprecations.

The two girls walked and talked, and this'd and that'd, and planned and schemed, and at last they went together to a house. It was the house of a widow, the mother of the maid. The maid introduced her friend as Maelys, the daughter of a trapper who lived deep in the woods. Four days a week she would stay with the mother, paying her keep by selling goods from the forest.

And so they lived for a time. Maelys would leave each week, hiding her clothes with care, and go for the deep woods, running, hunting, and gathering furs, skins, and hides to sell in the town. She quickly discovered that even as bisclavret, she was a girl: a bisclavrette! And try as she might to put on men's clothes, nothing could change her back into a man. Only her girlish outfits would do the trick. She didn't know that fire could break this bond; that if she burned her dresses and petticoats, she would be free to be a man again. And so, a girl she remained.

The maid brought her the gossip of the lord's estate, and Maelys burned in her secret heart. She longed for revenge, but how? First, she felt, she must become a man again, and then confront her betrayers: slay the knight and punish his lady.

But as time passed, Maelys' noble soul softened her anger, and her beauty charmed those around her. The people of the town grew to love her, in particular the young men.

Often there was talk of the lord who had gone, and at times people spoke of the bisclavrets, but none connected the two.

One day, the lady of the manor wished for a coat of fur, as proof against the winter cold. She had heard of the lovely trapper's daughter, and sent for her. Gaelle thought Maelys a jewel of a girl. She found it incredible that one who had grown alone with her father in the forest could be so graceful and well mannered. Maelys seemed more a lady of the court than a girl of the woods. Gaelle desired to know her better.

When Maelys delivered the furs, Gaelle rewarded her with money, clothes, and gifts. She often invited the girl to her estate, and greatly enjoyed her company.

On her side, Maelys had come with revenge hidden in her heart, but her old love of Gaelle returned, and soon she began to anticipate with joy her visits with the lady. Maelys spoke once of the old lord, and saw the fear in Gaelle's face. It was then that Maelys understood: It was not love of the knight that made Gaelle betray her husband; it was fear of the bisclavret.

Gaelle and Maelys became close friends. Maelys soon found that her friendships with the maid and with Gaelle were closer than any friendship she'd had before. She truly enjoyed her new life as a girl.

And yet, there was a problem: men.

Maelys' beauty and nobility caused many men, high born and low, to seek her out. She received their compliments with grace, but never gave any man reason to hope. She pleaded that her duties to her father prevented her from marrying.

Herve, the young son of a neighboring lord, offered, as many others had, to escort the lovely Maelys on her next journey to the woods. She told him she had no fear of traveling alone; she claimed to possess an infallible charm that protected her from every danger. It was partly true: as bisclavrette, she had little to fear.

Herve was not so easily put off: if she will not have me as an escort, he told himself, she will have me as a shadow, and with great stealth he followed her to the woods. Imagine his astonishment as the beauty doffed her clothes! Imagine how much greater his astonishment when she turned bisclavrette!

Thunderstruck, he remained in that place, neither eating nor drinking, debating with himself. He loved the girl, he longed for her — and yet, she was bisclavrette! His love and fascination conquered his fear, and he stayed in the woods until she returned. Loaded with furs, the bisclavrette put on once more the simple servant dress and became Maelys again.

Herve went home, bathed, ate, and rested. He was a forthright man, and knew what he had to do.

He found the girl at home, working on the furs. Her skin was bright and clear, there was a fresh blush on her cheeks, and her arms and breasts shone as she worked with the furs. She could not have been more ardant and attractive.

"Maelys," he said in a low, strong voice. Her body quivered in response. They gazed at each other. How he longed to take her in his arms! How she longed to give herself to him! And yet — her secret, her curse, prevented it.

In the days when she was a lord, she simply disappeared once a week, and in the end it was her undoing. If she became a wife, she could not do the same. And yet...

"I want you..." Herve began, "to be my wife, my love, my life, my only one."

The blush on her cheek rose higher. "I cannot," she replied. "You know that I cannot. My father..."

"I hope your father is well," he said. "But I mean to wed you, ma belle bisclavrette."

Her eyes widened. Her pretty mouth gaped. He stepped quickly to her side, and stopped her mouth with a kiss, and then another, and a third. He held her close, and closer, and told her how he knew.

"Maelys, I will keep your secret as if it were my own. I will do anything you ask, if only you will be my wife. We can build a pretty house in the forest, not far from here, and live like two birds of the wood. I swear upon my life, I will not let you go until you say that you are mine."

She smiled and kissed him, and rested her head upon his chest. They each declared their love, and soon they were married. Gaelle and the maid both attended, full of joy at the event.

True to his word, Herve built a lovely home in the forest, full of light and healthful air. And once a week his delicious bride doffed her clothes and took the woods — as the belle bisclavrette.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way