{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30871/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30871","id":"gutenberg_30871","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30871","summary":null,"tags":["Brittany (France) -- Antiquities","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- France -- Brittany","Legends -- France -- Brittany"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Shell, Katherine Ward, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS & ROMANCES OF BRITTANY\n\n[Illustration: GRAELENT AND THE FAIRY-WOMAN _Fr._]\n\n\n LEGENDS & ROMANCES\n OF BRITTANY\n\n\n _BY_\n LEWIS SPENCE F.R.A.I.\n\n AUTHOR OF \"HERO TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE RHINE\"\n \"A DICTIONARY OF MEDIEVAL ROMANCE AND ROMANCE WRITERS\"\n \"THE MYTHS OF MEXICO AND PERU\"\n ETC. ETC.\n\n\n _WITH THIRTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS BY_\n W. OTWAY CANNELL A.R.C.A.(Lond.)\n\n NEW YORK\n FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY\n PUBLISHERS\n\n THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH\n GREAT BRITAIN\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nAlthough the folk-tales and legends of Brittany have received\nample attention from native scholars and collectors, they have not as\nyet been presented in a popular manner to English-speaking readers.\nThe probable reasons for what would appear to be an otherwise\nincomprehensible omission on the part of those British writers who\nmake a popular use of legendary material are that many Breton\nfolk-tales strikingly resemble those of other countries, that from\na variety of considerations some of them are unsuitable for\npresentation in an English dress, and that most of the folk-tales\nproper certainly possess a strong family likeness to one another.\n\nBut it is not the folk-tale alone which goes to make up the\nromantic literary output of a people; their ballads, the heroic\ntales which they have woven around passages in their national\nhistory, their legends (employing the term in its proper sense),\nalong with the more literary attempts of their romance-weavers,\ntheir beliefs regarding the supernatural, the tales which cluster\naround their ancient homes and castles--all of these, although\ncapable of separate classification, are akin to folk-lore, and I\nhave not, therefore, hesitated to use what in my discretion I\nconsider the best out of immense stores of material as being much\nmore suited to supply British readers with a comprehensive view of\nBreton story. Thus, I have included chapters on the lore which\ncleaves to the ancient stone monuments of the country, along with\nsome account of the monuments themselves. The Arthurian matter\nespecially connected with Brittany I have relegated to a separate\nchapter, and I have considered it only fitting to include such of\nthe _lais_ of that rare and human songstress Marie de France as deal\nwith the Breton land. The legends of those sainted men to whom\nBrittany owes so much will be found in a separate chapter, in\ncollecting the matter for which I have obtained the kindest\nassistance from Miss Helen Macleod Scott, who has the preservation of\nthe Celtic spirit so much at heart. I have also included chapters on\nthe interesting theme of the black art in Brittany, as well as on\nthe several species of fays and demons which haunt its moors and\nforests; nor will the heroic tales of its great warriors and\nchampions be found wanting. To assist the reader to obtain the\natmosphere of Brittany and in order that he may read these tales\nwithout feeling that he is perusing matter relating to a race of\nwhich he is otherwise ignorant, I have afforded him a slight\nsketch of the Breton environment and historical development, and in\nan attempt to lighten his passage through the volume I have here and\nthere told a tale in verse, sometimes translated, sometimes original.\n\nAs regards the folk-tales proper, by which I mean stories collected\nfrom the peasantry, I have made a selection from the works of Gaidoz,\nS\u00e9billot, and Luzel. In no sense are these translations; they are\nrather adaptations. The profound inequality between Breton folk-tales\nis, of course, very marked in a collection of any magnitude, but as\nthis volume is not intended to be exhaustive I have had no difficulty\nin selecting material of real interest. Most of these tales were\ncollected by Breton folk-lorists in the eighties of the last century,\nand the native shrewdness and common sense which characterize much of\nthe editors' comments upon the stories so carefully gathered from\npeasants and fishermen make them deeply interesting.\n\nIt is with a sense of shortcoming that I offer the reader this volume\non a great subject, but should it succeed in stimulating interest in\nBreton story, and in directing students to a field in which their\nresearch is certain to be richly rewarded, I shall not regret the\nlabour and time which I have devoted to my task.\n\n L. S.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAPTER PAGE\n I The Land, the People and their Story 13\n II Menhirs And Dolmens 37\n III The Fairies of Brittany 54\n IV Sprites And Demons of Brittany 96\n V World-Tales in Brittany 106\n VI Breton Folk-Tales 156\n VII Popular Legends of Brittany 173\n VIII Hero-Tales of Brittany 211\n IX The Black Art and Its Ministers 241\n X Arthurian Romance in Brittany 254\n XI The Breton Lays of Marie De France 283\n XII The Saints of Brittany 332\n XIII Costumes and Customs of Brittany 372\n Glossary and Index 392\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n PAGE\n Graelent and the Fairy-Woman _Frontispiece_\n Nomeno\u00eb 23\n The Death of Marguerite in the Castle of Trogoff 34\n Raising a Menhir 44\n The Seigneur of Nann And the Korrigan 58\n Merlin And Vivien 66\n The Fairies of Broceliande Find the Little Bruno 72\n Fairies in a Breton 'Houle' 81\n The Poor Boy And the Three Fairy Damsels 88\n The Demon-Dog 102\n N'Oun Doare And the Princess Golden Bell 112\n The Bride of Satan 144\n Gwennola\u00efk and Nola 170\n The Devil in the Form of a Leopard appears before\n the Alchemist 179\n The Escape of King Gradlon from the Flooded City of\n Ys 186\n A Peasant Insurrection 197\n Morvan returns to his Ruined Home 214\n The Finding of Silvestik 232\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse as Sorceress 250\n King Arthur and Merlin at the Lake 257\n Tristrem and Ysonde 268\n King Arthur and the Giant of Mont-Saint-Michel 276\n The Were-Wolf 288\n Gugemar comes upon the Magic Ship 294\n Gugemar's Assault on the Castle of Meriadus 300\n Eliduc carries Guillardun to the Forest Chapel 312\n Convoyon and his Monks carry off the Relics of St\n Apothemius 336\n St Tivisiau, the Shepherd Saint 339\n St Yves instructing Shepherd-boys in the Use of the\n Rosary 352\n Queen Queban stoned to Death 369\n Modern Brittany 377\n The Souls of the Dead 385\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I: THE LAND, THE PEOPLE AND THEIR STORY\n\n\nThe romantic region which we are about to traverse in search of the\ntreasures of legend was in ancient times known as Armorica, a\nLatinized form of the Celtic name, Armor ('On the Sea'). The Brittany\nof to-day corresponds to the departments of Finist\u00e8re, C\u00f4tes-du-Nord,\nMorbihan, Ille-et-Vilaine, and Loire-Inf\u00e9rieure. A popular division of\nthe country is that which partitions it into Upper, or Eastern, and\nLower, or Western, Brittany, and these tracts together have an area of\nsome 13,130 square miles.\n\nSuch parts of Brittany as are near to the sea-coast present marked\ndifferences to the inland regions, where raised plateaux are covered\nwith dreary and unproductive moorland. These plateaux, again, rise\ninto small ranges of hills, not of any great height, but, from their\nwild and rugged appearance, giving the impression of an altitude much\nloftier than they possess. The coast-line is ragged, indented, and\ninhospitable, lined with deep reefs and broken by the estuaries of\nbrawling rivers. In the southern portion the district known as 'the\nEmerald Coast' presents an almost subtropical appearance; the air is\nmild and the whole region pleasant and fruitful. But with this\nexception Brittany is a country of bleak shores and grey seas, barren\nmoorland and dreary horizons, such a land as legend loves, such a\nregion, cut off and isolated from the highways of humanity, as the\ndiscarded genii of ancient faiths might seek as a last stronghold.\n\nRegarding the origin of the race which peoples this secluded\npeninsula there are no wide differences of opinion. If we take the\nword 'Celt' as describing any branch of the many divergent races which\ncame under the influence of one particular type of culture, the true\noriginators of which were absorbed among the folk they governed and\ninstructed before the historic era, then the Bretons are 'Celts'\nindeed, speaking the tongue known as 'Celtic' for want of a more\nspecific name, exhibiting marked signs of the possession of 'Celtic'\ncustoms, and having those racial characteristics which the science of\nanthropology until recently laid down as certain indications of\n'Celtic' relationship--the short, round skull, swarthy complexion, and\nblue or grey eyes.\n\nIt is to be borne in mind, however, that the title 'Celtic' is shared\nby the Bretons with the fair or rufous Highlander of Scotland, the\ndark Welshman, and the long-headed Irishman. But the Bretons exhibit\nsuch special characteristics as would warrant the new anthropology in\nlabelling them the descendants of that 'Alpine' race which existed in\nCentral Europe in Neolithic times, and which, perhaps, possessed\ndistant Mongoloid affinities. This people spread into nearly all parts\nof Europe, and later in some regions acquired Celtic speech and custom\nfrom a Celtic aristocracy.\n\nIt is remarkable how completely this Celtic leaven--the true history\nof which is lost in the depths of prehistoric darkness--succeeded in\nimpressing not only its language but its culture and spirit upon the\nvarious peoples with whom it came into contact. To impose a special\ntype of civilization upon another race must always prove a task of\nalmost superhuman proportions. To compel the use of an alien tongue by\na conquered folk necessitates racial tact as well as strength of\npurpose. But to secure the adoption of the racial _spirit_ by the\nconquered, and adherence to it for centuries, so that men of widely\ndivergent origins shall all have the same point of view, the same mode\nof thought, manner of address, aye, even the same _facies_ or general\nracial appearance, as have Bretons, some Frenchmen, Cornishmen,\nWelshmen, and Highlanders--that surely would argue an indwelling\nracial strength such as not even the Roman or any other world-empire\nmight pretend to.\n\nBut this Celtic civilization was not one and undivided. In late\nprehistoric times it evolved from one mother tongue two dialects which\nafterward displayed all the differences of separate languages\nspringing from a common stock. These are the Goidelic, the tongue\nspoken by the Celts of Scotland, Ireland, and the Isle of Man, and the\nBrythonic, the language of the Welsh, the Cornish, and the people of\nBrittany.\n\n\n_The Breton Tongue_\n\nThe Brezonek, the Brythonic tongue of Brittany, is undoubtedly the\nlanguage of those Celtic immigrants who fled from Britain the Greater\nto Britain the Less to escape the rule of the Saxon invaders, and who\ngave the name of the country which they had left to that Armorica in\nwhich they settled. In the earliest stages of development it is\ndifficult to distinguish Breton from Welsh. From the ninth to the\neleventh centuries the Breton language is described as 'Old Breton.'\n'Middle Breton' flourished from the eleventh to the seventeenth\ncenturies, since when 'Modern Breton' has been in use. These stages\nindicate changes in the language more or less profound, due chiefly to\nadmixture with French. Various distinct dialects are indicated by\nwriters on the subject, but the most marked difference in Breton\nspeech seems to be that between the dialect of Vannes and that of the\nrest of Brittany. Such differences do not appear to be older than the\nsixteenth century.[1]\n\n\n_The Ancient Armoricans_\n\nThe written history of Brittany opens with the account of Julius\nC\u00e6sar. At that period (57 B.C.) Armorica was inhabited by five\nprincipal tribes: the Namnetes, the Veneti, the Osismii, the\nCuriosolit\u00e6, and the Redones. These offered a desperate resistance to\nRoman encroachment, but were subdued, and in some cases their people\nwere sold wholesale into slavery. In 56 B.C. the Veneti threw off the\nyoke and retained two of C\u00e6sar's officers as hostages. C\u00e6sar advanced\nupon Brittany in person, but found that he could make no headway while\nhe was opposed by the powerful fleet of flat-bottomed boats, like\nfloating castles, which the Veneti were so skilful in manoeuvring.\nShips were hastily constructed upon the waters of the Loire, and a\ndesperate naval engagement ensued, probably in the Gulf of Morbihan,\nwhich resulted in the decisive defeat of the Veneti, the Romans\nresorting to the stratagem of cutting down the enemy's rigging with\nsickles bound upon long poles. The members of the Senate of the\nconquered people were put to death as a punishment for their\ndefection, and thousands of the tribesmen went to swell the\nslave-markets of Europe.\n\nBetween A.D. 450 and 500, when the Roman power and population were\ndwindling, many vessels brought fugitives from Britain to Armorica.\nThese people, fleeing from the conquering barbarians, Saxons, Picts,\nand Scots, sought as asylum a land where a kindred race had not yet\nbeen disturbed by invasion. Says Thierry, in his _Norman Conquest_:\n\"With the consent of the ancient inhabitants, who acknowledged them as\nbrethren of the same origin, the new settlers distributed themselves\nover the whole northern coast, as far as the little river Coesoron,\nand southward as far as the territory of the city of the Veneti, now\ncalled Vannes. In this extent of country they founded a sort of\nseparate state, comprising all the small places near the coast, but\nnot including within its limits the great towns of Vannes, Nantes, and\nRennes. The increase of the population of this western corner of the\ncountry, and the great number of people of the Celtic race and\nlanguage thus assembled within a narrow space, preserved it from the\nirruption of the Roman tongue, which, under forms more or less\ncorrupted, was gradually becoming prevalent in every other part of\nGaul. The name of _Brittany_ was attached to these coasts, and the\nnames of the various indigenous tribes disappeared; while the island\nwhich had borne this name for so many ages now lost it, and, taking\nthe name of its conquerors, began to be called the land of the Saxons\nand Angles, or, in one word, _England_.\"\n\n\n_Samson_\n\nOne of these British immigrants was the holy Samson, who laboured to\nconvert pagan Brittany to Christianity. He hailed from Pembrokeshire,\nand the legend relates that his parents, being childless, constructed\na menhir[2] of pure silver and gave it to the poor in the hope that a\nson might be born to them. Their desire was fulfilled, and Samson, the\nson in question, became a great missionary of the Church. Accompanied\nby forty monks, he crossed the Channel and landed on the shores of the\nBay of Saint-Brieuc, a savage and deserted district.\n\nAs the keel of his galley grated on the beach the Saint beheld a man\non the shore seated at the door of a miserable hut, who endeavoured to\nattract his attention by signs. Samson approached the shore-dweller,\nwho took him by the hand and, leading him into the wretched dwelling,\nshowed him his wife and daughter, stricken with sickness. Samson\nrelieved their pain, and the husband and father, who, despite his\nhumble appearance, was chief of the neighbouring territory, gave him a\ngrant of land hard by. Here, close to the celebrated menhir of Dol, he\nand his monks built their cells. Soon a chapel rose near the ancient\nseat of pagan worship--in later days the site of a great cathedral.\n\nTelio, a British monk, with the assistance of St Samson, planted near\nDol an orchard three miles in length, and to him is attributed the\nintroduction of the apple-tree into Brittany. Wherever the monks went\nthey cultivated the soil; all had in their mouths the words of the\nApostle: \"If any would not work, neither should he eat.\" The people\nadmired the industry of the new-comers, and from admiration they\npassed to imitation. The peasants joined the monks in tilling the\nground, and even the brigands from the hills and forests became\nagriculturists. \"The Cross and the plough, labour and prayer,\" was the\nmotto of these early missionaries.\n\n\n_Wax for Wine_\n\nThe monks of Dol were renowned bee-farmers, as we learn from an\nanecdote told by Count Montalembert in his _Moines d'Occident_. One\nday when St Samson of Dol, and St Germain, Bishop of Paris, were\nconversing on the respective merits of their monasteries, St Samson\nsaid that his monks were such good and careful preservers of their\nbees that, besides the honey which the bees yielded in abundance, they\nfurnished more wax than was used in the churches for candles during\nthe year, but that the climate not being suitable for the growth of\nvines, there was great scarcity of wine. Upon hearing this St Germain\nreplied: \"We, on the contrary, produce more wine than we can consume,\nbut we have to buy wax; so, if you will furnish us with wax, we will\ngive you a tenth of our wine.\" Samson accepted this offer, and the\nmutual arrangement was continued during the lives of the two saints.\n\nTwo British kingdoms were formed in Armorica--Domnonia and Cornubia.\nThe first embraced the C\u00f4tes-du-Nord and Finist\u00e8re north of the river\n\u00c9lorn, Cornubia, or Cornouaille, as it is now known, being situated\nbelow that river, as far south as the river Ell\u00e9. At first these\nstates paid a nominal homage to their native kings in Britain, but on\nthe final fall of the British power they proclaimed a complete\nindependence.\n\n\n_The Vision of Jud-Hael_\n\nA striking story relating to the migration period is told concerning a\nCambrian chieftain of Brittany, one Jud-Hael, and the famous British\nbard Taliesin. Shortly after the arrival of Taliesin in Brittany\nJud-Hael had a remarkable vision. He dreamt that he saw a high\nmountain, on the summit of which was placed a lofty column fixed\ndeeply in the earth, with a base of ivory, and branches which reached\nto the heavens. The lower part was iron, brilliantly polished, and to\nit were attached rings of the same metal, from which were suspended\ncuirasses, casques, lances, javelins, bucklers, trumpets, and many\nother warlike trophies. The upper portion was of gold, and upon it\nhung candelabra, censers, stoles, chalices, and ecclesiastical symbols\nof every description. As the Prince stood admiring the spectacle the\nheavens opened and a maiden of marvellous beauty descended and\napproached him.\n\n\"I salute you, O Jud-Hael,\" she said, \"and I confide to your keeping\nfor a season this column and all that it supports\"; and with these\nwords she vanished.\n\nOn the following day Jud-Hael made public his dream, but, like\nNebuchadnezzar of old, he could find no one to interpret it, so he\nturned to the bard Taliesin as to another Daniel. Taliesin, says the\nlegend, then an exile from his native land of Britain, dwelt on the\nseashore. To him came the messenger of Jud-Hael and said: \"O thou who\nso truly dost interpret all things ambiguous, hear and make clear the\nstrange vision which my lord hath seen.\" He then recounted Jud-Hael's\ndream to the venerable bard.\n\nFor a time the sage sat pondering deeply, and then replied: \"Thy\nmaster reigneth well and wisely, O messenger, but he has a son who\nwill reign still more happily even than himself, and who will become\none of the greatest men in the Breton land. The sons of his loins will\nbe the fathers of powerful counts and pious Churchmen, but he himself,\nthe greatest man of that race, shall be first a valiant warrior and\nlater a mighty champion of heaven. The earlier part of his life shall\nbe given to the world; the latter portion shall be devoted to God.\"\n\nThe prophecy of Taliesin was duly fulfilled. For Judik-Hael, the son\nof Jud-Hael, realized the bard's prediction, and entered the cloister\nafter a glorious reign.\n\n\n_Taliesin_\n\nTaliesin ('Shining Forehead') was in the highest repute in the middle\nof the twelfth century, and he was then and afterward, unless we\nexcept Merlin, the bardic hero of the greatest number of romantic\nlegends. He is said to have been the son of Henwg the bard, or St\nHenwg, of Caerleon-upon-Usk, and to have been educated in the school\nof Cattwg, at Llanvithin, in Glamorgan, where the historian Gildas was\nhis fellow-pupil. Seized when a youth by Irish pirates, he is said,\nprobably by rational interpretation of a later fable of his history,\nto have escaped by using a wooden buckler for a boat. Thus he came\ninto the fishing weir of Elphin, one of the sons of Urien. Urien made\nhim Elphin's instructor, and gave him an estate of land. But, once\nintroduced into the Court of that great warrior-chief, Taliesin became\nhis foremost bard, followed him in his wars, and sang his victories.\nHe celebrates triumphs over Ida, the Anglian King of Bernicia (_d._\n559) at Argoed about the year 547, at Gwenn-Estrad between that year\nand 559, at Menao about the year 559. After the death of Urien,\nTaliesin was the bard of his son Owain, by whose hand Ida fell. After\nthe death of all Urien's sons Taliesin retired to mourn the downfall\nof his race in Wales, dying, it is said, at Bangor Teivi, in\nCardiganshire. He was buried under a cairn near Aberystwyth.\n\n\n_Herv\u00e9 the Blind_\n\nThere is nothing improbable in the statement that Taliesin dwelt in\nBrittany in the sixth century. Many other British bards found a refuge\non the shores of Britain the Less. Among these was Kyvarnion, a\nChristian, who married a Breton Druidess and who had a son, Herv\u00e9.\nHerv\u00e9 was blind from birth, and was led from place to place by a wolf\nwhich he had converted (!) and pressed into the service of Mother\nChurch.\n\nOne day, when a lad, Herv\u00e9 had been left in charge of his uncle's\nfarm, when a ploughman passed him in full flight, crying out that a\nsavage wolf had appeared and had killed the ass with which he had been\nploughing. The man entreated Herv\u00e9 to fly, as the wolf was hard upon\nhis heels; but the blind youth, undaunted, ordered the terrified\nlabourer to seize the animal and harness it to the plough with the\nharness of the dead ass. From that time the wolf dwelt among the sheep\nand goats on the farm, and subsisted upon hay and grass.\n\n\n_Nomeno\u00eb_\n\nSwarms of Irish from Ossory and Wexford began to arrive about the\nclose of the fifth century, settling along the west and north coasts.\nThe immigrants from Britain the Greater formed by degrees the\ncounties of Vannes, Cornouaille, L\u00e9on, and Domnon\u00e9e, constituted a\npowerful aristocracy, and initiated a long and arduous struggle\nagainst the Frankish monarchs, who exercised a nominal suzerainty over\nBrittany. Louis the Pious placed a native chief, Nomeno\u00eb, at the head\nof the province, and a long period of peace ensued. But in A.D. 845\nNomeno\u00eb revolted against Charles the Bald, defeated him, and forced\nhim to recognize the independence of Brittany, and to forgo the annual\ntribute which he had exacted. A ballad by Villemarqu\u00e9 describes the\nincident. Like Macpherson, who in his enthusiasm for the fragments of\nOssianic lore 'reconstructed' them only too well, Villemarqu\u00e9\nunfortunately tampered very freely with such matter as he collected,\nand it may even be that the poem on Nomeno\u00eb, for which he claims\nauthority, is altogether spurious, as some critics consider. But as it\naffords a spirited picture of the old Breton chief the story is at\nleast worth relating.\n\nThe poem describes how an aged chieftain waits on the hills of Retz\nfor his son, who has gone over to Rennes to pay the Breton tribute to\nthe Franks. Many chariots drawn by horses has he taken with him, but\nalthough a considerable time has elapsed there is no indication of his\nreturn. The chieftain climbs to an eminence in the hope of discerning\nhis son in the far distance, but no sign of his appearance is to be\nseen on the long white road or on the bleak moors which fringe it.\n\nThe anxious father espies a merchant wending slowly along the highway\nand hails him.\n\n\"Ha, good merchant, you who travel the land from end to end, have you\nseen aught of my son Karo, who has gone to conduct the tribute\nchariots to Rennes?\"\n\n[Illustration: NOMENO\u00cb]\n\n\"Alas! chieftain, if your son has gone with the tribute it is in vain\nyou wait for him, for the Franks found it not enough, and have weighed\nhis head against it in the balance.\"\n\nThe father gazes wildly at the speaker, sways, and falls heavily with\na doleful cry.\n\n\"Karo, my son! My lost Karo!\"\n\nThe scene changes to the fortress of Nomeno\u00eb, and we see its master\nreturning from the chase, accompanied by his great hounds and laden\nwith trophies. His bow is in his hand, and he carries the carcass of a\nboar upon his shoulder. The red blood drops from the dead beast's\nmouth and stains his hand. The aged chief, well-nigh demented, awaits\nhis coming, and Nomeno\u00eb greets him courteously.\n\n\"Hail, honest mountaineer!\" he cries. \"What is your news? What would\nyou with Nomeno\u00eb?\"\n\n\"I come for justice, Lord Nomeno\u00eb,\" replies the aged man. \"Is there a\nGod in heaven and a chief in Brittany? There is a God above us, I\nknow, and I believe there is a just Duke in the Breton land. Mighty\nruler, make war upon the Frank, defend our country, and give us\nvengeance--vengeance for Karo my son, Karo, slain, decapitated by the\nFrankish barbarians, his beauteous head made into a balance-weight for\ntheir brutal sport.\"\n\nThe old man weeps, and the tears flow down his grizzled beard.\n\nThen Nomeno\u00eb rises in anger and swears a great oath. \"By the head of\nthis boar, and by the arrow which slew him,\" cries he, \"I will not\nwash this blood from off my hand until I free the country from mine\nenemies.\"\n\nNomeno\u00eb has gone to the seashore and gathered pebbles, for these are\nthe tribute he intends to offer the bald King.[3] Arrived at the gates\nof Rennes, he asks that they shall be opened to him so that he may pay\nthe tribute of silver. He is asked to descend, to enter the castle,\nand to leave his chariot in the courtyard. He is requested to wash his\nhands to the sound of a horn before eating (an ancient custom), but he\nreplies that he prefers to deliver the tribute-money there and then.\nThe sacks are weighed, and the third is found light by several\npounds.\n\n\"Ha, what is this?\" cries the Frankish castellan. \"This sack is under\nweight, Sir Nomeno\u00eb.\"\n\nOut leaps Nomeno\u00eb's sword from the scabbard, and the Frank's head is\nsmitten from his shoulders. Then, seizing it by its gory locks, the\nBreton chief with a laugh of triumph casts it into the balance. His\nwarriors throng the courtyard, the town is taken; young Karo is\navenged!\n\n\n_Alain Barbe-torte_\n\nThe end of the ninth century and the beginning of the tenth were\nremarkable for the invasions of the Northmen. On several occasions\nthey were driven back--by Salomon (_d._ 874), by Alain, Count of\nVannes (_d._ 907)--but it was Alain Barbe-torte, 'Alain of the Twisted\nBeard,' or 'Alain the Fox' (_d._ 952), who gained the decisive victory\nover them, and concerning him an ancient ballad has much to say. It\nwas taken down by Villemarqu\u00e9 from the lips of a peasant, an old\nsoldier of the Chouan leader Georges Cadoudal.\n\nIn his youth Alain was a mighty hunter of the bear and the boar in the\nforests of his native Brittany, and the courage gained in this manly\nsport stood him in good stead when he came to employ it against the\nenemies of his country, the hated Northmen. Rallying the Bretons who\nlurked in the forests or hid in the mountain fastnesses, he led them\nagainst the enemy, whom he surprised near Dol in the middle of the\nnight, making a great carnage among them. After this battle the\nScandinavian invaders were finally expelled from the Breton land and\nAlain was crowned King or Arch-chief in 937.\n\nA free translation of this ballad might run as follows:\n\n Lurks the Fox within the wood,\n His teeth and claws are red with blood.\n\n Within his leafy, dark retreat\n He chews the cud of vengeance sweet.\n\n Oh, trenchant his avenging sword!\n It falls not on the rock or sward,\n\n But on the mail of Saxon foe:\n Swift as the lightning falls the blow.\n\n I've seen the Bretons wield the flail,\n Scattering the bearded chaff like hail:\n\n But iron is the flail they wield\n Against the churlish Saxon's shield.\n\n I heard the call of victory\n From Michael's Mount to \u00c9lorn fly,\n\n And Alain's glory flies as fast\n From Gildas' church to every coast.\n\n Ah, may his splendour never die,\n May it live on eternally!\n\n But woe that I may nevermore\n Declaim this lay on Armor's shore,\n\n For the base Saxon hand has torn\n My tongue from out my mouth forlorn.\n\n But if my lips no longer frame\n The glories of our Alain's name,\n\n My heart shall ever sing his praise,\n Who won the fight and wears the bays![4]\n\nThe Saxons of this lay are, of course, the Norsemen, who, speaking a\nTeutonic tongue, would seem to the Celtic-speaking Bretons to be\nallied to the Teuton Franks.\n\n\n_Bretons and Normans_\n\nDuring the latter half of the tenth and most of the eleventh century\nthe Counts of Rennes gained an almost complete ascendancy in Brittany,\nwhich began to be broken up into counties and seigneuries in the\nFrench manner. In 992 Geoffrey, son of Conan, Count of Rennes, adopted\nthe title of Duke of Brittany. He married a Norman lady of noble\nfamily, by whom he had two sons, Alain and Eudo, the younger of whom\ndemanded a share of the duchy as his inheritance. His brother made\nover to him the counties of Penthi\u00e8vre and Tr\u00e9guier, part of the old\nkingdom of Domnonia in the north. It was a fatal transference, for he\nand his line became remorseless enemies of the ducal house, with whom\nthey carried on a series of disastrous conflicts for centuries. Conan\nII, son of Alain, came under the regency of Eudo, his uncle, in\ninfancy, but later turned his sword against him and his abettor,\nWilliam of Normandy, the Conqueror.\n\nNotwithstanding the national enmity of the Normans and Bretons, there\nexisted between the Dukes of Normandy and the Dukes of Brittany ties\nof affinity that rendered the relations between the two states\nsomewhat complicated. At the time when Duke Robert, the father of\nWilliam of Normandy, set out upon his pilgrimage, he had no nearer\nrelative than Alain, Duke of Brittany, the father of Conan II,\ndescended in the female line from Rollo, the great Norse leader, and\nto him he committed on his departure the care of his duchy and the\nguardianship of his son.\n\nDuke Alain declared the paternity of his ward doubtful, and favoured\nthat party which desired to set him aside from the succession; but\nafter the defeat of his faction at Val-\u00e8s-Dunes he died, apparently of\npoison, doubtless administered by the contrivance of the friends of\nWilliam. His son, Conan II, succeeded, and reigned at the period when\nWilliam was making his preparations for the conquest of England. He\nwas a prince of ability, dreaded by his neighbours, and animated by a\nfierce desire to injure the Duke of Normandy, whom he regarded as a\nusurper and the murderer of his father Alain. Seeing William engaged\nin a hazardous enterprise, Conan thought it a favourable moment to\ndeclare war against him, and dispatched one of his chamberlains to him\nwith the following message: \"I hear that you are ready to pass the sea\nto make conquest of the kingdom of England. Now, Duke Robert, whose\nson you feign to consider yourself, on his departure for Jerusalem\nleft all his inheritance to Duke Alain, my father, who was his cousin;\nbut you and your abettors have poisoned my father, you have\nappropriated to yourself the domain of Normandy, and have kept\npossession of it until this day, contrary to all right, since you are\nnot the legitimate heir. Restore to me, therefore, the duchy of\nNormandy, which belongs to me, or I shall levy war upon you, and shall\nwage it to extremity with all my forces.\"\n\n\n_The Poisoned Hunting-Horn_\n\nThe Norman historians state that William was much startled by so\nhostile a message; for even a feeble diversion might render futile his\nambitious hopes of conquest. But without hesitation he resolved to\nremove the Breton Duke. Immediately upon his return to Conan, the\nenvoy, gained over, doubtless, by a bribe of gold, rubbed poison into\nthe inside of the horn which his master sounded when hunting, and, to\nmake his evil measures doubly sure, he poisoned in like manner the\nDuke's gloves and his horse's bridle. Conan died a few days after his\nenvoy's return, and his successor, Eudo, took especial care not to\nimitate his relative in giving offence to William with regard to the\nvalidity of his right; on the contrary, he formed an alliance with\nhim, a thing unheard of betwixt Breton and Norman, and sent his two\nsons to William's camp to serve against the English.\n\nThese two youths, Brian and Alain, repaired to the rendezvous of the\nNorman forces, accompanied by a body of Breton knights, who styled\nthem Mac-tierns.[5] Certain other wealthy Bretons, who were not of the\npure Celtic race, and who bore French names, as Robert de Vitry,\nBertrand de Dinan, and Raoul de Gael, resorted likewise to the Court\nof the Duke of Normandy with offers of service.\n\nLater Brittany became a bone of contention between France and\nNormandy. Hoel, the native Duke, claimed the protection of France\nagainst the Norman duchy. A long period of peace followed under Alain\nFergant and Conan III, but on the death of the latter a fierce war of\nsuccession was waged (1148-56). Conan IV secured the ducal crown by\nNorman-English aid, and gave his daughter Constance in marriage to\nGeoffrey Plantagenet, son of Henry II of England. Geoffrey was crowned\nDuke of Brittany in 1171, but after his death his son Arthur met with\na dreadful fate at the hands of his uncle, John of England. Constance,\nhis mother, the real heiress to the duchy, married again, her choice\nfalling upon Guy de Thouars, and their daughter was wed to Pierre de\nDreux, who became Duke, and who defeated John Lackland, the slayer of\nhis wife's half-brother, under the walls of Nantes in 1214.\n\n\n_French Influence_\n\nThe country now began to flourish apace because of the many\ninnovations introduced into it by the wisdom of its French rulers. A\nnew way of life was adopted by the governing classes, among whom\nFrench manners and fashions became the rule. But the people at large\nretained their ancient customs, language, and dress; nor have they\never abandoned them, at least in Lower Brittany. On the death of John\nIII (1341) the peace of the duchy was once more broken by a war of\nsuccession. John had no love for his half-brother, John of Montfort,\nand bequeathed the ducal coronet to his niece, Joan of Penthi\u00e8vre,\nwife of Charles of Blois, nephew of Philip VI of France. This\nprecipitated a conflict between the rival parties which led to years\nof bitter strife.\n\n\n_The War of the Two Joans_\n\nJust as two women, Fredegonda and Brunhilda, swayed the fortunes of\nNeustria and Austrasia in Merovingian times, and Mary and Elizabeth\nthose of England and Scotland at a later day, so did two heroines\narise to uphold the banners of either party in the civil strife which\nnow convulsed the Breton land. England took the side of Montfort and\nthe French that of Charles. Almost at the outset (1342) John of\nMontfort was taken prisoner, but his heroic wife, Joan of Flanders,\ngrasped the leadership of affairs, and carried on a relentless war\nagainst her husband's enemies. After five years of fighting, in 1347,\nand two years subsequent to the death of her lord, whose health had\ngiven way after his imprisonment, she captured her arch-foe, Charles\nof Blois himself, at the battle of La Roche-Derrien, on the Jaudy. In\nthis encounter she had the assistance of a certain Sir Thomas Dagworth\nand an English force. Three times was Charles rescued, and thrice was\nhe retaken, until, bleeding from eighteen wounds, he was compelled to\nsurrender. He was sent to London, where he was confined in the Tower\nfor nine years. Meanwhile his wife, Joan, imitating her rival and\nnamesake, in turn threw her energies into the strife. But another\nvictory for the Montfort party was gained at Mauron in 1352. On the\nrelease of Charles of Blois in 1356 he renewed hostilities with the\nhelp of the famous Bertrand Du Guesclin.\n\n\n_Bertrand Du Guesclin_\n\nBertrand Du Guesclin (_c._ 1320-80), Constable of France, divides with\nBayard the Fearless the crown of medieval French chivalry as a mighty\nleader of men, a great soldier, and a blameless knight. He was born of\nan ancient family who were in somewhat straitened circumstances, and\nin childhood was an object of aversion to his parents because of his\nugliness.\n\nOne night his mother dreamt that she was in possession of a casket\ncontaining portraits of herself and her lord, on one side of which\nwere set nine precious stones of great beauty encircling a rough,\nunpolished pebble. In her dream she carried the casket to a lapidary,\nand asked him to take out the rough stone as unworthy of such goodly\ncompany; but he advised her to allow it to remain, and afterward it\nshone forth more brilliantly than the lustrous gems. The later\nsuperiority of Bertrand over her nine other children fulfilled the\nmother's dream.\n\nAt the tournament which was held at Rennes in 1338 to celebrate the\nmarriage of Charles of Blois with Joan of Penthi\u00e8vre, young Bertrand,\nat that time only some eighteen years old, unhorsed the most famous\ncompetitors. During the war between Blois and Montfort he gathered\nround him a band of adventurers and fought on the side of Charles V,\ndoing much despite to the forces of Montfort and his ally of England.\n\nDu Guesclin's name lives in Breton legend as Gwezklen, perhaps the\noriginal form, and approximating to that on his tomb at Saint-Denis,\nwhere he lies at the feet of Charles V of France. In this inscription\nit is spelt \"Missire Bertram du Gueaquien,\" perhaps a French rendering\nof the Breton pronunciation. Not a few legendary ballads which recount\nthe exploits of this manly and romantic figure remain in the Breton\nlanguage, and I have made a free translation of the following, as it\nis perhaps the most interesting of the number:\n\n\nTHE WARD OF DU GUESCLIN\n\n Trogoff's strong tower in English hands\n Has been this many a year,\n Rising above its subject-lands\n And held in hate and fear.\n That rosy gleam upon the sward\n Is not the sun's last kiss;\n It is the blood of an English lord\n Who ruled the land amiss.\n\n \"O sweetest daughter of my heart,\n My little Marguerite,\n Come, carry me the midday milk\n To those who bind the wheat.\"\n \"O gentle mother, spare me this!\n The castle I must pass\n Where wicked Roger takes a kiss\n From every country lass.\"\n\n \"Oh! fie, my daughter, fie on thee!\n The Seigneur would not glance\n On such a chit of low degree\n When all the dames in France\n Are for his choosing.\" \"Mother mine,\n I bow unto your word.\n Mine eyes will ne'er behold you more.\n God keep you in His guard.\"\n\n Young Roger stood upon the tower\n Of Trogoff's grey ch\u00e2teau;\n Beneath his bent brows did he lower\n Upon the scene below.\n \"Come hither quickly, little page,\n Come hither to my knee.\n Canst spy a maid of tender age?\n Ha! she must pay my fee.\"\n\n Fair Marguerite trips swiftly by\n Beneath the castle shade,\n When villain Roger, drawing nigh,\n Steals softly on the maid.\n He seizes on the milking-pail\n She bears upon her head;\n The snow-white flood she must bewail,\n For all the milk is shed.\n\n \"Ah, cry not, pretty sister mine,\n There's plenty and to spare\n Of milk and eke of good red wine\n Within my castle fair.\n Ah, feast with me, or pluck a rose\n Within my pleasant garth,\n Or stroll beside yon brook which flows\n In brawling, sylvan mirth.\"\n\n \"Nor feast nor flowers nor evening air\n I wish; I do entreat,\n Fair Seigneur, let me now repair\n To those who bind the wheat.\"\n \"Nay, damsel, fill thy milking-pail:\n The dairy stands but here.\n Ah, foolish sweeting, wherefore quail,\n For thou hast naught to fear?\"\n\n The castle gates behind her close,\n And all is fair within;\n Above her head the apple glows,\n The symbol of our sin.\n \"O Seigneur, lend thy dagger keen,\n That I may cut this fruit.\"\n He smiles and with a courteous mien\n He draws the bright blade out.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEATH OF MARGUERITE IN THE CASTLE OF TROGOFF]\n\n She takes it, and in earnest prayer\n Her childish accents rise:\n \"O mother, Virgin, ever fair,\n Pray, pray, for her who dies\n For honour!\" Then the blade is drenched\n With blood most innocent.\n Vile Roger, now, thine ardour quenched,\n Say, art thou then content?\n\n \"Ha, I will wash my dagger keen\n In the clear-running brook.\n No human eye hath ever seen,\n No human eye shall look\n Upon this gore.\" He takes the blade\n From out that gentle heart,\n And hurries to the river's shade.\n False Roger, why dost start?\n\n Beside the bank Du Guesclin stands,\n Clad in his sombre mail.\n \"Ha, Roger, why so red thy hands,\n And why art thou so pale?\"\n \"A beast I've slain.\" \"Thou liest, hound!\n But I a beast will slay.\"\n The woodland's leafy ways resound\n To echoings of fray.\n\n Roger is slain. Trogoff's ch\u00e2teau\n Is level with the rock.\n Who can withstand Du Guesclin's blow,\n What towers can brave his shock?\n The combat is his only joy,\n The tournament his play.\n Woe unto those who would destroy\n The peace of Brittany!\n\nIn the decisive battle of Auray (1364) Charles was killed and Du\nGuesclin taken prisoner. John of Montfort, son of the John who had\ndied, became Duke of Brittany. But he had to face Oliver de Clisson,\nround whom the adherents of Blois rallied. From a war the strife\ndegenerated into a vendetta. Oliver de Clisson seized the person of\nJohn V and imprisoned him. But in the end John was liberated and the\nline of Blois was finally crushed.\n\n\n_Anne of Brittany_\n\nThe next event of importance in Breton history is the enforced\nmarriage of Anne of Brittany, Duchess of that country in her own\nright, to Charles VIII of France, son of Louis XI, which event took\nplace in 1491. Anne, whose father, Duke Francis II, had but recently\ndied, had no option but to espouse Charles, and on his death she\nmarried Louis XII, his successor. Francis I, who succeeded Louis XII\non the throne of France, and who married Claude, daughter of Louis XII\nand Anne, annexed the duchy in 1532, providing for its privileges. But\nbeneath the cramping hand of French power the privileges of the\nprovince were greatly reduced. From this time the history of Brittany\nis merged in that of France, of which country it becomes one of the\ncomponent parts in a political if not a racial sense.\n\nWe shall not in this place deal with the people of modern Brittany,\ntheir manners and customs, reserving the subject for a later chapter,\nbut shall ask the reader to accompany us while we traverse the\nenchanted ground of Breton story.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [1] Consult E. Ernault, _Petite Grammaire bretonne_ (Saint-Brieuc,\n 1897); L. Le Clerc, _Grammaire bretonne_ (Saint-Brieuc,\n 1908); J. P. Treasure, _An Introduction to Breton Grammar_\n (Carmarthen, 1903). For the dialect of Vannes see A.\n Guillevic and P. Le Goff, _Grammaire bretonne du Dialect de\n Vannes_ (Vannes, 1902).\n\n [2] Lit. 'long stone,' a megalithic monument. See Chapter II,\n \"Menhirs and Dolmens.\" Students of folk-lore will recognize the\n symbolic significance of the offering. We seem to have here\n some connexion with pillar-worship, as found in ancient Crete,\n and the adoration of the Irminsul among the ancient Saxons.\n\n [3] Charles the Bald.\n\n [4] For the Breton original and the French translation from which the\n above is adapted see Villemarqu\u00e9, _Barzaz-Breiz_, p. 112.\n\n [5] 'Sons of the Chief.' MacTier is a fairly common name in Scotland\n to-day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II: MENHIRS AND DOLMENS\n\n\nIn the mind of the general reader Brittany is unalterably associated\nwith the prehistoric stone monuments which are so closely identified\nwith its folk-lore and national life. In other parts of the world\nsimilar monuments are encountered, in Great Britain and Ireland,\nScandinavia, the Crimea, Algeria, and India, but nowhere are they\nfound in such abundance as in Brittany, nor are these rivalled in\nother lands, either as regards their character or the space they\noccupy.