Man, it would seem, harbors a fear of the unrepresentable. What we cannot see is either divine or diabolical, or at least mysterious, arousing desire and fear. In addition to being an instrument of capture, representation is a stage in the process of rationalization. We saw this with the rhinoceros, which passed as a result from myth to reality. In another period, and in other circumstances, the famous episode of the "Beast of Gévaudan" in the eighteenth century confirms this role. It affirms the imperious need for the image.

Wolves rarely attack men, except when afflicted with rabies. When healthy, and able to choose their food, they prefer easier prey such as livestock. However, from summer 1763 to summer 1764, inhabitants of what is now the département of Lozère suffered some hundred attacks, many of them Fata. For a partly pastoral population, wolves were not unfamiliar, but this most unusual behavior stirred fears and started rumors that were soon echoed by the chroniclers in the gazettes. The attacks, people said, were not the work of a simple wolf but of a werewolf, an animal trained to kill or shift its shape. The tales told by survivors varied considerably. Some saw a wolf of unusual size, others a reddish-brown beast with black jaws and striped fur. Might this be some unknown kind of dog, from another country? There was talk of an African beast. It was said to be invincible, to foil traps and be unscathed by gunshot (which suggests that it had armor). It was said to be ubiquitous, perpetrating its misdeeds in places several leagues apart. It was, surely, the terrible instrument of a divine punishment. Further, it was said to perpetrate sexual crimes on young women, leaving their corpses naked. Later on, this latter aspect was of particular interest to the scribblers who took up the tale: to attribute these deaths to perverse men or to animals trained to do evil satisfied their vision of an Ancient Régime which, if it had already produced its Sade, was still gravid with the Revolution.

Despite the mobilization of landowners in the Languedoc, and despite the call to prayer made by the bishop of Mende, the number of victims continued to grow, inexorably. Fear turned to panic at this phenomenon that seemed impossible to represent and that, for lack of a name, men called "the Beast." Such indeterminacy can have the worst consequences. In the century of the Enlightenment, this was a zone of shadow conducive to all kinds of devilry, an irrational fault line where dark passions could incubate.

The beast was a threat to public order and the king was its guarantor. Louis XV therefore sent in the army and, when this failed, mandated his personal arquebusier, François Antoine: this special envoy would surely succeed in his mission. A result was needed. Soon, a big wolf was shot dead. It was carried forthwith to Clermont-Ferrand for stuffing so it could be taken to Versailles and presented to the king. At last, the beast had an image. And this was authenticated by the monarch's gaze. On September 1, 1765, the beast was officially declared dead.

Claude d'Anthenaise, "Animals of the Mind", Walton Ford, 2015