In the medieval town of Gubbio, a terrifying wolf was said to be devouring livestock and people alike, striking fear into the countryside. But instead of slaying the beast, Saint Francis of Assisi did something no one expected: he spoke to it. This remarkable encounter, first recorded in Latin in the early 14th-century Actus beati Francisci et sociorum eius, became famous through The Little Flowers (I Fioretti), a later retelling in the Tuscan vernacular that turned the tale into one of the most enduring legends of the Middle Ages.
Written over a hundred years after Saint Francis of Assisi’s death, The Little Flowers is far from a reliable biography. Rather, it offers an idealised portrayal of the saint, blending Franciscan oral tradition with the spiritual concerns of 14th-century Franciscan reformers known as the “Spirituals”. The Saint Francis of The Little Flowers is a purified figure, stripped of the more human complexities found in earlier sources.
A Spiritual Mirror of Its Time
Stefano di Giovanni: The Wolf of Gubbio – this image dates between 1437 and 1444.
The text focuses on themes that deeply concerned 14th-century friars: preaching against sin, material wealth, and the devil—while also exalting Francis’s capacity for dialogue and forgiveness. It is within this context that the remarkable tale of the Wolf of Gubbio appears, in chapter 21 of The Little Flowers, and it takes place during one of Francis’ visits to the town.
At that time, a “very great, terrible and fierce wolf” was ravaging the countryside around Gubbio, growing bold enough to approach the town itself. The townspeople, stricken with fear, dared to venture out only when fully armed. This imagery of a city under siege is less an eyewitness account than an expression of medieval urban culture, which sharply distinguished the safety of the walled city from the dangerous wilderness beyond. As seen in the famous frescoes of the Good Government by Lorenzettiin Siena or in Giotto’s Saint Francis Drives the Demons from Arezzo, the city is a fortress turned inward.
More Than a Mere Beast
Francis of Assisi and the Wolf of Gubbio : Santa Maria della Vittoria i Gubbio – photo by Christopher John SSF / Flickr / Wikimedia Commons
This wolf is not merely dangerous; he is unsettlingly unnatural: “he not only devoured animals but also men.” His man-eating habits are explicitly condemned in the saint’s address to the beast: “You have done great evils, destroying and killing God’s creatures without His permission. And not only have you killed and eaten animals, but you have also dared to kill men, who were made in the image of God—for which crime you deserve to be hanged like a thief and wicked murderer.”
Thus, the wolf is treated as a criminal, having broken both divine and natural law. What makes the tale truly extraordinary is the wolf’s human-like character. Unlike the many saints of the Apennines who tamed wild beasts, Saint Francis addresses the wolf as a rational creature, calling him brother. This level of personification has led some historians to interpret the wolf as an allegory: possibly a local nobleman who was oppressing the people of Gubbio, or a bandit preying on travellers and peasants. Francis calls him a “thief” and “murderer”, and the comparison is further supported by late medieval popular imagination, which associated outlaws hiding in forests with wolves or even werewolves. Around this time, the Italian expression teste di lupi (“wolf heads”) began to be used to describe such criminals.
A Reversal of Nature and Law
Francis and thw Wolf depicted in Liege, France – Photon by Alf van Beem / Wikimedia Commons
But Francis does not merely rebuke the beast; he performs a gesture of peace and divine authority. He makes the sign of the cross—instantly calming the wolf, who closed his jaws, laying down like a lamb, and listened. Francis extracts a promise from him: never again to harm man or beast. In return, the people of Gubbio vow to feed the wolf so that he shall no longer suffer hunger.
The pact is sealed through a solemn gesture: the wolf nods at the saint’s questions and places his paw in Francis’s hand, as if shaking hands. Yet this alone is not sufficient. The tale reflects the political culture of medieval communes, where public agreement and civic consensus were essential. Thus, a second, public ritual follows: the wolf and Francis appear before the whole town, and the beast repeats his pledge before the assembled crowd. This echoes actual public reconciliations between feuding lords and urban authorities in medieval Italy, often brokered by clerics.
Before this event, Francis delivers a sermon to the Eugubines, reminding them that “the rage of the wolf can kill only the body”, but hell threatens the soul. He urges them to repent. The wolf thus becomes a living symbol of eternal damnation—a worldly metaphor for spiritual peril.
From Terror to Transformation
Statue in the Capicnes convent, Monterosso al Mare, Italy – photo by Chabe01 / Wikimedia Commons
The story concludes with the wolf, now fed by the townspeople, living out his days peacefully and dying of old age. No longer a predator, he has been “domesticated”—welcomed within the bounds of the city, within the order of law, and reconciled with men (and their dogs). It is a total reversal of his nature.
Was the tale inspired by a real act of reconciliation with a bandit or a cruel lord? Perhaps. But it is essential to recognise that the story was included in a text of spiritual edification, not historical reportage. It serves as an allegory of evil, more than a record of lupine terror. That reading is confirmed by another chapter in The Little Flowers where a wolf appears again—this time symbolically.