\n\nTo speculate as to the race which built the primitive stone monuments\nof Brittany is almost as futile as it would be to theorize upon the\ndate of their erection.[6] A generation ago it was usual to refer all\nEuropean megalithic monuments to a 'Celtic' origin, but European\nethnological problems have become too complicated of late years to\npermit such a theory to pass unchallenged, especially now that the\nterm 'Celt' is itself matter for fierce controversy. In the immediate\nneighbourhood of certain of these monuments objects of the Iron Age\nare recovered from the soil, while near others the finds are of Bronze\nAge character, so that it is probably correct to surmise that their\nconstruction continued throughout a prolonged period.\n\n\n_What Menhirs and Dolmens are_\n\nRegarding the nomenclature of the several species of megalithic\nmonuments met with in Brittany some definitions are necessary. A\nmenhir is a rude monolith set up on end, a great single stone, the\nbase of which is buried deep in the soil. A dolmen is a large,\ntable-shaped stone, supported by three, four, or even five other\nstones, the bases of which are sunk in the earth. In Britain the term\n'cromlech' is synonymous with that of 'dolmen,' but in France and on\nthe Continent generally it is exclusively applied to that class of\nmonument for which British scientists have no other name than 'stone\ncircles.' The derivation of the words from Celtic and their precise\nmeaning in that tongue may assist the reader to arrive at their exact\nsignificance. Thus 'menhir' seems to be derived from the Welsh or\nBrythonic _maen_, 'a stone,' and _hir_, 'long,' and 'dolmen' from\nBreton _taol_, 'table,' and _men_, 'a stone.'[7] 'Cromlech' is also of\nWelsh or Brythonic origin, and is derived from _crom_, 'bending' or\n'bowed' (hence 'laid across'), and _llech_, 'a flat stone.' The _all\u00e9e\ncouverte_ is a dolmen on a large scale.\n\n\n_The Nature of the Monuments_\n\nThe nature of these monuments and the purpose for which they were\nerected were questions which powerfully exercised the minds of the\nantiquaries of a century ago, who fiercely contended for their use as\naltars, open-air temples, and places of rendezvous for the discussion\nof tribal affairs. The cooler arch\u00e6ologists of a later day have\ndiscarded the majority of such theories as untenable in the light of\nhard facts. The dolmens, they say, are highly unsuitable for the\npurpose of altars, and as it has been proved that this class of\nmonument was invariably covered in prehistoric times by an earthen\ntumulus its ritualistic use is thereby rendered improbable. Moreover,\nif we chance upon any rude carving or incised work on dolmens we\nobserve that it is invariably executed on the _lower_ surface of the\ntable stone, the upper surface being nearly always rough, unhewn,\noften naturally rounded, and as unlike the surface of an altar as\npossible.\n\nRecent research has established the much more reasonable theory that\nthese monuments are sepulchral in character, and that they mark the\nlast resting-places of persons of tribal importance, chiefs, priests,\nor celebrated warriors. Occasionally legend assists us to prove the\nmortuary character of menhir and dolmen. But, without insisting any\nfurther for the present upon the purpose of these monuments, let us\nglance at the more widely known of Brittany's prehistoric structures,\nnot so much in the manner of the arch\u00e6ologist as in that of the\nobservant traveller who is satisfied to view them as interesting\nrelics of human handiwork bequeathed from a darker age, rather than as\nobjects to satisfy the arch\u00e6ological taste for discussion.\n\nFor this purpose we shall select the best known groups of Breton\nprehistoric structures, and shall begin our excursion at the\nnorth-eastern extremity of Brittany, following the coast-line, on\nwhich most of the principal prehistoric centres are situated, and, as\noccasion offers, journeying into the interior in search of famous or\ninteresting examples.\n\n\n_Dol_\n\nDol is situated in the north of the department of Ille-et-Vilaine,\nnot far from the sea-coast. Near it, in a field called the Champ\nDolent ('Field of Woe'), stands a gigantic menhir, about thirty feet\nhigh and said to measure fifteen more underground. It is composed of\ngrey granite, and is surmounted by a cross. The early Christian\nmissionaries, finding it impossible to wean the people from\nfrequenting pagan neighbourhoods, surmounted the standing stones\nwith the symbol of their faith, and this in time brought about the\nresult desired.[8]\n\n\n_The Legend of Dol_\n\nA strange legend is connected with this rude menhir. On a day in the\ndark, uncharted past of Brittany a fierce battle was fought in the\nChamp Dolent. Blood ran in streams, sufficient, says the tale, to turn\na mill-wheel in the neighbourhood of the battlefield. When the combat\nwas at its height two brothers met and grappled in fratricidal strife.\nBut ere they could harm one another the great granite shaft which now\nlooms above the field rose up between them and separated them.\n\nThere appears to be some historical basis for the tale. Here, or in\nthe neighbourhood, A.D. 560, met Clotaire, King of the Franks, and his\nson, the rebel Chramne. The rebellious son was signally defeated. He\nhad placed his wife and two little daughters in a dwelling hard by,\nand as he made his way thence to convey them from the field he was\ncaptured. He was instantly strangled, by order of his brutal father,\nin the sight of his wife and little ones, who were then burned alive\nin the house where they had taken refuge. The Champ Dolent does not\nbelie its name, and even thirteen centuries and a half have failed to\nobliterate the memory of a savage and unnatural crime, which, its\nremoteness notwithstanding, fills the soul with loathing against its\nperpetrators and with deep pity for the hapless and innocent victims.\n\n\n_A Subterranean Dolmen Chapel_\n\nAt Plouaret, in the department of C\u00f4tes-du-Nord, is a curious\nsubterranean chapel incorporating a dolmen. The dolmen was formerly\npartially embedded in a tumulus, and the chapel, erected in 1702, was\nso constructed that the great table-stone of the dolmen has become the\nchapel roof, and the supporting stones form two of its sides. The\ncrypt is reached by a flight of steps, and here may be seen an altar\nto the Seven Sleepers, represented by seven dolls of varying size. The\nBretons have a legend that this structure dates from the creation of\nthe world, and they have embodied this belief in a ballad, in which it\nis piously affirmed that the shrine was built by the hand of the\nAlmighty at the time when the world was in process of formation.\n\n\n_Camaret_\n\nCamaret, on the coast of Finist\u00e8re, is the site of no less than\nforty-one standing stones of quartz, which outline a rectangular space\n600 yards in length at its base. Many stones have been removed, so\nthat the remaining sides are incomplete. None of these monoliths is of\nany considerable size, however, and the site is not considered to be\nof much importance, save as regards its isolated character. At\nPenmarch, in the southern extremity of Finist\u00e8re, there is an\n'alignment' of some two hundred small stones, and a dolmen of some\nimportance is situated at Tr\u00e9gunc, but it is at Carnac, on the coast\nof Morbihan, that we arrive at the most important arch\u00e6ological\ndistrict in Brittany.\n\n\n_Carnac_\n\nThe Carnac district teems with prehistoric monuments, the most\ncelebrated of which are those of Plouharnel, Concarneau, Concurrus,\nLocmariaquer, Kermario, Kerlescant, Erdeven, and Sainte-Barbe. All\nthese places are situated within a few miles of one another, and a\ngood centre from which excursions can be made to each is the little\ntown of Auray, with its quaint medieval market-house and shrine of St\nRoch. Arch\u00e6ologists, both Breton and foreign, appear to be agreed that\nthe groups of stones at M\u00e9n\u00e9ac, Kermario, and Kerlescant are portions\nof one original and continuous series of alignments which extended for\nnearly two miles in one direction from south-west to north-east. The\nmonolithic avenue commences quite near the village of M\u00e9n\u00e9ac,\nstretching away in eleven rows, and here the large stones are\nsituated, these at first rising to a height of from 10 to 13 feet, and\nbecoming gradually smaller, until they attain only 3 or 4 feet. In all\nthere are 116 menhirs at M\u00e9n\u00e9ac. For more than three hundred yards\nthere is a gap in the series, which passed, we come to the Kermario\navenue, which consists of ten rows of monoliths of much the same size\nas those of M\u00e9n\u00e9ac, and 1120 in number.\n\nPassing on to Kerlescant, with its thirteen rows of menhirs made up of\n570 individual stones, we come to the end of the avenue and gaze\nbackward upon the plain covered with these indestructible symbols of a\nforgotten past.\n\nCarnac! There is something vast, Egyptian, in the name! There is,\nindeed, a Karnak in Egypt, celebrated for its Avenue of Sphinxes and\nits pillared temple raised to the goddess Mut by King Amenophis III.\nHere, in the Breton Carnac, are no evidences of architectural skill.\nThese sombre stones, unworked, rude as they came from cliff or\nseashore, are not embellished by man's handiwork like the rich temples\nof the Nile. But there is about this stone-littered moor a mystery, an\natmosphere no less intense than that surrounding the most solemn ruins\nof antiquity. Deeper even than the depths of Egypt must we sound if we\nare to discover the secret of Carnac. What mean these stones? What\nmeans faith? What signifies belief? What is the answer to the Riddle\nof Man? In the words of Cayot D\u00e9landre, a Breton poet:\n\n Tout cela eut un sens, et traduisit\n Une pens\u00e9e; mais cl\u00e9 de ce myst\u00e8re,\n O\u00f9 est elle? et qui pourrait dire aujourd'hui\n Si jamais elle se retrouvera?[9]\n\n\n_A Vision_\n\nOver this wild, heathy track, covered with the blue flowers of the\ndwarf gentian, steals a subtle change. Nor air nor heath has altered.\nThe lichen-covered grey stones are the same. Suddenly there arises the\nburden of a low, fierce chant. A swarm of skin-clad figures appears,\nclustering around a gigantic object which they are painfully dragging\ntoward a deep pit situated at the end of one of the enormous alleys of\nmonoliths. On rudely shaped rollers rests a huge stone some twenty\nfeet in length, and this they drag across the rough moor by ropes of\nhide, lightening their labours by the chant, which relates the\nexploits of the warrior-chief who has lately been entombed in this\nvast pantheon of Carnac. The menhir shall serve for his headstone. It\nhas been vowed to him by the warriors of his tribe, his henchmen, who\nhave fought and hunted beside him, and who revere his memory. This\nstone shall render his fame immortal.\n\nAnd now the task of placing the huge monolith in position begins.\nRopes are attached to one extremity, and while a line of brawny\nsavages strains to raise this, others guide that end of the monolith\ndestined for enclosure in the earth toward the pit which has been dug\nfor its reception. Higher and higher rises the stone, until at last it\nsinks slowly into its earthy bed. It is held in an upright position\nwhile the soil is packed around it and it is made secure. Then the\nbarbarians stand back a space and gaze at it from beneath their low\nbrows, well pleased with their handiwork. He whom they honoured in\nlife rests not unrecognized in death.\n\n[Illustration: RAISING A MENHIR]\n\n\n_The Legend of Carnac_\n\nThe legend of Carnac which explains these avenues of monoliths bears a\nresemblance to the Cornish story of 'the Hurlers,' who were turned\ninto stone for playing at hurling on the Lord's Day, or to that other\nEnglish example from Cumberland of 'Long Meg' and her daughters. St\nCornely, we are told, pursued by an army of pagans, fled toward the\nsea. Finding no boat at hand, and on the point of being taken, he\ntransformed his pursuers into stones, the present monoliths.\n\nThe Saint had made his flight to the coast in a bullock-cart, and\nperhaps for this reason he is now regarded as the patron of cattle.\nShould a bullock fall sick, his owner purchases an image of St Cornely\nand hangs it up in the stable until the animal recovers. The church at\nCarnac contains a series of fresco paintings which outline events in\nthe life of the Saint, and in the churchyard there is a representation\nof the holy man between two bullocks. The head of St Cornely is said\nto be preserved within the edifice as a relic. On the 13th of\nSeptember is held at Carnac the festival of the 'Benediction of the\nBeasts,' which is celebrated in honour of St Cornely. The cattle of\nthe district are brought to the vicinity of the church and blessed by\nthe priests--should sufficient monetary encouragement be forthcoming.\n\n\n_Mont-Saint-Michel_\n\nIn the neighbourhood is Mont-Saint-Michel,[10] a great tumulus with a\nsepulchral dolmen, first excavated in 1862, when late Stone Age\nimplements, jade celts, and burnt bones were unearthed. Later M.\nZacharie Le Rouzic, the well-known Breton arch\u00e6ologist, tunnelled into\nthe tumulus, and discovered a mortuary chamber, in which were the\nincinerated remains of two oxen. To this tumulus each pilgrim added a\nstone or small quantity of earth, as has been the custom in Celtic\ncountries from time immemorial, and so the funerary mound in the\ncourse of countless generations grew into quite a respectable hill,\non which a chapel was built, dedicated to St Michael, from the doorway\nof which a splendid prospect of the great stone alignments can be had,\nwith, for background, the Morbihan and the long, dreary peninsula of\nQuiberon, bleak, treeless, and deserted.\n\n\n_Rocenaud_\n\nNear Carnac is the great dolmen of Rocenaud, the 'cup-and-ring'\nmarkings on which are thought by the surrounding peasantry to have\nbeen made by the knees and elbows of St Roch, who fell upon this stone\nwhen he landed from Ireland. When the natives desire a wind they knock\nupon the depressions with their knuckles, murmuring spells the while,\njust as in Scotland in the seventeenth century a tempest was raised by\ndipping a rag in water and beating it on a stone thrice in the name of\nSatan.\n\n\n_Cup-and-Ring Markings_\n\nWhat do these cup-and-ring markings so commonly discovered upon the\nmonuments of Brittany portend? The question is one well worth\nexamining at some length, as it appears to be almost at the\nfoundations of Neolithic religion. Recent discoveries in New Caledonia\nhave proved the existence in these far-off islands, as in Brittany,\nScotland, and Ireland, of these strange symbols, coupled with the\nconcentric and spiral designs which are usually associated with the\ngenius of Celtic art. In the neighbourhood of Glasgow, and in the\nsouth-west of Scotland generally, stones inscribed with designs\nclosely resembling those on the New Caledonian rocks have been found\nin abundance, as at Auchentorlie and Cockno, Shewalton Sands, and in\nthe Milton of Colquhoun district, where the famous 'cup-and-ring\naltar' was discovered. At Shewalton Sands in particular, in 1904, a\nnumber of stones were found bearing crosses like those discovered in\nPortugal by Father Jos\u00e9 Brenha and Father Rodriguez. These symbols\nhave a strong resemblance to certain markings on the Breton rocks, and\nare thought to possess an alphabetic or magical significance. In\nScotland spirals are commonly found on stones marked with ogham\ninscriptions, and it is remarkable that they should occur in New\nCaledonia in connexion with a dot 'alphabet.' The New Caledonian\ncrosses, however, approximate more to the later crosses of Celtic art,\nwhile the spirals resemble those met with in the earlier examples of\nCeltic work. But the closest parallel to the New Caledonian\nstone-markings to be found in Scotland is supplied by the examples at\nCockno, in Dumbartonshire, where the wheel symbol is associated with\nthe cup-and-ring markings.\n\nThe cup-and-ring stones used to be considered the peculiar product of\na race of 'Brythonic' or British origin, and it is likely that the\nstones so carved were utilized in the ritual of rain-worship or\nrain-making by sympathetic magic. The grooves in the stone were\nprobably filled with water to typify a country partially covered with\nrain-water.[11]\n\nFrom these analogies, then, we can glean the purpose of the\ncup-and-ring markings upon the dolmens of Brittany, and may conclude,\nif our considerations are well founded, that they were magical in\npurpose and origin. Do the cup-shaped depressions represent water, or\nare they receptacles for rain, and do the spiral symbols typify the\nwhirling winds?\n\n\n_The Gallery of Gavr'inis_\n\nNowhere are these mysterious markings so well exemplified as in the\nwonderful tumulus of Gavr'inis. This ancient place of sepulture, the\nname of which means 'Goat Island,' lies in the Morbihan, or 'Little\nSea,' an inland sea which gives its name to a department in the south\nof Brittany. The tumulus is 25 feet high, and covers a fine gallery 40\nfeet long, the stones of which bear the markings alluded to. Whorls\nand circles abound in the ornamentation, serpent-like figures, and the\nrepresentation of an axe, similar to those to be seen in some of the\nGrottes aux F\u00e9es, or on the Dol des Marchands. The sculptures appear\nto have been executed with metal tools. The passage ends in a square\nsepulchral chamber, the supports of which are eight menhirs of grained\ngranite, a stone not found on the island. Such of the menhirs as are\ncarved were obviously so treated before they were placed _in situ_, as\nthe design passes round the edges.\n\n\n_The Ile aux Moines_\n\nThe Ile aux Moines ('Monks' Island') is also situated in the Morbihan,\nand has many prehistoric monuments, the most extensive of which are\nthe circle of stones at Kergonan and the dolmen of Penhapp. On the Ile\nd'Arz, too, are megalithic monuments, perhaps the best example of\nwhich is the cromlech or circle at Penraz.\n\nThe folk-beliefs attached to the megalithic monuments of Brittany are\nnumerous, but nearly all of them bear a strong resemblance to each\nother. Many of the monuments are called Grottes aux F\u00e9es or Roches aux\nF\u00e9es, in the belief that the fairies either built them or used them as\ndwelling-places, and variants of these names are to be found in the\nMaison des Follets ('House of the Goblins') at Cancoet, in Morbihan,\nand the Ch\u00e2teau des Paulpiquets, in Questembert, in the same district.\nTy en Corygannt ('The House of the Korrigans') is situated in the same\ndepartment, while near Penmarch, in Finist\u00e8re, at the other end of the\nprovince, we find Ty C'harriquet ('The House of the Gorics' or\n'Nains'). Other mythical personages are also credited with their\nerection, most frequently either the devil or Gargantua being held\nresponsible for their miraculous creation. The phenomenon, well known\nto students of folk-lore, that an unlettered people speedily forgets\nthe origin of monuments that its predecessors may have raised in times\npast is well exemplified in Brittany, whose peasant-folk are usually\nsurprised, if not amused, at the question \"Who built the dolmens?\"\nClose familiarity with and contiguity to uncommon objects not\ninfrequently dulls the sense of wonder they should otherwise naturally\nexcite. But lest we feel tempted to sneer at these poor folk for their\nincurious attitude toward the visible antiquities of their land, let\nus ask ourselves how many of us take that interest in the antiquities\nof our own country or our own especial locality that they demand.[12]\n\n\n_Fairy Builders_\n\nFor the most part, then, the megaliths, in the opinion of the Breton\npeasant, are not the handiwork of man. He would rather refer their\norigin to spirits, giants, or fiends. If he makes any exception to\nthis supernatural attribution, it is in favour of the saints he\nreverences so profoundly. The fairies, he says, harnessed their oxen\nto the mighty stones, selected a site, and dragged them thither to\nform a dwelling, or perhaps a cradle for the infant fays they were so\nfond of exchanging for human children. Thus the Roches aux F\u00e9es near\nSaint-Didier, in Ille-et-Vilaine, were raised by fairy hands, the\nelves collecting \"all the big stones in the country\" and carrying them\nthither in their aprons. These architectural sprites then mounted on\neach other's shoulders in order that they might reach high enough to\nplace the mighty monoliths securely in position. This practice they\nalso followed in building the dolmen near the wood of Rocher, on the\nroad from Dinan to Dol, say the people of that country-side.\n\nBut the actual purpose of the megaliths has not been neglected by\ntradition, for a venerable farmer at Rouvray stated that the fairies\nwere wont to honour after their death those who had made good use of\ntheir lives and built the dolmens to contain their ashes. The presence\nof such a shrine in a country-side was a guarantee of abundance and\nprosperity therein, as a subtle and indefinable charm spread from the\nsaintly remnants and communicated itself to everything in the\nneighbourhood.[13] The fairy builders, says tradition, went about\ntheir work in no haphazard manner. Those among them who possessed a\ntalent for design drew the plans of the proposed structure, the less\ngifted acting as carriers, labourers, and masons. Apron-carrying was\nnot their only method of porterage, for some bore the stones on their\nheads, or one under each arm, as when they raised the Roche aux F\u00e9es\nin Retiers, or the dolmen in La Lande Marie.[14] The space of a night\nwas usually sufficient in which to raise a dolmen. But though 'run up'\nwith more than Transatlantic dispatch, in view of the time these\nstructures have endured for, any charge of jerry-building against\ntheir elfin architects must fall to the ground. Daylight, too,\nfrequently surprised the fairy builders, so that they could not finish\ntheir task, as many a 'roofless' dolmen shows.\n\nThere are many Celtic parallels to this belief. For example, it is\nsaid that the Picts, or perhaps the fairies, built the original church\nof Corstorphine, near Edinburgh, and stood in a row handing the stones\non, one to another, from Ravelston Quarry, on the adjacent hill of\nCorstorphine. Such is the local folk-tale; and it has its congeners in\nCeltic and even in Hindu myth. Thus in the Highland tale of Kennedy\nand the _claistig_, or fairy, whom he captured, and whom he compelled\nto build him a house in one night, we read that she set her people to\nwork speedily:\n\n And they brought flags and stones\n From the shores of Cliamig waterfall,\n Reaching them from hand to hand.[15]\n\nAgain, the Round Tower of Ardmore, in Ireland, was built with stones\nbrought from Slieve Grian, a mountain some four or five miles distant,\n\"without horse or wheel,\" the blocks being passed from hand to hand\nfrom the quarry to the site of the building. The same tradition\napplied to the Round Tower of Abernethy, in Perthshire, only it is in\nthis case demonstrated that the stone of which the tower is composed\nwas actually taken from the traditional quarry, even the very spot\nbeing geologically identified.[16] In like manner, too, was Rama's\nbridge built by the monkey host in Hindu myth, as recounted in the\n_Mah[=a]bh[=a]rata_ and the _R[=a]m[=a]yana_.\n\nTales, as apart from beliefs, are not often encountered in connexion\nwith the monuments. Indeed, S\u00e9billot, in the course of his researches,\nfound only some dozen of these all told.[17] They are very brief,\nand appear for the most part to deal with fairies who have been shut\nup by the power of magic in a dolmen. Tales of spirits enclosed in\ntrees, and even in pillars, are not uncommon, and lately I have\nheard a peculiarly fearsome ghost story which comes from Belgium, in\nwhich it is related how certain spirits had become enclosed in a\npillar in an ancient abbey, for the saintly occupants of which they\nmade it particularly uncomfortable. Mr George Henderson, in one of\nthe most masterly and suggestive studies of Celtic survivals ever\npublished, states that stones in the Highlands of Scotland were\nformerly believed to have souls, and that those too large to be moved\n\"were held to be in intimate connexion with spirits.\" Pillared\nstones are not employed in building dwellings in the Highlands,\nill luck, it is believed, being sure to follow their use in this\nmanner, while to 'meddle' with stones which tradition connects with\nDruidism is to court fatality.[18]\n\n\n_Stones that Travel_\n\nM. Salomon Reinach tells us of the Breton belief that certain sacred\nstones go once a year or once a century to 'wash' themselves in the\nsea or in a river, returning to their ancient seats after their\nablutions.[19] The stones in the dolmen of Ess\u00e9 are thought to change\ntheir places continually, like those of Callernish and Lewis, and,\nlike the Roman Penates, to have the gift of coming and going if\nremoved from their habitual site.\n\nThe megalithic monuments of Brittany are undoubtedly the most\nremarkable relics of that epoch of prehistoric activity which is now\nregarded as the immediate forerunner of civilization. Can it be that\nthey were miraculously preserved by isolation from the remote\nbeginnings of that epoch, or is it more probable that they were\nconstructed at a relatively late period? These are questions of\nprofound difficulty, and it is likely that both theories contain a\ncertain amount of truth. Whatever may have been the origin of her\nmegaliths, Brittany must ever be regarded as a great prehistoric\nmuseum, a unique link with a past of hoary antiquity.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [6] That it was Neolithic seems undoubted, and in all probability\n Alpine--_i.e._ the same race as presently inhabits Brittany.\n See Dottin, _Anciens Peuples de l'Europe_ (Paris, 1916).\n\n [7] But _tolmen_ in Cornish meant 'pole of stone.'\n\n [8] Ostensibly, at least; but see the remarks upon modern pagan\n survivals in Chapter IX, p. 246.\n\n [9] Which might be rendered:\n\n All here is symbol; these grey stones translate\n A thought ineffable, but where the key?\n Say, shall it be recovered soon or late,\n To ope the temple of this mystery?\n\n [10] Not to be confused, of course, with the well-known island mount\n of the same name.\n\n [11] A Scottish sixteenth-century magical verse was chanted over such\n a stone:\n\n \"I knock this rag wpone this stone,\n And ask the divell for rain thereon.\"\n\n [12] The writer's experience is that unlettered British folk often\n possess much better information concerning the antiquities of a\n district than its 'educated' inhabitants. If this information\n is not scientific it is full and displays deep personal\n interest.\n\n [13] _Collectionneur breton_, t. iii, p.55.\n\n [14] See _Comptes rendus de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des Antiquaries de France_, pp.\n 95 ff. (1836).\n\n [15] J. G. Campbell, _Superstitions of the Scottish Highlands_.\n\n [16] Small, _Antiquities of Fife_.\n\n [17] _Traditions de la Haute-Bretagne_, t. i, p. 26.\n\n [18] Henderson, _Survivals in Belief among the Celts_ (1911).\n\n [19] _Cultes, Mythes, et Religiones_, t. iii, pp. 365-433.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III: THE FAIRIES OF BRITTANY\n\n\nWhatever the origin of the race which conceived the demonology\nof Brittany--and there are indications that it was not wholly\nCeltic--that weird province of Fa\u00ebry bears unmistakable evidence\nof having been deeply impressed by the Celtic imagination, if it\nwas not totally peopled by it, for its various inhabitants act in\nthe Celtic spirit, are moved by Celtic springs of thought and\nfancy, and possess not a little of that irritability which has\nforced anthropologists to include the Celtic race among those\npeoples described as 'sanguine-bilious.' As a rule they are by\nno means friendly or even humane, these fays of Brittany, and if\nwe find beneficent elves within the green forests of the duchy we\nmay feel certain that they are French immigrants, and therefore\nmore polished than the choleric native sprites.\n\n\n_Broceliande_\n\nOf all the many localities celebrated in the fairy lore of Brittany\nnone is so famous as Broceliande. Broceliande! \"The sound is like a\nbell,\" a far, fa\u00ebry chime in a twilit forest. In the name Broceliande\nthere seems to be gathered all the tender charm, the rich and haunting\nmystery, the remote magic of Brittany and Breton lore. It is, indeed,\nthe title to the rarest book in the library of poetic and traditional\nromance.\n\n\"I went to seek out marvels,\" said old Wace. \"The forest I saw, the\nland I saw. I sought marvels, but I found none. A fool I came back, a\nfool I went; a fool I went, a fool I came back; foolishness I sought;\na fool I hold myself.\"[20]\n\nOur age, even less sceptical than his, sees no folly in questing for\nthe beautiful, and if we expect no marvels, nor any sleight of fa\u00ebry,\nhowever desirous we are, we do not hold it time lost to plunge into\nthe enchanted forest and in its magic half-gloom grope for, and\nperchance grasp, dryad draperies, or be trapped in the filmy webs of\nfancy which are spun in these shadows for unwary mortals.\n\nStanding in dream-girt Broceliande of a hundred legends, its shadows\nmirrored by dim meres that may never reflect the stars, one feels the\nlure of Brittany more keenly even than when walking by its fierce and\njagged coasts menaced by savage grey seas, or when wandering on its\nvast moors where the monuments of its pagan past stand in gigantic\ndisarray. For in the forest is the heart of Arthurian story, the\nshrine of that wonder which has drawn thousands to this land of\nlegend, who, like old Wace, trusted to have found, if not elfin\nmarvels, at least matter of phantasy conjured up by the legendary\nassociations of Broceliande.\n\nBut we must beware of each step in these twilit recesses, for the fays\nof Brittany are not as those of other lands. Harsh things are spoken\nof them. They are malignant, say the forest folk. The note of Brittany\nis scarce a joyous one. It is bitter-sweet as a sad chord struck on an\nancient harp.\n\nThe fays of Brittany are not the friends of man. They are not 'the\ngood people,' 'the wee folk'; they have no endearing names, the gift\nof a grateful peasantry. Cold and hostile, they hold aloof from human\nconverse, and, should they encounter man, vent their displeasure at\nthe interruption in the most vindictive manner.\n\nWhether the fairies of Brittany be the late representatives of the\ngods of an elder day or merely animistic spirits who have haunted\nthese glades since man first sheltered in them, certain it is that in\nno other region in Europe has Mother Church laid such a heavy ban upon\nall the things of fa\u00ebry as in this strange and isolated peninsula. A\nmore tolerant ecclesiastical rule might have weaned them to a timid\nfriendship, but all overtures have been discouraged, and to-day they\nare enemies, active, malignant, swift to inflict evil upon the pious\npeasant because he is pious and on the energetic because of his\nindustry.\n\n\n_The Korrigan_\n\nAmong those forest-beings of whom legend speaks such malice none is\nmore relentless than the Korrigan, who has power to enmesh the heart\nof the most constant swain and doom him to perish miserably for love\nof her. Beware of the fountains and of the wells of this forest of\nBroceliande, for there she is most commonly to be encountered, and you\nmay know her by her bright hair--\"like golden wire,\" as Spenser says\nof his lady's--her red, flashing eyes, and her laughing lips. But if\nyou would dare her wiles you must come alone to her fountain by night,\nfor she shuns even the half-gloom that is day in shadowy Broceliande.\nThe peasants when they speak of her will assure you that she and her\nkind are pagan princesses of Brittany who would have none of\nChristianity when the holy Apostles brought it to Armorica, and who\nmust dwell here under a ban, outcast and abhorred.\n\n\n_The Seigneur of Nann_[21]\n\nThe Seigneur of Nann was high of heart, for that day his bride of a\nyear had presented him with two beautiful children, a boy and a girl,\nboth white as May-blossom. In his joy the happy father asked his wife\nher heart's desire, and she, pining for that which idle fancy urged\nupon her, begged him to bring her a dish of woodcock from the lake in\nthe dale, or of venison from the greenwood. The Seigneur of Nann\nseized his lance and, vaulting on his jet-black steed, sought the\nborders of the forest, where he halted to survey the ground for track\nof roe or slot of the red deer. Of a sudden a white doe rose in front\nof him, and was lost in the forest like a silver shadow.\n\nAt sight of this fair quarry the Seigneur followed into the greenwood.\nEver his prey rustled among the leaves ahead, and in the hot chase he\nrecked not of the forest depths into which he had plunged. But coming\nupon a narrow glade where the interlacing leaves above let in the sun\nto dapple the moss-ways below, he saw a strange lady sitting by the\nbroken border of a well, braiding her fair hair and binding it with\ngolden pins.\n\nThe Seigneur louted low, begged that he might drink, and bending down\nset his lips to the water; but she, turning strange eyes upon\nhim--eyes not blue like those of his bride, nor grey, nor brown, nor\nblack, like those of other women, but red in their depths as the\nheart's blood of a dove--spoke to him discourteously.\n\n\"Who are you who dare to trouble the waters of my fountain?\" she\nasked. \"Do you not know that your conduct merits death? This well is\nenchanted, and by drinking of it you are fated to die, unless you\nfulfil a certain condition.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" asked the Seigneur.\n\n\"You must marry me within the hour,\" replied the lady.\n\n\"Demoiselle,\" replied the Seigneur, \"it may not be as you desire, for\nI am already espoused to a fair bride who has borne me this very day a\nson and a daughter. Nor shall I die until it pleases the good God.\nNevertheless, I wot well who you are. Rather would I die on the\ninstant than wed with a Korrigan.\"\n\nLeaping upon his horse, he turned and rode from the woodland as a man\npossessed. As he drew homeward he was overshadowed by a sense of\ncoming ill. At the gate of his ch\u00e2teau stood his mother, anxious to\ngreet him with good news of his bride. But with averted eyes he\naddresses her in the refrain so familiar to the folk-poetry of all\nlands:\n\n \"My good mother, if you love me, make my bed. I am sick unto\n death. Say not a word to my bride. For within three days I shall\n be laid in the grave. A Korrigan has done me evil.\"\n\nThree days later the young spouse asks of her mother-in-law:\n\n\"Tell me, mother, why do the bells sound? Wherefore do the priests\nchant so low?\"\n\n\"'Tis nothing, daughter,\" replies the elder woman. \"A poor stranger\nwho lodged here died this night.\"\n\n\"Ah, where is gone the Seigneur of Nann? Mother, oh, where is he?\"\n\n[Illustration: THE SEIGNEUR OF NANN AND THE KORRIGAN]\n\n\"He has gone to the town, my child. In a little he will come to see\nyou.\"\n\n\"Ah, mother, let us speak of happy things. Must I wear my red or my\nblue robe at my churching?\"\n\n\"Neither, daughter. The mode is changed. You must wear black.\"\n\nUnconscious in its art, the stream of verse carries us to the church,\nwhence the young wife has gone to offer up thanks for the gift of\nchildren. She sees that the ancestral tomb has been opened, and a\ngreat dread is at her heart. She asks her mother-in-law who has died,\nand the old woman at last confesses that the Seigneur of Nann has just\nbeen buried.\n\nThat same night the young mother was interred beside her husband-lover.\nAnd the peasant folk say that from that tomb arose two saplings, the\nbranches of which intertwined more closely as they grew.\n\n\n_A Goddess of Eld_\n\nIn the depths of Lake Tegid in our own Wales dwelt Keridwen, a\nfertility goddess who possessed a magic cauldron--the sure symbol of a\ndeity of abundance.[22] Like Demeter, she was strangely associated\nwith the harmless necessary sow, badge of many earth-mothers, and\nitself typical of fertility. Like Keridwen, the Korrigan is associated\nwith water, with the element which makes for vegetable growth.\nChristian belief would, of course, transform this discredited goddess\ninto an evil being whose one function was the destruction of souls.\nMay we see a relation of the Korrigan and Keridwen in Tridwan, or St\nTriduana, of Restalrig, near Edinburgh, who presided over a certain\nwell there, and at whose well-shrine offerings were made by sightless\npilgrims for many centuries?\n\nMany are the traditions which tell of human infants abducted by the\nKorrigan, who at times left an ugly changeling in place of the babe\nshe had stolen. But it was more as an enchantress that she was\ndreaded. By a stroke of her magic wand she could transform the leafy\nfastnesses in which she dwelt into the semblance of a lordly hall,\nwhich the luckless traveller whom she lured thither would regard as a\nparadise after the dark thickets in which he had been wandering. This\nseeming castle or palace she furnished with everything that could\ndelight the eye, and as the doomed wretch sat ravished by her beauty\nand that of her nine attendant maidens a fatal passion for her entered\nhis heart, so that whatever he cherished most on earth--honour, wife,\ndemoiselle, or affianced bride--became as naught to him, and he cast\nhimself at the feet of this forest Circe in a frenzy of ardour. But\nwith the first ray of daylight the charm was dissolved and the\nKorrigan became a hideous hag, as repulsive as before she had been\nlovely; the walls of her palace and the magnificence which had\nfurnished it became once more tree and thicket, its carpets moss, its\ntapestries leaves, its silver cups wild roses, and its dazzling\nmirrors pools of stagnant water.\n\n\n_The Unbroken Vow_[23]\n\nSir Roland of Brittany rides through gloomy Broceliande a league ahead\nof his troop, unattended by squire or by page. The red cross upon his\nshoulder is witness that he is vowed to service in Palestine, and as\nhe passes through the leafy avenues on his way to the rendezvous he\nfears that he will be late, most tardy of all the knights of Brittany\nwho have sworn to drive the paynim from the Holy Land. Fearful of such\ndisgrace, he spurs his jaded charger on through the haunted forest,\nand with anxious eye watches the sun sink and the gay white moon sail\nhigh above the tree-tops, pouring light through their branches upon\nthe mossy ways below.\n\nA high vow has Roland taken ere setting out upon the crusade--a vow\nthat he will eschew the company of fair ladies, in which none had\ndelighted more than he. No more must he mingle in the dance, no more\nmust he press a maiden's lips with his. He has become a soldier of the\nCross. He may not touch a lady's hand save with his mailed glove, he\nmust not sit by her side. Also must he fast from dusk till dawn upon\nthat night of his setting forth. \"Small risk,\" he laughs a little\nsadly, as he spurs his charger onward, \"small risk that I be mansworn\nere morning light.\"\n\nBut the setting of the moon tells him that he must rest in the forest\nuntil dawn, as without her beams he can no longer pursue his way. So\nhe dismounts from his steed, tethers it to a tree, and looks about for\na bed of moss on which to repose. As he does so his wandering gaze\nfixes upon a beam of light piercing the gloom of the forest. Well\naware of the traditions of his country, he thinks at first that it is\nonly the glimmer of a will-o'-the-wisp or a light carried by a\nwandering elf. But no, on moving nearer the gleam he is surprised to\nbehold a row of windows brilliantly lit as if for a festival.\n\n\"Now, by my vow,\" says Roland, \"methought I knew well every ch\u00e2teau in\nthis land of Brittany, nor wist I that seigneur or count held court\nin this forest of Broceliande.\"\n\nResolved to view the ch\u00e2teau at still closer quarters, he draws near\nit. A great court fronts him where neither groom nor porter keeps\nguard, and within he can see a fair hall. This he enters, and\nimmediately his ears are ravished by music which wanders through the\nchamber like a sighing zephyr. The murmur of rich viols and the call\nof flutes soft as distant bird-song speak to his very soul. Yet\nthrough the ecstasy comes, like a serpent gliding among flowers, the\ndiscord of evil thoughts. Grasping his rosary, he is about to retire\nwhen the doors at the end of the hall fly open, and he beholds a\nrapturous vision. Upon a couch of velvet sits a lady of such dazzling\nbeauty that all other women compared with her would seem as\nkitchen-wenches. A mantle of rich golden hair falls about her, her\neyes shine with the brightness of stars, her smile seems heavenly.\nRound her are grouped nine maidens only less beautiful than herself.\n\nAs the moon moving among attendant stars, so the lady comes toward\nRoland, accompanied by her maidens. She welcomes him, and would\nremove his gauntlet, but he tells her of the vow he has made to wear\nit in lady's bower, and she is silent. Next she asks him to seat\nhimself beside her on the couch, but he will not. In some confusion\nshe orders a repast to be brought. A table is spread with fragrant\nviands, but as the knight will partake of none of them, in chagrin the\nlady takes a lute, which she touches with exquisite skill. He listens\nunmoved, till, casting away her instrument, she dances to him,\ncircling round and round about him, flitting about his chair like a\nbutterfly, until at length she sinks down near him and lays her head\nupon his mailed bosom. Upward she turns her face to him, all\npassion-flushed, her eyes brimming with love. Sir Roland falters.\nFascinated by her unearthly beauty, he is about to stoop down to\npress his lips to hers. But as he bends his head she shrinks from\nhim, for she sees the tender flush of morning above the eastern\ntree-tops. The living stars faint and fail, and the music of awakening\nlife which accompanies the rising of the young sun falls upon the\near. Slowly the ch\u00e2teau undergoes transformation. The glittering roof\nmerges into the blue vault of heaven, the tapestried walls become\nthe ivied screens of great forest trees, the princely furnishings\nare transformed into mossy banks and mounds, and the rugs and carpets\nbeneath Roland's mailed feet are now merged in the forest ways.\n\nBut the lady? Sir Roland, glancing down, beholds a hag hideous as sin,\nwhose malicious and distorted countenance betrays baffled hate and\nrage. At the sound of a bugle she hurries away with a discordant\nshriek. Into the glade ride Roland's men, to see their lord clasping\nhis rosary and kneeling in thanksgiving for his deliverance from the\nevils which beset him. He had been saved from breaking his vow!\n\nThe nine attendant maidens of the Korrigan bring to mind a passage in\nPomponius Mela[24]: \"Sena [the Ile de Sein, not far from Brest], in\nthe British Sea, opposite the Ofismician coast, is remarkable for an\noracle of the Gallic god. Its priestesses, holy in perpetual\nvirginity, are said to be nine in number. They are called Gallicen\u00e6,\nand are thought to be endowed with singular powers. By their charms\nthey are able to raise the winds and seas, to turn themselves into\nwhat animals they will, to cure wounds and diseases incurable by\nothers, to know and predict the future. But this they do only for\nnavigators, who go thither purposely to consult them.\"\n\nLike the sylphs and salamanders so humorously described by the Abb\u00e9 de\nVillars in _Le Comte de Gabalis_,[25] the Korrigans desired union with\nhumanity in order that they might thus gain immortality. Such, at\nleast, is the current peasant belief in Brittany. \"For this end they\nviolate all the laws of modesty.\" This belief is common to all lands,\nand is typical of the fay, the Lorelei, countless well and water\nsprites, and that enchantress who rode off with Thomas the Rhymer:\n\n For if you dare to kiss my lips\n Sure of your bodie I shall be.\n\nUnlike the colder Sir Roland, 'True Thomas' dared, and was wafted to a\nrealm wondrously described by the old balladeer in the vivid phrase\nthat marks the poetry of vision.\n\n\n_Merlin and Vivien_\n\nIt was in this same verdant Broceliande that Vivien, another fairy,\nthat crafty dame of the enchanted lake, the instructress of Lancelot,\nbound wise Merlin so that he might no more go to Camelot with oracular\nlips to counsel British Arthur.