Encountering the “Wild Man” in Italy
Are They Mythological or Neanderthal?
Since Teresa and I arrived in Lombardy in early May, we have had three encounters with Italy’s l’Homo Salvadego — the “Wild Man”. These hairy, human like-creatures are the EU counterpart to Big Foot, Yeti, and the Vietnamese Nguoi Rung (“People of the Forest”). In the town of Sondalo, we drove past this statue on somebody’s lawn, right by the roadside:
There was no sign or anything to explain this seemingly crazy bit of art. Indeed, we might have passed by without even paying attention if not for an attempt a few days earlier to find a fresco of a Wild Man I had read about in the nearby mountain village of Sacco. The Sacco Museo dell’Homo Salvadego is housed in a 15th century wooden building, and the fresco itself is painted on an interior wall:
Of course when we arrived, the museum was closed, so we found the fresco on line. The Wild Man here is shown carrying a club. He is bearded and covered in hair except for his face, feet, hands and genitals. The inscription next to him reads: Ego sonto un homo salvadego per natura, chi me ofende ge fo pagura (“I’m wild man by nature, those who offend me I will put fear”).
A little research showed that the Wild Man and his club appears in many places in Europe’s late Medieval art:
The Wild Man particularly intrigued me because I remembered from earlier visits to Europe that such a figure is part of many pre-Christian festivals that continue to this day in mountainous and rural parts of Europe, from Brittany to the Balkans. I wrote a story about one of these festivals in Skyros, Greece some time ago. Men dress in shaggy costumes. Usually they carry a club or staff like the one in the Sacco fresco. (Here is a great photo essay about this tradition from National Geographic).
Our third encounter took place in the Dolomites, by the shore of Lake Carezza, where the local park service has put up a series of informative plaques, including some that retell the traditional legends of the region. One of these was the story of the Wild Men of the Latemar. The fable tells of a terrible war between the Wild Men and Newcomers who ultimately slaughter the older inhabitants, leaving only the Glacier Man left to grieve for his people.
In sum, we encountered the Wild Man in a modern sculpture, a Medieval fresco, and an ancient legend. So, what’s the origin of this mysterious, ubiquitous, hirsute figure?
- Are Wild Men really cases of hypertrichosis — a genetic mutation that causes hair to grow all over a person’s body? It’s easy to imagine people with this mutation being shunned by village society and forced to live in the forests. But, this affliction typically covers the full face and extremities, so not like the Medieval depictions. You do actually find cases of hypertrichosis reported in medieval times, and these are not confused with Wild Men. I think it would be hard to explain how this mutation could become a figure in festivals across the continent, or turn into a legend about a whole race of creatures.
- Are Wild Men mythological figures, perhaps akin to giants, werewolves, or other scary monsters that populate European folklore? (this article makes that case) This is certainly plausible, though it begs the question of how such a similar creature evolved from very different mythological traditions from Asia to North America.
- Do Wild Men have a basis in fact? Specifically, are the “Wild Men” trace memories of Neanderthals, during the period when our two species coexisted in Europe? Well, current science dates our last fossil evidence of Neanderthals to about 24,000 BC. That is about 1,250 generations. A long, long time for folk memories to persist! But of course, only about 300 Neanderthal skeletons have been found so far (Just last year, nine new skeletons were discovered in a cave in southern Italy).They existed for about 350,000 years, so that extinction date is simply all we have from a very tiny sample size. Pockets of survivors could perhaps have existed much later, explaining the persistence of the legends, and perhaps the more recent sitings of Yeti-like creatures. Of course, if the Wild Men are based on real creatures, then they are more accurately Wild Men & Women — the Latemar legend talks specifically about their daughters. (Indeed, there are stories and depictions of wild women, but these are significantly more rare).
I found a really interesting argument for this last idea here. The author, Olivier Décobert, includes accounts of historical sightings of Wild Men, including one from “…a French engineer Julien David Leroy, who wrote in his work on logging in the mountains of the Pyrenees that in 1774, the pastors of the Iraty Forest (region of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port) often saw a Wildman, described as shaggy like a bear.” Décobert also describes a 1988 account of a shepherd who claimed to have observed a Wild Man in the mountains of Pakistan for two hours.
If you think it’s impossible Neandethals could have survived for thousands of years undetected, then such accounts won’t likely convince you. However, it’s a suprisingly common occurance that species thought to be extinct are rediscovered (see the book Woody’s Last Laugh for a riveting and humorous account of how the supposed extinction of the Ivory Billed Woodpecker bedevils scientists to this day).
While my imagination loves the idea that Neanderthals might still be with us, living undetected in the remote Italian Alps and other wild places, my rational mind thinks that’s highly improbable. But, it’s not at all implausible that small, wary groups could have lingered in these hills into historical times, long enough that homo sapiens remembered them, and immortalized our genetic next-of-kin in art, ritual and legend.
Intrigingly, genetic research has revealed that Neanderthal DNA lingers on in Homo Sapiens. On average about 3% of our genes were inherited from Neanderthal ancestors. So, they were more than just prehistoric neighbours. We interbred. Whether it was climate change or conflict with us that finally drove Neanderthals to extinction, in fact they persist more than our imagination.
We each have some of the Wild Man or Wild Woman in us. I wonder if that is what draws me to their memory, as I amble through theses alpine forests that were once their homes?