The Wolf as a Figure of the Devil
In this later episode, demons surround the Portiuncula, the little chapel so dear to Franciscan memory. Though unable to enter due to the holiness of the friars, one demon succeeds in corrupting a single brother. Francis, noticing the change, confronts the monk, frees him from evil, and imposes penance. He is described as a good shepherd: “That merciful and watchful shepherd, who always kept vigil over his flock, saw that the wolf had entered to devour his little lamb.”
The story ends: “The devil fled, and the brother, thus delivered from the clutches of the cruel beast by the grace of the good shepherd, gave thanks to God, returned penitent and well-instructed to the flock of the holy shepherd, and lived henceforth in great holiness.” Here, the wolf is no longer a wild animal but a spiritual predator: the embodiment of the devil who prowls for souls. To tame the wolf is to cast out evil.
Legacy and Lasting Power
It is no surprise that the earliest depiction of the miracle was created within the Franciscan convent itself, in the early 15th century. From there, the image of the Wolf of Gubbio gradually escaped the bounds of Franciscan circles and began to appear throughout the city, in both sacred and secular settings. By 1612, it had found its way into Gubbio’s most prominent civic building—the Palazzo dei Consoli—where it was displayed in the Audience Hall. In this context, the tale of the wolf was transformed into a political allegory, serving as a model of civic concord and the peaceful coexistence expected of the city’s citizens.
Yet the story did not end there. In the 17th century, a sanctuary was erected on the site believed to be the wolf’s burial place: the church of San Francesco della Pace. Here, sculptures and portraits of the animal were collected and venerated. Fittingly, the church stood in a district that had been known since the 14th century as Morlupo—a name meaning “dead wolf,” and one that bore a wolf’s head on its heraldic crest. By then, the Wolf of Gubbio had truly crossed into the realm of sainthood, honoured not merely as a beast of legend but as a creature worthy of devotion.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
A. Montefusco, “The wolf of Gubbio. Or, how a Franciscan legend is created,” in A. Luongo, A. Montefusco (ed.), Il lupo di Gubbio. Origini, tradizione e ricezione di una storia francescana, Spoleto, Fondazione Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 2022, p. 25-55
Top Image: Church and Monastery of Capuchin Friars in Monterosso al Mare – Cinque Terre – Italy. It’s one of the best monuments in Monterosso, a monastery of the XVII century with a spiritual and peacefull atmosphere according to the experience of St. Francis of Assisi. Photo by GIANFRANCO NEGRI / Wikimedia Commons
By Lorris Chevalier
In the medieval town of Gubbio, a terrifying wolf was said to be devouring livestock and people alike, striking fear into the countryside. But instead of slaying the beast, Saint Francis of Assisi did something no one expected: he spoke to it. This remarkable encounter, first recorded in Latin in the early 14th-century Actus beati Francisci et sociorum eius, became famous through The Little Flowers (I Fioretti), a later retelling in the Tuscan vernacular that turned the tale into one of the most enduring legends of the Middle Ages.
Written over a hundred years after Saint Francis of Assisi’s death, The Little Flowers is far from a reliable biography. Rather, it offers an idealised portrayal of the saint, blending Franciscan oral tradition with the spiritual concerns of 14th-century Franciscan reformers known as the “Spirituals”. The Saint Francis of The Little Flowers is a purified figure, stripped of the more human complexities found in earlier sources.
A Spiritual Mirror of Its Time
The text focuses on themes that deeply concerned 14th-century friars: preaching against sin, material wealth, and the devil—while also exalting Francis’s capacity for dialogue and forgiveness. It is within this context that the remarkable tale of the Wolf of Gubbio appears, in chapter 21 of The Little Flowers, and it takes place during one of Francis’ visits to the town.
At that time, a “very great, terrible and fierce wolf” was ravaging the countryside around Gubbio, growing bold enough to approach the town itself. The townspeople, stricken with fear, dared to venture out only when fully armed. This imagery of a city under siege is less an eyewitness account than an expression of medieval urban culture, which sharply distinguished the safety of the walled city from the dangerous wilderness beyond. As seen in the famous frescoes of the Good Government by Lorenzetti in Siena or in Giotto’s Saint Francis Drives the Demons from Arezzo, the city is a fortress turned inward.
More Than a Mere Beast
This wolf is not merely dangerous; he is unsettlingly unnatural: “he not only devoured animals but also men.” His man-eating habits are explicitly condemned in the saint’s address to the beast: “You have done great evils, destroying and killing God’s creatures without His permission. And not only have you killed and eaten animals, but you have also dared to kill men, who were made in the image of God—for which crime you deserve to be hanged like a thief and wicked murderer.”