\n\nBut what say the folk of Broceliande themselves of this? Let us hear\ntheir version of a tale which has been so battered by modern\ncriticism, and which has been related in at least half a score of\nversions, prose and poetic. Let us have the Broceliande account of\nwhat happened in Broceliande.[26] Surely its folk, in the very forest\nin which he wandered with Vivien, must know more of Merlin's\nenchantment than we of that greater Britain which he left to find a\nparadise in Britain the Less, for, according to Breton story, Merlin\nwas not imprisoned by magic art, but achieved bliss through his love\nfor the fairy forest nymph.\n\nDisguised as a young student, Merlin was wandering one bright May\nmorning through the leafy glades of Broceliande, when, like the\nSeigneur of Nann, he came to a beautiful fountain in the heart of the\nforest which tempted him to rest. As he sat there in reverie, Vivien,\ndaughter of the lord of the manor of Broceliande, came to the water's\nedge. Her father had gained the affection of a fay of the valley, who\nhad promised on behalf of their daughter that she should be loved by\nthe wisest man in the world, who should grant all her wishes, but\nwould never be able to compel her to consent to his.\n\nVivien reclined upon the other side of the fountain, and the eyes of\nthe sage and maiden met. At length Merlin rose to depart, and gave the\ndamsel courteous good-day. But she, curious and not content with a\nmere salutation, wished him all happiness and honour. Her voice was\nbeautiful, her eyes expressive, and Merlin, moved beyond anything in\nhis experience, asked her name. She told him she was a daughter of a\ngentleman of that country, and in turn asked him who he might be.\n\n\"A scholar returning to his master,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Your master? And what may he teach you, young sir?\"\n\n\"He instructs me in the magic art, fair dame,\" replied Merlin, amused.\n\"By aid of his teaching I can raise a castle ere a man could count a\nscore, and garrison it with warriors of might. I can make a river flow\npast the spot on which you recline, I can raise spirits from the great\ndeeps of ether in which this world rolls, and can peer far into the\nfuture--aye, to the extreme of human days.\"\n\n\"Would that I shared your wisdom!\" cried Vivien, her voice thrilling\nwith the desire of hidden things which she had inherited from her\nfairy mother. \"Teach me these secrets, I entreat of you, noble\nscholar, and accept in return for your instruction my most tender\nfriendship.\"\n\nMerlin, willing to please her, arose, and traced certain mystical\ncharacters upon the greensward. Straightway the glade in which they\nsat was filled with knights, ladies, maidens, and esquires, who danced\nand disported themselves right joyously. A stately castle rose on the\nverge of the forest, and in the garden the spirits whom Merlin the\nenchanter had raised up in the semblance of knights and ladies held\ncarnival. Vivien, delighted, asked of Merlin in what manner he had\nachieved this feat of fa\u00ebry, and he told her that he would in time\ninstruct her as to the manner of accomplishing it. He then dismissed\nthe spirit attendants and dissipated the castle into thin air, but\nretained the garden at the request of Vivien, naming it 'Joyous\nGarden.'\n\nThen he made a tryst with Vivien to meet her in a year on the Vigil of\nSt John.\n\n[Illustration: MERLIN AND VIVIEN]\n\nNow Merlin had to be present at the espousal of Arthur, his King,\nwith Guinevere, at which he was to assist the archbishop, Dubric, as\npriest. The festivities over, he recalled his promise to Vivien, and\non the appointed day he once more assumed the guise of a travelling\nscholar and set out to meet the maiden in the forest of Broceliande.\nShe awaited him patiently in Joyous Garden, where they partook of a\ndainty repast. But the viands and the wines were wasted upon Merlin,\nfor Vivien was beside him and she alone filled his thoughts. She was\nfair of colour, and fresh with the freshness of all in the forest, and\nher hazel eyes made such fire within his soul that he conceived a\nmadness of love for her that all his wisdom, deep as it was, could not\ncontrol.\n\nBut Vivien was calm as a lake circled by trees, where no breath of the\npassion of tempest can come. Again and again she urged him to impart\nto her the secrets she so greatly longed to be acquainted with. And\nchiefly did she desire to know three things; these at all hazards must\nshe have power over. How, she asked, could water be made to flow in a\ndry place? In what manner could any form be assumed at will? And,\nlastly, how could one be made to fall asleep at the pleasure of\nanother?\n\n\"Wherefore ask you this last question, demoiselle?\" said Merlin,\nsuspicious even in his great passion for her.\n\n\"So that I may cast the spell of sleep over my father and my mother\nwhen I come to you, Merlin,\" she replied, with a beguiling glance,\n\"for did they know that I loved you they would slay me.\"\n\nMerlin hesitated, and so was lost. He imparted to her that hidden\nknowledge which she desired. Then they dwelt together for eight days\nin the Joyous Garden, during which time the sage, to Vivien's delight\nand amaze, related to her the marvellous circumstances of his birth.\n\nNext day Merlin departed, but came again to Broceliande when the\neglantine was flowering at the edge of the forest. Again he wore the\nscholar's garments. His aspect was youthful, his fair hair hung in\nringlets on his shoulders, and he appeared so handsome that a tender\nflower of love sprang up in Vivien's heart, and she felt that she must\nkeep him ever near her. But she knew full well that he whom she loved\nwas in reality well stricken in years, and she was sorrowful. But she\ndid not despair.\n\n\"Beloved,\" she whispered, \"will you grant me but one other boon? There\nis one secret more that I desire to learn.\"\n\nNow Merlin knew well ere she spoke what was in her mind, and he sighed\nand shook his head.\n\n\"Wherefore do you sigh?\" she asked innocently.\n\n\"I sigh because my fate is strong upon me,\" replied the sage. \"For it\nwas foreseen in the long ago that a lady should lead me captive and\nthat I should become her prisoner for all time. Neither have I the\npower to deny you what you ask of me.\"\n\nVivien embraced him rapturously.\n\n\"Ah, Merlin, beloved, is it not that you should always be with me?\"\nshe asked passionately. \"For your sake have I not given up father and\nmother, and are not all my thoughts and desires toward you?\"\n\nMerlin, carried away by her amorous eloquence, could only answer: \"It\nis yours to ask what you will.\"\n\nVivien then revealed to him her wish. She longed to learn from his\nlips an enchantment which would keep him ever near her, which would so\nbind him to her in the chains of love that nothing in the world could\npart him from her. Hearkening to her plea, he taught her such\nenchantment as would render him love's prisoner for ever.\n\nEvening was shrouding the forest in soft shadows when Merlin sank to\nrest. Vivien, waiting until his deep and regular breathing told her\nthat he was asleep, walked nine times around him, waving her cloak\nover his head, and muttering the mysterious words he had taught her.\nWhen the sage awoke he found himself in the Joyous Garden with Vivien\nby his side.\n\n\"You are mine for ever,\" she murmured. \"You can never leave me now.\"\n\n\"My delight will be ever to stay with you,\" he replied, enraptured.\n\"And oh, beloved, never leave me, I pray you, for I am bespelled so as\nto love you throughout eternity!\"\n\n\"Never shall I leave you,\" she replied; and in such manner the wise\nMerlin withdrew from the world of men to remain ever in the Joyous\nGarden with Vivien. Love had triumphed over wisdom.\n\nThe Arthurian version of the story does not, of course, represent\nVivien as does the old Breton legend. In Geoffrey of Monmouth's book\nand in the _Morte d'Arthur_ she is drawn as the scheming enchantress\nwho wishes to lure Merlin to his ruin for the joy of being able to\nboast of her conquest. In some romances she is alluded to as Nimue,\nand in others is described as the daughter of Dyonas, who perhaps is\nthe same as Dylan, a Brythonic (British) sea-god. As the Lady of the\nLake she is the foster-mother of Lancelot, and we should have no\ndifficulty in classing her as a water deity or spirit very much like\nthe Korrigan.\n\n\n_Merlin_\n\nBut Merlin is a very different character, and it is probable that the\nstory of his love for Vivien was composed at a comparatively late date\nfor the purpose of rounding off his fate in Arthurian legend. A recent\nhypothesis concerning him is to the effect that \"if he belongs to the\npagan period [of Celtic lore] at all, he was probably an ideal\nmagician or god of magicians.\"[27] Canon MacCulloch smiles at the late\nSir John Rhys's belief that Merlin was \"a Celtic Zeus,\" but his later\nsuggestion seems equally debatable. We must remember that we draw our\nconception of Merlin as Arthurian archimagus chiefly from late\nNorman-French sources and Celtic tradition. Ancient Brythonic\ntraditions concerning beings of much the same type as Merlin appear to\nhave existed, however, and the character of Lailoken in the life of St\nKentigern recalls his life-story. So far research on the subject seems\nto show that the legend of Merlin is a thing of complex growth,\ncomposed of traditions of independent and widely differing origin,\nmost of which were told about Celtic bards and soothsayers. Merlin is,\nin fact, the typical Druid or wise man of Celtic tradition, and there\nis not the slightest reason for believing that he was ever paid divine\nhonours. As a soothsayer of legend, he would assuredly belong to the\npagan period, however much he is indebted to Geoffrey of Monmouth for\nhis late popularity in pure romance.\n\n\n_The Fountain of Baranton_\n\nIn the country of Broceliande lies the magic fountain of Baranton,\nsequestered among hills and surrounded by deep woods. Says a\nthirteenth-century writer of this fountain:\n\n\"Oh, amazing wonder of the Fountain of Brecelien! If a drop be taken\nand poured on a certain rock beside the spring, immediately the water\nchanges into vapour, forms itself into great clouds filled with hail;\nthe air becomes thick with shadows, and resonant with the muttering of\nthunder. Those who have come through curiosity to behold the prodigy\nwish that they had never done so, so filled are their hearts with\nterror, and so does fear paralyse their limbs. Incredible as the\nmarvel may seem, yet the proofs of its reality are too abundant to be\ndoubted.\"\n\nHuon de M\u00e9ry was more fortunate than Wace. He sprinkled the magic\nstone which lay behind the fountain with water from the golden basin\nthat hung from the oak that shaded it, and beheld many marvels. And so\nmay he who has the seeing eye to-day.\n\n\nBROCELIANDE\n\n Ah, how remote, forlorn\n Sounded the sad, sweet horn\n In forest gloom enchanted!\n I saw the shadows of kings go riding by,\n But cerements mingled and paled with their panoply,\n And the moss-ways deadened the steps of steeds that never panted.\n\n Ah, what had phantasy\n In that sad sound to say,\n Sad as a spirit's wailing?\n A call from over the seas of shadowland,\n A call the soul of the soul might understand,\n But never, ah, never the mind, the steeps of soul assailing.\n\n\n_Bruno of La Montagne_\n\nThe old fragmentary romance of Bruno of La Montagne is eloquent of the\nfa\u00ebry spirit which informs all Breton lore. Butor, Baron of La\nMontagne, had married a young lady when he was himself of mature\nyears, and had a son, whom he resolved to take to a fountain where the\nfairies came to repose themselves. The Baron, describing this magic\nwell to the child's mother, says (we roughly translate):\n\n \"Some believe 'tis in Champagne,\n And others by the Rock Grifaigne;\n Perchance it is in Alemaigne,\n Or Bersillant de la Montagne;\n Some even think that 'tis in Spain,\n Or where sleeps Artus of Bretaigne.\"\n\nThe Seigneur gave his infant son into the keeping of Bruyant, a trusty\nfriend of his, and they set out for the fairy fountain with a troop of\nvassals. They left the infant in the forest of Broceliande. Here the\nfairies soon found him.\n\n\"Ha, sisters,\" said one whose skin was as white as the robe of\ngossamer she wore, and whose golden crown betokened her the queen of\nthe others, \"come hither and see a new-born infant. How, I wonder,\ndoes he come to be here? I am sure I did not behold him in this spot\nyesterday. Well, at all events, he must be baptized and suitably\nendowed, as is our custom when we discover a mortal child. Now what\nwill you give him?\"\n\n\"I will give him,\" said one, \"beauty and grace.\"\n\n\"I endow him,\" said a second, \"with generosity.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE FAIRIES OF BROCELIANDE FIND THE LITTLE BRUNO]\n\n\"And I,\" said a third, \"with such valour that he will overthrow all\nhis enemies at tourney and on the battlefield.\"\n\nThe Queen listened to these promises. \"Surely you have little sense,\"\nshe said. \"For my part, I wish that in his youth he may love one who\nwill be utterly insensible to him, and although he will be as you\ndesire, noble, generous, beautiful, and valorous, he will yet, for his\ngood, suffer keenly from the anguish of love.\"\n\n\"O Queen,\" said one of the fairies, \"what a cruel fate you have\nordained for this unfortunate child! But I myself shall watch over him\nand nurse him until he comes to such an age as he may love, when I\nmyself will try to engage his affections.\"\n\n\"For all that,\" said the Queen, \"I will not alter my design. You shall\nnot nurse this infant.\"\n\nThe fairies then disappeared. Shortly afterward Bruyant returned, and\ncarried the child back to the castle of La Montagne, where presently a\nfairy presented herself as nurse.\n\nUnfortunately the manuscript from which this tale is taken breaks off\nat this point, and we do not know how the Fairy Queen succeeded with\nher plans for the amorous education of the little Bruno. But the\nfragment, although tantalizing in the extreme, gives us some insight\ninto the nature of the fairies who inhabit the green fastnesses of\nBroceliande.\n\n\n_Fairies in Folk-lore_\n\nNearly all fairy-folk have in time grown to mortal height. Whether\nfairies be the decayed poor relations of more successful deities, gods\nwhose cult has been forgotten and neglected (as the Irish _Sidhe_, or\nfairy-folk), or diminutive animistic spirits, originating in the\nbelief that every object, small or great, possessed a personality, it\nis noticeable that Celtic fairies are of human height, while those of\nthe Teutonic peoples are usually dwarfish. Titania may come originally\nfrom the loins of Titans or she may be Diana come down in the world,\nand Oberon may hail from a very different and more dwarfish source,\nbut in Shakespeare's England they have grown sufficiently to permit\nthem to tread the boards of the Globe Theatre with normal humans.\nScores of fairies mate with mortal men, and men, as a rule, do not\ncare for dwarf-wives. Among Celts, at least, the fay, whatever her\noriginal stature, in later times had certainly achieved the height of\nmortal womanhood.\n\nIn Upper Brittany, where French is the language in general use, the\nusual French ideas concerning fairies prevail. They are called _f\u00e9es_\nor _fetes_ (Latin _fata_), and sometimes _fions_, which reminds us of\nthe _fions_ of Scottish and Irish folk-lore.[28] There are old people\nstill alive who claim to have seen the fairies, and who describe them\nvariously, but the general belief seems to be that they disappeared\nfrom the land several generations ago. One old man described them as\nhaving teeth as long as one's hand, and as wearing garments of\nsea-weed or leaves. They were human in aspect, said another ancient\nwhom S\u00e9billot questioned; their clothes were seamless, and it was\nimpossible to say by merely looking at them whether they were male or\nfemale. Their garments were of the most brilliant colours imaginable,\nbut if one approached them too closely these gaudy hues disappeared.\nThey wore a kind of bonnet shaped like a crown, which appeared to be\npart of their person.\n\nThe people of the coast say that the fairies are an accursed race who\nare condemned to walk the earth for a certain space. Some even think\nthem rebellious angels who have been sent to earth for a time to\nexpiate their offences against heaven. For the most part they inhabit\nthe dolmens and the grottos and caverns on the coast.[29]\n\nOn the shores of the Channel are numerous grottos or caverns which the\nBretons call _houles_, and these are supposed to harbour a distinct\nclass of fairy. Some of these caverns are from twenty to thirty feet\nhigh, and so extensive that it is unwise to explore them too far.\nOthers seem only large enough to hold a single person, but if one\nenters he will find himself in a spacious natural chamber. The\ninhabitants of these depths, like all their kind, prefer to sally\nforth by night rather than by day. In the day-time they are not seen\nbecause they smear themselves with a magic ointment which renders them\ninvisible; but at night they are visible to everybody.\n\n\n_The Lost Daughter_\n\nThere was once upon a time a labourer of Saint-Cast named Marc\nBourdais, but, according to the usage of the country, he had a\nnickname and was called Maraud. One day he was returning home when he\nheard the sound of a horn beneath his feet, and asked a companion who\nchanced to be with him if he had heard it also.\n\n\"Of course I did,\" replied the fellow; \"it is a fairy horn.\"\n\n\"Umph,\" said Maraud. \"Ask the fairies, then, to bring us a slice of\nbread.\"\n\nHis companion knelt down and shouted out the request, but nothing\nhappened and they resumed their way.\n\nThey had not gone far, however, when they beheld a slice of beautiful\nwhite bread lying on a snowy napkin by the roadside. Maraud picked it\nup and found that it was well buttered and as toothsome as a cake, and\nwhen they had divided and eaten it they felt their hunger completely\nsatisfied. But he who has fed well is often thirsty, so Maraud,\nlowering his head, and speaking to the little folk beneath, cried:\n\"Hullo, there! Bring us something to drink, if you please.\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken when they beheld a pot of cider and a glass\nreposing on the ground in front of them. Maraud filled the glass, and,\nraising it to his lips, quaffed of the fairy cider. It was clear and\nof a rich colour, and he declared that it was by far the best that he\nhad ever tasted. His friend drank likewise, and when they returned to\nthe village that night they had a good story to tell of how they had\neaten and drunk at the expense of the fairies. But their friends and\nneighbours shook their heads and regarded them sadly.\n\n\"Alas! poor fellows,\" they said, \"if you have eaten fairy food and\ndrunk fairy liquor you are as good as dead men.\"\n\nNothing happened to them within the next few days, however, and it was\nwith light hearts that one morning they returned to work in the\nneighbourhood of the spot where they had met with such a strange\nadventure. When they arrived at the place they smelt the odour of\ncakes which had been baked with black corn, and a fierce hunger at\nonce took possession of them.\n\n\"Ha!\" said Maraud, \"the fairies are baking to-day. Suppose we ask them\nfor a cake or two.\" \"No, no!\" replied his friend. \"Ask them if you\nwish, but I will have none of them.\"\n\n\"Pah!\" cried Maraud, \"what are you afraid of?\" And he cried: \"Below\nthere! Bring me a cake, will you?\"\n\nTwo fine cakes at once appeared. Maraud seized upon one, but when he\nhad cut it he perceived that it was made of hairs, and he threw it\ndown in disgust.\n\n\"You wicked old sorcerer!\" he cried. \"Do you mean to mock me?\"\n\nBut as he spoke the cakes disappeared.\n\nNow there lived in the village a widow with seven children, and a hard\ntask she had to find bread for them all. She heard tell of Maraud's\nadventure with the fairies, and pondered on the chance of receiving a\nlike hospitality from them, that the seven little mouths she had to\nprovide for might be filled. So she made up her mind to go to a fairy\ngrotto she knew of and ask for bread. \"Surely,\" she thought, \"what the\ngood people give to others who do not require it they will give to me,\nwhose need is so great.\" When she had come to the entrance of the\ngrotto she knocked on the side of it as one knocks on a door, and\nthere at once appeared a little old dame with a great bunch of keys\nhanging at her side. She appeared to be covered with limpets, and\nmould and moss clung to her as to a rock. To the widow she seemed at\nleast a thousand years old.\n\n\"What do you desire, my good woman?\" she asked.\n\n\"Alas! madame,\" said the widow, \"might I have a little bread for my\nseven children? Give me some, I beseech you, and I will remember you\nin my prayers.\"\n\n\"I am not the mistress here,\" replied the old woman. \"I am only the\nporteress, and it is at least a hundred years since I have been out.\nBut return to-morrow and I will promise to speak for you.\"\n\nNext day at the same time the widow returned to the cave, and found\nthe old porteress waiting for her.\n\n\"I have spoken for you,\" said she, \"and here is a loaf of bread for\nyou, and those who send it wish to speak to you.\"\n\n\"Bring me to them,\" said the widow, \"that I may thank them.\"\n\n\"Not to-day,\" replied the porteress. \"Return to-morrow at the same\nhour and I will do so.\"\n\nThe widow returned to the village and told her neighbours of her\nsuccess. Every one came to see the fairy loaf, and many begged a\npiece.\n\nNext day the poor woman returned to the grotto in the hope that she\nwould once more benefit from the little folks' bounty. The porteress\nwas there as usual.\n\n\"Well, my good woman,\" said she, \"did you find my bread to your taste?\nHere is the lady who has befriended you,\" and she indicated a\nbeautiful lady, who came smilingly from the darkness of the cavern.\n\n\"Ah, madame,\" said the widow, \"I thank you with all my heart for your\ncharity.\"\n\n\"The loaf will last a long time,\" said the fairy, \"and you will find\nthat you and your family will not readily finish it.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the widow, \"last night all my neighbours insisted on\nhaving a piece, so that it is now entirely eaten.\"\n\n\"Well,\" replied the fay, \"I will give you another loaf. So long as you\nor your children partake of it it will not grow smaller and will\nalways remain fresh, but if you should give the least morsel to a\nstranger the loaf will disappear. But as I have helped you, so must\nyou help me. I have four cows, and I wish to send them out to\npasture. Promise me that one of your daughters will guard them for\nme.\"\n\nThe widow promised, and next morning sent one of her daughters out to\nlook for the cows, which were to be pastured in a field where there\nwas but little herbage. A neighbour saw her there, and asked what she\nwas doing in that deserted place.\n\n\"Oh, I am watching the fairy cows,\" replied she. The woman looked at\nher and smiled, for there were no cows there and she thought the girl\nhad become half-witted.\n\nWith the evening the fairy of the grotto came herself to fetch the\ncows, and she said to the little cowherd:\n\n\"How would you like to be godmother to my child?\"\n\n\"It would be a pleasure, madame,\" replied the girl.\n\n\"Well, say nothing to any one, not even to your mother,\" replied the\nfairy, \"for if you do I shall never bring you anything more to eat.\"\n\nA few days afterward a fairy came to tell the girl to prepare to come\nto the cavern on the morrow, as on that day the infant was to be\nnamed. Next day, according to the fairy's instructions, she presented\nherself at the mouth of the grotto, and in due course was made\ngodmother to the little fairy. For two days she remained there, and\nwhen she left her godchild was already grown up. She had, as a matter\nof fact, unconsciously remained with the 'good people' for ten years,\nand her mother had long mourned her as dead. Meanwhile the fairies had\nrequested the poor widow to send another of her daughters to watch\ntheir cows.\n\nWhen at last the absent one returned to the village she went straight\nhome, and her mother on beholding her gave a great cry. The girl could\nnot understand her agitation, believing as she did that she had been\nabsent for two days only.\n\n\"Two days!\" echoed the mother. \"You have been away ten years! Look how\nyou have grown!\"\n\nAfter she had overcome her surprise the girl resumed her household\nduties as if nothing particular had happened, and knitted a pair of\nstockings for her godchild. When they were finished she carried them\nto the fairy grotto, where, as she thought, she spent the afternoon.\nBut in reality she had been away from home this time for five years.\nAs she was leaving, her godchild gave her a purse, saying: \"This purse\nis full of gold. Whenever you take a piece out another one will come\nin its place, but if any one else uses it it will lose all its\nvirtue.\"\n\nWhen the girl returned to the village at last it was to find her\nmother dead, her brothers gone abroad, and her sisters married, so\nthat she was the only one left at home. As she was pretty and a good\nhousewife she did not want for lovers, and in due time she chose one\nfor a husband. She did not tell her spouse about the purse she had had\nfrom the fairies, and if she wanted to give him a piece of gold she\nwithdrew it from the magic purse in secret. She never went back to the\nfairy cavern, as she had no mind to return from it and find her\nhusband an old man.\n\n\n_The Fisherman and the Fairies_\n\nA fisherman of Saint-Jacut-de-la-Mer, walking home to his cottage from\nhis boat one evening along the wet sands, came, unawares, upon a\nnumber of fairies in a _houle_. They were talking and laughing gaily,\nand the fisherman observed that while they made merry they rubbed\ntheir bodies with a kind of ointment or pomade. All at once, to the\nold salt's surprise, they turned into ordinary women. Concealing\nhimself behind a rock, the fisherman watched them until the now\ncompletely transformed immortals quitted their haunt and waddled away\nin the guise of old market-women.\n\n[Illustration: FAIRIES IN A BRETON 'HOULE']\n\nThe fisherman waited until they were well out of sight, and then\nentered the cavern, where the first object that met his gaze was the\npot of ointment which had effected the marvellous change he had\nwitnessed. Taking some of the pomade on his forefinger, he smeared it\naround his left eye. He afterward found that he could penetrate the\nvarious disguises assumed by the fairies wherever he met them, and\nthat these were for the most part adopted for the purposes of\ntrickery. Thus he was able to see a fairy in the assumed shape of a\nbeggar-woman going from door to door demanding alms, seeking an\nopportunity to steal or work mischief, and all the while casting\nspells upon those who were charitable enough to assist her. Again, he\ncould distinguish real fish caught in his net at sea from merwomen\ndisguised as fish, who were desirous of entangling the nets or\notherwise distressing and annoying the fishermen.\n\nBut nowhere was the disguised fairy race so much in evidence as at the\nfair of Ploubalay, where he recognized several of the elusive folk in\nthe semblance of raree-showmen, fortune-tellers, and the like, who had\ntaken these shapes in order to deceive. He was quietly smiling at\ntheir pranks, when some of the fairies who composed a troupe of\nperformers in front of one of the booths regarded him very earnestly.\nHe felt certain that they had penetrated his secret, but ere he could\nmake off one of them threw a stick at him with such violence that it\nstruck and burst the offending left eye.\n\nFairies in all lands have a constitutional distaste for being\nrecognized, but those of Brittany appear to visit their vengeance upon\nthe members with which they are actually beheld. \"See what thieves the\nfairies are!\" cried a woman, on beholding one abstract apples from a\ncountrywoman's pocket. The predatory elf at once turned round and tore\nout the eye that had marked his act.\n\nA Cornish woman who chanced to find herself the guardian of an\nelf-child was given certain water with which to wash its face. The\nliquid had the property of illuminating the infant's face with a\nsupernatural brightness, and the woman ventured to try it upon\nherself, and in doing so splashed a little into one eye. This gave her\nthe fairy sight. One day in the market-place she saw a fairy man\nstealing, and gave the alarm, when the enraged sprite cried:\n\n \"Water for elf, not water for self.\n You've lost your eye, your child, and yourself.\"\n\nShe was immediately stricken blind in the right eye, her fairy\nfoster-child vanished, and she and her husband sank into poverty and\nwant.\n\nAnother Breton tale recounts how a mortal woman was given a polished\nstone in the form of an egg wherewith to rub a fairy child's eyes. She\napplied it to her own right eye, and became possessed of magic sight\nso far as elves were concerned. Still another case, alluded to in the\n_Revue Celtique_,[30] arose through 'the sacred bond' formed between a\nfairy man and a mortal woman where both stood as godparents to a\nchild. The association enabled the woman to see magically. The fairy\nmaiden Rockflower bestows a similar gift on her lover in a Breton tale\nfrom Saint-Cast, and speaks of \"clearing his eyes like her own.\"[31]\n\n\n_Changelings_\n\nThe Breton fairies, like others of their race, are fond of kidnapping\nmortal children and leaving in their places wizened elves who cause\nthe greatest trouble to the distressed parents. The usual method of\nridding a family of such a changeling is to surprise it in some\nmanner so that it will betray its true character. Thus, on suspicion\nresting upon a certain Breton infant who showed every sign of\nchangeling nature, milk was boiled on the fire in egg-shells,\nwhereupon the impish youngster cried: \"I shall soon be a hundred\nyears old, but I never saw so many shells boiling! I was born in\nPif and Paf, in the country where cats are made, but I never saw\nanything like it!\" Thus self-revealed, the elf was expelled from\nthe house. In most Northern tales where the changeling betrays itself\nit at once takes flight and a train of elves appears, bringing back\nthe true infant. Again, if the wizened occupant of the cradle can be\nmade to laugh that is accepted as proof of its fairy nature.\n\"Something ridiculous,\" says Simrock, \"must be done to cause him to\nlaugh, for laughter brings deliverance.\"[32] The same stratagem\nappears to be used as the cure in English and Scots changeling tales.\n\n\n_The King of the Fishes_\n\nThe Breton fays were prone, too, to take the shape of animals,\nbirds, and even of fish. As we have seen, the sea-fairies of\nSaint-Jacut-de-la-Mer were in the habit of taking the shape of fish\nfor the purpose of annoying fishermen and damaging their gear.\nAnother Breton tale from Saint-Cast illustrates their penchant for\nthe fish shape. A fisherman of that town one day was lucky enough to\ncatch the King of the Fishes disguised as a small golden fish. The\nfish begged hard to be released, and promised, if he were set free, to\nsacrifice as many of his subjects as would daily fill the fisherman's\nnets. On this understanding the finny monarch was given his liberty,\nand fulfilled his promise to the letter. Moreover, when the\nfisherman's boat was capsized in a gale the Fish King appeared, and,\nholding a flask to the drowning man's lips, made him drink a magic\nfluid which ensured his ability to exist under water. He conveyed the\nfisherman to his capital, a place of dazzling splendour, paved\nwith gold and gems. The rude caster of nets instantly filled his\npockets with the spoil of this marvellous causeway. Though probably\nrather disturbed by the incident, the Fish King, with true royal\npoliteness, informed him that whenever he desired to return the way\nwas open to him. The fisherman expressed his sorrow at having to\nleave such a delightful environment, but added that unless he\nreturned to earth his wife and family would regard him as lost. The\nFish King called a large tunny-fish, and as Arion mounted the dolphin\nin the old Argolian tale, so the fisherman approached the tunny,\nwhich\n\n Hollowed his back and shaped it as a selle.[33]\n\nThe fisherman at once\n\n Seized the strange sea-steed by his bristling fin\n And vaulted on his shoulders; the fleet fish\n Swift sought the shallows and the friendly shore.[34]\n\nBefore dismissing the fisherman, however, the Fish King presented him\nwith an inexhaustible purse--probably as a hint that it would be\nunnecessary for him on a future visit to disturb his paving\narrangements.\n\n\n_Fairy Origins_\n\nTwo questions which early obtrude themselves in the consideration of\nBreton fairy-lore are: Are all the fays of Brittany malevolent? And,\nif so, whence proceeds this belief that fairy-folk are necessarily\nmalign? Example treads upon example to prove that the Breton fairy is\nseldom beneficent, that he or she is prone to ill-nature and\nspitefulness, not to say fiendish malice on occasion. There appears to\nbe a deep-rooted conviction that the elfish race devotes itself to the\nannoyance of mankind, practising a species of peculiarly irritating\ntrickery, wanton and destructive. Only very rarely is a spirit of\nfriendliness evinced, and then a motive is usually obvious. The\n'friendly' fairy invariably has an axe to grind.\n\nTwo reasons may be advanced to account for this condition of things.\nFirst, the fairy-folk--in which are included house and field\nspirits--may be the traditional remnant of a race of real people,\nperhaps a prehistoric race, driven into the remote parts of the\ncountry by strange immigrant conquerors. Perhaps these primitive folk\nwere elfish, dwarfish, or otherwise peculiar in appearance to the\nsuperior new-comers, who would in pride of race scorn the small,\nswarthy aborigines, and refuse all communion with them. We may be sure\nthat the aborigines, on their part, would feel for their tall,\nhandsome conquerors all the hatred of which a subject race is capable,\nnever approaching them unless under compulsion or necessity, and\nrevenging themselves upon them by every means of annoyance in their\npower. We may feel certain, too, that the magic of these conquered and\ndiscredited folk would be made full use of to plague the usurpers of\nthe soil, and trickery, as irritating as any elf-pranks, would be\nbrought to increase the discomfort of the new-comers.\n\nThere are, however, several good objections to this view of the origin\nof the fairy idea. First and foremost, the smaller prehistoric\naboriginal peoples of Europe themselves possessed tales of little\npeople, of spirits of field and forest, flood and fell. It is unlikely\nthat man was ever without these.\n\n Yea, I sang, as now I sing, when the Prehistoric Spring\n Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove,\n And the troll, and gnome, and dwerg, and the gods of cliff and berg\n Were about me and beneath me and above.[35]\n\nThe idea of animism, the belief that everything had a personality of\nits own, certainly belonged to the later prehistoric period, for among\nthe articles which fill the graves of aboriginal peoples, for use on\nthe last journey, we find weapons to enable the deceased to drive off\nthe evil spirits which would surround his own after death. Spirits, to\nearly man, are always relatively smaller than himself. He beholds the\n\"picture of a little man\" in his comrade's eyes, and concludes it to\nbe his 'soul.' Some primitive peoples, indeed, believe that several\nparts of the body have each their own resident soul. Again, the spirit\nof the corn or the spirit of the flower, the savage would argue, must\nin the nature of things be small. We can thus see how the belief in\n'the little folk' may have arisen, and how they remained little until\na later day.\n\nA much more scientific theory of the origin of the belief in fairies\nis that which sees in them the deities of a discredited religion, the\ngods of an aboriginal people, rather than the people themselves. Such\nwere the Irish _Daoine Sidhe_, and the Welsh _y Mamau_ ('the\nMothers')--undoubtedly gods of the Celts. Again, although in many\ncountries, especially in England, the fairies are regarded as small of\nstature, in Celtic countries the fay proper, as distinct from the\nbrownie and such goblins, is of average mortal height, and this would\nseem to be the case in Brittany. Whether the gorics and courils of\nBrittany, who seem sufficiently small, are fairies or otherwise is a\nmoot point. They seem to be more of the field spirit type, and are\nperhaps classed more correctly with the gnome race; we thus deal with\nthem in our chapter on sprites and demons. It would seem, too, as if\nthere might be ground for the belief that the normal-sized fairy race\nof Celtic countries had become confounded with the Teutonic idea of\nelves (Teut. _Elfen_) in Germany and England, from which, perhaps,\nthey borrowed their diminutive size.\n\nBut these are only considerations, not conclusions. Strange as it may\nseem, folk-lore has by no means solved the fairy problem, and much\nremains to be accomplished ere we can write 'Finis' to the study of\nfairy origins.\n\n\n_The Margots_\n\nAnother Breton name for the fairies is _les Margots la f\u00e9e_, a title\nwhich is chiefly employed in several districts of the C\u00f4tes-du-Nord,\nprincipally in the _arrondissements_ of Saint-Brieuc and Loud\u00e9ac, to\ndescribe those fairies who have their abode in large rocks and on the\nwild and extensive moorlands which are so typical of the country.\nThese, unlike the _f\u00e9es houles_, are able to render themselves\ninvisible at pleasure. Like human beings, they are subject to\nmaladies, and are occasionally glad to accept mortal succour. They\nreturn kindness for kindness, but are vindictive enemies to those who\nattempt to harm them.\n\nBut fairy vindictiveness is not lavished upon those unwitting mortals\nwho do them harm alone. If one chances to succeed in a task set by the\nimmortals of the forest, one is in danger of death, as the following\nstory shows.\n\n\n_The Boy who Served the Fairies_\n\nA poor little fellow was one day gathering faggots in the forest when\na gay, handsomely dressed gentleman passed him, and, noticing the\nlad's ragged and forlorn condition, said to him: \"What are you doing\nthere, my boy?\"\n\n\"I am looking for wood, sir,\" replied the boy. \"If I did not do so we\nshould have no fire at home.\"\n\n\"You are very poor at home, then?\" asked the gentleman.\n\n\"So poor,\" said the lad, \"that sometimes we only eat once a day, and\noften go supperless to bed.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE POOR BOY AND THE THREE FAIRY DAMSELS]\n\n\"That is a sad tale,\" said the gentleman. \"If you will promise to\nmeet me here within a month I will give you some money, which will\nhelp your parents and feed and clothe your small brothers and\nsisters.\"\n\nPrompt to the day and the hour, the boy kept the tryst in the forest\nglade, at the very spot where he had met the gentleman. But though he\nlooked anxiously on every side he could see no signs of his friend. In\nhis anxiety he pushed farther into the forest, and came to the borders\nof a pond, where three damsels were preparing to bathe. One was\ndressed in white, another in grey, and the third in blue. The boy\npulled off his cap, gave them good-day, and asked politely if they had\nnot seen a gentleman in the neighbourhood. The maiden who was dressed\nin white told him where the gentleman was to be found, and pointed out\na road by which he might arrive at his castle.\n\n\"He will ask you,\" said she, \"to become his servant, and if you accept\nhe will wish you to eat. The first time that he presents the food to\nyou, say: 'It is I who should serve you.' If he asks you a second time\nmake the same reply; but if he should press you a third time refuse\nbrusquely and thrust away the plate which he offers you.\"\n\nThe boy was not long in finding the castle, and was at once shown into\nthe gentleman's presence. As the maiden dressed in white had foretold,\nhe requested the youth to enter his service, and when his offer was\naccepted placed before him a plate of viands. The lad bowed politely,\nbut refused the food. A second time it was offered, but he persisted\nin his refusal, and when it was proffered to him a third time he\nthrust it away from him so roughly that it fell to the ground and the\nplate was broken.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the gentleman, \"you are just the kind of servant I require.\nYou are now my lackey, and if you are able to do three things that I\ncommand you I will give you one of my daughters for your wife and you\nshall be my son-in-law.\"\n\nThe next day he gave the boy a hatchet of lead, a saw of paper, and a\nwheelbarrow made of oak-leaves, bidding him fell, bind up, and measure\nall the wood in the forest within a radius of seven leagues. The new\nservant at once commenced his task, but the hatchet of lead broke at\nthe first blow, the saw of paper buckled at the first stroke, and the\nwheelbarrow of oak-leaves was broken by the weight of the first little\nbranch he placed on it. The lad in despair sat down, and could do\nnothing but gaze at the useless implements. At midday the damsel\ndressed in white whom he had seen at the pond came to bring him\nsomething to eat.\n\n\"Alas!\" she cried, \"why do you sit thus idle? If my father should come\nand find that you have done nothing he would kill you.\"\n\n\"I can do nothing with such wretched tools,\" grumbled the lad.\n\n\"Do you see this wand?\" said the damsel, producing a little rod. \"Take\nit in your hand and walk round the forest, and the work will take care\nof itself. At the same time say these words: 'Let the wood fall, tie\nitself into bundles, and be measured.'\"\n\nThe boy did as the damsel advised him, and matters proceeded so\nsatisfactorily that by a little after midday the work was completed.\nIn the evening the gentleman said to him:\n\n\"Have you accomplished your task?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Do you wish to see it? The wood is cut and tied into\nbundles of the proper weight and measurement.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said the gentleman. \"To-morrow I will set you the second\ntask.\"\n\nOn the following morning he took the lad to a knoll some distance from\nthe castle, and said to him:\n\n\"You see this rising ground? By this evening you must have made it a\ngarden well planted with fruit-trees and having a fish-pond in the\nmiddle, where ducks and other water-fowl may swim. Here are your\ntools.\"\n\nThe tools were a pick of glass and a spade of earthenware. The boy\ncommenced the work, but at the first stroke his fragile pick and spade\nbroke into a thousand fragments. For the second time he sat down\nhelplessly. Time passed slowly, and as before at midday the damsel in\nwhite brought him his dinner.\n\n\"So I find you once more with your arms folded,\" she said.\n\n\"I cannot work with a pick of glass and an earthenware spade,\"\ncomplained the youth.\n\n\"Here is another wand,\" said the damsel. \"Take it and walk round this\nknoll, saying: 'Let the place be planted and become a beautiful garden\nwith fruit-trees, in the middle of which is a fish-pond with ducks\nswimming upon it.'\"\n\nThe boy took the wand, did as he was bid, and the work was speedily\naccomplished. A beautiful garden arose as if by enchantment, well\nfurnished with fruit-trees of all descriptions and ornamented with a\nsmall sheet of water.\n\nOnce more his master was quite satisfied with the result, and on the\nthird morning set him his third task. He took him beneath one of the\ntowers of the castle.\n\n\"Behold this tower,\" he said. \"It is of polished marble. You must\nclimb it, and at the top you will find a turtle-dove, which you must\nbring to me.\"\n\nThe gentleman, who was of opinion that the damsel in white had helped\nhis servant in the first two tasks, sent her to the town to buy\nprovisions. When she received this order the maiden retired to her\nchamber and burst into tears. Her sisters asked her what was the\nmatter, and she told them that she wished to remain at the castle, so\nthey promised to go to the town in her stead. At midday she found the\nlad sitting at the foot of the tower bewailing the fact that he could\nnot climb its smooth and glassy sides.\n\n\"I have come to help you once more,\" said the damsel. \"You must get a\ncauldron, then cut me into morsels and throw in all my bones, without\nmissing a single one. It is the only way to succeed.\"\n\n\"Never!\" exclaimed the youth. \"I would sooner die than harm such a\nbeautiful lady as you.\"\n\n\"Yet you must do as I say,\" she replied.\n\nFor a long time the youth refused, but at last he gave way to the\nmaiden's entreaties, cut her into little pieces, and placed the bones\nin a large cauldron, forgetting, however, the little toe of her left\nfoot. Then he rose as if by magic to the top of the tower, found the\nturtle-dove, and came down again.[36] Having completed his task, he\ntook a wand which lay beside the cauldron, and when he touched the\nbones they came together again and the damsel stepped out of the\ngreat pot none the worse for her experience.\n\nWhen the young fellow carried the dove to his master the gentleman\nsaid:\n\n\"It is well. I shall carry out my promise and give you one of my\ndaughters for your wife, but all three shall be veiled and you must\npick the one you desire without seeing her face.\"\n\nThe three damsels were then brought into his presence, but the lad\neasily recognized the one who had assisted him, because she lacked the\nsmall toe of the left foot. So he chose her without hesitation, and\nthey were married.\n\nBut the gentleman was not content with the marriage. On the day of the\nbridal he placed the bed of the young folks over a vault, and hung it\nfrom the roof by four cords. When they had gone to bed he came to the\ndoor of the chamber and said:\n\n\"Son-in-law, are you asleep?\"\n\n\"No, not yet,\" replied the youth.\n\nSome time afterward he repeated his question, and met with a similar\nanswer.\n\n\"The next time he comes,\" said the bride, \"pretend that you are\nsleeping.\"\n\nShortly after that his father-in-law asked once more if he were\nasleep, and receiving no answer retired, evidently well satisfied.\n\nWhen he had gone the bride made her husband rise at once. \"Go\ninstantly to the stables,\" said she, \"and take there the horse which\nis called Little Wind, mount him, and fly.\"\n\nThe young fellow hastened to comply with her request, and he had\nscarcely left the chamber when the master of the castle returned and\nasked if his daughter were asleep. She answered \"No,\" and, bidding her\narise and come with him, he cut the cords, so that the bed fell into\nthe vault beneath. The bride now heard the trampling of hoofs in the\ngarden outside, and rushed out to find her husband in the act of\nmounting.\n\n\"Stay!\" she cried. \"You have taken Great Wind instead of Little Wind,\nas I advised you, but there is no help for it,\" and she mounted behind\nhim. Great Wind did not belie his name, and dashed into the night like\na tempest.\n\n\"Do you see anything?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"No, nothing,\" said her husband.\n\n\"Look again,\" she said. \"Do you see anything now?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"I see a great flame of fire.\"\n\nThe bride took her wand, struck it three times, and said: \"I change\nthee, Great Wind, into a garden, myself into a pear-tree, and my\nhusband into a gardener.\"\n\nThe transformation had hardly been effected when the master of the\ncastle and his wife came up with them.\n\n\"Ha, my good man,\" cried he to the seeming gardener, \"has any one on\nhorseback passed this way?\"\n\n\"Three pears for a sou,\" said the gardener.\n\n\"That is not an answer to my question,\" fumed the old wizard, for such\nhe was. \"I asked if you had seen any one on horseback in this\ndirection.\"\n\n\"Four for a sou, then, if you will,\" said the gardener.\n\n\"Idiot!\" foamed the enchanter, and dashed on in pursuit. The young\nwife then changed herself, her horse, and her husband into their\nnatural forms, and, mounting once more, they rode onward.\n\n\"Do you see anything now?\" asked she.\n\n\"Yes, I see a great flame of fire,\" he replied.\n\nOnce more she took her wand. \"I change this steed into a church,\" she\nsaid, \"myself into an altar, and my husband into a priest.\"\n\nVery soon the wizard and his wife came to the doors of the church and\nasked the priest if a youth and a lady had passed that way on\nhorseback.\n\n\"Dominus vobiscum,\" said the priest, and nothing more could the wizard\nget from him.\n\nPursued once more, the young wife changed the horse into a river,\nherself into a boat, and her husband into a boatman. When the wizard\ncame up with them he asked to be ferried across the river. The boatman\nat once made room for them, but in the middle of the stream the boat\ncapsized and the enchanter and his wife were drowned.\n\nThe young lady and her husband returned to the castle, seized the\ntreasure of its fairy lord, and, says tradition, lived happily ever\nafterward, as all young spouses do in fairy-tale.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [20] _Roman de Rou_, v. 6415 ff.\n\n [21] Consult original ballad in Vicomte de la Villemarqu\u00e9's _Chants\n populaires de la Bretagne_.\n\n [22] MacCulloch, _The Religion of the Ancient Celts_, p. 116\n (Edinburgh, 1911).\n\n [23] See _Ballads and Metrical Tales, illustrating the Fairy Mythology\n of Europe_ (anonymous, London, 1857) for a metrical version of\n this tale.\n\n [24] Lib. III, cap. vi.\n\n [25] Paris, 1670. Strange that this book should have been seized upon\n by students of the occult as a 'text-book' furnishing\n longed-for details of the 'lost knowledge' concerning\n elementary spirits, when it is, in effect, a very whole-hearted\n satire upon belief in such beings!\n\n [26] Villemarqu\u00e9, _Myrdhinn, ou l'Enchanteur Merlin_ (1861).\n\n [27] MacCulloch, _The Religion of the Ancient Celts_, p. 122.\n\n [28] Or subterranean dwellers. See D. MacRitchie's _Fians, Fairies,\n and Picts_ (1893).\n\n [29] See the chapter on \"Menhirs and Dolmens.\"\n\n [30] Vol. i, p. 231.\n\n [31] _Contes populaires de la Haute-Bretagne_ (Paris, 1880).\n\n [32] _Handbuch der deutschen Mythologie._\n\n [33] Saddle.\n\n [34] See the author's _Le Roi d'Ys and other Poems_ (London, 1910).\n\n [35] Kipling, \"Primum Tempus.\"\n\n [36] In folk-tales of this nature a ladder is usually made of the\n bones, but this circumstance seems to have been omitted in the\n present instance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV: SPRITES AND DEMONS OF BRITTANY\n\n\nThe idea of the evil spirit, malicious and revengeful, is common to\nall primitive peoples, and Brittany has its full share of demonology.\nWherever, in fact, a primitive and illiterate peasantry is found the\ndemon is its inevitable accompaniment. But we shall not find these\nBreton devils so very different from the fiends of other lands.\n\n\n_The Nain_\n\nThe nain is a figure fearsomely Celtic in its hideousness, resembling\nthe gargoyles which peer down upon the traveller from the carven\n'top-hamper' of so many Breton churches. Black and menacing of\ncountenance, these demon-folk are armed with feline claws, and their\nfeet end in hoofs like those of a satyr. Their dark elf-locks, small,\ngleaming eyes, red as carbuncles, and harsh, cracked voices are all\ndilated upon with fear by those who have met them upon lonely heaths\nor unfrequented roads. They haunt the ancient dolmens built by a\nvanished race, and at night, by the pale starlight, they dance around\nthese ruined tombs to the music of a primitive refrain:\n\n \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n Thursday and Friday.\"\n\nSaturday and Sunday they dare not mention as being days sacred from\nfairy influence. We all remember that in the old tale of Tom Thumb the\nelves among whom the hero fell sang such a refrain. But wherefore? It\nwould indeed be difficult to say. Deities, credited and discredited,\nhave often a connexion with the calendar, and we may have here some\ncalendric reference, or again the chant may be merely a nonsense\nrhyme. Bad luck attached itself to the human who chanced to behold the\nmidnight revels of the nains, and if he entered the charmed circle and\ndanced along with them his death was certain to ensue before the year\nwas out. Wednesday was the nains' high-day, or rather night, and their\ngreat _nuit festale_ was the first Wednesday in May. That they should\nhave possessed a fixed festival at such a period, full of religious\nsignificance for most primitive peoples, would seem to show that they\nmust at one time have been held in considerable esteem.\n\nBut although the nains while away their time in such simple fashion as\ndancing to the repetition of the names of the days of the week, they\nhave a less innocent side to their characters, for they are forgers of\nfalse money, which they fabricate in the recesses of caverns. We all\nrecall stories of fairy gold and its perishable nature. A simple youth\nsells something on market day to a fairy, and later on turning over in\nhis pocket the money he has received he finds that it has been\ntransformed into beans. The housewife receives gold from a fairy for\nservices rendered, and carefully places it in a drawer. A day when she\nrequires it arrives, but, alas! when she opens the cabinet to take it\nout she finds nothing but a small heap of withered leaves. It is such\nmoney that the nains manufacture in their subterranean mints--coin\nwhich bears the fairy impress of glamourie for a space, but on later\nexamination proves to be merely dross.\n\nThe nains are also regarded as the originators of a cabalistic\nalphabet, the letters of which are engraved on several of the\nmegalithic monuments of Morbihan, and especially those of Gavr'inis.\nHe who is able to decipher this magic script, says tradition, will be\nable to tell where hidden treasure is to be found in any part of the\ncountry. Lest any needy folk be of a mind to fare to Brittany to try\ntheir luck in this respect it is only right to warn them that in all\nprobability they will find the treasure formula in ogham characters or\nserpentine markings, and that as the first has long ago been\ndeciphered and the second is pure symbolism they will waste their time\nand money in any event.\n\nSorcery hangs about the nain like a garment. Here he is a prophet and\na diviner as well as an enchanter, and as much of his magic power is\nemployed for ill, small wonder that the Breton peasant shudders and\nfrowns when the name of the fearsome tribe is spoken and gives the\ndolmens they are supposed to haunt the widest of wide berths _au clair\nde la lune_.\n\n\n_Crions, Courils, and Gorics_\n\nBrittany has a species of dwarfs or gnomes peculiar to itself which in\nvarious parts of the country are known as crions, courils, or\ngorics. It will at once be seen how greatly the last word resembles\nKorrigan, and as all of them perhaps proceed from a root meaning\n'spirit' the nominal resemblance is not surprising. Like the nains,\nthese smaller beings inhabit abandoned Druidical monuments or dwell\nbeneath the foundations of ancient castles. Carnac is sometimes\nalluded to in Breton as 'Ty C'harriquet,' 'the House of the Gorics,'\nthe country-folk in this district holding the belief that its\nmegalithic monuments were reared by these manikins, whom they\ndescribe as between two and three feet high, but exceedingly\nstrong, just as the Scottish peasantry speak of the Picts of\nfolk-lore--'wee fouk but unco' strang.' Every night the gorics\ndance in circles round the stones of Carnac, and should a mortal\ninterrupt their frolic he is forced to join in the dance, until,\nbreathless and exhausted, he falls prone to the earth amid peals of\nmocking laughter. Like the nains, the gorics are the guardians of\nhidden treasure, for the tale goes that beneath one of the menhirs of\nCarnac lies a golden hoard, and that all the other stones have been\nset up the better to conceal it, and so mystify those who would\ndiscover its resting-place. A calculation, the key to which is to\nbe found in the Tower of London, will alone indicate the spot where\nthe treasure lies. And here it may be of interest to state that\nthe ancient national fortalice of England occurs frequently in Breton\nand in Celtic romance.[37] Some of the immigrant Britons into\nArmorica probably came from the settlement which was later to grow\ninto London, and may have carried tales of its ancient British\nfortress into their new home.\n\nThe courils are peculiar to the ruins of Tresmalouen. Like the gorics,\nthey are fond of dancing, and they are quite as malignantly inclined\ntoward the unhappy stranger who may stumble into their ring. The\ncastle of Morlaix, too, is haunted by gorics not more than a foot\nhigh, who dwell beneath it in holes in the ground. They possess\ntreasures as great as those of the gnomes of Norway or Germany, and\nthese they will sometimes bestow on lucky mortals, who are permitted,\nhowever, to take but one handful. If a person should attempt to seize\nmore the whole of the money vanishes, and the offender's ears are\nsoundly boxed by invisible hands.\n\nThe night-washers (_eur tunnerez noz_) are evil spirits who appear at\nnight on the banks of streams and call on the passers-by to assist\nthem to wash the linen of the dead. If they are refused, they seize\nupon the person who denies them, drag him into the water, and break\nhis arms. These beings are obviously the same as the Bean Nighe, 'the\nWashing Woman' of the Scottish Highlands, who is seen in lonely places\nbeside a pool or stream, washing the linen of those who will shortly\ndie. In Skye she is said to be short of stature. If any one catches\nher she tells all that will befall him in after life. In Perthshire\nshe is represented as \"small and round and dressed in pretty green.\"\n\n\n_The Teurst_\n\nIn the district of Morlaix the peasants are terribly afraid of beings\nthey call teursts. These are large, black, and fearsome, like the\nHighland ourisk, who haunted desert moors and glens. The _teursta\npoulict_ appears in the likeness of some domestic animal. In the\ndistrict of Vannes is encountered a colossal spirit called Teus or\nBugelnoz, who appears clothed in white between midnight and two in the\nmorning. His office is to rescue victims from the devil, and should he\nspread his mouth over them they are secure from the Father of Evil.\nThe Dusii of Gaul are mentioned by St Augustine, who regarded them as\n_incubi_, and by Isidore of Seville, and in the name we may perhaps\ndiscover the origin of our expression 'the deuce!'\n\n\n_The Nicole_\n\nThe Nicole is a spirit of modern creation who torments the honest\nfishermen of the Bay of Saint-Brieuc and Saint-Malo. Just as they are\nabout to draw in their nets this mischievous spirit leaps around them,\nfreeing the fish, or he will loosen a boat's anchor so that it will\ndrift on to a sand-bank. He may divide the cable which holds the\nanchor to the vessel and cause endless trouble. This spirit received\nits name from an officer who commanded a battalion of fishermen\nconscripts, and who from his intense severity and general reputation\nas a martinet obtained a bad reputation among the seafaring\npopulation.\n\n\n_The Mourioche_\n\nThe Mourioche is a malicious demon of bestial nature, able, it would\nseem, to transform himself into any animal shape he chooses. In\ngeneral appearance he is like a year-old foal. He is especially\ndangerous to children, and Breton babies are often chided when noisy\nor mischievous with the words: \"Be good, now, the Mourioche is\ncoming!\" Of one who appears to have received a shock, also, it is\nsaid: \"He has seen the Mourioche.\" Unlucky is the person who gets in\nhis way; but doubly so the unfortunate who attempts to mount him in\nthe belief that he is an ordinary steed, for after a fiery gallop he\nwill be precipitated into an abyss and break his neck.\n\n\n_The Ankou_\n\nPerhaps there is no spirit of evil which is so much dreaded by the\nBreton peasantry as the Ankou, who travels the duchy in a cart,\npicking up souls. In the dead of night a creaking axle-tree can be\nheard passing down the silent lanes. It halts at a door; the summons\nhas been given, a soul quits the doomed house, and the wagon of the\nAnkou passes on. The Ankou herself--for the dread death-spirit of\nBrittany is probably female--is usually represented as a skeleton. M.\nAnatole le Braz has elaborated a study of the whole question in his\nbook on the legend of death in Brittany,[38] and it is probable that\nthe Ankou is a survival of the death-goddess of the prehistoric\ndolmen-builders of Brittany. MacCulloch[39] considers the Ankou to be\na reminiscence of the Celtic god of death, who watches over all things\nbeyond the grave and carries off the dead to his kingdom, but greatly\ninfluenced by medieval ideas of 'Death the skeleton.' In some Breton\nchurches a little model or statuette of the Ankou is to be seen, and\nthis is nothing more nor less than a cleverly fashioned skeleton. The\npeasant origin of the belief can be found in the substitution of a\ncart or wagon for the more ambitious coach and four of other lands.\n\n\n_The Youdic_\n\nDark and gloomy are many of the Breton legends, of evil things, gloomy\nas the depths of the forests in which doubtless many of them were\nconceived. Most folk-tales are tinged with melancholy, and it is\nrarely in Breton story that we discover a vein of the joyous.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEMON-DOG]\n\nAmong the peaks of the Montagnes d'Arr\u00e9e lies a vast and dismal peat\nbog known as the Yeun, which has long been regarded by the Breton folk\nas the portal to the infernal regions. This Stygian locality has\nbrought forth many legends. It is, indeed, a remarkable territory. In\nsummer it seems a vast moor carpeted by glowing purple heather, which\none can traverse up to a certain point, but woe betide him who would\nadvance farther, for, surrounded by what seems solid ground, lies a\ntreacherous quagmire declared by the people of the neighbourhood to be\nunfathomable. This part of the bog, whose victims have been many, is\nknown as the Youdic. As one leans over it its waters may sometimes be\nseen to simmer and boil, and the peasants of the country-side devoutly\nbelieve that when this occurs infernal forces are working beneath,\nmadly revelling, and that it is only the near presence of St Michael,\nwhose mount is hard by, which restrains them from doing active harm to\nthose who may have to cross the Yeun.\n\nCountless stories are afloat concerning this weird maelstrom of mud\nand bubbling water. At one time it was the custom to hurl animals\nsuspected of being evil spirits into its black depths. Malevolent\nfiends, it was thought, were wont to materialize in the form of great\nblack dogs, and unfortunate animals of this type, if they evinced such\npeculiarities as were likely to place them under suspicion, were taken\nforthwith to the Youdic by a member of the enlightened priesthood of\nthe district, and were cast into its seething depths with all the\nceremonies suitable to such an occasion.\n\nA story typical of those told about the place is that of one Job Ann\nDrez, who seems to have acted as sexton and assisted the parish priest\nin his dealings with the supernatural. Along with the priest, Job\nrepaired one evening after sunset to the gloomy waters of the Youdic,\ndragging behind him a large black dog of the species most likely to\nexcite distrust in the priestly mind. The priest showed considerable\nanxiety lest the animal should break loose.\n\n\"If he should get away,\" he said nervously, \"both of us are lost.\"\n\n\"I will wager he does not,\" replied Job, tying the cord by which the\nbrute was led securely to his wrist.\n\n\"Forward, then,\" said the priest, and he walked boldly in front, until\nthey came to the foot of the mountain on the summit of which lies the\nYoudic.\n\nThe priest turned warningly to Job. \"You must be circumspect in this\nplace,\" he said very gravely. \"Whatever you may hear, be sure not to\nturn your head. Your life in this world and your salvation in the next\ndepend absolutely on this. You understand me?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I understand.\"\n\nA vast desolation surrounded them. So dark was the night that it\nseemed to envelop them like a velvet curtain. Beneath their feet they\nheard the hissing and moaning of the bog, awaiting its prey like a\nrestless and voracious wild beast. Through the dense blackness they\ncould see the iridescent waters writhing and gleaming below.\n\n\"Surely,\" said Job half to himself, \"this must be the gateway to\nhell!\"\n\nAt that word the dog uttered a frightful howl--such a howl as froze\nJob's blood in his veins. It tugged and strained at the cord which\nheld it with the strength of a demon, striving to turn on Job and rend\nhim.\n\n\"Hold on!\" cried the priest in mortal terror, keeping at a safe\ndistance, however. \"Hold on, I entreat you, or else we are undone!\"\n\nJob held on to the demon-dog with all his strength. Indeed, it was\nnecessary to exert every thew and sinew if the animal were to be\nprevented from tearing him to pieces. Its howls were sufficient to\nstrike terror to the stoutest heart. \"Iou! Iou!\" it yelled again and\nagain.\n\nBut Job held on desperately, although the cord cut his hands and blood\nran from the scarified palms. Inch by inch he dragged the brute toward\nthe Youdic. The creature in a last desperate effort turned and was\nabout to spring on him open-mouthed, when all at once the priest,\ndarting forward, threw his cloak over its head. It uttered a shriek\nwhich sounded through the night like the cry of a lost soul.\n\n\"Quick!\" cried the priest. \"Lie flat on the earth and put your face on\nthe ground!\"\n\nScarcely had the two men done so than a frightful tumult ensued. First\nthere was the sound of a body leaping into the morass, then such an\nuproar as could only proceed from the mouth of the infernal regions.\nShrieks, cries, hissings, explosions followed in quick succession for\nupward of half an hour; then gradually they died away and a horrible\nstillness took their place. The two men rose trembling and unnerved,\nand slowly took their way through the darkness, groping and stumbling\nuntil they had left the awful vicinity of the Yeun behind them.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [37] See Nutt, _Celtic and Medi\u00e6val Romance_.\n\n [38] _La L\u00e9gende de la Mort._\n\n [39] _Religion of the Ancient Celts_, p. 345\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V: WORLD-TALES IN BRITTANY\n\n\nI have entitled this chapter 'World-Tales' to indicate that the\nstories it contains are in plot or _motif_ if not in substance common\nto the whole world--that, in short, although they are found in\nBrittany, they are no more Breton than Italian, Russian, American, or\nAustralian. But although the story which tells of the search for the\ngolden-haired princess on the magic horse is the possession of no one\nparticular race, the tales recounted here have the Breton colouring\nand the Breton spirit, and in perusing them we encounter numerous\nlittle allusions to Breton customs or manners and obtain not a few\nsidelights upon the Breton character, its shrewdness and its goodwill,\nwhile we may note as well the narrowness of view and meanness so\ncharacteristic of peoples who have been isolated for a long period\nfrom contact with other races.\n\nThe first two of these tales are striking ones built upon two\nworld-_motifs_--those of the magic horse and the search for the\ngolden-haired princess, who is, of course, the sun, two themes which\nhave been amalgamated in not a few deathless stories.\n\n\n_The Youth who did not Know_\n\nOne day the Marquis of Coat-Squiriou was returning from Morlaix, when\nhe beheld lying on the road a little fellow of four or five years of\nage. He leapt from his horse, picked the child up, and asked him what\nhe did there.\n\n\"I do not know,\" replied the little boy.\n\n\"Who is your father?\" asked the Marquis.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said the child for the second time.\n\n\"And your mother?\" asked the kindly nobleman.\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Where are you now, my child?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Then what is your name?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\nThe Marquis told his serving-man to place the child on the crupper of\nhis horse, as he had taken a fancy to him and would adopt him. He\ncalled him N'Oun Doare, which signifies in Breton, 'I do not know.' He\neducated him, and when his schooling was finished took him to Morlaix,\nwhere they put up at the best inn in the town. The Marquis could not\nhelp admiring his adopted son, who had now grown into a tall, handsome\nyouth, and so pleased was he with him that he desired to signify his\napproval by making him a little present, which he resolved should take\nthe form of a sword. So they went out into the town and visited the\narmourers' shops in search of a suitable weapon. They saw swords of\nall kinds, but N'Oun Doare would have none of them, until at last they\npassed the booth of a seller of scrap-metal, where hung a rusty old\nrapier which seemed fit for nothing.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried N'Oun Doare, \"that is the sword for me. Please buy it, I\nbeg of you.\"\n\n\"Why, don't you see what a condition it is in?\" said the Marquis. \"It\nis not a fit weapon for a gentleman.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless it is the only sword I wish for,\" said N'Oun Doare.\n\n\"Well, well, you are a strange fellow,\" said the Marquis, but he\nbought the sword nevertheless, and they returned to Coat-Squiriou. The\nnext day N'Oun Doare examined his sword and discovered that the blade\nhad the words \"I am invincible\" engraved upon it.\n\nSome time afterward the Marquis said to him: \"It is time that you had\na horse. Come with me to Morlaix and we will purchase one.\" They\naccordingly set out for Morlaix. In the market-place they saw many\nfine animals, but with none of them was N'Oun Doare content. On\nreturning to the inn, however, he espied what looked like a\nbroken-down mare standing by the roadside, and to this sorry beast he\nimmediately drew the attention of the Marquis.\n\n\"That is the horse for me!\" he cried. \"I beg of you, purchase it for\nme.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the Marquis, \"that broken-down beast? Why, only look at\nit, my son.\" But N'Oun Doare persisted, and at last, despite his own\nbetter judgment, the Marquis bought the animal. The man who sold it\nwas a cunning-looking fellow from Cornouaille, who, as he put the\nbridle into N'Oun Doare's hand, whispered:\n\n\"You see the knots on the halter of this animal?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied N'Oun Doare; \"what of them?\"\n\n\"Only this, that each time you loosen one the mare will immediately\ncarry you five hundred leagues from where you are.\"\n\nThe Marquis and his ward returned once more to the ch\u00e2teau, N'Oun\nDoare riding his new purchase, when it entered into his head to untie\none of the knots on the halter. He did so, and immediately descended\nin the middle of Paris--which we must take the story-teller's word for\nit is five hundred leagues from Brittany!\n\nSeveral months afterward the Marquis had occasion to go to Paris, and\none of the first people he met there was N'Oun Doare, who told him of\nhis adventure. The Marquis was going to visit the King, and took his\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9_ along with him to the palace, where he was well received.\n\nSome nights afterward the youth was walking with his old mare outside\nthe walls of Paris, and noticed something which glittered very\nbrightly at the foot of an ancient stone cross which stood where four\nroads met. He approached it and beheld a crown of gold, set with the\nmost brilliant precious stones. He at once picked it up, when the old\nmare, turning its head, said to him: \"Take care; you will repent\nthis.\"\n\nGreatly surprised, N'Oun Doare thought that he had better replace the\ncrown, but a longing to possess it overcame him, and although the mare\nwarned him once more he finally resolved to take it, and, putting it\nunder his mantle, rode away.\n\nNow the King had confided to his care part of the royal stables, and\nwhen N'Oun Doare entered them their darkness was immediately lit up by\nthe radiance of the crown which he carried. So well had the Breton lad\nattended to the horses under his charge that the other squires had\nbecome jealous, and, observing the strange light in N'Oun Doare's part\nof the stable, they mentioned it to the King, who in turn spoke of it\nto the Marquis of Coat-Squiriou. The Marquis asked N'Oun Doare the\nmeaning of the light, and the youth replied that it came from the\nancient sword they had bought at Morlaix, which was an enchanted\nweapon and shone at intervals with strange brilliance. But one night\nhis enemies resolved to examine into the matter more closely, and,\nlooking through the keyhole of the stable, they saw that the wondrous\nlight which had so puzzled them shone from a magnificent crown of\ngold. They ran at once to tell the King, and next night N'Oun Doare's\nstable was opened with a master-key and the crown removed to the\nKing's quarters. It was then seen that an inscription was engraved\nupon the diadem, but in such strange characters that no one could read\nit. The magicians of the capital were called into consultation, but\nnone of them could decipher the writing. At last a little boy of seven\nyears of age was found who said that it was the crown of the Princess\nGolden Bell. The King then called upon N'Oun Doare to approach, and\nsaid to him:\n\n\"You should not have hidden this thing from me, but as you are guilty\nof having done so I doom you to find the Princess Golden Bell, whom I\ndesire shall become my wife. If you fail I shall put you to death.\"\n\nN'Oun Doare left the royal presence in a very perturbed state of mind.\nHe went to seek his old mare with tears in his eyes.\n\n\"I know,\" said the mare, \"the cause of your sorrow. You should have\nleft the golden crown alone, as I told you. But do not repine; go to\nthe King and ask him for money for your journey.\"\n\nThe lad received the money from the King, and set out on his journey.\nArriving at the seashore, one of the first objects he beheld was a\nlittle fish cast up by the waves on the beach and almost at its last\ngasp.\n\n\"Throw that fish back into the water,\" said the mare. N'Oun Doare did\nso, and the fish, lifting its head from the water, said:\n\n\"You have saved my life, N'Oun Doare. I am the King of the Fishes, and\nif ever you require my help call my name by the seashore and I will\ncome.\" With these words the Fish-King vanished beneath the water.\n\nA little later they came upon a bird struggling vainly to escape from\na net in which it was caught.\n\n\"Cut the net and set that poor bird free,\" said the wise mare.\n\nUpon N'Oun Doare doing so the bird paused before it flew away and\nsaid:\n\n\"I am the King of the Birds, N'Oun Doare. I will never forget the\nservice you have rendered me, and if ever you are in trouble and need\nmy aid you have only to call me and I shall fly swiftly to help you.\"\n\nAs they went on their way N'Oun Doare's wonderful mare crossed\nmountains, forests, vast seas, and streams with a swiftness and ease\nthat was amazing. Soon they beheld the walls of the Ch\u00e2teau of the\nGolden Bell rising before them, and as they drew near they could hear\na most confused and terrible noise coming from it, which shook N'Oun\nDoare's courage and made him rather fearful of entering it. Near the\ndoor a being of the most curious aspect was hung to a tree by a chain,\nand this peculiar individual had as many horns on his body as there\nare days in the year.\n\n\"Cut that unfortunate man down,\" said the mare. \"Will you not give him\nhis freedom?\"\n\n\"I am too much afraid to approach him,\" said N'Oun Doare, alarmed at\nthe man's appearance.\n\n\"Do not fear,\" said the sagacious animal; \"he will not harm you in any\nmanner.\"\n\nN'Oun Doare did so, and the stranger thanked him most gratefully,\nbidding him, as the others whom he had rescued had done, if he ever\nrequired help to call upon Grifescorne, King of the Demons, for that\nwas his name, and he would be with him immediately.\n\n\"Enter the ch\u00e2teau boldly and without fear,\" said the mare, \"and I\nwill await you in the wood yonder. After the Princess Golden Bell has\nwelcomed you she will show you all the curiosities and marvels of her\ndwelling. Tell her you have a horse without an equal, which can dance\nmost beautifully the dances of every land. Say that your steed will\nperform them for her diversion if she will come and behold it in the\nforest.\"\n\nEverything fell out as the mare had said, and the Princess was\ndelighted and amused by the mare's dancing.\n\n\"If you were to mount her,\" said N'Oun Doare, \"I vow she would dance\neven more wonderfully than before!\"\n\nThe Princess after a moment's hesitation did so. In an instant the\nadventurous youth was by her side, and the horse sped through the air,\nso that in a short space they found themselves flying over the sea.\n\n\"You have tricked me!\" cried the infuriated damsel. \"But do not\nimagine that you are at the end of your troubles; and,\" she added\nviciously, \"you will have cause to lament more than once ere I wed the\nold King of France.\"\n\nThey arrived promptly at Paris, where N'Oun Doare presented the lovely\nPrincess to the monarch, saying:\n\n\"Sire, I have brought to you the Princess Golden Bell, whom you desire\nto make your wife.\"\n\n[Illustration: N'OUN DOARE AND THE PRINCESS GOLDEN BELL]\n\nThe King was dazed by the wondrous beauty of the Princess, and was\neager for the marriage to take place immediately, but this the royal\nmaiden would not hear of, and declared petulantly that she would not\nbe wed until she had a ring which she had left behind her at her\nch\u00e2teau, in a cabinet of which she had lost the key.\n\nSummoning N'Oun Doare, the King charged him with the task of finding\nthe ring. The unfortunate youth returned to his wise mare, feeling\nmuch cast down.\n\n\"Why,\" said the mare, \"foolish one! do you not remember the King of\nthe Birds whom you rescued? Call upon him, and mayhap he will aid you\nas he promised to do.\"\n\nWith a return of hope N'Oun Doare did as he was bid, and immediately\nthe royal bird was with him, and asked him in what way he could help\nhim. Upon N'Oun Doare explaining his difficulty, the Bird-King\nsummoned all his subjects, calling each one by name. They came, but\nnone of them appeared to be small enough to enter the cabinet by way\nof the keyhole, which was the only means of entrance. The wren was\ndecided to be the only bird with any chance of success, and he set out\nfor the ch\u00e2teau.\n\nEventually, with much difficulty and the loss of the greater part of\nhis feathers, the bird procured the ring, and flew back with it to\nParis. N'Oun Doare hastened to present the ring to the Princess.\n\n\"Now, fair one,\" said the impatient King, \"why delay our wedding\nlonger?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said she, pouting discontentedly, \"there is one thing that I\nwish, and without it I will do nothing.\"\n\n\"What do you desire? You have only to speak and it shall be brought.\"\n\n\"Well, transport my ch\u00e2teau with all it contains opposite to yours.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the King, aghast. \"Impossible!\"\n\n\"Well, then, it is just as impossible that I should marry you, for\nwithout my ch\u00e2teau I shall not consent.\"\n\nFor a second time the King gave N'Oun Doare what seemed an insurmountable\ntask.\n\n\"Now indeed I am as good as lost!\" lamented the youth as they came to\nthe ch\u00e2teau and he saw its massive walls towering above him.\n\n\"Call Grifescorne, King of the Demons, to your assistance,\" suggested\nthe wise mare.\n\nWith the aid of the Demon-King and his subjects N'Oun Doare's task was\nagain accomplished, and he and his mare followed the demon army to\nParis, where they arrived as soon as it did.\n\nIn the morning the people of Paris were struck dumb to see a wonderful\npalace, its golden towers flashing in the sun, rising opposite to the\nroyal residence.\n\n\"We shall be married at last, shall we not?\" asked the King.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Princess, \"but how shall I enter my ch\u00e2teau and\nshow you its wonders without a key, for I dropped it in the sea when\nN'Oun Doare and his horse carried me over it.\"\n\nOnce more was the youth charged with the task, and through the aid of\nthe Fish-King was able to procure the key, which was cut from a single\ndiamond. None of the fishes had seen it, but at last the oldest fish,\nwho had not appeared when his name was pronounced, came forward and\nproduced it from his mouth.\n\nWith a glad heart the successful N'Oun Doare returned to Paris, and as\nthe Princess had now no more excuses to make the day of the wedding\nwas fixed and the ceremony was celebrated with much splendour. To the\nastonishment of all, when the King and his betrothed entered the\nchurch N'Oun Doare followed behind with his mare. At the conclusion of\nthe ceremony the mare's skin suddenly fell to the ground, disclosing a\nmaiden of the most wonderful beauty.\n\nSmiling upon the bewildered N'Oun Doare, the damsel gave him her hand\nand said: \"Come with me to Tartary, for the king of that land is my\nfather, and there we shall be wed amid great rejoicing.\"\n\nLeaving the amazed King and wedding guests, the pair quitted the\nchurch together. More might have been told of them, but Tartary is a\nfar land and no news of them has of late years reached Brittany.\n\n\n_The Princess of Tronkolaine_\n\nThere was once an old charcoal-burner who had twenty-six grandchildren.\nFor twenty-five of them he had no great difficulty in procuring\ngodparents, but for the twenty-sixth--that, alas! was a different\nstory. Godmothers, indeed, were to be found in plenty, but he could\nnot find anyone to act as godfather.\n\nAs he wandered disconsolately along the high road, dwelling on his bad\nluck, he saw a fine carriage coming toward him, its occupant no less a\npersonage than the King himself. The old man made an obeisance so low\nthat the King was amused, and threw him a handful of silver.\n\n\"My good man,\" he said, \"here are alms for you.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" replied the charcoal-burner, \"I do not desire alms. I\nam unhappy because I cannot find a godfather for my twenty-sixth\ngrandchild.\"\n\nThe King considered the matter.\n\n\"I myself will be godfather to the child,\" he said at length. \"Tell me\nwhen it is to be baptized and I will meet you at the church.\"\n\nThe old man was delighted beyond measure, and in due time he and his\nrelatives brought the child to be baptized. When they reached the\nchurch, sure enough, there was the King waiting to take part in the\nceremony, and in his honour the child was named Charles. Before taking\nleave the King gave to the charcoal-burner the half of a coin which he\nhad broken in two. This Charles on reaching his eighteenth birthday\nwas to convey to the Court at Paris, as a token whereby his godfather\nshould know him. His Majesty also left a thousand crowns, which were\nto be utilized in the education and general upbringing of the child.\n\nTime passed and Charles attained his eighteenth birthday. Taking the\nKing's token, he set out for the royal abode. As he went he\nencountered an old man, who warned him on no account to drink from a\ncertain well which he would pass on his way. The lad promised to\nregard the warning, but ere he reached the well he had forgotten it.\n\nA man sat by the side of the well.\n\n\"You are hot and tired,\" he said, feigning courtesy, \"will you not\nstop to drink?\"\n\nThe water was cool and inviting. Charles bent his head and drank\nthirstily. And while he drank the stranger robbed him of his token;\nbut this he did not know till afterward.\n\nGaily Charles resumed his way, while the thief went to Paris by a\nquicker route and got there before him.\n\nBoldly the thief demanded audience of the King, and produced the token\nso wickedly come by. The sovereign ordered the other half of the coin\nto be brought out, and lo! they fitted exactly. And because the thief\nhad a plausible face the good King did not doubt that he was indeed\nhis godson. He therefore had him treated with all honour and respect,\nand bestowed gifts upon him lavishly.\n\nMeanwhile Charles had arrived in Paris, and, finding that he had been\ndeprived of his only means of proving his identity to the King, he\naccepted the situation philosophically and set about earning his\nliving. He succeeded in obtaining a post as herdsman on the royal\nestates.\n\nOne day the robber was greatly disconcerted to find the real Charles\nat the very gates of the palace. He determined to be rid of him once\nfor all, so he straightway approached the King.\n\n\"Your Majesty, there is a man among your retainers who has said that\nhe will demand of the sun why it is so red at sunrise.\"\n\n\"He is indeed a foolish fellow,\" said the King. \"Our decree is that he\nshall carry out his rash boast to-morrow ere sunset, or, if it be but\nidle folly, lose his head on the following morning.\"\n\nThe thief was delighted with the success of his plot. Poor Charles was\nsummoned before the King and bidden to ask the sun why he was so red\nat sunrise. In vain he denied having uttered the speech. Had not the\nKing the word of his godson?\n\nNext morning Charles set out on his journey. Ere he had gone very far\nhe met an old man who asked him his errand, and afterward gave him a\nwooden horse on which to ride to the sun. Charles thought this but a\nsorry joke. However, no sooner had he mounted his wooden steed than it\nrose into the air and flew with him to where the sun's castle towered\non the peak of a lofty mountain.\n\nTo the sun, a resplendent warrior, Charles addressed his query.\n\n\"In the morning,\" said the sun, \"I pass the castle of the Princess of\nTronkolaine, and she is so lovely that I must needs look my best.\"\n\nCharles, mounted on his wooden horse, flew with this answer to Paris.\nThe King was satisfied, but the thief gnashed his teeth in secret\nrage, and plotted yet further against the youth.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" he said, \"this herdsman who tends your herds has said\nthat he will lead hither the Princess of Tronkolaine to be your\nbride.\"\n\n\"If he has said so,\" replied the King, \"he shall lead her hither or\nforfeit his life.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" thought Charles, when he learned of the plot, \"I must bid\nfarewell to my life--there is no hope for me!\"\n\nAll the same he set out boldly enough, and by and by encountered the\nold man who had helped him on his previous mission. To him Charles\nconfided his troubles, begging for advice and assistance.\n\nThe old man pondered.\n\n\"Return to the Court,\" he said, \"and ask the King to give you three\nships, one laden with oatmeal, another with bacon, and the third with\nsalt meat. Then sail on till you come to an island covered with ants.\nTo their monarch, the Ant-King, make a present of the cargo of\noatmeal. He will direct you to a second island, whereon dwell fierce\nlions. Fear them not. Present your cargo of bacon to their King and he\nwill become your friend. Yet a third island you will touch, inhabited\nonly by sparrow-hawks. Give to their King your cargo of salt meat and\nhe will show you the abode of the Princess.\"\n\nCharles thanked the sage for his advice, which he promptly proceeded\nto follow. The King granted him the three ships, and he sailed away\nin search of the Princess.\n\nWhen he came to the first island, which was swarming with ants, he\ngave up his cargo of grain, and so won the friendship of the little\ncreatures. At the second island he unloaded the bacon, which he\npresented to the King of the Lions; while at the third he gave up the\nsalt beef to the King of the Sparrow-hawks, who directed him how to\ncome at the object of his quest. Each monarch bade Charles summon him\ninstantly if he had need of assistance.\n\nSetting sail from the island of the sparrow-hawks, the youth arrived\nat length at the abode of the Princess.\n\nShe was seated under an orange-tree, and as Charles gazed upon her he\nthought her the most beautiful woman in the world, as indeed she was.\n\nThe Princess, looking up, beheld a comely youth, beneath whose ardent\ngaze her eyes fell. Smiling graciously, she invited him into her\ncastle, and he, nothing loath, followed her into the great hall, where\ntempting viands were spread before him.\n\nWhen he had supped he made known his errand to the Princess, and\nbegged her to accompany him to Paris. She agreed only on condition\nthat he would perform three tasks set him, and when Charles was\ncurious to know what was required of him she led him into another room\nwhere was a large heap of every kind of seed--corn, barley, clover,\nflax--all mixed up anyhow.\n\n\"This is the first task,\" said the Princess: \"you must put each kind\nof seed into a different heap, so that no single seed shall be out of\nits place. This you must accomplish ere to-morrow at sunrise.