Thus, the wolf is treated as a criminal, having broken both divine and natural law. What makes the tale truly extraordinary is the wolf’s human-like character. Unlike the many saints of the Apennines who tamed wild beasts, Saint Francis addresses the wolf as a rational creature, calling him brother. This level of personification has led some historians to interpret the wolf as an allegory: possibly a local nobleman who was oppressing the people of Gubbio, or a bandit preying on travellers and peasants. Francis calls him a “thief” and “murderer”, and the comparison is further supported by late medieval popular imagination, which associated outlaws hiding in forests with wolves or even werewolves. Around this time, the Italian expression teste di lupi (“wolf heads”) began to be used to describe such criminals.
A Reversal of Nature and Law
But Francis does not merely rebuke the beast; he performs a gesture of peace and divine authority. He makes the sign of the cross—instantly calming the wolf, who closed his jaws, laying down like a lamb, and listened. Francis extracts a promise from him: never again to harm man or beast. In return, the people of Gubbio vow to feed the wolf so that he shall no longer suffer hunger.
The pact is sealed through a solemn gesture: the wolf nods at the saint’s questions and places his paw in Francis’s hand, as if shaking hands. Yet this alone is not sufficient. The tale reflects the political culture of medieval communes, where public agreement and civic consensus were essential. Thus, a second, public ritual follows: the wolf and Francis appear before the whole town, and the beast repeats his pledge before the assembled crowd. This echoes actual public reconciliations between feuding lords and urban authorities in medieval Italy, often brokered by clerics.
Before this event, Francis delivers a sermon to the Eugubines, reminding them that “the rage of the wolf can kill only the body”, but hell threatens the soul. He urges them to repent. The wolf thus becomes a living symbol of eternal damnation—a worldly metaphor for spiritual peril.
From Terror to Transformation
The story concludes with the wolf, now fed by the townspeople, living out his days peacefully and dying of old age. No longer a predator, he has been “domesticated”—welcomed within the bounds of the city, within the order of law, and reconciled with men (and their dogs). It is a total reversal of his nature.
Was the tale inspired by a real act of reconciliation with a bandit or a cruel lord? Perhaps. But it is essential to recognise that the story was included in a text of spiritual edification, not historical reportage. It serves as an allegory of evil, more than a record of lupine terror. That reading is confirmed by another chapter in The Little Flowers where a wolf appears again—this time symbolically.
The Wolf as a Figure of the Devil
In this later episode, demons surround the Portiuncula, the little chapel so dear to Franciscan memory. Though unable to enter due to the holiness of the friars, one demon succeeds in corrupting a single brother. Francis, noticing the change, confronts the monk, frees him from evil, and imposes penance. He is described as a good shepherd: “That merciful and watchful shepherd, who always kept vigil over his flock, saw that the wolf had entered to devour his little lamb.”
The story ends: “The devil fled, and the brother, thus delivered from the clutches of the cruel beast by the grace of the good shepherd, gave thanks to God, returned penitent and well-instructed to the flock of the holy shepherd, and lived henceforth in great holiness.” Here, the wolf is no longer a wild animal but a spiritual predator: the embodiment of the devil who prowls for souls. To tame the wolf is to cast out evil.
Legacy and Lasting Power
It is no surprise that the earliest depiction of the miracle was created within the Franciscan convent itself, in the early 15th century. From there, the image of the Wolf of Gubbio gradually escaped the bounds of Franciscan circles and began to appear throughout the city, in both sacred and secular settings. By 1612, it had found its way into Gubbio’s most prominent civic building—the Palazzo dei Consoli—where it was displayed in the Audience Hall. In this context, the tale of the wolf was transformed into a political allegory, serving as a model of civic concord and the peaceful coexistence expected of the city’s citizens.
Yet the story did not end there. In the 17th century, a sanctuary was erected on the site believed to be the wolf’s burial place: the church of San Francesco della Pace. Here, sculptures and portraits of the animal were collected and venerated. Fittingly, the church stood in a district that had been known since the 14th century as Morlupo—a name meaning “dead wolf,” and one that bore a wolf’s head on its heraldic crest. By then, the Wolf of Gubbio had truly crossed into the realm of sainthood, honoured not merely as a beast of legend but as a creature worthy of devotion.
Dr Lorris Chevalier, who has a Ph.D. in medieval literature, is a historical advisor for movies, including The Last Duel and Napoleon. Click here to view his website.
Click here to read more from Lorris Chevalier
Further Readings:
A. Montefusco, “The wolf of Gubbio. Or, how a Franciscan legend is created,” in A. Luongo, A. Montefusco (ed.), Il lupo di Gubbio. Origini, tradizione e ricezione di una storia francescana, Spoleto, Fondazione Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 2022, p. 25-55
Top Image: Church and Monastery of Capuchin Friars in Monterosso al Mare – Cinque Terre – Italy. It’s one of the best monuments in Monterosso, a monastery of the XVII century with a spiritual and peacefull atmosphere according to the experience of St. Francis of Assisi. Photo by GIANFRANCO NEGRI / Wikimedia Commons
Subscribe to Medievalverse
Related Posts