\" With\nthat she left the room.\n\nCharles was in despair, until he bethought him of his friend the King\nof the Ants, whom he begged to help him. Scarcely had he uttered the\nwords when ants began to fill the room, coming from he knew not where.\nIn less time than it takes to tell they had arranged the seeds into\nseparate heaps, so that no single seed was out of its place.\n\nWhen the Princess arrived in the morning she was astonished to find\nthe hero fast asleep and the work accomplished. All day she\nentertained him hospitably in her castle, and at nightfall she showed\nhim the second task. An avenue of great oaks led down from the castle.\nGiving him a wooden axe and a wooden saw, the Princess bade him cut\ndown all the trees ere morning.\n\nWhen she had left him Charles called upon the King of the Lions.\nInstantly a number of lions bounded upon the scene, and with teeth and\nclaws soon performed the task.\n\nIn the morning the Princess, finding Charles asleep and all the trees\ncut down, was more astonished than ever.\n\nThe third task was the most difficult of all. A high mountain had to\nbe levelled to the plain in a single night. Without the help of the\nsparrow-hawks, Charles would certainly have failed, but these faithful\ncreatures worked with a will, and soon had the great mountain carried\naway piece by piece and dropped into the sea.\n\nWhen the Princess came for the third time and found the hero asleep by\nthe finished task she fell in love with him straightway, and kissed\nhim softly on the brow.\n\nThere was now nothing further to hinder his return, and he begged the\nPrincess to accompany him to Paris. In due time they arrived in that\ncity, to be welcomed with great warmth by the people. The beauty of\nthe lady won all hearts. But great was the general astonishment when\nshe declared that she would marry, not the King, but the youth who had\nbrought her to Paris! Charles thereupon declared himself the true\ngodson of the King, and the monarch, far from being angry, gave the\ncouple his blessing and great estates; and when in course of time he\ndied they reigned in his stead.\n\nAs for the thief, he was ordered to execution forthwith, and was\nroasted to death in a large oven.\n\n\n_The Princess Starbright_\n\nThis is another tale which introduces the search for the sun-princess\nin a peculiar setting.\n\nIn the long ago there lived near the Lake of L\u00e9guer a jolly miller who\nfound recreation after his work in shooting the wild swans and ducks\nwhich frequented that stretch of water. One December day, when it was\nfreezing hard and the earth was covered with snow, he observed a\nsolitary duck near the edge of the lake. He shot at it, and went\nforward to pick it up, when he saw to his amazement that it had\nchanged into a beautiful princess. He was ready to drop into the snow\nwith fright, but the lady came graciously forward to him, saying:\n\n\"Fear not, my brave fellow, for know that I have been enchanted these\nmany years under the form of a wild duck, because of the enmity of\nthree malicious demons. You can restore me permanently to my human\nshape if you choose to show only a little perseverance and courage.\"\n\n\"Why, what do you desire me to do, madam?\" stammered the miller,\nabashed by the lady's beauty and condescension.\n\n\"What only a brave man could accomplish, my friend,\" she replied; \"all\nthat you have to do is to pass three consecutive nights in the old\nmanor which you can see over there.\"\n\nThe miller shuddered, for he had heard the most terrible stories in\nconnexion with the ruined manor, which had an evil name in the\ndistrict.\n\n\"Alas! madam,\" he said, \"whom might I not encounter there! Even the\ndevil himself----\"\n\n\"My good friend,\" said the Princess, sadly, \"if you do as I ask you\nwill have to encounter not one but a dozen devils, who will torment\nyou in every possible way. But fear nothing, for I can provide you\nwith a magic ointment which will preserve you entirely from all the\ninjuries they would attempt to inflict upon you. Even if you were dead\nI could resuscitate you. I assure you that if you will do as I ask you\nwill never regret it. Beneath the hearthstone in the hall of the manor\nare three casks of gold and three of silver, and all these will belong\nto you and to me if you assist me; so put your courage to the proof, I\npray you.\"\n\nThe miller squared his shoulders. \"Lady,\" he said, \"I will obey you,\neven if I have to face a hundred devils instead of twelve.\"\n\nThe Princess smiled encouragingly and disappeared. On the following\nnight the miller set out for the old manor, carrying a bundle of\nfaggots to make a fire, and some cider and tobacco to refresh him\nduring his vigil. When he arrived in the dismal old place he sat\nhimself down by the hearth, where he had built a good fire, and lit\nhis pipe. But he had scarcely done so when he heard a most tremendous\ncommotion in the chimney. Somewhat scared, he hid himself under an old\nbed which stood opposite the hearth, and, gazing anxiously from his\nplace of concealment, beheld eleven grisly fiends descend from the\nflue. They seemed astonished to find a fire on the hearth, and did not\nappear to be in the best of tempers.\n\n\"Where is Boiteux?\" cried one. \"Oh,\" growled another, who appeared to\nbe the chief of the band, \"he is always late.\"\n\n\"Ah, behold him,\" said a third, as Boiteux arrived by the same road as\nhis companions.\n\n\"Well, comrades,\" cried Boiteux, \"have you heard the news?\" The others\nshrugged their shoulders and shook their heads sulkily.\n\n\"Well,\" said Boiteux, \"I am convinced that the miller of L\u00e9guer is\nhere, and that he is trying to free the Princess from the enchantment\nwhich we have placed upon her.\"\n\nA hurried search at once took place, the demons scrambling from one\npart of the room to the other, tearing down the curtains and making\nevery effort to discover the hiding-place of the intruder. At last\nBoiteux, peering under the bed, saw the miller crouching there, and\ncried out: \"Here is the rogue beneath the bed.\"\n\nThe unlucky miller was then seized by the foot and dragged into the\nshrieking and leaping circle. With a gesture of command the chief\ndemon subdued the antics of his followers.\n\n\"So, my jolly miller,\" said he, \"our friend the Princess has found a\nchampion in you, has she? Well, we are going to have some sport with\nyou, which I fear will not be quite to your taste, but I can assure\nyou that you will not again have the opportunity of assisting a\nprincess in distress.\"\n\nWith this he seized the miller and thrust him from him with great\nforce. As he flew like a stone from a sling, another of the fiends\nseized him, and the unhappy man was thrown violently about from one to\nthe other. At last they threw him out of the window into the\ncourtyard, and as he did not move they thought that he was dead. But\nin the midst of their laughter and rejoicing at the easy manner in\nwhich they had got rid of him, cockcrow sounded, and the diabolic\ncompany swiftly disappeared. They had scarcely taken their departure\nwhen the Princess arrived. She tenderly anointed the miller's hurts\nfrom the little pot of magic ointment she had brought with her, and,\nnothing daunted, now that he was thoroughly revived, the bold fellow\nannounced his intention of seeing the matter through and remaining in\nthe manor for the two following nights.\n\nHe had scarcely ensconced himself in his seat by the chimney-side on\nthe second night when the twelve fiends came tumbling down the chimney\nas before. At one end of the room was a large heap of wood, behind\nwhich the miller quickly took refuge.\n\n\"I smell the smell of a Christian!\" cried Boiteux. A search followed,\nand once more the adventurous miller was dragged forth.\n\n\"Oho!\" cried the leader, \"so you are not dead after all! Well, I can\nassure you that we shall not botch our work on this occasion.\"\n\nOne of the grisly company placed a large cauldron of oil upon the\nfire, and when this was boiling they seized their victim and thrust\nhim into it. The most dreadful agony seized the miller as the liquid\nseethed around his body, and he was just about to faint under the\nintensity of the torture when once again the cock crew and the\nfiendish band took themselves off. The Princess quickly appeared, and,\ndrawing the miller from the cauldron, smeared him from head to foot\nwith the ointment.\n\nOn the third night the devils once more found the miller in the\napartment. In dismay Boiteux suggested that he should be roasted on a\nspit and eaten, but unluckily for them they took a long time to come\nto this conclusion, and when they were about to impale their victim on\nthe spit, the cock crew and they were forced to withdraw, howling in\nbaffled rage. The Princess arrived as before, and was delighted to see\nthat this time her champion did not require any assistance.\n\n\"All is well now,\" she said. \"You have freed me from my enchantment\nand the treasure is ours.\"\n\nThey raised the hearthstone from its place, and, as she had said, the\nthree casks of gold and the three casks of silver were found resting\nbeneath it.\n\n\"Take what you wish for yourself,\" said the Princess. \"As for me, I\ncannot stay here; I must at once make a journey which will last a year\nand a day, after which we shall never part again.\"\n\nWith these words she disappeared. The miller was grieved at her\ndeparture, but, consoling himself with the treasure, made over his\nmill to his apprentice and, apprising one of his companions of his\ngood luck, resolved to go upon a journey with him, until such time as\nthe Princess should return. He visited the neighbouring countries,\nand, with plenty of money at his disposal, found existence very\npleasant indeed. After some eight months of this kind of life, he and\nhis friend resolved to return to Brittany, and set out on their\njourney. One day they encountered on the road an old woman selling\napples. She asked them to buy, but the miller was advised by his\nfriend not to pay any heed to her. Ignoring the well-meant advice, the\nmiller laughed and bought three apples. He had scarcely eaten one when\nhe became unwell. Recalling how the fruit had disagreed with him, he\ndid not touch the other apples until the day on which the Princess had\ndeclared she would return. When on the way to the manor to meet her,\nhe ate the second apple. He began to feel sleepy, and, lying down at\nthe foot of a tree, fell into a deep slumber.\n\nSoon after the Princess arrived in a beautiful star-coloured chariot\ndrawn by ten horses. When she saw the miller lying sleeping she\ninquired of his friend what had chanced to him. The man acquainted her\nwith the adventure of the apples, and the Princess told him that the\nold woman from whom he had purchased them was a sorceress.\n\n\"Alas!\" she said, \"I am unable to take him with me in this condition,\nbut I will come to this place to-morrow and again on the following\nday, and if he be awake I will transport him hence in my chariot. Here\nare a golden pear and a handkerchief; give him these and tell him that\nI will come again.\"\n\nShe disappeared in her star-coloured equipage. Shortly afterward the\nmiller wakened, and his friend told him what had occurred and gave him\nthe pear and the kerchief. The next day the friends once more repaired\nto the spot where the Princess had vanished, but in thoughtlessness\nthe miller had eaten of the third apple, and once more the Princess\nfound him asleep. In sorrow she promised to return next day for the\nlast time, once more leaving a golden pear and a handkerchief with his\nfriend, to whom she said:\n\n\"If he is not awake when I come to-morrow he will have to cross three\npowers and three seas in order to find me.\"\n\nUnluckily, however, the miller was still asleep when the Princess\nappeared on the following day. She repeated what she had said to his\nfriend concerning the ordeal that the unfortunate miller would have to\nface before he might see her again, and ere she took her departure\nleft a third pear and a third handkerchief behind her. When the miller\nawoke and found that she had gone he went nearly crazy with grief, but\nnevertheless he declared his unalterable intention of regaining the\nPrincess, even if he should have to travel to the ends of the earth in\nsearch of her. Accordingly he set out to find her abode. He walked and\nwalked innumerable miles, until at last he came to a great forest. As\nhe arrived at its gloomy borders night fell, and he considered it\nsafest to climb a tree, from which, to his great satisfaction, he\nbeheld a light shining in the distance. Descending, he walked in the\ndirection of the light, and found a tiny hut made of the branches of\ntrees, in which sat a little old man with a long white beard.\n\n\"Good evening, grandfather,\" said the miller.\n\n\"Good evening, my child,\" replied the old man. \"I behold you with\npleasure, for it is eighty years since I have seen any human being.\"\n\nThe miller entered the hut and sat down beside the old man, and after\nsome conversation told him the object of his journey.\n\n\"I will help you, my son,\" said the ancient. \"Do you see these\nenchanted gaiters? Well, I wore them at your age. When you buckle them\nover your legs you will be able to travel seven leagues at a single\nstep, and you will arrive without any difficulty at the castle of the\nPrincess you desire so much to see again.\"\n\nThe miller passed the night in the hut with the old hermit, and on the\nfollowing morning, with the rising of the sun, buckled on the magic\ngaiters and stepped out briskly. All went well to begin with, nothing\narrested his progress, and he sped over rivers, forests, and\nmountains. As the sun was setting he came to the borders of a second\nforest, where he observed a second hut, precisely similar to that in\nwhich he had passed the previous night. Going toward it, he found it\noccupied by an aged woman, of whom he demanded supper and lodging.\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" said the old woman, \"you do ill to come here, for I\nhave three sons, terrible fellows, who will be here presently, and I\nam certain that if you remain they will devour you.\"\n\nThe miller asked the names of the sons, and was informed by the old\nwoman that they were January, February, and March. From this he\nconcluded that the crone he was addressing was none other than the\nmother of the winds, and on asking her if this was so she admitted\nthat he had judged correctly. While they were talking there was a\nterrible commotion in the chimney, from which descended an enormous\ngiant with white hair and beard, breathing out clouds of frost.\n\n\"Aha!\" he cried, \"I see, mother, that you have not neglected to\nprovide for my supper!\"\n\n\"Softly, softly, good son,\" said the old dame; \"this is little Yves,\nmy nephew and your cousin; you must not eat him.\" The giant, who\nseemed greatly annoyed, retired into a corner, growling. Shortly\nafterward his brothers, February and March, arrived, and were told the\nsame tale regarding the miller's relationship to them.\n\nOur hero, resolved to profit by the acquaintanceship, asked the\ngigantic February if he would carry him to the palace of the Princess,\nwhom he described.\n\n\"Ah,\" said February, \"without doubt you speak of the Princess\nStarbright. If you wish I will give you a lift on my back part of the\nway.\"\n\nThe miller gratefully accepted the offer, and in the morning mounted\non the back of the mighty wind-giant, who carried him over a great\nsea. Then, after traversing much land and a second ocean, and while\ncrossing a third spacious water, February expressed himself as quite\nfatigued and said that he could not carry his new cousin any farther.\nThe miller glanced beneath him at the great waste of waters and begged\nhim to make an effort to reach the land on the other side. Giving vent\nto a deep-throated grumble, February obeyed, and at last set him down\noutside the walls of the town where the castle of the Princess\nStarbright was situated. The miller entered the town and came to an\ninn, and, having dined, entered into conversation with the hostess,\nasking her the news of the place.\n\n\"Why,\" said the woman, amazed, \"where do you come from that you don't\nknow that the Princess Starbright is to be married to-day, and to a\nhusband that she does not love? The wedding procession will pass the\ndoor in a few moments on its way to the church.\"\n\nThe miller was greatly downcast at these words, but plucking up\ncourage he placed on a little table before the inn the first of the\npears and handkerchiefs that the Princess had left with his friend.\nShortly afterward the wedding procession passed, and the Princess\nimmediately remarked the pear and the kerchief, and also recognized\nthe miller standing close by. She halted, and, feigning illness,\nbegged that the ceremony might be postponed until the morrow. Having\nreturned to the palace, she sent one of her women to purchase the\nfruit and the handkerchief, and these the miller gave the maiden\nwithout question. On the following day the same thing happened, and on\nthe third occasion of the Princess's passing the same series of events\noccurred. This time the Princess sent for the miller, and the pair\nembraced tenderly and wept with joy at having recovered each other.\n\nNow the Princess was as clever as she was beautiful, and she had a\nstratagem by which she hoped to marry the miller without undue\nopposition on the part of her friends. So she procured the marriage\ngarments of the prince, her _fianc\u00e9_, and attiring the miller in them,\ntook him to the marriage feast, which had been prepared for the fourth\ntime at a late hour; but she hid her lover in a secluded corner from\nthe public gaze. After a while she pretended to be looking for\nsomething, and upon being asked what she had lost, replied:\n\n\"I have a beautiful coffer, but, alas! I have lost the key of it. I\nhave found a new key, but it does not fit the casket; should I not\nsearch until I have recovered the old one?\"\n\n\"Without doubt!\" cried every one. Then the Princess, going to the\nplace where the miller was concealed, led him forth by the hand.\n\n\"My lords and gentles,\" she said, \"the coffer I spoke of is my heart;\nhere is the one key that can fit it, the key that I had lost and have\nfound again.\"\n\nThe Princess and the miller were married amid universal rejoicings;\nand some time after the ceremony they did not fail to revisit the Lake\nof L\u00e9guer, the scene of their first meeting, the legend of which still\nclings like the mists of evening to its shores.\n\nThis quaint and curious tale, in which the native folk-lore and French\nelements are so strangely mingled, deals, like its predecessor, with\nthe theme of the search for the fairy princess. We turn now to another\ntale of quest with somewhat similar incidents, where the solar nature\nof one of the characters is perhaps more obvious--the quest for the\nmortal maiden who has been carried off by the sun-hero. We refrain in\nthis place from indicating the mythological basis which underlies such\na tale as this, as such a phenomenon is already amply illustrated in\nother works in this series.\n\n\n_The Castle of the Sun_\n\nThere once lived a peasant who had seven children, six of them boys\nand the seventh a girl. They were very poor and all had to work hard\nfor a living, but the drudges of the family were the youngest son,\nYvon, and his sister, Yvonne. Because they were gentler and more\ndelicate than the others, they were looked upon as poor, witless\ncreatures, and all the hardest work was given them to do. But the\nchildren comforted each other, and became but the better favoured as\nthey grew up.\n\nOne day when Yvonne was taking the cattle to pasture she encountered a\nhandsome youth, so splendidly garbed that her simple heart was filled\nwith awe and admiration. To her astonishment he addressed her and\ncourteously begged her hand in marriage. \"To-morrow,\" he said, \"I\nshall meet you here at this hour, and you shall give me an answer.\"\n\nTroubled, yet secretly happy, Yvonne made her way home, and told her\nparents all that had chanced. At first they laughed her to scorn, and\nrefused to believe her story of the handsome prince, but when at\nlength they were convinced they told her she was free to marry whom\nshe would.\n\nOn the following day Yvonne betook herself to the trysting-place,\nwhere her lover awaited her, even more gloriously resplendent than on\nthe occasion of his first coming. The very trappings of his horse were\nof gleaming gold. At Yvonne's request he accompanied her to her home,\nand made arrangements with her kindred for the marriage. To all\ninquiries regarding his name and place of abode he returned that these\nshould be made known on the wedding morning.\n\nTime passed, and on the day appointed the glittering stranger came to\nclaim his wife. The ceremony over, he swept her into a carriage and\nwas about to drive away, when her brothers reminded him of his promise\nto reveal his identity.\n\n\"Where must we go to visit our sister?\" they asked.\n\n\"Eastward,\" he replied, \"to a palace built of crystal, beyond the Sea\nof Darkness.\"\n\nAnd with that the pair were gone.\n\nA year elapsed, and the brothers neither saw nor heard anything of\ntheir sister, so that at length they decided to go in search of her.\nYvon would have accompanied them, but they bade him stay at home.\n\n\"You are so stupid,\" they said, \"you would be of no use to us.\"\n\nEastward they rode, and ever eastward, till at length they found\nthemselves in the heart of a great forest. Then night came on and they\nlost the path. Twice a great noise, like the riot of a tempest, swept\nover their heads, leaving them trembling and stricken with panic.\n\nBy and by they came upon an old woman tending a great fire, and of her\nthey inquired how they might reach the abode of their brother-in-law.\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" said the old woman, \"but my son may be able to direct\nyou.\"\n\nFor the third time they heard the noise as of a great wind racing over\nthe tree-tops.\n\n\"Hush!\" said the old woman, \"it is my son approaching.\"\n\nHe was a huge giant, this son of hers, and when he drew near the fire\nhe said loudly:\n\n\"Oh ho! I smell the blood of a Christian!\"\n\n\"What!\" cried his mother sharply. \"Would you eat your pretty cousins,\nwho have come so far to visit us?\"\n\nAt that the giant became quite friendly toward his 'cousins,' and when\nhe learned of their mission even offered to conduct them part of the\nway.\n\nNotwithstanding his amiability, however, the brothers spent an anxious\nnight, and were up betimes on the following morning.\n\nThe giant made ready for departure. First of all he bade the old woman\npile fresh fuel on the fire. Then he spread a great black cloth, on\nwhich he made the brothers stand. Finally he strode into the fire, and\nwhen his clothes were consumed the black cloth rose into the air,\nbearing the brothers with it. Its going was marked by the sound of\nrushing wind which had terrified them on the preceding day. At length\nthey alighted on a vast plain, half of which was rich and fertile,\nwhile the other half was bleak and arid as a desert. The plain was\ndotted with horses, and, curiously enough, those on the arid side were\nin splendid condition, whereas those on the fertile part were thin and\nmiserable.\n\nThe brothers had not the faintest idea of which direction they ought\nto take, and after a vain attempt to mount the horses on the plain\nthey decided to return home. After many wanderings they arrived at\ntheir native place once more.\n\nWhen Yvon learned of the ill-success which had attended their mission\nhe decided to go himself in search of his sister, and though his\nbrothers laughed at him they gave him an old horse and bade him go.\n\nEastward and eastward he rode, till at length he reached the forest\nwhere the old woman still tended the fire. Seeing that he was strong\nand fearless, she directed him by a difficult and dangerous road,\nwhich, however, he must pursue if he wished to see his sister.\n\nIt was indeed a place of terrors. Poisonous serpents lay across his\ntrack; ugly thorns and briers sprang underfoot; at one point a lake\nbarred his way.\n\nFinally a subterranean passage led him into his sister's country,\nwhere everything was of crystal, shining with the splendour of the sun\nitself. At the end of a gleaming pathway rose a castle built entirely\nof crystal, its innumerable domes and turrets reflecting the light in\na thousand prismatic hues.\n\nHaving gained access to the castle through a cave, Yvon wandered\nthrough its many beautiful chambers, till in one of these he came\nupon his sister asleep on a silken couch.\n\nEntranced with her beauty, and not daring to wake her, he slipped\nbehind a curtain and watched her in silence; but as time went on he\nmarvelled that she did not wake.\n\nAt eventide a handsome youth--Yvon's brother-in-law--entered the\nchamber, struck Yvonne sharply three times, then flung himself down by\nher side and went to sleep. All night Yvon waited in his place of\nconcealment. In the morning the young man rose from his couch, gave\nhis wife three resounding blows, and went away. Only then did Yvon\nemerge and wake his sister.\n\nBrother and sister exchanged a tender greeting, and found much to talk\nof after their long separation. Yvon learned that the country to which\nhe had come was a peculiar place, where meat and drink could be\nentirely dispensed with, while even sleep was not a necessity.\n\n\"Tell me, Yvonne,\" he said, remembering what he had seen of his\nbrother-in-law, \"does your husband treat you well?\"\n\nYvonne assured him that her husband was all she could wish--that she\nwas perfectly happy.\n\n\"Is he always absent during the day?\" he asked anxiously.\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"Do you know where he goes?\"\n\n\"I do not, my brother.\"\n\n\"I have a mind,\" said Yvon, \"to ask him to let me accompany him on his\njourney. What say you, sister?\"\n\n\"It is a very good plan,\" said Yvonne.\n\nAt sundown her husband returned home. He and Yvon became very good\nfriends, and the latter begged to be allowed to accompany him on his\njourney the following day.\n\n\"You may do so,\" was the response, \"but only on one condition: if you\ntouch or address anyone save me you must return home.\"\n\nYvon readily agreed to accept the condition, and early next morning\nthe two set off. Ere long they came to a wide plain, one half of which\nwas green and fruitful, while the other half was barren and dry. On\nthis plain cattle were feeding, and those on the arid part were fat\nand well-conditioned, while the others were mean and shrivelled to a\ndegree. Yvon learned from his companion that the fat cattle\nrepresented those who were contented with their meagre lot, while the\nlean animals were those who, with a plentiful supply of worldly goods,\nwere yet miserable and discontented.\n\nMany other strange things they saw as they went, but that which seemed\nstrangest of all to Yvon was the sight of two trees lashing each other\nangrily with their branches, as though each would beat the other to\nthe ground.\n\nLaying his hands on them, he forbade them to fight, and lo! in a\nmoment they became two human beings, a man and wife, who thanked Yvon\nfor releasing them from an enchantment under which they had been laid\nas a punishment for their perpetual bickering.\n\nAnon they reached a great cavern from which weird noises proceeded,\nand Yvon would fain have advanced farther; but his companion forbade\nhim, reminding him that in disenchanting the trees he had failed to\nobserve the one essential condition, and must return to the palace\nwhere his sister dwelt.\n\nThere Yvon remained for a few days longer, after which his\nbrother-in-law directed him by a speedy route to his home.\n\n\"Go,\" said the prince, \"but ere long you will return, and then it will\nbe to remain with us for ever.\"\n\nOn reaching his native village Yvon found all trace of his dwelling\ngone. Greatly bewildered, he inquired for his father by name. An old\ngreybeard replied.\n\n\"I have heard of him,\" he said. \"He lived in the days when my\ngrandfather's grandfather was but a boy, and now he sleeps in the\nchurchyard yonder.\"\n\nOnly then did Yvon realize that his visit to his sister had been one,\nnot of days, but of generations!\n\n\n_The Seigneur with the Horse's Head_\n\nFamous among all peoples is the tale of the husband surrounded by\nmystery--bespelled in animal form, like the Prince in the story of\nBeauty and the Beast, nameless, as in that of Lohengrin, or unbeheld\nof his spouse, as in the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Among uncivilized\npeoples it is frequently forbidden to the wife to see her husband's\nface until some time after marriage, and the belief that ill-luck will\nbefall one or both should this law be disregarded runs through\nprimitive story, being perhaps reminiscent of a time when the man of\nan alien or unfriendly tribe crept to his wife's lodge or hut under\ncover of darkness and returned ere yet the first glimmer of dawn might\nbetray him to the men of her people. The story which follows, however,\ndeals with the theme of the enchanted husband whose wife must not\nspeak to anyone until her first child receives the sacrament of\nbaptism, and is, perhaps, unique of its kind.\n\nThere lived at one time in the old ch\u00e2teau of Kerouez, in the commune\nof Loguivy-Plougras, a rich and powerful seigneur, whose only sorrow\nwas the dreadful deformity of his son, who had come into the world\nwith a horse's head. He was naturally kept out of sight as much as\npossible, but when he had attained the age of eighteen years he told\nhis mother one day that he desired to marry, and requested her to\ninterview a farmer in the vicinity who had three pretty young\ndaughters, in order that she might arrange a match with one of them.\n\nThe good lady did as she was requested, not without much embarrassment\nand many qualms of conscience, and after conversing upon every\nimaginable subject, at length gently broke the object of her visit to\nthe astonished farmer. The poor man was at first horrified, but little\nby little the lady worked him into a good humour, so that at last he\nconsented to ask his daughters if any one of them would agree to marry\nthe afflicted young lord. The two elder girls indignantly refused the\noffer, but when it was made plain to them that she who espoused the\nseigneur would one day be ch\u00e2telaine of the castle and become a fine\nlady, the eldest daughter somewhat reluctantly consented and the match\nwas agreed upon.\n\nSome days afterward the bride-to-be happened to pass the castle and\nsaw the servants washing the linen, when one cried to her:\n\n\"How in the world can a fine girl like you be such a fool as to throw\nherself away on a man with a horse's head?\"\n\n\"Bah!\" she replied, \"he is rich, and, let me tell you, we won't be\nmarried for long, for on the bridal night I shall cut his throat.\"\n\nJust at that moment a gay cavalier passed and smiled at the farmer's\ndaughter.\n\n\"You are having a strange conversation, mademoiselle,\" he said. She\ncoloured and looked somewhat confused.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" she replied, \"it is hateful to be mocked by these wenches\nbecause I have the bad luck to be espoused to a seigneur with a\nhorse's head, and I assure you I feel so angry that I shall certainly\ncarry out my threat.\"\n\nThe unknown laughed shortly and went his way. In time the night of the\nnuptials arrived. A grand _f\u00eate_ was held at the ch\u00e2teau, and, the\nceremony over, the bridesmaids conducted the young wife to her\nchamber. The bridegroom shortly followed, and to the surprise of his\nwife, no sooner had the hour of sunset come than his horse's head\ndisappeared and he became exactly as other men. Approaching the bed\nwhere his bride lay, he suddenly seized her, and before she could cry\nout or make the least clamour he killed her in the manner in which she\nhad threatened to kill him.\n\nIn the morning his mother came to the chamber, and was horrified at\nthe spectacle she saw.\n\n\"Gracious heavens! my son, what have you done?\" she cried.\n\n\"I have done that, my mother,\" replied her son, \"which was about to be\ndone to me.\"\n\nThree months afterward the young seigneur asked his mother to repair\nonce more to the farmer with the request that another of his daughters\nmight be given him in marriage. The second daughter, ignorant of the\nmanner of her sister's death, and mindful of the splendid wedding\nfestivities, embraced the proposal with alacrity. Like her sister, she\nchanced to be passing the washing-green of the castle one day, and the\nlaundresses, knowing of her espousal, taunted her upon it, so that at\nlast she grew very angry and cried:\n\n\"I won't be troubled long with the animal, I can assure you, for on\nthe very night that I wed him I shall kill him like a pig!\"\n\nAt that very moment the same unknown gentleman who had overheard the\nfatal words of her sister passed, and said:\n\n\"How now, young women, that's very strange talk of yours!\"\n\n\"Well, monseigneur,\" stammered the betrothed girl, \"they are twitting\nme upon marrying a man with a horse's head; but I will cut his throat\non the night of our wedding with as little conscience as I would cut\nthe throat of a pig.\" The unknown gentleman laughed as he had done\nbefore and passed upon his way.\n\nAs on the previous occasion, the wedding was celebrated with all the\npomp and circumstance which usually attends a Breton ceremony of the\nkind, and in due time the bride was conducted to her chamber, only to\nbe found in the morning weltering in her blood.\n\nAt the end of another three months the seigneur dispatched his mother\nfor the third time to the farmer, with the request that his younger\ndaughter might be given him in marriage, but on this occasion her\nparents were by no means enraptured with the proposal. When the great\nlady, however, promised them that if they consented to the match they\nwould be given the farm to have and to hold as their own property,\nthey found the argument irresistible and reluctantly agreed. Strange\nto say, the girl herself was perfectly composed about the matter, and\ngave it as her opinion that if her sisters had met with a violent\ndeath they were entirely to blame themselves, for some reason which\nshe could not explain, and she added that she thought that their loose\nand undisciplined way of talking had had much to do with their\nuntimely fate. Just as her sisters had been, she too was taunted by\nthe laundresses regarding her choice of a husband, but her answer to\nthem was very different.\n\n\"If they met with their deaths,\" she said, \"it was because of their\nwicked utterances. I do not in the least fear that I shall have the\nsame fate.\"\n\nAs before the unknown seigneur passed, but this time, without saying\nanything, he hurried on his way and was soon lost to view.\n\nThe wedding of the youngest sister was even more splendid than that of\nthe two previous brides. On the following morning the young seigneur's\nmother hastened with fear and trembling to the marriage chamber, and\nto her intense relief found that her daughter-in-law was alive. For\nsome months the bride lived happily with her husband, who every night\nat set of sun regained his natural appearance as a young and handsome\nman. In due time a son was born to them, who had not the least sign of\nhis semi-equine parentage, and when they were about to have the infant\nbaptized the father said to the young mother:\n\n\"Hearken to what I have to say. I was condemned to suffer the horrible\nenchantment you know of until such time as a child should be born to\nme, and I shall be immediately delivered from the curse whenever this\ninfant is baptized. But take care that you do not speak a word until\nthe baptismal bells cease to sound, for if you utter a syllable, even\nto your mother, I shall disappear on the instant and you will never\nsee me more.\"\n\nFull of the resolve not to utter a single sound, the young mother, who\nlay in bed, kept silent, until at last she heard the sound of bells,\nwhen, in her joy, forgetting the warning, she turned to her mother,\nwho sat near, with words of congratulation on her lips. A few moments\nafterward her husband rushed into the room, the horse's head still\nupon his shoulders. He was covered with sweat, and panted fiercely.\n\n\"Ah, miserable woman,\" he cried, \"what have you done? I must leave\nyou, and you shall never see me more!\" and he made as if to quit the\nroom. His wife rose from her bed, and strove to detain him, but he\nstruck at her with his fist. The blood trickled out and made three\nspots on his shirt.\n\n\"Behold these spots,\" cried the young wife; \"they shall never\ndisappear until I find you.\"\n\n\"And I swear to you,\" cried her husband, \"that you will never find me\nuntil you have worn out three pairs of iron shoes in doing so.\"\n\nWith these words he ran off at such speed that the poor wife could not\nfollow him, and, fainting, she sank to the ground.\n\nSome time after her husband had left her the young wife had three\npairs of iron shoes made and went in search of him. After she had\ntravelled about the world for nearly ten years the last pair of shoes\nbegan to show signs of wear, when she found herself one day at a\ncastle where the servants were hanging out the clothes to dry, and she\nheard one of the laundresses say:\n\n\"Do you see this shirt? I declare it is enchanted, for although I have\nwashed it again and again I cannot rub out these three spots of blood\nwhich you see upon it.\"\n\nWhen the wanderer heard this she approached the laundress and said to\nher: \"Let me try, I pray you. I think I can wash the shirt clean.\"\n\nThey gave her the shirt, she washed it, and the spots disappeared. So\ngrateful was the laundress that she bade the stranger go to the castle\nand ask for a meal and a bed. These were willingly granted her, and at\nnight she was placed in a small apartment next to that occupied by the\nlord of the castle. From what she had seen she was sure that her\nhusband was the lord himself, so when she heard the master of the\nhouse enter the room next door she knocked upon the boards which\nseparated it from her own. Her husband, for he it was, replied from\nthe other side; then, entering her room, he recognized his wife, and\nthey were happily united after the years of painful separation. To the\nwife's great joy her husband was now completely restored to his proper\nform, and nothing occurred to mar their happiness for the rest of\ntheir lives.\n\n\n_The Bride of Satan_\n\nWeird and terrible as are many of the darksome legends of Brittany, it\nmay be doubted if any are more awe-inspiring than that which we are\nnow about to relate. \"Those who are affianced three times without\nmarrying shall burn in hell,\" says an old Breton proverb, and it is\nprobably this aphorism which has given the Bretons such a strong\nbelief in the sacred nature of a betrothal. The fantastic ballad from\nwhich this story is taken is written in the dialect of L\u00e9on, and the\nwords are put into the mouth of a maiden of that country. Twice had\nshe been betrothed. On the last occasion she had worn a robe of the\nfinest stuff, embroidered with twelve brilliant stars and having the\nfigures of the sun and moon painted upon it, like the lady in Madame\nd'Aulnoy's story of _Finette Cendron_ (_Cinderella_). On the occasion\nwhen she went to meet her third _fianc\u00e9_ in church she almost fainted\nas she turned with her maidens into the little road leading up to the\nbuilding, for there before her was a great lord clad in steel\n_cap-\u00e0-pie_, wearing on his head a casque of gold, his shoulders\ncovered by a blood-coloured mantle. Strange lights flashed from his\neyes, which glittered under his casque like meteors. By his side stood\na huge black steed, which ever and again struck the ground impatiently\nwith his hoofs, throwing up sparks of fire.\n\nThe priest was waiting in the church, the bridegroom arrived, but the\nbride did not come. Where had she gone? She had stepped on board a\nbarque with the dark steel-clad lord, and the ship passed silently\nover the waters until it vanished among the shadows of night. Then the\nlady turned to her husband.\n\n\"What gloomy waters are these through which we sail, my lord?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"This is the Lake of Anguish,\" he replied in hollow tones. \"We sail to\nthe Place of Skulls, at the mouth of Hell.\"\n\nAt this the wretched bride wept bitterly. \"Take back your wedding-ring!\"\nshe cried. \"Take back your dowry and your bridal gifts!\"\n\nBut he answered not. Down they descended into horrid darkness, and as\nthe unhappy maiden fell there rang in her ears the cries of the\ndamned.\n\n[Illustration: THE BRIDE OF SATAN]\n\nThis tale is common to many countries. The fickle maiden is everywhere\nregarded among primitive peoples with dislike and distrust. But\nperhaps the folk-ballad which most nearly resembles that just related\nis the Scottish ballad of _The Demon Lover_, which inspired the late\nHamish MacCunn, the gifted Scottish composer, in the composition of\nhis weird and striking orchestral piece, _The Ship o' the Fiend_.\n\n\n_The Baron of Jauioz_\n\nAnother tradition which tells of the fate of an unhappy maiden is\nenshrined in the ballad of _The Baron of Jauioz_. Louis, Baron of\nJauioz, in Languedoc, was a French warrior of considerable renown who\nflourished in the fourteenth century, and who took part in many of the\nprincipal events of that stirring epoch, fighting against the English\nin France and Flanders under the Duke of Berry, his overlord. Some\nyears later he embarked for the Holy Land, but, if we may believe\nBreton tradition, he returned, and while passing through the duchy\nfell in love with and actually bought for a sum of money a young\nBreton girl, whom he carried away with him to France. The unfortunate\nmaiden, so far from being attracted by the more splendid environment\nof his castle, languished and died.\n\n\"I hear the note of the death-bird,\" the ballad begins sadly; \"is it\ntrue, my mother, that I am sold to the Baron of Jauioz?\"\n\n\"Ask your father, little Tina, ask your father,\" is the callous reply,\nand the question is then put to her father, who requests the\nunfortunate damsel to ask her brother, a harsh rustic who does not\nscruple to tell her the brutal truth, and adds that she must depart\nimmediately. The girl asks what dress she must wear, her red gown, or\nher gown of white delaine.\n\n\"It matters little, my daughter,\" says the heartless mother. \"Your\nlover waits at the door mounted on a great black horse. Go to him on\nthe instant.\"\n\nAs she leaves her native village the clocks are striking, and she\nweeps bitterly.\n\n\"Adieu, Saint Anne!\" she says. \"Adieu, bells of my native land!\"\n\nPassing the Lake of Anguish she sees a band of the dead, white and\nshadowy, crossing the watery expanse in their little boats. As she\npasses them she can hear their teeth chatter. At the Valley of Blood\nshe espies other unfortunates. Their hearts are sunken in them and all\nmemory has left them.\n\nAfter this terrible ride the Baron and Tina reach the castle of\nJauioz. The old man seats himself near the fire. He is black and\nill-favoured as a carrion crow. His beard and his hair are white, and\nhis eyes are like firebrands.\n\n\"Come hither to me, my child,\" says he, \"come with me from chamber to\nchamber that I may show you my treasures.\"\n\n\"Ah, seigneur,\" she replies, the tears falling fast, \"I had rather be\nat home with my mother counting the chips which fall from the fire.\"\n\n\"Let us descend, then, to the cellar, where I will show you the rich\nwines in the great bins.\"\n\n\"Ah, sir, I would rather quaff the water of the fields that my\nfather's horses drink.\"\n\n\"Come with me, then, to the shops, and I will buy you a sumptuous\ngown.\"\n\n\"Better that I were wearing the working dress that my mother made\nme.\"\n\nThe seigneur turns from her in anger. She lingers at the window and\nwatches the birds, begging them to take a message from her to her\nfriends.\n\nAt night a gentle voice whispers: \"My father, my mother, for the love\nof God, pray for me!\" Then all is silence.\n\nIn this striking ballad we find strong traces of the Breton love of\ncountry and other national traits. The death-bird alluded to is a grey\nbird which sings during the winter in the Landes country in a voice\nsoft and sad. It is probably a bird of the osprey species. It is\nthought that the girl who hears it sing is doomed to misfortune. The\nstrange and ghostly journey of the unhappy Tina recalls the _mise en\nsc\u00e8ne_ of such ballads as _The Bride of Satan_, and it would seem that\nshe passes through the Celtic Tartarus. It is plain that the Seigneur\nof Jauioz by his purchase of their countrywoman became so unpopular\namong the freedom-loving Bretons that at length they magnified him\ninto a species of demon--a traditionary fate which he thoroughly\ndeserved, if the heartrending tale concerning his victim has any\nfoundation in fact.\n\n\n_The Man of Honour_\n\nThe tale of the man who is helped by the grateful dead is by no means\nconfined to Brittany. Indeed, in folk-tale the dead are often jealous\nof the living and act toward them with fiendish malice. But in the\nfollowing we have a story in which a dead man shows his gratitude to\nthe living for receiving the boon of Christian burial at his hands.\n\nThere was once a merchant-prince who had gained a great fortune by\ntrading on land and sea. Many ships were his, and with these he traded\nto far countries, reaping a rich harvest. He had a son named Iouenn,\nand he was desirous that he too should embrace the career of a\nmerchant and become rich. When, therefore, Iouenn declared his\nwillingness to trade in distant lands his father was delighted and\ngave him a ship full of Breton merchandise, with instructions to sell\nit to the best advantage in a foreign country and return home with the\ngold thus gained.\n\nAfter a successful voyage the vessel arrived at a foreign port, and\nIouenn presented his father's letters to the merchants there, and\ndisposed of his cargo so well that he found himself in possession of a\nlarge sum of money. One day as he was walking on the outskirts of the\ncity he saw a large number of dogs gathered round some object, barking\nat it and worrying it. Approaching them, he discovered that that which\nthey were worrying was nothing less than the corpse of a man. Making\ninquiries, he found that the unfortunate wretch had died deeply in\ndebt, and that his body had been thrown into the roadway to be eaten\nby the dogs. Iouenn was shocked to see such an indignity offered to\nthe dead, and out of the kindness of his heart chased the dogs away,\npaid the debts of the deceased, and granted his body the last rites of\nsepulture.\n\nA few days afterward he left the port where these things had happened\nand set out on his homeward voyage. He had not sailed far when one of\nthe mariners drew his attention to a strange ship a little distance\naway, which appeared to be draped entirely in black.\n\n\"That is indeed a curious vessel,\" said Iouenn. \"Wherefore is it\ndraped in black? and for what reason do those on board bewail so\nloudly?\"\n\nWhile he spoke the ship drew nearer, and Iouenn called to the people\nwho thronged its decks, asking why they made such loud laments.\n\n\"Alas! good sir,\" replied the captain of the strange ship, \"not far\nfrom here is an island inhabited by an enormous serpent, which for\nseven years has demanded an annual tribute of a royal princess, and we\nare now bearing another victim to her doom.\"\n\nIouenn laughed. \"Where is the Princess?\" he asked. At that moment the\nPrincess came on deck, weeping and wringing her hands. Iouenn was so\nstruck by her beauty that he there and then declared in the most\nemphatic manner that she should never become the prey of the serpent.\nOn learning from the captain that he would hand over the maiden if a\nsufficient bribe were forthcoming, he paid over to him the last of the\nmoney he had gained from his trading, and taking the Princess on his\nown vessel sailed homeward.\n\nIn due time Iouenn arrived home and was welcomed with delight by his\nfather; but when the old man learned the story of what had been done\nwith his money he was furious; nor would he believe for a moment that\nthe lady his son had rescued was a veritable princess, but chased\nIouenn from his presence with hard and bitter words. Nevertheless\nIouenn married the royal lady he had rescued, and they started\nhousekeeping in a tiny dwelling. Time went on, and the Princess\npresented her husband with a little son, but by this time fortune had\nsmiled upon Iouenn, for an uncle of his, who was also a merchant, had\nentrusted him with a fine vessel to trade in Eastern lands; so, taking\nwith him the portraits of his wife and child, he set out on his\nvoyage. With a fresh wind and favourable conditions generally he was\nnot long in coming to the city where his wife's father reigned. Now,\nsome mariners of the port, having entered the ship out of curiosity,\nobserved the portrait of the Princess, and informed the King of the\ncircumstance. The King himself came to the ship and demanded to know\nwhat had become of his daughter. Iouenn did not, of course, realize\nthat the monarch was his father-in-law, and assured him that he knew\nnothing of his daughter, whereupon the King, growing very angry, had\nhim cast into prison and ordered his ship to be broken to pieces and\nburned. In prison Iouenn made friends with his gaoler, to whom he\nrelated his history, which the gaoler in turn told the King, with the\nresult that the prisoner was brought before the monarch, who desired\nhim to set out at once to bring his daughter back, and for this\npurpose fitted him out with a new vessel. But the old monarch took the\nprecaution of sending two of his ministers along with the Breton\nsailor in case he should not return. The party soon came to Brittany,\nand found the Princess and her infant safe.\n\nNow one of the King's ministers had loved the Princess for a long\ntime, and consequently did not regard her husband with any great\ndegree of favour; so when they re-embarked on the return journey to\nher father's kingdom her suspicions were aroused, and, fully aware of\nthe minister's crafty nature, she begged her husband to remain with\nher as much as possible. But Iouenn liked to be on the bridge, whence\nhe could direct the operations of his mariners, and laughed at his\nwife's fears. One night as he leaned over the side of the vessel,\ngazing upon the calm of the star-strewn sea, his enemy approached very\nstealthily and, seizing him by the legs, cast him headlong into the\nwaters. After this he waited for a few moments, and, hearing no\nsound, cried out that the captain had fallen overboard. A search was\nmade, but with no avail. The Princess was distraught, and in the\nbelief that her husband had perished remained in her cabin lamenting.\nBut Iouenn was a capital swimmer and struck out lustily. He swam\naround for a long time, without, however, encountering any object upon\nwhich he could lay hold to support himself. Meanwhile the ship sailed\non her course, and in due time arrived at the kingdom of the\nPrincess's father, by whom she was received with every demonstration\nof joy. Great festivities were announced, and so pleased was the old\nKing at his daughter's return that he willingly consented to her\nmarriage with the treacherous minister, whom he regarded as the\ninstrument of her deliverance. But the Princess put off the\nwedding-day by every possible artifice, for she felt in her heart that\nher husband was not really lost to her.\n\nLet us return now to Iouenn. After swimming for some time he came upon\na barren rock in the middle of the ocean, and here, though beaten upon\nby tempests and without any manner of shelter save that afforded by a\ncleft in the rock, he succeeded in living for three years upon the\nshell-fish which he gathered on the shores of his little domain. In\nthat time he had grown almost like a savage. His clothes had fallen\noff him and he was thickly covered with matted hair. The only mark of\ncivilization he bore was a chain of gold encircling his neck, the gift\nof his wife. One night he was sitting in his small dwelling munching\nhis wretched supper of shell-fish when an eerie sound broke the\nstillness. He started violently. Surely these were human accents that\nhe heard--yet not altogether human, for their weird cadence held\nsomething of the supernatural, and cold as he was he felt himself\ngrow still more chilly.\n\n\"Cold, cold,\" cried the voice, and a dreadful chattering of teeth\nended in a long-drawn wail of \"Hou, hou, hou!\"\n\nThe sound died away and once more he was left amid the great silence\nof the sea.\n\nThe next evening brought the same experience, but although Iouenn was\nbrave he dared not question his midnight visitor. On the third\noccasion, however, he demanded: \"Who is there?\"\n\nOut of the darkness there crawled a man completely naked, his body\ncovered with blood and horrible wounds, the eyes fixed and glassy.\n\nIouenn trembled with horror. \"In the name of God, who are you?\" he\ncried.\n\n\"Ha, so you do not remember me, Iouenn?\" asked the phantom. \"I am that\nunfortunate man whose body you gave decent burial, and now I have come\nto help you in turn. Without doubt you wish to leave this desert rock\non which you have suffered so long.\"\n\n\"I do, most devoutly,\" replied Iouenn.\n\n\"Well, you will have to make haste,\" said the dead man, \"for\nto-morrow your wife is going to be married to the minister of your\nfather-in-law, the wretch who cast you into the sea. Now if you will\npromise to give me a share of all that belongs to yourself and your\nwife within a year and a day, I will carry you at once to the palace\nof your father-in-law.\"\n\nIouenn promised to do as the phantom requested, and the dread being\nthen asked him to mount upon his back. Iouenn did so, and the corpse\nthen plunged into the sea, and, swimming swiftly, soon brought him to\nthe port where his father-in-law reigned. When it had set him safely\non shore it turned and with a wave of its gaunt white arm cried, \"In a\nyear and a day,\" then plunged back into the sea.\n\nWhen the door-keeper of the palace opened the gate in the morning he\nwas astounded to see what appeared to be an animal crouching on the\nground outside and crying for help. It was Iouenn. The palace lackeys\ncrowded round him and threw him morsels of bread, which he devoured\nwith avidity. One of the waiting-women told the Princess of the\nstrange being who crouched outside. She descended in order to view\nhim, and at once observed the golden chain she had given to her\nhusband round his neck. Iouenn immediately rushed to embrace her. She\ntook him to her chamber and clothed him suitably. By this time the\nbridal preparations had been completed, and, like the Princess in the\nstory of the Miller of L\u00e9guer, the bride asked the advice of the\ncompany as to whether it were better to search for an old key that\nfitted a coffer in her possession or make use of a new key which did\nnot fit; the coffer, of course, being her heart and the respective\nkeys her husband and the minister. All the company advised searching\nfor the old key, when she produced Iouenn and explained what she had\nmeant. The crafty minister grew pale as death at sight of Iouenn, and\nthe King stormed furiously.\n\n\"Ho, there!\" he cried, \"build a great fire, varlets, and cast this\nslave into it.\" All the company thought at first that his words were\nintended to apply to Iouenn, but when they saw him point at the\nminister whose guilt the Princess had made plain, they applauded and\nthe wretch was hurried away to his doom.\n\nIouenn and the Princess lived happily at the Court, and in time a\nsecond little son was born to them. Their first child had died, and\nthey were much rejoiced at its place being filled. Iouenn had entirely\nforgotten his indebtedness to the dead man, but one day in the month\nof November, when his wife was sitting quietly by the fire nursing her\ninfant, with her husband opposite her, three loud knocks resounded\nupon the door, which flew open and revealed the horrible form of the\ncorpse to which Iouenn owed his freedom. The Princess shrieked at\nsight of the phantom, which said in deep tones: \"Iouenn, remember thy\nbargain.\"\n\nTrembling, Iouenn turned to his wife and asked her for the keys of\ntheir treasure-house, that he might give their terrible visitor a\nportion of their wealth, but with a disdainful wave of its arm the\napparition bade him cease. \"It is not your wealth I require, Iouenn,\"\nit said in hollow tones. \"Behold that which I desire,\" and it pointed\nto the infant slumbering in its mother's arms.\n\nOnce more the Princess cried aloud, and clasped her little one to her\nbosom.\n\n\"My infant!\" cried Iouenn in despair. \"Never!\"\n\n\"If you are a man of honour,\" said the corpse, \"think of your promise\nmade on the barren rock.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Iouenn, wringing his hands, \"but oh, remember how I\nsaved your body from the dogs.\"\n\n\"I only ask what is my due,\" said the ghost. \"Besides, I do not desire\nall your infant, but a share of it only.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" cried Iouenn, \"are you without a heart? Have then your wish,\nfor honour with me is above all.\" The infant was then undressed and\nlaid between the two upon a table.\n\n\"Take your sword,\" said the phantom, \"and cut off a portion for me.\"\n\n\"Ah, I would that I were on that desert rock in the middle of the\nocean!\" cried the unhappy father. He raised his weapon and was about\nto strike, when the phantom called upon him to hold.\n\n\"Harm not your infant, Iouenn,\" it cried. \"I see clearly that you are\na man of honour and that you have not forgotten the service I rendered\nyou; nor do I fail to remember what you did for me, and how it is\nthrough you that I am able to dwell in Paradise, which I would not\nhave been permitted to enter had my debts not been paid and my body\ngiven burial. Farewell, until we meet above.\" And with these words the\napparition vanished.\n\nIouenn and the Princess lived long, respected by all, and when the old\nKing died Iouenn, the man of his word, was made King in his place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI: BRETON FOLK-TALES\n\n\nThe stories told here under the title of 'folk-tales' are such as do\nnot partake so much of the universal element which enters so largely\ninto Breton romance, but those which have a more national or even\nlocal tinge and are yet not legendary. The homely flavour attached to\nmany stories of this kind is very apparent, and it is evident that\nthey have been put together in oral form by unknown 'makers,' some of\nwhom had either a natural or artistic aptitude for story-telling. In\nthe first of the following tales it is curious to note how the ancient\nBreton theme has been put by its peasant narrator into almost a modern\ndress.\n\n\n_The Magic Rose_\n\nAn aged Breton couple had two sons, the elder of whom went to Paris to\nseek his fortune, while the younger one was timid by nature and would\nnot leave the paternal roof. His mother, who felt the burden of her\nage, wished the stay-at-home to marry. At first he would not hear of\nthe idea, but at last, persuaded by her, he took a wife. He had only\nbeen married a few weeks, however, when his young bride sickened and\ndied. La Rose, for such was his name, was inconsolable. Every evening\nhe went to the cemetery where his wife was buried, and wept over her\ntomb.\n\nOne night he was about to enter the graveyard on his sad errand when\nhe beheld a terrible phantom standing before him, which asked him in\nawful tones what he did there.\n\n\"I am going to pray at the tomb of my wife,\" replied the terrified La\nRose.\n\n\"Do you wish that she were alive again?\" asked the spirit.\n\n\"Ah, yes!\" cried the sorrowing husband. \"There is nothing that I would\nnot do in order that she might be restored to me.\"\n\n\"Hearken, then,\" said the phantom. \"Return to this place to-morrow\nnight at the same hour. Provide yourself with a pick and you will see\nwhat comes to pass.\"\n\nOn the following night the young widower was punctually at the\nrendezvous. The phantom presented itself before him and said:\n\n\"Go to the tomb of your wife and strike it with your pick; the earth\nwill turn aside and you will behold her lying in her shroud. Take this\nlittle silver box, which contains a rose; open it and pass it before\nher nostrils three times, when she will awake as if from a deep\nsleep.\"\n\nLa Rose hastened to the tomb of his wife, and everything happened as\nthe phantom had predicted. He placed the box containing the rose to\nhis wife's nostrils and she awoke with a sigh, saying: \"Ah, I have\nbeen asleep for a long time.\" Her husband provided her with clothes\nwhich he had brought with him, and they returned to their house, much\nto the joy of his parents.\n\nSome time afterward La Rose's father died at a great age, and the\ngrief-stricken mother was not long in following him to the grave. La\nRose wrote to his brother in Paris to return to Brittany in order to\nreceive his portion of the paternal inheritance, but he was unable to\nleave the capital, so La Rose had perforce to journey to Paris. He\npromised his wife before leaving that he would write to her every\nday, but on his arrival in the city he found his brother very ill, and\nin the anxiety of nursing him back to health he quite forgot to send\nhis wife news of how he fared.\n\nThe weeks passed and La Rose's wife, without word of her husband,\nbegan to dread that something untoward had happened to him. Day by day\nshe sat at her window weeping and watching for the courier who brought\nletters from Paris. A regiment of dragoons chanced to be billeted in\nthe town, and the captain, who lodged at the inn directly opposite La\nRose's house, was greatly attracted by the young wife. He inquired of\nthe landlady who was the beautiful dame who sat constantly weeping at\nher window, and learned the details of her history. He wrote a letter\nto her purporting to come from La Rose's brother in Paris, telling her\nthat her husband had died in the capital, and some time after paid his\naddresses to the supposed widow, who accepted him. They were married,\nand when the regiment left the town the newly wedded pair accompanied\nit.\n\nMeanwhile La Rose's brother recovered from his illness, and the eager\nhusband hastened back to Brittany. But when he arrived at his home he\nwas surprised to find the doors closed, and was speedily informed of\nwhat had occurred during his absence. For a while he was too\ngrief-stricken to act, but, recovering himself somewhat, he resolved\nto enlist in the regiment of dragoons in which the false captain held\nhis commission. The beauty of his handwriting procured him the post of\nsecretary to one of the lieutenants, but although he frequently\nattempted to gain sight of his wife he never succeeded in doing so.\nOne day the captain entered the lieutenant's office, observed the\nwriting of La Rose, and asked his brother officer if he would kindly\nlend him his secretary for a few days to assist him with some\ncorrespondence. While helping the captain La Rose beheld his wife, who\ndid not, however, recognize him. Greatly pleased with his work, the\ncaptain invited him to dinner. During the repast a servant, who had\nstolen a silver dish, fearing that it was about to be missed, slid it\ninto La Rose's pocket, and when it could not be found, accused the\nsecretary of the theft. La Rose was brought before a court-martial,\nwhich condemned him to be shot.\n\nWhile in prison awaiting his execution La Rose struck up an\nacquaintance with an old veteran named P\u00e8re La Chique, who brought him\nhis meals and seemed kindly disposed to him.\n\n\"P\u00e8re La Chique,\" said La Rose one day, \"I have two thousand francs;\nif you will do as I ask you they shall be yours.\"\n\nThe veteran promised instantly, and La Rose requested that after he\nwas shot La Chique should go to the cemetery where he was buried and\nresuscitate him with the magic rose, which he had carefully preserved.\nOn the appointed day La Rose was duly executed, but P\u00e8re La Chique,\nwith his pockets full of money, went from inn to inn, drinking and\nmaking merry. Whenever the thought of La Rose crossed his mind, he\nmuttered to himself in bibulous accents: \"Poor fellow, poor fellow, he\nis better dead. This is a weary world; why should I bring him back to\nit?\"\n\nWhen P\u00e8re La Chique had caroused with his comrades for some days the\ntwo thousand francs had almost disappeared. Then remorse assailed him\nand he made up his mind to do as La Rose had wished. Taking a pick\nand an axe he went to the graveyard, but when he struck the grave with\nhis tools and the earth rolled back, disclosing the body of La Rose,\nthe old fellow was so terrified that he ran helter-skelter from the\nspot. A draught of good wine brought back his failing courage,\nhowever, and he returned and passed the rose three times under the\nnostrils of his late acquaintance. Instantly La Rose sat up.\n\n\"By my faith, I've had a good sleep!\" he said, rubbing his eyes.\n\"Where are my clothes?\"\n\nP\u00e8re La Chique handed him his garments, and after he had donned them\nthey quitted the graveyard with all haste.\n\nLa Rose now found it necessary to cast about for a living. One day he\nheard the sound of a drum in the street, and, following it, found that\nit was beaten by a crier who promised in the King's name a large\nreward to those who would enlist as sentinels to guard a chapel where\nthe King's daughter, who had been changed into a monster, was\nimprisoned. La Rose accepted the offer, and then learned to his dismay\nthat the sentinel who guarded the place between the hours of eleven\nand midnight was never seen again. On the very first night that he\ntook up his duties this perilous watch fell to his lot. He felt his\ncourage deserting him, and he was about to fly when he heard a voice\nsay: \"La Rose, where are you?\"\n\nLa Rose trembled. \"What do you wish with me?\" he asked.\n\n\"Hearken to me, and no evil will befall you,\" replied the voice. \"Soon\na great and grisly beast will appear. Leave your musket by the side of\nthe sentry-box, climb on the top, and the beast will not touch you.\"\n\nAs eleven o'clock struck La Rose heard a noise and hastened to climb\non the top of the sentry-box. Soon a hideous monster came out of the\nchapel, breathing flames and crying: \"Sentinel of my father, where art\nthou, that I may devour thee?\" As it uttered these words, it fell\nagainst the musket, which it seized between its teeth. Then the\ncreature disappeared into the chapel and La Rose descended from his\nperch. He found the musket broken into a thousand pieces.\n\nThe old King was delighted to learn that his sentinel had not been\ndevoured, for in order that his daughter should be delivered from her\nenchantment as a beast it was necessary that the same sentinel should\nmount guard for three consecutive nights between the hours of eleven\nand midnight.\n\nOn the following night La Rose was pacing up and down on guard, when\nthe same voice addressed him, telling him on this occasion to place\nhis musket before the door of the chapel. The beast issued as before,\nseized the musket, broke it into small pieces, and returned to the\nchapel. On the third night the voice advised him to throw open the\ndoor of the chapel, and when the beast came out to run into the\nbuilding himself, where he would see a leaden shrine, behind which he\ncould take refuge, and where he would find a small bottle, with the\ncontents of which he was to sprinkle the beast's head. With its usual\ndreadful roar the monster issued from the chapel. La Rose leapt past\nit and ran for the leaden shrine. It followed him with hideous howls,\nand he only reached the protective sanctuary in time. Seizing the\nlittle bottle which lay there, he fearlessly fronted the beast and\nsprinkled its contents over its head. Instantly it changed into a\nbeautiful princess, whom La Rose escorted to her delighted parents. La\nRose and the princess were betrothed and duly married, and shortly\nafterward the King gave up his throne to his son-in-law.\n\nOne day the new King was inspecting the regiment of dragoons to which\nhe had once belonged.\n\n\"Colonel,\" he said, \"I miss a man from your regiment.\"\n\n\"It is true, sire,\" replied the Colonel. \"It is an old fellow called\nP\u00e8re La Chique, whom we have left at the barracks playing his violin,\nthe old good-for-nothing!\"\n\n\"I wish to see him,\" said the King.\n\nP\u00e8re La Chique was brought forward trembling, and the King, tearing\nthe epaulettes from the shoulders of the captain who had stolen his\nwife, placed them on those of P\u00e8re La Chique. He then gave orders for\na great fire to be lit, in which were burned the wicked captain and\nthe wife who had so soon forgotten her husband.\n\nLa Rose and his Queen lived happily ever afterward--which is rather\nodd, is it not, when one thinks of the treatment meted out to his\nresuscitated spouse? But if the lights in folk-tale are bright, the\nshadows are correspondingly heavy, and rarely does justice go hand in\nhand with mercy in legend!\n\n\n_Norouas, the North-west Wind_\n\nBrittany has an entire cycle of folk-tales dealing with the subject of\nthe winds--which, indeed, play an extraordinary part in Breton\nfolk-lore. The fishermen of the north coast frequently address the\nwinds as if they were living beings, hurling opprobrious epithets at\nthem if the direction in which they blow does not suit their purpose,\nshaking their fists at them in a most menacing manner the while. The\nfollowing story, the only wind-tale it is possible to give here, well\nillustrates this personalization of the winds by the Breton folk.\n\nThere was once a goodman and his wife who had a little field on which\nthey grew flax. One season their patch yielded a particularly fine\ncrop, and after it had been cut they laid it out to dry. But Norouas,\nthe North-west Wind, came along and with one sweep of his mighty wings\ntossed it as high as the tree-tops, so that it fell into the sea and\nwas lost.\n\nWhen the goodman saw what had happened he began to swear at the Wind,\nand, taking his stick, he set out to follow and slay Norouas, who had\nspoiled his flax. So hasty had he been in setting forth that he had\ntaken no food or money with him, and when evening came he arrived at\nan inn hungry and penniless. He explained his plight to the hostess,\nwho gave him a morsel of bread and permitted him to sleep in a corner\nof the stable. In the morning he asked the dame the way to the abode\nof Norouas, and she conducted him to the foot of a mountain, where she\nsaid the Winds dwelt.\n\nThe goodman climbed the mountain, and at the top met with Surouas, the\nSouth-west Wind.\n\n\"Are you he whom they call Norouas?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, I am Surouas,\" said the South-west Wind.\n\n\"Where then is that villain Norouas?\" cried the goodman.\n\n\"Hush!\" said Surouas, \"do not speak so loud, goodman, for if he hears\nyou he will toss you into the air like a straw.\"\n\nAt that moment Norouas arrived, whistling wildly and vigorously.\n\n\"Ah, thief of a Norouas,\" cried the goodman, \"it was you who stole my\nbeautiful crop of flax!\" But the Wind took no notice of him.\nNevertheless he did not cease to cry: \"Norouas, Norouas, give me back\nmy flax!\"\n\n\"Hush, hush!\" cried Norouas. \"Here is a napkin that will perhaps make\nyou keep quiet.\"\n\n\"With my crop of flax,\" howled the goodman, \"I could have made a\nhundred napkins such as this. Norouas, give me back my flax!\"\n\n\"Be silent, fellow,\" said Norouas. \"This is no common napkin which I\ngive you. You have only to say, 'Napkin, unfold thyself,' to have the\nbest spread table in the world standing before you.\"\n\nThe goodman took the napkin with a grumble, descended the mountain,\nand there, only half believing what Norouas had said, placed the\nnapkin before him, saying, \"Napkin, unfold thyself.\" Immediately a\ntable appeared spread with a princely repast. The odour of cunningly\ncooked dishes arose, and rare wines sparkled in glittering vessels.\nAfter he had feasted the table vanished, and the goodman folded up his\nnapkin and went back to the inn where he had slept the night before.\n\n\"Well, did you get any satisfaction out of Norouas?\" asked the\nhostess.\n\n\"Indeed I did,\" replied the goodman, producing the napkin. \"Behold\nthis: Napkin, unfold thyself!\" and as he spoke the magic table appeared\nbefore their eyes. The hostess, struck dumb with astonishment, at\nonce became covetous and resolved to have the napkin for herself. So\nthat night she placed the goodman in a handsome apartment where\nthere was a beautiful bed with a soft feather mattress, on which he\nslept more soundly than ever he had done in his life. When he was fast\nasleep the cunning hostess entered the room and stole the napkin,\nleaving one of similar appearance in its place.\n\nIn the morning the goodman set his face homeward, and duly arrived\nat his little farm. His wife eagerly asked him if Norouas had made\ngood the damage done to the flax, to which her husband replied\naffirmatively and drew the substituted napkin from his pocket.\n\n\"Why,\" quoth the dame, \"we could have made two hundred napkins like\nthis out of the flax that was destroyed.\"\n\n\"Ah, but,\" said the goodman, \"this napkin is not the same as others. I\nhave only to say, 'Napkin, unfold thyself,' and a table covered with a\nmost splendid feast appears. Napkin, unfold thyself--unfold thyself,\ndost thou hear?\"\n\n\"You are an old fool, goodman,\" said his wife when nothing happened.\nHer husband's jaw dropped and he seized his stick.\n\n\"I have been sold by that rascal Norouas,\" he cried. \"Well, I shall\nnot spare him this time,\" and without more ado he rushed out of the\nhouse and took the road to the home of the Winds.\n\nHe slept as before at the inn, and next morning climbed the mountain.\nHe began at once to call loudly upon Norouas, who was whistling up\naloft, demanding that he should return him his crop of flax.\n\n\"Be quiet, down there!\" cried Norouas.\n\n\"I shall not be quiet!\" screamed the goodman, brandishing his\nbludgeon. \"You have made matters worse by cheating me with that napkin\nof yours!\"\n\n\"Well, well, then,\" replied Norouas, \"here is an ass; you have only to\nsay 'Ass, make me some gold,' and it will fall from his tail.\"\n\nThe goodman, eager to test the value of the new gift, at once led the\nass to the foot of the mountain and said: \"Ass, make me some gold.\"\nThe ass shook his tail, and a _rouleau_ of gold pieces fell to the\nground. The goodman hastened to the inn, where, as before, he\ndisplayed the phenomenon to the hostess, who that night went into the\nstable and exchanged for the magical animal another similar in\nappearance to it. On the evening of the following day the goodman\nreturned home and acquainted his wife with his good luck, but when he\ncharged the ass to make gold and nothing happened, she railed at him\nonce more for a fool, and in a towering passion he again set out to\nslay Norouas. Arrived at the mountain for the third time, he called\nloudly on the North-west Wind, and when he came heaped insults and\nreproaches upon him.\n\n\"Softly,\" replied Norouas; \"I am not to blame for your misfortune. You\nmust know that it is the hostess at the inn where you slept who is the\nguilty party, for she stole your napkin and your ass. Take this\ncudgel. When you say to it, 'Strike, cudgel,' it will at once attack\nyour enemies, and when you want it to stop you have only to cry, '_Ora\npro nobis_.'\"\n\nThe goodman, eager to test the efficacy of the cudgel, at once said to\nit, \"Strike, cudgel,\" whereupon it commenced to belabour him so\nsoundly that he yelled, \"_Ora pro nobis!_\" when it ceased.\n\nReturning to the inn in a very stormy mood, he loudly demanded the\nreturn of his napkin and his ass, whereupon the hostess threatened to\nfetch the gendarmes.\n\n\"Strike, cudgel!\" cried the goodman, and the stick immediately set\nabout the hostess in such vigorous style that she cried to the goodman\nto call it off and she would at once return his ass and his napkin.\n\nWhen his property had been returned to him the goodman lost no time in\nmaking his way homeward, where he rejoiced his wife by the sight of\nthe treasures he brought with him. He rapidly grew rich, and his\nneighbours, becoming suspicious at the sight of so much wealth, had\nhim arrested and brought before a magistrate on a charge of wholesale\nmurder and robbery. He was sentenced to death, and on the day of his\nexecution he was about to mount the scaffold, when he begged as a last\nrequest that his old cudgel might be brought him. The boon was\ngranted, and no sooner had the stick been given into his hands than he\ncried, \"Strike, cudgel!\"\n\nAnd the cudgel _did_ strike. It belaboured judge, gendarmes, and\nspectators in such a manner that they fled howling from the scene. It\ndemolished the scaffold and cracked the hangman's crown. A great cry\nfor mercy arose. The goodman was instantly pardoned, and was never\nfurther molested in the enjoyment of the treasures the North-west Wind\nhad given him as compensation for his crop of flax.\n\n\n_The Foster-Brother_\n\nThe weird tale which follows has many parallels in world folk-lore, but\nis localized at Tr\u00e9guier, an old cathedral town in the C\u00f4tes-du-Nord at\nthe junction of the Jaudy and the Guindy, famous for the beautiful\nwindows of its celebrated church, founded by St Tugdual.\n\nGwennola\u00efk was the most noble and beautiful maiden in Tr\u00e9guier, but,\nalas! she was almost friendless, for at an early age she had lost her\nfather, her mother, and her two sisters, and her sole remaining\nrelative was her stepmother. Pitiful it was to see her standing at the\ndoor of her manor, weeping as if her heart would break. But although\nshe had none of her own blood to cherish she still nursed the hope\nthat her foster-brother, who had journeyed abroad for some years,\nmight one day return, and often would she stand gazing fixedly over\nthe sea as if in search of the vessel that would bring him home. They\nhad been playmates, and although six years had passed since he had\nleft the country, the time had gone quickly, and when Gwennola\u00efk\nthought of the young man it was as the boy who had shared the games\nand little amusements of her childhood. From these day-dreams she\nwould be rudely awakened by the harsh voice of her stepmother calling\nto her: \"Come here, my girl, and attend to the animals. I don't feed\nyou for loafing and doing nothing.\"\n\nPoor Gwennola\u00efk had a sad life with her stepmother. Noble as she was\nshe was yet forced by the vindictive old woman to rise in the early\nhours of the morning, even two or three hours before daylight in\nwinter, to light the fire and sweep the house and perform other menial\nwork. One evening as she was breaking the ice in the well in order to\ndraw water for the household she was interrupted by a cavalier\nreturning to Nantes.\n\n\"Good e'en to you, maiden. Are you affianced to anyone?\"\n\nThe girl did not reply, but hung her head.\n\n\"Come, don't be afraid,\" said the handsome horseman, \"but answer my\nquestion.\"\n\nShe looked at him almost fearfully. \"Saving your grace, I have never\nbeen affianced to anyone.\"\n\n\"Good,\" replied the cavalier. \"Take this gold ring and say to your\nstepmother that you are now affianced to a cavalier of Nantes who\nhas been in a great battle and who has lost his squire in the\ncombat; and you may also add that he has been wounded in the side\nby a sword-stroke. In three weeks and three days, when my wound is\nhealed, I will return and will take you to my manor with joy and\nfestival.\"\n\nThe maiden returned to the house and looked at the ring. It was the\nsame as her foster-brother used to wear on his left hand!\n\nThree weeks ran by, but the cavalier did not return. Then the\nstepmother said one morning: \"It is time, daughter, that you should\nmarry, and I may tell you that I have found you a husband after my own\nheart.\"\n\n\"Saving your grace, good stepmother, I do not wish to marry anyone\nexcept my foster-brother, who has returned. He has given me a golden\nwedding-ring, and has promised to come for me within a few days.\"\n\n\"A fig for your gold ring,\" cried the malignant hag. \"_Bon gr\u00e9, mal\ngr\u00e9_, you shall marry Job the Witless, the stable boy.\"\n\n\"Marry Job! Oh, horror! I should die of grief! Alas, my mother, were\nyou but here now to protect me!\"\n\n\"If you must howl, pray do so in the courtyard. You may make as many\ngrimaces as you please, but in three days you shall be married for all\nthat.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe old gravedigger slowly patrolled the road, his bell in his hand,\ncarrying the news of those who had died from village to village. In\nhis doleful whine he cried: \"Pray for the soul of a noble cavalier, a\nworthy gentleman of a good heart, who was mortally wounded in the side\nby the stroke of a sword in the battle near Nantes. He is to be buried\nto-day in the White Church.\"\n\nAt the marriage feast the bride was all in tears. All the guests,\nyoung and old, wept with her, all except her stepmother. She was\nconducted to the place of honour at supper-time, but she only drank a\nsip of water and ate a morsel of bread. By and by the dancing\ncommenced, but when it was proposed that the bride should join in the\nrevels she was not to be found; she had, indeed, escaped from the\nhouse, her hair flying in disorder, and where she had gone no one\nknew.\n\nAll the lights were out at the manor, every one slept profoundly. The\npoor young woman alone lay concealed in the garden in the throes of a\nfever. She heard a footstep close by. \"Who is there?\" she asked\nfearfully.\n\n\"It is I, Nola, your foster-brother.\"\n\n\"Ah, is it you? You are truly welcome, my dear brother,\" cried\nGwennola\u00efk, rising in rapture.\n\n\"Come with me,\" he whispered, and swinging her on to the crupper of\nhis white horse he plunged madly into the night.\n\n\"We fly fast,\" she cried. \"We must have ridden a hundred leagues, I\nthink. Ah, but I am happy with thee! I will never leave thee more.\"\n\nThe owl hooted and night noises came to her ears.\n\n\"Ah, but thy horse is swift,\" said she, \"and thine armour, how\nbrilliant it is! How happy I am to have found thee, my foster-brother!\nBut are we near thy manor?\"\n\n[Illustration: GWENNOLA\u00cfK AND NOLA]\n\n\"We shall arrive there in good time, my sister,\" he replied.\n\n\"Thy heart is cold, thy hair is wet! Ah, how chill are thy hands!\"\n\n\"Listen, my sister; do you not hear the noise of the gay musicians who\nshall play at our wedding?\" He had not finished speaking when his\nhorse threw itself back on its haunches all at once, trembling and\nwhinnying loudly.\n\nGwennola\u00efk looked around, and found herself on an island where a crowd\nof people were dancing. Lads and lasses, they danced most bravely\nbeneath the green trees heavy with apples, and the music to which they\ntripped was as that of heaven.\n\nSuddenly the sun rose above the eastern mountains and flooded this\nstrange new world with rich light, and there Gwennola\u00efk found her\nmother and her two sisters, and there was nothing in her heart but\nbeauty and joy.\n\nOn the following morning, as the sun rose, the young women carried the\nbody of Gwennola\u00efk and laid it in the tomb of her foster-brother in\nthe White Church.\n\nIn this ballad--for the original from which we take the tale is cast\nin ballad form--we are once more in touch with the Celtic Otherworld.\nIt is a thousand pities that this interesting piece breaks off where\nit does, thus failing to provide us with a fuller account of that most\nelusive realm. The short glimpse we do get of it, however, reminds us\nvery much of the descriptions of it we possess in Irish lore. We have\nalso once more the phenomenon of the dead lover who comes to claim the\nliving bride, the midnight gallop, and other circumstances\ncharacteristic of ballad literature. There was a tradition in Lower\nBrittany, however, that no soul might be admitted to the other world\nwhich had not first received burial, but here, of course, we must look\nfor Christian influence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII: POPULAR LEGENDS OF BRITTANY\n\n\n\"The legend,\" says Gomme, in a passage most memorable for students of\nfolk-lore as containing his acute and precise definition of the\nseveral classes of tradition, \"belongs to an historical personage,\nlocality, or event,\"[40] and it is in this general sense that the term\nis employed in regard to the contents of this chapter, unless where\nmythic or folk-lore matter is introduced for the sake of analogy or\nillustration. There is, however, a broad, popular reading of the term\nas indicating the fanciful-historical. When we read of the King of Ys,\nor Arthur, for example, we are not aware whether they ever existed or\nnot, but they are alluded to by tradition as ancient rulers of\nBrittany and Britain, just as Cymbeline and Cole are spoken of as\nBritish monarchs of the distant past. They linger as personal figures\nin the folk-memory, but they scarcely seem as the personages of\nfolk-tale. Let us say, then, for the purposes of our classification of\nBreton tradition, that we include in the term 'legend' all tales of\ngreat personal figures who are historical or over whom folk-tale has\ncast an historical _vraisemblance_, remembering at the same time that\nin the case of personages whose existence is doubtful we may be\ndealing with a folk-tale disguised or even a distorted myth.\n\n\n_The Dark Story of Gilles de Retz_\n\nOf the dark and terrible legends to which Brittany has given birth,\none of the most gloomy and romantic is the story of Gilles de Retz,\nalchemist, magician, and arch-criminal. But the story is not\naltogether legendary, although it has undoubtedly been added to from\nthe great stores of tradition. Gilles is none other than the Bluebeard\nof the nursery tale, for he appears to have actually worn a beard\nbluish-black in hue, and it is probable that his personality became\nmingled with that of the hero of the old Oriental story.\n\nGilles de Laval, Lord of Retz and Marshal of France, was connected\nwith some of the noblest families in Brittany, those of Montmorency,\nRocey, and Craon, and at his father's death, about 1424, he found\nhimself lord of many princely domains, and what, for those times, was\nalmost unlimited power and wealth. He was a handsome youth, lithe and\nof fascinating address, courageous, and learned as any clerk. A\nsplendid career lay before him, but from the first that distorted idea\nof the romantic which is typical of certain minds had seized upon him,\nand despite his rank and position he much preferred the dark courses\nwhich finally ended in his disgrace and ruin to the dignities of his\nseigneury.\n\nGilles took his principal title from the barony of Retz or Rais, south\nof the Loire, on the marches of Brittany. As a youth he did nothing to\njustify an evil augury of his future, for he served with zeal and\ngallantry in the wars of Charles VI against the English and fought\nunder Jeanne Darc at the siege of Orl\u00e9ans. In virtue of these\nservices, and because of his shrewdness and skill in affairs, the King\ncreated him Marshal of France. But from that time onward the man who\nhad been the able lieutenant of Jeanne Darc and had fought by her side\nat Jargeau and Patay began to deteriorate. Some years before he had\nmarried Catherine de Thouars, and with her had received a large dowry;\nbut he had expended immense sums in the national cause, and his\nprivate life was as extravagant as that of a prince in a fairy tale.\nAt his castle of Champtoc\u00e9 he dwelt in almost royal state; indeed, his\ntrain when he went hawking or hunting exceeded in magnificence that of\nthe King himself. His retainers were tricked out in the most gorgeous\nliveries, and his table was spread with ruinous abundance. Oxen,\nsheep, and pigs were roasted whole, and viands were provided daily for\nfive hundred persons. He had an insane love of pomp and display, and\nhis private devotions were ministered to by a large body of\necclesiastics. His chapel was a marvel of splendour, and was furnished\nwith gold and silver plate in the most lavish manner. His love of\ncolour and movement made him fond of theatrical displays, and it is\neven said that the play or mystery of Orl\u00e9ans, dealing with the story\nof Jeanne Darc, was written with his own hand. He was munificent in\nhis patronage of the arts, and was himself a skilled illuminator and\nbookbinder. In short, he was obviously one of those persons of\nabnormal character in whom genius is allied to madness and who can\nattempt and execute nothing except in a spirit of the wildest excess.\n\nThe reduction of his fortune merely served his peculiar and abnormal\npersonality with a new excuse for extravagance. At this time the art\nof alchemy flourished exceedingly and the works of Nicolas Flamel, the\nArabian Geber, and Pierre d'Estaing enjoyed a great vogue. On an evil\nday it occurred to Gilles to turn alchemist, and thus repair his\nbroken fortunes. In the first quarter of the fifteenth century alchemy\nstood for scientific achievement, and many persons in our own\nenlightened age still study its maxims. A society exists to-day the\nobject of which is to further the knowledge of alchemical science. A\ncommon misapprehension is current to the effect that the object of the\nalchemists was the transmutation of the baser metals into gold, but in\nreality they were divided into two groups, those who sought eagerly\nthe secret of manufacturing the precious metals, and those who dreamed\nof a higher aim, the transmutation of the gross, terrestrial nature of\nman into the pure gold of the spirit.\n\nThe latter of these aims was beyond the fevered imagination of such a\nwild and disorderly mind as that of Gilles de Retz. He sent emissaries\ninto Italy, Spain, and Germany to invite adepts in the science to his\ncastle at Champtoc\u00e9. From among these he selected two men to assist\nhim in his plan--Prelati, an alchemist of Padua, and a certain\nphysician of Poitou, whose name is not recorded. At their instigation\nhe built a magnificent laboratory, and when it was completed commenced\nto experiment. A year passed, during which the necessities of the\n'science' gradually emptied many bags of gold, but none returned to\nthe Marshal's coffers. The alchemists slept soft and fed sumptuously,\nand were quite content to pursue their labours so long as the Seigneur\nof Retz had occasion for their services. But as the time passed that\naugust person became greatly impatient, and so irritable did he grow\nbecause of the lack of results that at length his assistants, in\nimminent fear of dismissal, communicated to him a dark and dreadful\nsecret of their art, which, they assured him, would assist them at\narriving speedily at the desired end.\n\nThe nature of the experiment they proposed was so grotesque that its\nacceptance by Gilles proves that he was either insane or a victim of\nthe superstition of his time. His wretched accomplices told him that\nthe Evil One alone was capable of revealing the secret of the\ntransmutation of the baser metals into gold, and they offered to\nsummon him to their master's aid. They assured Gilles that Satan would\nrequire a recompense for his services, and the Marshal retorted that\nso long as he saved his soul intact he was quite willing to conclude\nany bargain that the Father of Evil might propose.\n\nIt was arranged that the ceremony should take place within a gloomy\nwood in the neighbourhood. The nameless physician conducted the Lord\nof Retz to a small clearing in this plantation, where the magic circle\nwas drawn and the usual conjurations made. For half an hour they\nwaited in silence, and then a great trembling fell upon the physician.\nA deadly pallor overspread his countenance. His knees shook, he\nmuttered wildly, and at last he sank to the ground. Gilles stood by\nunmoved. The insanity of egotism is of course productive of great if\nnot lofty courage, and he feared neither man nor fiend. Suddenly the\nalchemist regained consciousness and told his master that the Devil\nhad appeared to him in the shape of a leopard and had growled at him\nhorribly. He ascribed Gilles' lack of supernatural vision to want of\nfaith. He then declared that the Evil One had told him where certain\nherbs grew in Spain and Africa, the juices of which possessed the\npower to effect the transmutation, and these he obligingly offered to\nsearch for, provided the Lord of Retz furnished the means for his\ntravels. This Gilles gladly did, and of course never beheld the\nPoitevin knave again.\n\nDays and months passed and the physician did not return. Gilles grew\nuneasy. It was imperative that gold should be forthcoming immediately,\nfor not only was he being pressed on every side, but he was unable to\nsupport his usual magnificence. In this dilemma he turned to Prelati,\nhis remaining alchemical assistant. This man appears to have believed\nin his art or he would not have made the terrible suggestion he did,\nwhich was that the Lord of Retz should sign with his own blood a\ncompact with the Devil, and should offer up a young child in sacrifice\nto him. To this proposal the unhappy Gilles consented. On the\nfollowing night Prelati quitted the castle, and returned shortly\nafterward with the story that the fiend had appeared to him in the\nlikeness of a young man who desired to be called Barron, and had\npointed out to him the resting-place of a hoard of ingots of pure\ngold, buried under an oak in the neighbouring wood. Certain\nconditions, however, must be observed before the treasure was dug up,\nthe chief of which was that it must not be searched for until a period\nof seven times seven weeks had elapsed, or it would turn into slates.\nWith these conditions de Retz would not comply, and, alarmed at his\nannoyance, the obliging Prelati curtailed the time of waiting to seven\ntimes seven days. At the end of that period the alchemist and his dupe\nrepaired to the wood to dig up the treasure. They worked hard for some\ntime, and at length came upon a load of slates, inscribed with magical\ncharacters. Prelati pretended great wrath, and upbraided the Evil One\nfor his deceit, in which denunciation he was heartily joined by de\nRetz. But so credulous was the Seigneur that he allowed himself to be\npersuaded to afford Satan another trial, which meant, of course, that\nPrelati led him on from day to day with specious promises and\nambiguous hints, until he had drained him of nearly all his remaining\nsubstance. He was then preparing to decamp with his plunder when a\ndramatic incident detained him.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEVIL IN THE FORM OF A LEOPARD APPEARS BEFORE THE\nALCHEMIST]\n\nFor some time a rumour had been circulating in the country-side that\nnumerous children were missing and that they had been spirited away.\nPopular clamour ran high, and suspicion was directed toward the castle\nof Champtoc\u00e9. So circumstantial was the evidence against de Retz that\nat length the Duke of Brittany ordered both the Seigneur and his\naccomplice to be arrested. Their trial took place before a commission\nwhich de Retz denounced, declaring that he would rather be hanged like\na dog, without trial, than plead before its members. But the evidence\nagainst him was overwhelming. It was told how the wretched madman, in\nhis insane quest for gold, had sacrificed his innocent victims on the\naltar of Satan, and how he had gloated over their sufferings. Finally\nhe confessed his enormities and told how nearly a hundred children had\nbeen cruelly murdered by him and his relentless accomplice. Both he\nand Prelati were doomed to be burned alive, but in consideration of\nhis rank he was strangled before being cast into the flames. Before\nthe execution he expressed to Prelati a hope that they would meet in\nParadise, and, it is said, met his end very devoutly.\n\nThe castle of Champtoc\u00e9 still stands in its beautiful valley, and\nmany romantic legends cluster about its grey old walls. \"The\nhideous, half-burnt body of the monster himself,\" says Trollope,\n\"circled with flames--pale, indeed, and faint in colour, but more\nlasting than those the hangman kindled around his mortal form in\nthe meadow under the walls of Nantes--is seen, on bright moonlight\nnights, standing now on one topmost point of craggy wall, and now\non another, and is heard mingling his moan with the sough of the\nnight-wind. Pale, bloodless forms, too, of youthful growth and\nmien, the restless, unsepulchred ghosts of the unfortunates who\nperished in these dungeons unassoiled ... may at similar times be\nseen flitting backward and forward, in numerous groups, across the\nspace enclosed by the ruined wall, with more than mortal speed, or\nglancing hurriedly from window to window of the fabric, as still\nseeking to escape from its hateful confinement.\"[41]\n\n\n_Comorre the Cursed_\n\nAs has been said, the story of Gilles de Retz is connected by\ntradition with that of Bluebeard, but it is probable that this\ntraditional connexion arises simply from the association of two famous\ntales. The other legend in question is that of Comorre the Cursed,\nwhose story is told in the frescoes which cover the wall of the church\nof St Nicolas de Bieuzy, dedicated to St Triphyne, in which the tale\nof Bluebeard is depicted as the story of the saint, who in history was\nthe wife of Comorre. Comorre was a chief who ruled at Carhaix, in\nFinist\u00e8re, and his tale, which owes its modern dress to \u00c9mile\nSouvestre, himself a Breton, and author of _Derniers Bretons_ and the\nbrilliant sketch _Un Philosophe sous les Toits_. The tale, translated,\nruns as follows:\n\nGuerech, Count of Vannes, 'the Country of White Corn,' had a daughter,\nTriphyna, whom he tenderly loved. One day ambassadors arrived from\nComorre, a prince of Cornouaille, 'the Country of Black Corn,'\ndemanding her in marriage. Now this caused great distress, for\nComorre was a giant, and one of the wickedest of men, held in awe by\nevery one for his cruelty. As a boy, when he went out, his mother used\nto ring a bell to warn people of his approach; and when unsuccessful\nin the chase he would set his dogs on the peasants to tear them to\npieces. But most horrible of all, he had had four wives, who had all\ndied one after the other, it was suspected either by the knife, fire,\nwater, or poison. The Count of Vannes, therefore, dismissed the\nambassadors, and advanced to meet Comorre, who was approaching with a\npowerful army; but St Gildas went into Triphyna's oratory and begged\nher to save bloodshed and consent to the marriage. He gave her a\nsilver ring, which would warn her of any intended evil by turning as\nblack as a crow's wing at the approach of danger.\n\nThe marriage took place with great rejoicings. The first day six\nthousand guests were invited; on the next day as many poor were fed,\nthe bride and the bridegroom themselves serving at the tables. For\nsome time all went well. Comorre's nature seemed altered; his prisons\nwere empty, his gibbets untenanted. But Triphyna felt no confidence,\nand every day went to pray at the tombs of his four wives. At this\ntime there was an assembly of the Breton princes at Rennes, which\nComorre was obliged to attend. Before his departure he gave Triphyna\nhis keys, desiring her to amuse herself in his absence. After five\nmonths he unexpectedly returned, and found her occupied trimming an\ninfant's cap with gold lace. On seeing the cap Comorre turned pale;\nand when Triphyna joyfully announced to him that soon he would be a\nfather he drew back in a rage and rushed out of the apartment.\nTriphyna saw that her ring had turned black, which betokened danger,\nshe knew not why. She descended into the chapel to pray. When she rose\nto depart the hour of midnight struck, and suddenly a sound of\nmovement in the silent chapel chilled her at the heart; shrinking into\na recess, she saw the four tombs of Comorre's wives open slowly, and\nthe women all issued forth in their winding-sheets.\n\nFaint with terror, Triphyna tried to escape; but the spectres cried:\n\"Take care, poor lost one! Comorre seeks to kill you.\"\n\n\"Me,\" said the Countess. \"What evil have I done?\"\n\n\"You have told him that you will soon become a mother; and, through\nthe Spirit of Evil, he knows that his child will slay him. He murdered\nus when we told him what he has just learned from you.\"\n\n\"What hope, then, of refuge remains for me?\" cried Triphyna.\n\n\"Go back to your father,\" answered the phantoms.\n\n\"But how escape when Comorre's dog guards the court?\"\n\n\"Give him this poison which killed me,\" said the first wife.\n\n\"But how can I descend yon high wall?\"\n\n\"By means of this cord which strangled me,\" answered the second wife.\n\n\"But who will guide me through the dark?\"\n\n\"The fire that burnt me,\" replied the third wife.\n\n\"And how can I make so long a journey?\" returned Triphyna.\n\n\"Take this stick which broke my skull,\" rejoined the fourth spectre.\n\nArmed with the poison, the rope, and the stick, Triphyna set out,\nsilenced the dog, scaled the wall, and, miraculously guided on her\nway through the darkness by a glowing light, proceeded on her road to\nVannes. On awaking next morning Comorre found that his wife had fled,\nand pursued her on horseback. The poor fugitive, seeing her ring turn\nblack, turned off the road and hid herself till night in the cabin of\na shepherd, where there was only an old magpie in a cage at the door,\nand here her baby was born. Comorre, who had given up the pursuit, was\nreturning home by that road, when he heard the magpie trying to\nimitate her complaints and calling out \"Poor Triphyna!\" Guessing that\nhis wife had passed that way, he set his dog on the track.\n\nMeanwhile Triphyna felt she could proceed no farther, and lay down on\nthe ground with her baby boy. As she clasped the child in her arms she\nsaw over her head a falcon with a golden collar, which she recognized\nas her father's. The bird came at her call, and giving it the warning\nring of St Gildas she told it to fly with it to her father. The bird\nobeyed, and flew like lightning to Vannes; but almost at the same\ninstant Comorre arrived. Having parted with her warning ring,\nTriphyna, who had no notice of his approach, had only time to conceal\nher babe in the cavity of a tree when Comorre threw himself upon her,\nand with one blow from his sword severed her head from her body.\n\nWhen the falcon arrived at Vannes he found the Count at dinner with St\nGildas. He let the ring fall into the silver cup of his master, who,\nrecognizing it, exclaimed:\n\n\"My daughter is in danger! Saddle the horses, and let Saint Gildas\naccompany us.\" Following the falcon, they soon reached the spot where\nTriphyna lay dead. After they had all knelt in prayer, St Gildas said\nto the corpse: \"Arise, take thy head and thy child, and follow us.\"\nThe dead body obeyed, the bewildered troop followed; but, gallop as\nfast as they could, the headless body was always in front, carrying\nthe babe in her left hand, and her pale head in the right. In this\nmanner they reached the castle of Comorre.\n\n\"Count,\" called St Gildas before the gates, \"I bring back thy wife\nsuch as thy wickedness has made her, and thy child such as heaven has\ngiven it thee. Wilt thou receive them under thy roof?\"\n\nComorre was silent. The Saint three times repeated the question, but\nno voice returned an answer. Then St Gildas took the new-born infant\nfrom its mother and placed it on the ground. The child marched alone\nto the edge of the moat, picked up a handful of earth, and, throwing\nit against the castle, exclaimed: \"Let the Trinity execute judgment.\"\nAt the same instant the towers shook and fell with a crash, the walls\nyawned open, and the castle sunk, burying Comorre and all his partners\nin crime. St Gildas then replaced Triphyna's head upon her shoulders,\nlaid his hands upon her, and restored her to life, to the great joy of\nher father. Such is the history of Triphyna and Comorre.\n\n\n_The Legend of Ys_\n\nThe legend of the submerged city of Ys, or Is, is perhaps the most\nromantic and imaginative effort of Breton popular legend. Who has not\nheard of the submerged bells of Ys, and who has not heard them ring in\nthe echoes of his own imagination?\n\nThis picturesque legend[42] tells us that in the early days of the\nChristian epoch the city of Ys, or Ker-is, was ruled by a prince\ncalled Gradlon, surnamed Meur, which in Celtic means 'the Great.'\nGradlon was a saintly and pious man, and acted as patron to Gw\u00e9nnol\u00e9,\nfounder and first abb\u00e9 of the first monastery built in Armorica. But,\nbesides being a religious man, Gradlon was a prudent prince, and\ndefended his capital of Ys from the invasions of the sea by\nconstructing an immense basin to receive the overflow of the water at\nhigh tide. This basin had a secret gate, of which the King alone\npossessed the key, and which he opened and closed at the necessary\ntimes.\n\nGradlon, as is so often the case with pious men, had a wayward child,\nthe princess Dahut, who on one occasion while her father was sleeping\ngave a secret banquet to her lover, in which the pair, excited with\nwine, committed folly after folly, until at last it occurred to the\nfrivolous girl to open the sluice-gate. Stealing noiselessly into her\nsleeping father's chamber she detached from his girdle the key he\nguarded so jealously and opened the gate. The water immediately rushed\nin and submerged the entire city.\n\nBut, as usual, there is more than one version of this interesting\nlegend. The city of Ys, says another account, was a place rich in\ncommerce and the arts, but so given over to luxury as to arouse the\nire of St Gw\u00e9nnol\u00e9, who, in the manner of Jeremiah, foretold its ruin.\nIt was situated where now a piece of water, the \u00c9tang de Laval, washes\nthe desolate shores of the Bay of Tr\u00e9pass\u00e9s--though another version of\nthe tale has it that it stood in the vast basin which now forms the\nBay of Douarnenez. A strong dike protected it from the ocean, the\nsluices only admitting sufficient water for the needs of the town.\nGradlon constantly bore round his neck a silver key which opened at\nthe same time the vast sluices and the city gates. He lived in great\nstate in a palace of marble, cedar, and gold, and his only grief was\nthe conduct of his daughter Dahut, who, it is said, \"had made a crown\nof her vices and taken for her pages the seven capital sins.\" But\nretribution was at hand, and the wicked city met with sudden\ndestruction, for one night Dahut stole the silver key for the purpose\nof opening the city gates to admit her lover, and in the darkness by\nmistake opened the sluices. King Gradlon was awakened by St Gw\u00e9nnol\u00e9,\nwho commanded him to flee, as the torrent was reaching the palace. He\nmounted his horse, and, taking his worthless daughter behind him, set\noff at a gallop, the incoming flood seething and boiling at his\nsteed's fetlocks. The torrent was about to overtake and submerge him\nwhen a voice from behind called out: \"Throw the demon thou carriest\ninto the sea, if thou dost not desire to perish.\" Dahut at that moment\nfell from the horse's back into the water, and the torrent immediately\nstopped its course. Gradlon reached Quimper safe and sound, but\nnothing is said as to his subsequent career.\n\n[Illustration: THE ESCAPE OF KING GRADLON FROM THE FLOODED CITY OF YS]\n\nAn ancient ballad on the subject, which, however, bears marks of\nhaving been tampered with, states, on the other hand, that Gradlon led\nhis people into extravagances of every kind, and that Dahut received\nthe key from him, the misuse of which precipitated the catastrophe.\nDahut, the ballad continues, became a mermaid and haunted the waters\nwhich roll over the site of the city where she loved and feasted.\n\"Fisherman,\" ends the ballad, \"have you seen the daughter of the sea\ncombing her golden hair in the midday sun at the fringes of the\nbeach?\" \"Yes,\" replies the fisherman, \"I have seen the white daughter\nof the sea, and I have heard her sing, and her songs were plaintive as\nthe sound of the waves.\"\n\nThe legend of Ys, of the town swallowed up by the sea, is common to\nthe several branches of the Celtic race. In Wales the site of the\nsubmerged city is in Cardigan Bay, and in Ireland it is Lough Neagh,\nas Tom Moore says:\n\n On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays,\n When the clear, cold eve's declining,\n He sees the round towers of other days\n In the wave beneath him shining.\n\nThis legend had its rise in an extraordinary story which was given\ncurrency to by Giraldus Cambrensis in his _Topography of Ireland_, to\nthe effect that a certain extremely wicked tribe were punished for\ntheir sins by the inundation of their territory.\n\n\"Now there was a common proverb,\" says Gerald, \"in the mouths of the\ntribe, that whenever the well-spring of that country was left\nuncovered (for out of reverence shown to it, from a barbarous\nsuperstition, the spring was kept covered and sealed), it would\nimmediately overflow and inundate the whole province, drowning and\ndestroying the whole population. It happened, however, on some\noccasion that a young woman, who had come to the spring to draw water,\nafter filling her pitcher, but before she had closed the well, ran in\ngreat haste to her little boy, whom she had heard crying at a spot not\nfar from the spring where she had left him. But the voice of the\npeople is the voice of God; and on her way back she met such a flood\nof water from the spring that it swept off her and the boy, and the\ninundation was so violent that they both, and the whole tribe, with\ntheir cattle, were drowned in an hour in this partial and local\ndeluge. The waters, having covered the whole surface of that fertile\ndistrict, were converted into a permanent lake. A not improbable\nconfirmation of this occurrence is found in the fact that the\nfishermen in that lake see distinctly under the water, in calm\nweather, ecclesiastical towers, which, according to the custom of the\ncountry, are slender and lofty, and moreover round; and they\nfrequently point them out to strangers travelling through these parts,\nwho wonder what could have caused such a catastrophe.\"\n\nIn the Welsh version of this fascinating legend it is the bard\nGwyddno, of the twelfth century, who tells of the downfall of the\nsubmerged city, and two of the strophes which occur in his poem are\nalso found in the Breton poem. The Welsh bard may have received the\nstory from Breton sources, or the converse may be the case.\n\nThe legend that Cardigan Bay contains a submerged territory is widely\nknown, and strangely enough seems to be corroborated by the shape of\nthe coast-line, the contour of which suggests the subsidence of a\nlarge body of land. Like their brothers of Ireland, the fishermen of\nWales assert that at low tide they can see the ruins of ancient\nedifices far down beneath the clear waters of the bay.[43]\n\nBefore the days of the French Revolution there was still to be seen at\nQuimper, between the two towers of the cathedral, a figure of King\nGradlon mounted on his faithful courser, but in the stormy year of\n1793 the name of king was in bad odour and the ignorant populace\ndeprived the statue of its head. However, in 1859 it was restored.\nLegend attributes the introduction of the vine into Brittany to King\nGradlon, and on St Cecilia's Day a regular ritual was gone through in\nQuimper in connexion with his counterfeit presentment. A company of\nsingers mounted on a platform. While they sang a hymn in praise of\nKing Gradlon, one of the choristers, provided with a flagon of wine, a\nnapkin, and a golden hanap (or cup), mounted on the crupper of the\nKing's horse, poured out a cup of wine, which he offered ceremoniously\nto the lips of the statue and then drank himself, carefully wiped with\nhis napkin the moustache of the King, placed a branch of laurel in his\nhand, and then threw down the hanap in the midst of the crowd below,\nin honour of the first planter of the grape in Brittany. To whoever\ncaught the cup before it fell, and presented it uninjured to the\nChapter, was adjudged a prize of two hundred crowns.\n\nThere is a distinct savour of myth about all this. Can it be that\nGradlon was a Breton Bacchus? There are notices of Celtic goddesses in\nwhose honour Bacchic rites were held, and the place of these was\nsometimes taken by a corn god. Later the festival in its memorial\naspect appears to have been associated with different kings[44] in the\nvarious parts of the Celtic world, and it seems likely that Gradlon\nwas such a monarch who had taken the place of a vanished deity. It\nmust be left to Celtic scholars to determine whether the name Gradlon\npossesses any deific significance hidden in its etymology.\n\n\n_The Clerk of Rohan_\n\nJeanne de Rohan, daughter of Alain, fifth of the name, Viscount of\nRohan, married in the year 1236 Matthew, Seigneur of Beauvau, son of\nRen\u00e9, Constable of Naples. Breton popular poetry has in many ballads\nrecounted the adventures of Jeanne and her husband, one of which is as\nfollows[45]:\n\nAt the age of thirteen Jeanne consented to be married, but she desired\nthat she herself should be allowed to choose her husband. Accordingly\nthe cavaliers and barons of the district were invited to pay their\ncourt to her, and she fixed her affections upon the Seigneur of\nBeauvau, a valiant noble with large possessions in Italy. He was loyal\nand courteous, and when the pair were wedded their happiness seemed\nperfect.\n\nAt this period the war in Palestine against the infidels was agitating\nthe whole of Europe. The Seigneur of Beauvau desired to join the\nCrusaders, but his wife was by no means anxious that he should leave\nhis home. But his principle was _noblesse oblige_. \"I am of the most\nnoble blood,\" he said; \"therefore it behoves me to be the first to\nlead the way.\"\n\nHe confided the care of his estates and his affairs in general to his\nwife's cousin, who was known as the Clerk of Rohan, and begged him to\nlook well after Jeanne and his little son. Then, having bid farewell\nto them all, he mounted his horse and rode away to the wars.\n\nJeanne was inconsolable. For days she wandered about the ch\u00e2teau\ncarrying her baby boy in her arms and sobbing. All the domestic circle\nseemed disturbed at the Seigneur's departure except the Clerk of\nRohan, to whom Count Matthew had so trustingly confided the charge of\nhis affairs.\n\nThe Seigneur had declared that he would return within a year's time. A\nyear passed, however, and no news of him had been received. Now the\nClerk was a perfidious and wicked schemer, and one morning as he and\nJeanne were in conversation he hinted that the year within which the\nSeigneur had promised to return was now gone by and that the war in\nwhich he had been engaged had come to an end. He made no secret of his\npassion for the lady, but she on her part turned upon him angrily,\nsaying: \"Is it the fashion nowadays for women to consider themselves\nwidows, knowing well that their husbands are alive? Go to, miserable\nClerk, thy heart is full of wickedness. If my husband were here he\nwould break thee in little pieces!\"\n\nWhen the Clerk heard this he went secretly to the kennels, and there\nhe slew the Seigneur's favourite greyhound. Taking some of its blood,\nhe wrote with it a letter to Count Matthew telling him that his wife\nwas most unhappy because of an accident which had occurred; that she\nhad been hunting the deer, and that in the chase his favourite\ngreyhound had died from over-exertion. The Seigneur duly received the\nletter, and in his reply told the Clerk to comfort the lady, as he was\nquite able to replace the hound. At the same time he desired that\nhunting should cease for the present, as the huntsmen seemed unskilful\nin their conduct of the chase.\n\nThe wicked Clerk once more sought the lady.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he, \"you are losing your beauty by weeping night and\nday.\"\n\n\"I will know how to recover my beauty when my husband returns,\" she\nreplied coldly.\n\n\"Do not cheat yourself,\" he said. \"Surely you can see by this time\nthat he is either dead or has taken another wife. In the East there\nare many beautiful girls who are far wealthier than you.\"\n\n\"If he has taken another wife,\" said the lady, \"I shall die; and if he\nbe dead I ask for naught but death. Leave me, miserable wretch. Thy\ntongue is poisoned with deceit.\"\n\nWhen the Clerk had sufficiently recovered from this second rebuff, he\nbetook himself to the stables, where the Seigneur's horse, the most\nbeautiful in the country, stood champing in its stall. The wretch,\ndrawing his poignard, thrust it into the noble steed's entrails, and,\nas he had done in the case of the greyhound, took some of the blood\nand wrote once more to the Count.\n\n\"Another accident has occurred at the ch\u00e2teau,\" he said, \"but, my dear\nSeigneur, pray do not trouble yourself on account of it. When your\nwife was returning from a feast in the night your favourite horse fell\nand broke two of his legs, and had to be destroyed.\"\n\nThe Seigneur replied that he was grieved to hear of the circumstance,\nand that in order to avoid further mischances of the sort it would be\nbetter that his wife should frequent no more feasts.\n\nA third time the perfidious Clerk sought the lady. On this occasion he\nthreatened her with death if she would not be his, but she replied in\nthe most spirited manner that she loved death a thousand times better\nthan him. At these words he could not contain his rage, and, drawing\nhis dagger, thrust fiercely at her head. But the lady's guardian angel\nturned the stroke and the weapon struck harmlessly against the wall.\nShe fled from the room, closing the door behind her as she went;\nwhereupon the Clerk rushed downstairs to the nursery where her child\nwas quietly sleeping in its cradle, and, seeing no one beside it,\nstabbed the slumbering infant to the heart.\n\nThen he wrote to the Seigneur: \"Hasten your return, I beg of you, for\nit is necessary that you should be here to establish order. Your dog\nand your white courser have perished, but that is not the worst. Your\nlittle son, alas! is also dead. The great sow devoured him when your\nwife was at a ball with the miller for a gallant.\"\n\nWhen the Seigneur received this letter he returned at once from the\nwars, his anger rising higher and higher with every homeward league.\nWhen he arrived at the ch\u00e2teau he struck three times upon the door\nwith his hand, and his summons was answered by the Clerk.\n\n\"How now, evil Clerk,\" shouted the infuriated Count, \"did I not leave\nmy wife in your care?\" and with these words he thrust his lance into\nthe Clerk's open mouth, so that the point stood out at the nape of his\nneck. Then, mounting the stairs, he entered his wife's chamber, and\nwithout speaking a word stabbed her with his sword.\n\nThe ballad then goes on to speak of the burial of the victims of the\nwicked Clerk. The lady, dressed all in white, was laid in her tomb by\nthe light of the moon and the stars. On her breast lay her little son,\non her right the favourite greyhound, and on her left the white\ncourser, and it is said that in her grave she first caresses one and\nthen the other, and the infant, as if jealous, nestles closer to his\nmother's heart.\n\n\n_The Lady of La Garaye_\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of La Garaye, near Dinan, is rendered famous by the\nvirtues and boundless charity of its Count, Claude Toussaint Marot de\nLa Garaye, and his wife. Their interesting story is told in the\ncharming poem of Mrs Norton, _The Lady of La Garaye_:\n\n Listen to the tale I tell,\n Grave the story is--not sad;\n And the peasant plodding by\n Greets the place with kindly eye,\n For the inmates that it had.\n\nCount Claude de La Garaye and his wife were young, beautiful, and\nendowed with friends, riches, and all that could make life bright and\nhappy. They entertained generously and enjoyed the pleasures and\namusements of the world. But one day misfortune overtook them, for the\nCountess was thrown from her horse, and she was left a cripple for\nlife, while all expectations of an heir vanished. Both were\ninconsolable at their disappointment. One day a monk came to visit\nthem, and tried to comfort them, seeking by his conversation to turn\ntheir thoughts from earthly afflictions to heavenly consolation.\n\n\"Ah, my father,\" said the lady, \"how happy are you, to love nothing on\nearth!\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" answered the monk; \"I love all those who are in\nsorrow or suffering. But I submit myself to the will of the Almighty,\nand bend myself with resignation to every blow He strikes.\"\n\nHe proceeded to show them that there was still a great deal of\nhappiness in store for them in ministering to the needs of others.\nFollowing his counsel, they went to Paris, where for three years the\nCount studied medicine and surgery, and his wife became a skilful\noculist. On their return to La Garaye they gave up all the amusements\nof society and devoted themselves to relieving the sufferings of their\nfellow-creatures. Their house was converted into a hospital for the\nsick and afflicted, under the ministering care of the Count and his\nbenevolent wife:\n\n Her home is made their home; her wealth their dole;\n Her busy courtyard hears no more the roll\n Of gilded vehicles, or pawing steeds,\n But feeble steps of those whose bitter needs\n Are their sole passport. Through that gateway press\n All varying forms of sickness and distress,\n And many a poor, worn face that hath not smiled\n For years, and many a feeble crippled child,\n Blesses the tall white portal where they stand,\n And the dear Lady of the liberal hand.\n\nNor was their philanthropy confined to their own province. In 1729\nthey offered themselves to M. de Belsunce--\"Marseilles' good\nbishop\"--to assist him during the visitation of the plague. The fame\nof their virtues reached even the French Court, and Louis XV sent\nCount de La Garaye the Order of St Lazarus, with a donation of 50,000\nlivres and a promise of 25,000 more. They both died at an advanced\nage, within two years of each other, and were buried among their poor\nat Taden. Their marble mausoleum in the church was destroyed during\nthe French Revolution. The Count left a large sum to be distributed\namong the prisoners, principally English, pent up in the crowded gaols\nof Rennes and Dinan. He had attended the English prisoners at Dinan\nduring a contagious fever called the 'peste blanche,' and in\nacknowledgment of his humanity Queen Caroline sent him two dogs with\nsilver collars round their necks, and an English nobleman made him a\npresent of six more.\n\nThe ruined ch\u00e2teau is approached by an ivy-covered gateway, through an\navenue of beeches. As Mrs Norton renders it:\n\n And like a mourner's mantle, with sad grace,\n Waves the dark ivy, hiding half the door\n And threshold, where the weary traveller's foot\n Shall never find a courteous welcome more.\n\nThe ruin is fast falling to pieces. The principal part remaining is an\noctagonal turret of three stories, with elegant Renaissance decoration\nround the windows.\n\n\n_The Falcon_\n\nAn interesting and picturesque ballad sung in the Black Mountains is\nthat of _The Falcon_. Geoffrey, first Duke of Brittany, was departing\nfor Rome in the year 1008, leaving the government of the country in\nthe hands of his wife Ethwije, sister of Richard of Normandy. As he\nwas about to set out on his pilgrimage the falcon which he carried on\nhis wrist after the manner of the nobles of the period, swooped down\non and killed the hen of a poor peasant woman. The woman in a rage\nseized a large stone and cast it at the bird with such violence that\nit slew not only the falcon but the Duke himself. The death of the\nDuke was followed by a most desperate insurrection among the people.\nHistory does not enlighten us as to the cause of this rising, but\ntradition attributes it to the invasion of Brittany by the Normans\n(whom the widow of Geoffrey at once brought into the country on the\ndemise of her husband) and the exactions which were wrung from the\npeasants by these haughty aliens.\n\n[Illustration: A PEASANT INSURRECTION]\n\nThe ballad, which was used as a war-song by the Bretons at a later\nday, begins in true ballad style: \"The falcon has strangled the fowl,\nthe peasant woman has slain the Count who oppressed the people, the\npoor people, like a brute-beast.\"\n\nThe hate of the stranger so characteristic of the old Bretons then\nflashes forth. \"The country has been polluted by the foreigner, by the\nmen of the Gallic land, and because of the death of a hen and a falcon\nBrittany is on fire, blood flows, and there is great dole among the\npeople.\"\n\nOn the summit of the Black Mountain thirty stout peasants had gathered\nto celebrate the ancient feast of the good St John. Among them was\nKado the Striver, who stood there gravely leaning on his iron\npitchfork. For a while he looked upon his comrades; then he opened his\nlips:\n\n\"What say you, fellow-peasants? Do you intend to pay this tax? As for\nme, I shall certainly not pay it. I had much rather be hanged.\nNevermore shall I pay this unjust tax. My sons go naked because of it,\nmy flocks grow less and less. No more shall I pay. I swear it by the\nred brands of this fire, by Saint Kado my patron, and by Saint John.\"\n\n\"My fortunes are broken, I am completely ruined,\" growled one of his\ncompanions. \"Before the year is out I shall be compelled to beg my\nbread.\"\n\nThen all rose at once as if by a common impulse.\n\n\"None of us will pay this tax! We swear it by the Sun and by the Moon,\nand by the great sea which encircles this land of Brittany!\"\n\nKado, stepping out from the circle, seized a firebrand, and holding it\naloft cried: \"Let us march, comrades, and strike a blow for freedom!\"\n\nThe enthusiasm of his companions burst out afresh. Falling into loose\nranks they followed him. His wife marched by his side in the first\nrank, carrying a reaping-hook on her shoulder and singing as she\nmarched.\n\n\"Quickly, quickly, my children! We go to strike a blow for liberty!\nHave I brought thirty sons into the world to beg their bread, to carry\nfirewood or to break stones, or bear burdens like beasts? Are they to\ntill the green land and the grey land with bare feet while the rich\nfeed their horses, their hunting-dogs, and their falcons better than\nthey are fed? No! It is to slay the oppressors that I have borne so\nmany sons!\"\n\nQuickly they descended the mountains, gathering numbers as they went.\nNow they were three thousand strong, five thousand strong, and when\nthey arrived at Langoad nine thousand strong. When they came to\nGu\u00e9rande they were thirty thousand strong. The houses of those who had\nground them down were wrapped in flames, fiercely ends the old ballad,\n\"and the bones of those who had oppressed them cracked, like those of\nthe damned in Tartarus.\"\n\nHistory tells us nothing concerning Kado the Striver, but it is most\nunlikely that he is a mere figment of popular imagination. What\nhistory does record, however, is that the wicked Duchess and her host\nof mercenary Normans were forced to flee, and that her place was taken\nby a more just and righteous ruler.\n\n\n_The Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande_\n\nBreton tradition speaks of a wild young nobleman, Louis-Fran\u00e7ois de\nGu\u00e9rande, Seigneur of Locmaria, who flourished in the early part of\nthe seventeenth century. He was wealthy, and lived a life of reckless\nabandon; indeed, he was the terror of the parish and the despair of\nhis pious mother, who, whenever he sallied forth upon adventure bent,\nrang the bell of the ch\u00e2teau, to give the alarm to the surrounding\npeasantry. The ballad which tells of the infamous deeds of this titled\nruffian, and which was composed by one Tugdual Sala\u00fcn, a peasant of\nPlouber,[46] opens upon a scene of touching domestic happiness. The\nClerk of Garlon was on a visit to the family of his betrothed.\n\n\"Tell me, good mother,\" he asked, \"where is Anna\u00efk? I am anxious that\nshe should come with me to dance on the green.\"\n\n\"She is upstairs asleep, my son. Take care,\" added the old woman\nroguishly, \"that you do not waken her.\"\n\nThe Clerk of Garlon ran lightly up the staircase and knocked at\nAnna\u00efk's door.\n\n\"Come, Anna\u00efk,\" he cried; \"why are you asleep when all the others go\nto dance upon the village green?\"\n\n\"I do not wish to go to the dance, for I fear the Marquis of\nGu\u00e9rande,\" replied the girl.\n\nThe Clerk of Garlon laughed. \"The Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande cannot harm you\nso long as I am with you,\" he said lightly. \"Come, Anna\u00efk; were there\na hundred such as he I should protect you from them.\"\n\nReassured by her lover's brave words, the girl rose and put on her\ndress of white delaine. They were a joyous and beautiful pair. The\nClerk was gaily dressed, with a peacock's feather in his hat and a\nchain on his breast, while his betrothed wore a velvet corsage\nembroidered with silver.\n\nOn that evening the Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande leaped on his great red steed\nand sallied forth from his ch\u00e2teau. Galloping along the road, he\novertook the Clerk of Garlon and his betrothed on their way to the\ndance.\n\n\"Ha!\" he cried, \"you go to the dance, I see. It is customary to\nwrestle there, is it not?\"\n\n\"It is, Seigneur,\" replied the Clerk, doffing his hat.\n\n\"Then throw off your doublet and let us try a fall or two,\" said\nGu\u00e9rande, with a wicked look at Anna\u00efk which was not lost upon her\nlover.\n\n\"Saving your grace, I may not wrestle with you,\" said the Clerk, \"for\nyou are a gentleman and I am nobody. You are the son of a lord and I\nam the son of a peasant.\"\n\n\"Ha! what! The son of a peasant, say you, and you take your choice of\nthe pretty girls of the village?\"\n\n\"Seigneur, pardon me. I did not choose this maiden; God gave her to\nme.\"\n\nDuring this parley Anna\u00efk stood by, trembling violently. She had heard\nof the Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande, and was only too well aware of the evil\nand reckless character he bore. The Clerk tried to calm her fears by\nwhispered words and pressures of the hand, but the wicked Marquis,\nobserving the state of terror she was in, exulted in the alarm he was\ncausing her.\n\n\"Well, fellow,\" said he, \"since you cannot wrestle with me perhaps you\nwill try a bout of sword-play.\"\n\nAt these words Anna\u00efk's rosy cheeks became deathly white; but the\nClerk of Garlon spoke up like a man.\n\n\"My lord,\" he said, \"I do not wear a sword. The club is my only\nweapon. Should you use your sword against me it would but stain it.\"\n\nThe wicked Marquis uttered a fiendish laugh. \"If I stain my sword, by\nthe Saints, I shall wash it in your blood,\" he cried, and as he spoke\nhe passed his rapier through the defenceless Clerk's body.\n\nAt the sight of her slain lover the gentle heart of Anna\u00efk broke, and\na great madness came upon her. Like a tigress she leapt upon the\nMarquis and tore his sword from his hand. Without his rapier he was as\na child in the grasp of the powerful Breton peasant woman. Exerting\nall her strength, in a frenzy of grief she dragged the wretch to the\ngreen where the dance was in progress, haling him round and round it\nuntil exhausted. At last she dropped his senseless body on the green\nturf and hastened homeward.\n\nAnd once again we encounter the haunting refrain: \"My good mother, if\nyou love me make my bed, for I am sick unto death.\"\n\n\"Why, daughter, you have danced too much; it is that which has made\nyou sick.\"\n\n\"I have not danced at all, mother; but the wicked Marquis has slain my\npoor Clerk. Say to the sexton who buries him: 'Do not throw in much\nearth, for in a little while you will have to place my daughter beside\nhim in this grave.' Since we may not share the same marriage-bed we\nshall at least sleep in the same tomb, and if we have not been married\nin this world we shall at least be joined in heaven.\"\n\nThe reader will be relieved to learn that the hero of this ballad,\nthe Clerk of Garlon, was not killed after all, and that for once fact\nis enabled to step in to correct the sadness of fiction; for, when one\ncomes to think of it, there are few sadder things in the world than\nthe genuine folk-ballad, which, although at the time it may arouse\n\u00e6sthetic emotions, may yet afterward give rise to haunting pain. We\nare glad to be able to chronicle, then, that the worthy Clerk did not\ndie of his wound as stated by Tugdual Sala\u00fcn of the parish of Plouber,\nauthor of the ballad, and that the wicked Marquis escaped the halter,\nwhich, according to Breton custom, he would not otherwise have done\nhad the Clerk died. His good mother took upon herself the burden of an\nannual pension to the Clerk's aged parents, and adopted the second\nchild of Anna\u00efk, who had duly married her sweetheart, and this little\none she educated, furthering its interests in every possible manner.\nAs for the Marquis, he actually settled down, and one cannot help\nfeeling chagrined that such a promising rogue should have turned\ntalents so eminently suitable for the manufacture of legendary\nmaterial into more humdrum courses. Conscious of the gravity of his\nearly misdemeanours, he founded a hospital for the poor of the parish,\nand each evening in one of the windows of this place the peasants\ncould see a light which burned steadily far into the night. If any\nasked the reason for this illumination he was told: \"It is the Marquis\nof Gu\u00e9rande, who lies awake praying God to pardon his youth.\"\n\n\n_The Ch\u00e2teaux of Brittany_\n\nThe ch\u00e2teaux of Brittany may truly be called the historical and\nlegendary shrines of the province, for within their halls, keeps, and\ndonjons Breton tradition and history were made. It is doubtful,\nindeed, if the castellated mansions of any other country, save,\nperhaps, those of the Rhine, harbour so many legends, arising either\nfrom the actual historical happenings connected with them or from\nthose more picturesque yet terrible associations which they are\npopularly supposed to have with the powers of evil. The general\nappearance of such a building as the Breton ch\u00e2teau admirably lends\nitself to sombre tradition. The massy walls seem thick enough to\nretain all secrets, and the cry for vengeance for blood spilt within\nthem cannot pass to the outer world through the narrow _meurtri\u00e8res_\nor arrow-slits of the _avant-corps_. The broad yet lofty towers which\nflank the front rise into a _toiture_ or _coiffe_ like an enchanter's\nconical cap. The _lucarnes_, or attic casements, are guarded on either\nside by gargoyles grim of aspect, or perhaps by griffins holding the\nshield-borne arms of dead and gone seigneurs. Seek where you will,\namong the wizard-houses of old Prague, the witch-dens of ancient\nEdinburgh, the bat-haunted castles of Drachenfels or Rheinstein, you\nwill come at nothing built of man more informed with the soul of the\nMiddle Ages, more drenched with their peculiar savour of mystery, than\nthese stark keeps whose crests and _girouettes_ rise above encircling\nwoods or frown upon mirroring rivers over the length and breadth of\nthe Breton land.\n\n\n_La Roche-Jagu_\n\nOne of the most typical of the ch\u00e2teaux of Brittany is that of La\nRoche-Jagu, at one time the guardian of the mouth of the river Trieux.\nIt is built on the top of a hill which overhangs the Trieux, and from\none of its battlemented galleries a splendid view of the windings of\nthe river can be obtained. The wall on this side of the fortress is so\nthick as to allow of a chapel being hewn out of its solidity. A most\ndistinctive architectural note is struck by the fourteen wonderful\nchimney-shafts of cut stone ornamented with iron spikes.\n\n\n_Tonqu\u00e9dec_\n\nSome miles farther down the river, but on its opposite side, is the\nimposing castle of Tonqu\u00e9dec, perhaps the finest remnant of the\nmedieval military architecture of Brittany. It has always remained in\nthe family of the Viscounts of Co\u00eatman, who ranked among the foremost\nof the Breton nobility, though one of them espoused the cause of the\nConstable Clisson against Duke John IV, and had the anguish of seeing\nhis ancestral fortress razed to the ground. Under Henry IV, however,\nthe castle was restored, only to be again demolished by order of\nCardinal Richelieu, who strongly and forcibly disapproved of such\npowerful fortalices.\n\nIt had an outer enclosure, and had to be entered by a drawbridge, and\nit was strengthened in every way conceivable to the military art of\nthe times. It was surrounded by dwellings for the convenience of the\nseigneur's retainers, a fine _salle d'armes_ still remaining. To the\nkeep, four stories high, a flying bridge led, in order to facilitate\nthe withdrawal of the garrison in case of siege. Behind walls ten feet\nthick, so long as food and ammunition lasted, the inmates could hold\nthe enemy in scorn.\n\n\n_Clisson_\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Clisson, once the property of the great Constable\nOliver de Clisson, whom the Viscount of Co\u00eatman and the Bretons of\nPenthi\u00e8vre had championed, is now only a grand old ruin, a touching\nmonument of the architectural splendours of former days. By\nmoonlight it makes a scene not easily forgotten, gaunt and still\nand ruggedly imposing, the silent reminder of events and people\ntales of whom will not readily die, the treasurer of secrets it\nwill probably never yield. Its antithesis is the castle of Nantes,\nwith the stamp of the Renaissance upon its delicately sculptured\nbalconies and window-frames. It is now an arsenal, a fact which\nrobs it of some of the romantic interest of Clisson, or, indeed, of\nruins in general, yet within its walls are the prison chambers in\nwhich Gilles de Laval, the ambitious Finance Minister Fouquet, the\nCardinal de Retz, and the Duchess of Berry once languished. For many\nyears it served as one of the political prisons of France, though\nit is also associated with brighter and happier times; for here, on\npleasure bent, lingered many of the Kings of France from Louis XI\nonward, and here in 1675 Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 sojourned, a circumstance\nwhich casts about it a literary as well as a romantic glamour. The\ngreat well in the courtyard, with its ornamental railing of wrought\niron, is quite equal to the famous well of Quentin Matsys at Antwerp.\n\n\n_Josselin_\n\nThe castle of Josselin, also associated with the history of the great\nConstable Clisson and his allies, as well as with the notorious League\nwhose followers wrought such intolerable misery in Brittany, is built\non a rocky foundation near the river Oust. With its imposing front and\nconically roofed towers it is one of the best examples of a\ntwelfth-century fortress-ch\u00e2teau. Very different in tone is the\narchitecture of the interior court, being that of the period when the\nlighter traceries and more imaginative lines of the Renaissance were\nin favour. The window-openings of the two first stories are beautiful\nenough to rival those of Chambord and equal those of Blois. Above the\nwindows an open gallery runs, and in the space between each the device\nof the Rohans is carved, with their motto, _A Plus_, this celebrated\nfamily having built this part of the ch\u00e2teau. About the year 1400\nClisson added a keep, walls, and parapets, but in 1629, when the\nfortress was no longer a stronghold of the League, these were\npermitted to fall into ruin. Through the courtesy of the family now in\nresidence this wonderfully preserved castle may be visited, a\ncircumstance for which the tourist in Brittany should indeed be\ngrateful. Interest within these massy walls clings around the well,\nwith its ornamental railings, the noble and lofty hall, the library,\nwith its magnificent chimney-piece, repeating again, in stone, the\nRohan motto, _A Plus_, and the equestrian statue of Clisson, by\nFr\u00e9miet, in the dining-room.\n\n\n_Hennebont and Largoet_\n\nOf the old ch\u00e2teau of Hennebont, where John of Montfort breathed his\nlast after escaping from the Louvre of his day, only a heap of stones\nremains. The old fortress of Largoet is in much the same condition,\nnothing of the ancient structure having been conserved save the famous\nTour d'Elven, considered to be the most beautiful castle keep in all\nBrittany, which has also a literary distinction as being the scene of\nsome of the most touching episodes in Octave Feuillet's _Roman d'un\njeune Homme pauvre_.\n\n\n_Ch\u00e2teaubriant_\n\nAt Ch\u00e2teaubriant, which owes its name to the compounding of the\nword 'ch\u00e2teau' with that of 'Briant,' the family style of its\noriginal lord, the old feudal fortress is now a ruin, but the\ncastle, built by Jean de Laval, Governor of Brittany under Francis\nI, is in good repair. An inscription giving the date of the completion\nof the new ch\u00e2teau as 1538 is above the portal of the colonnade.\nThere is a gruesome legend associated with the old ch\u00e2teau, in which\nfor some time dwelt the unfortunate Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, Countess of\nCh\u00e2teaubriant and beloved of Francis I. Tiring or becoming suspicious\nof her royal lover, she decided to return to her husband, the old\nCount of Laval. The reunion, however, was not productive of\nhappiness, owing to the fever of jealousy in which her elderly\nhusband lived because of the love affair with the King. This\njealousy eventually flared into mania when he heard that she had\nactually visited her former lover in prison after he had been\ncaptured at Pavia. Instantly he \"shut his young wife up in a\ndarkened and padded cell, and finally had her cut into pieces by two\nsurgeons,\" so the story goes. Terrified at what he had done and of\nthe consequences which were sure to follow when the King heard of\nhis savagery, the Count fled the country immediately afterward.\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Brodineuf (dating from the twelfth century) and that of\nCaradeuc are in good repair, but the latter is ancient only in parts.\nIt shelters two Murillos within its walls. The picturesque ch\u00e2teau of\nCombourg was in early times a feudal fortress, and in it Ren\u00e9\nCh\u00e2teaubriand's infancy was passed. This place may be visited by\ninterested sightseers, and there they may view the writing-table of\nthe author of _Le G\u00e9nie du Christianisme_, and, in the bedroom he\noccupied at Combourg, the bed on which he died in Paris. The ch\u00e2teau\nof Vitr\u00e9 is also in a state of preservation, and is considered one of\nthe best specimens of military architecture in the province.\nComparatively near is the ch\u00e2teau of Rochers, once the home of Mme de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9, and in consequence one of the famous sights of the country.\nThe many letters she dated from this castle paint a vivid and detailed\npicture of social life in the seventeenth century, and fortunately the\natmosphere of the time has been happily retained in the building\nitself.\n\nAnother twelfth-century structure is that of the ch\u00e2teau of Rustefan,\nnear Quimperl\u00e9. It was built by Stephen, Count of Penthi\u00e8vre, and\nbelonged in the next century to Blanche of Castile, the mother of St\nLouis. The ruins now in existence are those of the ch\u00e2teau built in\nthe fifteenth century, and its cylindrical tower, pinnacled doorway,\nand the stone mullions of the windows still remain fairly intact. The\nch\u00e2teau of Kerjolet, in Concarneau, is one which has been saved from\ndecay, restored as it was by Countess Chaveau-Narishkine and presented\nby her to the department. It contains a museum in which are specimens\nof all the costumes and _coiffes_ of Lower Brittany, and antiquities\nof prehistoric and medieval times, which all students of Breton and\nCeltic lore should see.\n\n\n_Palaces of the Past_\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Tourlaville is situated among very beautiful\nsurroundings, and is built in the classic style of the Renaissance,\nwith an angular tower. On chimney-piece and fireplace throughout the\ncastle there are numerous sentimental devices in which Cupids and\nflaming hearts and torches figure largely, with the occasional\naccompaniment of verses and mottoes of an equally amatory nature.\nThese are all seventeenth-century examples and may be taken as\nexpressions of the time. In a boudoir called the Blue Chamber, because\nof the colour of its draperies and decorations, many coats-of-arms are\nemblazoned; but all the greatness to which these testify has become a\nthing of the past, for the ch\u00e2teau has now been turned into a\nfarmhouse.\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Dinan may also be classed among the palaces of the\npast, for now, despite the fact that it was built by the Dukes of\nBrittany, it has become a prison. From the tourist as well as the\nromantic point of view this is somewhat of a tragedy. The Tower of\nCo\u00ebtquen, one of the ancient towers of the city wall, is practically\npart of the castle, and the keep, or Queen Anne's Tower, is the most\ndistinctive feature remaining. This keep is of four stories, and is\nover a hundred feet high, the last story being reached by a spiral\nstaircase. What was once the oratory of the Duchess Anne is now the\nguard-room. There are still several dungeons whose original\ngruesomeness has been left untouched, and whose use in bygone days can\nwell be imagined.\n\n\n_Suscino_\n\nThe ch\u00e2teau of Suscino is one of the chief sights of the neighbourhood\nof Vannes, because it is the ruin of what was once a marvellous\nstructure of the thirteenth century, and follows the finest Gothic\ntraditions of the time. All the roofing of the building has quite\ndisappeared, but its battlemented towers and walls remain to give a\ngood idea of the architectural perfection that must have belonged to\nit. At one time it fell into the hands of Charles of Blois, only to be\nretaken by his rival, Montfort, in 1364, and in 1373 it was occupied\nby an English garrison. Eventually it was bestowed upon John of\nCh\u00e2lons, Prince of Orange, by Anne of Brittany, but in time Francis I\nrelieved him of it in order to present it to Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, the\ncelebrated Lady of Ch\u00e2teaubriant. The irregular pentagon formed by the\nch\u00e2teau is possibly somewhat modified from the original plan of 1320,\nand of the seven towers which flanked its gates and walls in the\nbeginning six have weathered the storms of the times through which\nthey have passed. Its orchid-shaped machicolations have also survived,\nand even to-day they are noticeably beautiful. The new tower is a fine\ncylindrical keep, dating from the fourteenth century, and over the\nentrance this legend still remains:\n\n Ici Est N\u00e9\n Le Duc Arthur III\n le 24 Ao\u00fbt, 1393.\n\nWe have already dealt with many of the stories connected with the\nancient castles of Brittany, and these will be found in nearly\nevery chapter of this book, so varied are they. But no tale, however\nvivid, can hope to capture and retain all the wonder and mystery of\nthese grand old strongholds, which must be seen in order to leave\nupon the imagination and memory the full impress of their weird and\nextraordinary fascination.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [40] _Folk-lore as an Historical Science_, p. 129.\n\n [41] _Western France_, vol. ii.\n\n [42] See Le Braz, _La L\u00e9gende de la Mort_, t. i, p. 39, t. ii, pp. 37\n ff.; Albert Le Grand, _Vies des Saints de la Bretagne_, p. 63;\n Villemarqu\u00e9, _Chants populaires_, pp. 38 ff.\n\n [43] See MacCulloch, _Religion of the Ancient Celts_, p. 372 and\n notes.\n\n [44] MacCulloch, _op. cit._, p. 274.\n\n [45] Villemarqu\u00e9 avouches that this version was taken down by his\n mother from the lips of an old peasant woman of the parish of\n N\u00e9vez. It bears the stamp of ballad poetry, and as it has\n parallels in the folk-verse of other countries I see no reason\n to question its genuineness.\n\n [46] See \"Maro Markiz Gwerrand,\" in the _Bulletin de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9\n Acad\u00e9mique de Brest_, 1865.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII: HERO-TALES OF BRITTANY\n\n\nSoon after the Vicomte Hersart de la Villemarqu\u00e9 published his\n_Barzaz-Breiz_, a collection of popular ballads from the Breton,\ncritics who possessed a knowledge of the language and were acquainted\nwith its literature exposed the true nature of the work, acting,\nindeed, as did British critics when Macpherson published his\nfragments of Ossian. Villemarqu\u00e9 was, in fact, a Breton Macpherson. He\nwould hear a Breton ballad sung or recited, and would then either\nenlarge upon it and torture it out of all resemblance to its original\nshape, or he would instigate a literary friend to do so. We must\nremember that such a proceeding was fashionable at the time, as no\nless a personage than Sir Walter Scott had led the way, and he had\nbeen preceded by Burns in the practice. But whereas Burns made no\nsecret of what he did and greatly enhanced the poetical value of the\nsongs and ballads he altered, Scott and his friends, Kirkpatrick\nSharpe, Leyden, and others, indulged in what they described as the\n\"mystification\" of their acquaintances by these semi-forgeries.\nLike theirs, Villemarqu\u00e9's work had usually an historical or\nlegendary basis, but it is impossible to say how much of it is\noriginal matter of folk-song and how much his own invention,\nunless we compare his versions with those furnished by M. Luzel in\nhis _Guerziou Breiz-Izel_ (1868), which, however, only contains a few\nof the originals of the tales given in the _Barzaz-Breiz_, and those\nnot the most interesting.\n\nI have cast the following tales into narrative form from the ballads\npublished in the _Barzaz-Breiz_, where they obviously appear as\ntraditional tales in a polished, modern dress.[47] They may be\nregarded, largely, as efforts of the modern imagination regarding the\nBreton past. In any case the author of a book on Breton romances would\nnot be justified in omitting all mention of Villemarqu\u00e9 and refraining\nfrom affording the reader a specimen of his work, any more than he\nwould be in founding solely upon the labours of the Vicomte.\n\n\n_Lez-Breiz, the Prop of Brittany_\n\nMorvan, chief of L\u00e9on, so celebrated in the history of the ninth\ncentury as one of the upholders of Breton independence, and known to\ntradition as 'the Prop of Brittany,' is the subject of a remarkable\nseries of ballads or hero-tales in the _Barzaz-Breiz_ which together\nconstitute what is almost an epic. These tell of his life, death,\nadventures, travels, and the marvellous feats of derring-do he\naccomplished. In some measure he is to Breton legend what Arthur is to\nBritish or Holger to that of Denmark. That he is familiar to Breton\ntradition there can be no question, and whether Villemarqu\u00e9 himself\nwove the following adventures around him or not they are certainly\ntypical of the age in which the hero flourished.\n\n\n_Morvan's First Adventure_\n\nOne day the child Morvan was sitting at the edge of the forest when a\ncavalier issued from its depths armed at all points and riding a\ngreat charger. The boy, excited by his martial appearance, ran from\nhim in terror, calling out that here indeed was St Michael; but the\ncavalier rode so swiftly that he soon came up with the lad, who\ndevoutly threw himself on his knees and made the sign of the Cross,\ncalling out:\n\n\"Seigneur Saint Michael, in the name of God I pray thee do me no\nharm!\"\n\nThe knight laughed loudly. \"Why, lad,\" he said, \"I am no more Saint\nMichael than I am a thief, but merely a belted knight, such as one may\nmeet with by the score in this land of chivalry.\"\n\n\"I have never seen a knight,\" replied Morvan; \"and what may that be\nwhich you carry?\"\n\n\"That is called a lance, my boy.\"\n\n\"And what are these that you wear on your head and breast?\"\n\n\"The one is a casque and the other a breast-plate. They are intended\nto protect me from the stroke of sword and spear. But tell me, lad,\nhave you seen any one pass this way?\"\n\n\"Yes, Seigneur, a man went by this very road not half an hour agone.\"\n\n\"Thank you, boy,\" replied the knight. \"If you are asked who spoke to\nyou, say the Count of Quimper,\" and with these words he spurred his\nhorse and set off down the road in the direction which the little\nMorvan had indicated.\n\nMorvan returned to his mother, who had been sitting some distance\naway, and began to tell her of his meeting. He was so full of the\ngallantry of the knight he had met, his grace and martial bearing,\nthat the good dame could not stem the torrent of words which flowed\nfrom him.\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" he babbled on, \"you never saw anyone so splendid as him\nwhom I have seen to-day, a man more beautiful than the Lord Michael\nthe Archangel, whose image is in our church.\"\n\nHis mother smiled and patted him fondly on the cheek.\n\n\"Come, my son,\" she said, \"there is no man so beautiful as the\nArchangel Michael.\"\n\nBut little Morvan shook his head.\n\n\"Saving your grace, there are, my mother,\" he said gravely. \"There are\nmany men more splendid than Saint Michael, and they are called\nknights. How I wish that I might grow up and become a knight too!\"\n\nAt these words the poor lady, who had lost her husband in battle and\nwho dreaded that her only son might be taken from her, was seized with\nsuch dismay that she sank to the ground unconscious. The little\nMorvan, without turning his head, entered the stables and led out a\nfresh horse. Jumping lightly on the steed's back, he turned its head\nin the direction in which the splendid cavalier had gone and rode\nhastily after him.\n\n\n_The Return of Morvan_\n\nTen years passed--years full of martial achievement and adventure for\nyoung Morvan. Then a desire to return to the ancestral mansion seized\nupon the youth, and he made his way homeward. But great was his dismay\nwhen he entered the courtyard of the manor and looked about him, for\nthe blackberry bushes and the nettles were growing round the threshold\nof the house and the walls were half ruined and covered with ivy. As\nhe was about to enter he observed a poor old blind woman standing in\nthe entrance.\n\n[Illustration: MORVAN RETURNS TO HIS RUINED HOME]\n\n\"Pardon me, dame, but perhaps you can give me hospitality for the\nnight,\" he said.\n\n\"Alas! sir, we have but little,\" she replied. \"This house has been\nallowed to go to ruin since its son and heir quitted it.\"\n\nAs she ceased speaking a young damsel descended the broken stone\nsteps, and after regarding Morvan for a moment burst into tears.\n\n\"How now, maiden,\" said Morvan, \"wherefore do you weep?\"\n\n\"Alas, Seigneur,\" replied the maiden, \"I have a brother who left us\nten years ago to lead the life of a warrior, and every time that I see\na youth about his age I feel myself compelled to weep.\"\n\n\"Tell me, my child,\" said Morvan, \"have you no other brother?\"\n\n\"None in the world, Sir Knight.\"\n\n\"And your mother, what of her?\"\n\n\"Alas! sir, she too is gone. There is no one but myself and my old\nnurse in the house. My poor mother died of grief when my brother rode\noff to become a knight.\"\n\nOn hearing these words Morvan was deeply affected.\n\n\"Alas!\" he cried, \"wretch that I am, I have slain her who gave me\nbirth!\"\n\nWhen he spoke thus the damsel turned deadly pale.\n\n\"In the name of heaven, sir, who are you?\" she cried. \"How are you\nnamed?\"\n\n\"I am Morvan, son of Conan, and Lez-Breiz is my surname, my sister.\"\n\nThe young girl stared for a moment, sighed, and then fell into his\narms; but soon she opened her eyes and praised God that she had found\nher long-lost brother.\n\n\n_The King's Cavalier_\n\nBut Lez-Breiz could not remain long at home. The tented field was his\nfireside, the battle his sport. Adventure followed adventure in his\nfull and stirring life. One day he said to his young squire:\n\n\"Arouse you, my squire, and furnish my sword, my casque, and my\nshield, that I may redden them in the blood of the Franks, for with\nthe help of God and this right arm I shall carry slaughter into their\nranks this day.\"\n\n\"Tell me, my lord,\" asked the squire, \"shall I not fight along with\nyou to-day?\"\n\nMorvan smiled at the lad's eagerness, perhaps because he remembered\nhis own on the day he met the Count of Quimper, then a grave shadow\ncrossed his face.\n\n\"Think of your mother, lad,\" said he. \"What if you never return to\nher? Think of her grief should you die this day.\"\n\n\"Ah, Seigneur,\" entreated the stripling, \"if you love me, grant my\nprayer; let me fight along with you.\"\n\nWhen Morvan rode out to battle an hour later his squire rode beside\nhim, knee to knee. Passing near the church of St Anne of Armor they\nentered.\n\n\"O Saint Anne, most holy dame,\" prayed Morvan, \"I am not yet twenty\nyears old and I have been in twenty battles. All those I have gained\nby your aid, and if I return again to this land I shall make you a\nrich gift. I shall give you enough candles to go three times round the\nwalls of your church, and thrice round your churchyard--aye, thrice\nround your lands, when I come home again; and further I shall give you\na banner of white satin with an ivory staff. Also shall I give you\nseven silver bells which will ring gaily night and day above your\nhead. And three times on my knees will I draw water for your use.\"\n\nThe enemy saw Morvan coming from afar. He was mounted on a small white\nass with a halter of hemp, to signify his contempt for them. Lorgnez,\nhis chief foe, came against him with a troop of warriors, while Morvan\nhad only his little squire behind him. The foemen came on, ten by ten,\nuntil they reached the Wood of Chestnuts. For a moment the little\nsquire was dismayed, but a word from his master rallied him, and,\ndrawing his sword, he spurred forward. Soon they came front to front\nwith Lorgnez and hailed him in knightly fashion.\n\n\"Ho! Seigneur Lorgnez, good day to you.\"\n\n\"Good morrow, Seigneur Morvan. Will you engage in single combat?\"\n\n\"No; I despise your offer. Go back to your King and tell him that I\nmock him; and as for yourself, I laugh at you and those with you.\nReturn to Paris, stay among your women, take off your mail and put on\nthe silken armour of fops.\"\n\nLorgnez's face flamed with anger.\n\n\"By heaven!\" he cried, \"the lowest varlet in my company shall hew your\ncasque from your head for this!\"\n\nAt these words Morvan drew his great sword.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe old hermit of the wood heard some one knocking on the door of his\ncell. He opened it quickly and saw the young squire standing before\nhim. He started back at the sight of the youth's blood-stained armour\nand death-pale countenance.\n\n\"Ha, my son,\" he cried, \"you are sorely hurt. Come and wash your\nwounds at the fountain and repose for a little.\"\n\n\"I may not rest here, good father,\" replied the squire, shaking his\nhead. \"I have come to find water to take to my young master, who has\nfallen in the fight. Thirty warriors lie slain by his hand. Of these\nthe Chevalier Lorgnez was the first.\"\n\n\"Brave youth!\" said the hermit. \"Alas that he has fallen!\"\n\n\"Do not grieve, father. It is true that he has fallen, but it is only\nfrom fatigue. He is unwounded and will soon recover himself.\"\n\nWhen he was recovered Morvan betook him to the chapel of St Anne and\nrendered the gifts he had promised her.\n\n\"Praise be to Saint Anne,\" cried he, \"for she it is who has gained\nthis victory.\"\n\n\n_The King's Blackamoor_\n\nOne day the King of the Franks was sitting among his courtiers.\n\n\"Would that some one would rid me of this pestilent Morvan, who\nconstantly afflicts the Frankish land and slays my doughtiest\nwarriors,\" he said, on hearing of a fresh exploit on the part of the\nBreton chief.\n\nThen the King's blackamoor, who heard these words, arose and stood\nbefore his master. He was tall and great of thew and sinew--a giant\namong men, towering head and shoulders even above the tall Frankish\nwarriors.\n\n\"Allow me to fulfil your wishes, sire,\" he said. \"Sir Morvan has sent\nme his glove, and if to-morrow I do not bring you his head I will\nwillingly part with my own.\"\n\nOn the next morning Morvan's squire came to his master trembling\nviolently.\n\n\"Seigneur,\" he said, with ashy countenance, \"the King's Moor is here\nand bids you defiance.\"\n\nMorvan rose and took his sword.\n\n\"Alas! my dear master,\" said the squire, \"take heed what you do, I\npray you, for I assure you that this Moor is nothing but a demon who\npractises the most horrible enchantments.\"\n\nMorvan laughed. \"Well, we shall see whether this demon can withstand\ncold steel or not,\" he said. \"Go and saddle my black horse.\"\n\n\"Saving your grace,\" said the page, \"if you will hearken to my words\nyou will not fight on the black charger. He has been bewitched.\nMoreover, you will notice that when you enter the lists to fight the\nMoor he will cast his mantle to the ground. But do not follow his\nexample, for should your mantle fall beneath his the strength of the\nblack giant will be doubled. When the Moor advances to the attack make\nthe sign of the Cross with the shaft of your lance, and when he rushes\nupon you in his battle-fury receive him with the steel. If you do this\nyou may be sure that your lance will not break.\"\n\nThe heroes met within the lists. The King of France and his nobles had\nfollowed the giant Moor in order to witness the combat, and when all\nhad been seated the trumpets sounded and the two champions rushed\ntogether with the utmost fury. They circled round one another like\neagles seeking an opening to strike. Now one struck, then the other,\nand the blood flowed down their bright armour. The Frankish King in\nhigh excitement called out:\n\n\"Ho! black crow of the sea, pierce me now this merle.\"\n\nAt these words the giant assailed Morvan most furiously, as a great\ntempest assails a ship. The lances crossed, but that of the Moor broke\nlike matchwood. Both leaped to earth, sword in hand, and rushed at\neach other like lions. Many lusty strokes were given and taken, and\nfrom their armour flew sparks like those from a smith's anvil. Then\nthe Moor, grasping his sword with both hands, made ready to strike a\nmighty blow, when swift and trenchantly Morvan thrust his blade far\ninto the arm-pit and the heart and the giant tumbled to the earth like\na falling tree. Morvan placed his foot on the dead man's breast,\nwithdrew his sword, and cut off the Moor's head. Then, attaching the\nbleeding trophy to the pommel of his saddle, he rode home with it and\naffixed it to the gate of his castle. All men praised him for his\ndoughty deed, but he gave the grace of his victory entirely to St\nAnne, and declared that he would build a house of prayer in her honour\non the heights between L\u00e9guer and the Guindy.\n\n\n_Morvan Fights the King_\n\nOne day Morvan sallied forth to encounter the King of the Franks\nhimself. The King brought no fewer than five thousand mounted\nmen-at-arms. As this host was about to set out, a great clap of\nthunder resounded in the vault of heaven, and the King's nobles\nperforce regarded it as a bad omen.\n\n\"For heaven's sake, sire, go not hence,\" said one of them, \"since the\nday has begun with such an evil token.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" was the royal reply. \"I have given the order; we must\nmarch.\"\n\nThat morning, on the other hand, the sister of Morvan said to her\nbrother: \"My dear brother, if you love me seek not this combat, for if\nyou do you will certainly go to your death, and what will become of me\nafterward? I see on the shore the white sea-horse, the symbol of\nBrittany. A monstrous serpent entwines him, seizing him round the hind\nlegs and the body with his enormous coils. The sea-steed turns his\nhead to seize the reptile. The combat is unequal. You are alone; the\nFranks are legion!\"\n\nBut Morvan was already beyond ear-shot.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs the hermit of the wood of Hell\u00e9an[48] slept three knocks sounded on\nhis door.\n\n\"Good hermit,\" said some one, \"open the door. I seek an asylum and\nhelp from you.\"\n\nThe wind blew coldly from the country of the Franks. It was the hour\nwhen savage beasts wander here and there in search of their prey. The\nhermit did not rise with alacrity.\n\n\"Who are you who knock at my door at this hour of night demanding an\nentrance?\" he asked sulkily; \"and by what sign shall I know whether\nyou are a true man or otherwise?\"\n\n\"Priest, I am well known in this land. I am Morvan Lez-Breiz, the\nHatchet of Brittany.\"\n\n\"I will not open my door to you,\" said the hermit hastily. \"You are a\nrebel; you are the enemy of the good King of the Franks.\"\n\n\"How, priest!\" cried Morvan angrily, \"I am a Breton and no traitor or\nrebel. It is the King of the Franks who has been a traitor to this\nland.\"\n\n\"Silence, recreant!\" replied the hermit. \"Rail not against the King of\nthe Franks, for he is a man of God.\"\n\n\"Of God, say you? Nay, rather of the devil! Has he not ravaged and\nwasted the Breton land? The gold that he wrings from the Breton folk\nis expended for the good of Satan. Open, hermit, open!\"\n\n\"Not so, my son, for should I do so the Franks would surely fix a\nquarrel upon me.\"\n\n\"You refuse?\" shouted Morvan in a voice of thunder. \"Good; then I\nshall burst into your cell,\" and with these words he threw himself\nagainst the door, which creaked ominously.\n\n\"Hold, my son, hold!\" cried the old hermit in tremulous tones.\n\"Forbear and I will open to you\"; and seizing a torch he lit it at the\nremains of his fire and went to open the door.\n\n\n_The Severed Head_\n\nHe unlocked it and drew it back, but as he did so he recoiled\nviolently, for he saw advancing upon him a terrible spectre, holding\nits head in its two hands. Its eyes seemed full of blood and fire, and\nrolled round and round in a most horrible manner. The hermit was about\nto shriek in terror when the head of the apparition, after laughing\ngrimly, addressed him:\n\n\"Come now, old Christian, do not be afraid. God permits this thing to\nbe. He has allowed the Franks to decapitate me, but for a time only,\nand as you see me now I am only a phantom. But He will permit you\nyourself to replace my head on my shoulders if you will.\"\n\nThe hermit stammered and drew back. This was not his first encounter\nwith the supernatural, which he had good reason to dread, but like all\nBretons he had come under the magnetism of Morvan, even although he\nbelieved that the King of the Franks was his rightful overlord; so,\nsteeling himself against his natural timidity, he said:\n\n\"If God permits this thing I shall be very willing to replace your\nhead on your shoulders.\"\n\n\"Take it, then,\" said the decapitated Morvan, and with trembling hands\nthe priest took the gory trophy and replaced it on the Breton chief's\nshoulders, saying at the same time: \"I replace your head, my son, in\nthe name of God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.\"\n\nAnd by virtue of this benediction the phantom once more became a man.\n\n\"Morvan,\" said the hermit, \"you must do penance, heavy penance, with\nme. You must carry about with you for seven years a robe of lead,\npadlocked to your neck, and each day at the hour of twelve you must go\nto fetch water from the well at the summit of the mountain yonder.\"\n\n\"I will do as you desire,\" said Morvan; \"I will follow your saintly\nwish.\"\n\nWhen the seven years of the penance had passed the robe had flayed\nMorvan's skin severely, and his beard, which had become grey, and the\nhair of his head, fell almost to his waist. Those who saw him did not\nrecognize him; but a lady dressed in white, who passed through the\ngreenwood, stopped and gazed earnestly at him and her eyes filled with\ntears.\n\n\"Morvan, my dear son, it is indeed you,\" she said. \"Come here, my\nbeloved child, that I may free you of your burden,\" and she cut the\nchain which bound the shirt of lead to the shoulders of the penitent\nwith a pair of golden scissors, saying:\n\n\"I am your patron, Saint Anne of Armor.\"\n\nNow for seven years had the squire of Morvan sought his master, and\none day he was riding through the greenwood of Hell\u00e9an.\n\n\"Alas!\" he said, \"what profits it that I have slain his murderer when\nI have lost my dear lord?\"\n\nThen he heard at the other end of the wood the plaintive whinnying of\na horse. His own steed sniffed the air and replied, and then he saw\nbetween the parted branches a great black charger, which he recognized\nas that of Lez-Breiz. Once more the beast whinnied mournfully. It\nalmost seemed as if he wept. He was standing upon his master's grave!\n\nBut, like Arthur and Barbarossa, Morvan Lez-Breiz will yet return.\nYes, one day he will return to fight the Franks and drive them from\nthe Breton land!\n\nWe have sundry intimations here of the sources from which Villemarqu\u00e9\ndrew a part at least of his matter. There are resemblances to\nArthurian and kindred romances. For example, the incident which\ndescribes the flight of young Morvan is identical with that in the\nArthurian saga of _Percival le Gallois_, where the child Percival\nquits his mother's care in precisely the same fashion. The Frankish\nmonarch and his Court, too, are distinctly drawn in the style of the\n_chansons de gestes_, which celebrated the deeds of Charlemagne and\nhis peers. There are also hints that the paganism against which\nCharlemagne fought, that of the Moors of Spain, had attracted the\nattention of the author, and this is especially seen in his\nintroduction of the Moorish giant, so common a figure in the\nCarlovingian stories.\n\n\n_The Ballad of Bran_\n\nA sorrowful and touching ballad, claimed by Villemarqu\u00e9 as being sung\nin the Breton dialect of L\u00e9on, tells of the warrior Bran, who was\nwounded in the great fight of Kerlouan, a village situated on the\ncoast of L\u00e9on, in the tenth century. The coast was raided by the\nNorsemen, and the Bretons, led by their chief, Even the Great, marched\nagainst them and succeeded in repelling them. The Norsemen, however,\ncarried off several prisoners, among them a warrior called Bran.\nIndeed, a village called Kervran, or 'the village of Bran,' still\nexists near the seashore, and here it was, tradition relates, that the\nwarrior was wounded and taken by the Scandinavian pirates. In the\nchurch of Goulven is to be seen an ancient tablet representing the\nNorse vessels which raided the coast.\n\nThe ballad recounts how Bran, on finding himself on the enemy's ship,\nwept bitterly. On arriving in the land of the Norsemen he was\nimprisoned in a tower, where he begged his gaolers to allow him to\nsend a letter to his mother. Permission to do so was granted, and a\nmessenger was found. The prisoner advised this man, for his better\nsafety, to disguise himself in the habit of a beggar, and gave him his\ngold ring in order that his mother might know that the message came\nfrom her son in very truth. He added: \"When you arrive in my country\nproceed at once to my mother, and if she is willing to ransom me show\na white sail on your return, but if she refuses, hoist a black sail.\"\n\nWhen the messenger arrived at the warrior's home in the country of\nL\u00e9on the lady was at supper with her family and the bards were present\nplaying on their harps.\n\n\"Greeting, lady,\" said the messenger. \"Behold the ring of your son,\nBran, and here is news from him contained in this letter, which I pray\nyou read quickly.\"\n\nThe lady took the missive, and, turning to the harpers, told them to\ncease playing. Having perused the letter she became extremely\nagitated, and, rising with tears in her eyes, gave orders that a\nvessel should be equipped immediately so that she might sail to seek\nher son on the morrow.\n\nOne morning Bran, the prisoner, called from his tower: \"Sentinel,\nSentinel, tell me, do you see a sail on the sea?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the sentinel, \"I see nothing but the sea and the sky.\"\n\nAt midday Bran repeated the question, but was told that nothing but\nthe birds and the billows were in sight. When the shadows of evening\ngathered he asked once more, and the perfidious sentinel replied with\na lie:\n\n\"Yes, lord, there is a ship close at hand, beaten by wind and sea.\"\n\n\"And what colour of a sail does she show?\" asked Bran. \"Is it black or\nwhite?\"\n\n\"It is black, lord,\" replied the sentinel, in a spirit of petty\nspite.\n\nWhen the unhappy warrior heard these words he never spoke more.\n\nThat night his mother arrived at the town where he had been\nimprisoned. She asked of the people: \"Why do the bells sound?\"\n\n\"Alas! lady,\" said an ancient man, \"a noble prisoner who lay in yonder\ntower died this night.\"\n\nWith bent head the lady walked to the tower, her white hair falling\nupon her folded arms. When she arrived at its foot she said to the\nguard: \"Open the door quickly; I have come to see my son.\"\n\nAnd when the great door was opened she threw herself upon the corpse\nof Bran and breathed her last.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn the battlefield of Kerlouan there is an oak which overshadows the\nshore and which marks the place where the Norsemen fled before the\nface of Even the Great. On this oak, whose leaves shine in the moon,\nthe birds gather each night, the birds of the sea and the land, both\nof white and black feather. Among them is an old grey rook and a young\ncrow. The birds sing such a beautiful song that the great sea keeps\nsilence to hear it. All of them sing except the rook and the crow. Now\nthe crow says: \"Sing, little birds, sing; sing, little birds of the\nland, for when you die you will at least end your days in Brittany.\"\n\nThe crow is of course Bran in disguise, for the name Bran means 'crow'\nin the Breton tongue, and the rook is possibly his mother. In the most\nancient Breton traditions the dead are represented as returning to\nearth in the form of birds. A number of the incidents in this piece\nare paralleled in the poem of _Sir Tristrem_, which also introduces a\nmessenger who disguises himself for the purpose of travelling more\nsafely in a foreign country, a ring of gold, which is used to show the\nmessenger's _bona-fides_, a perfidious gaoler, and the idea of the\nblack or white sail. The original poem of _Sir Tristrem_ was probably\ncomposed about the twelfth or thirteenth century, and it would seem\nthat the above incidents at least have a Breton source behind them. A\nmother, however, has been substituted for a lover, and the ancient\nBreton dame takes the place of Ysonde. There is, indeed, little\ndifference between the passage which relates the arrival of the mother\nin the Norsemen's country and that of Ysonde in Brittany when she\nsails on her last voyage with the intention of succouring Tristrem.\nYsonde also asks the people of the place why the bells are ringing,\none of the ancient inhabitants tells her of the death of her lover,\nand, like the Breton mother, she casts herself on the body of him she\nhas lost.\n\n\"This passage,\" says Villemarqu\u00e9, with wonderful _sang-froid_, \"duly\nattests the prior claim of the Armorican piece!\" But even if he had\nbeen serious, he wrote without the possession of data for the precise\nfixing of the period in which the Breton ballad was composed; and in\nany case his contention cannot assist the Breton argument for\nArmorican priority in Arthurian literature, as borrowing in ballad and\nfolk-tale is much more flagrant than he, writing as he did in 1867,\ncould ever have guessed--more flagrant even than any adaptation he\nhimself ever perpetrated!\n\nHe adds, however, an antiquarian note to the poem which is of far\ngreater interest and probably of more value than his supposition. He\nalludes to the passage contained in the ballad regarding the harpers\nwho are represented as playing in the hall of Bran's mother while\nshe sits at supper. The harp, he states, is no longer popular in\nBrittany, and he asks if this was always the case. There can be very\nlittle doubt that in Brittany, as in other Celtic countries--for\nexample, Wales, Ireland and Scotland--the harp was in ancient times\none of the national instruments. It is strange that it should have\nbeen replaced in that country by the _biniou_, or bagpipe, just as\nthe _clairschach_, or Highland harp, was replaced by the same\ninstrument in the Highlands of Scotland.\n\n\n_Fontenelle_\n\nGuy Eder de Fontenelle, a son of the house of Beaumanoir, was one of\nthe most famous partisans of the Catholic League, and, according to\none who saw him in 1587, had then begun to show tendencies to the wild\nlife he was afterward to lead. He was sent as a scholar to Paris to\nthe College of Boncotest, but in 1589, when about sixteen years of\nage, he became impatient of scholastic confinement, sold his books and\nhis robe, and bought a sword and poignard. Leaving the college, he\ntook the road to Orl\u00e9ans, with the object of attaching himself to the\narmy of the Duke of Mayenne, chief of the Catholic party in France,\nbut, returning to his native Brittany, he placed himself at the head\nof the populace, which had risen in arms on behalf of the Leaguers. As\nhe was of good family and a Breton and displayed an active spirit,\nthey obeyed him very willingly. Soon he translated his intentions into\naction, and commenced to pillage the smaller towns and to make captive\nthose who differed from him politically. He threatened Guingamp, which\nwas held for the King, and made a sally into L\u00e9on, carrying away the\ndaughter of the Lady of Coadelan, a wealthy heiress, who was only\nabout eight or nine years of age. This occurrence Villemarqu\u00e9 has\nrelated for us in Breton verse, assuring us that it was 'recovered' by\nthe Comte de Kergariou, a friend of his. Fontenelle is supposed to\nhave encountered the little heiress plucking flowers in a wayside\nditch.\n\n\"Tell me, little one,\" said he, \"for whom do you pluck these\nflowers?\"\n\n\"For my foster-brother, whom I love. But I am afraid, for I know that\nFontenelle is near.\"\n\n\"Ha, then, so you know this terrible Fontenelle, my child?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I do not know him, but I have heard tell of him. I have\nheard folk say that he is a very wicked man and that he carries away\nyoung ladies.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Fontenelle, with a laugh, \"and, above all, heiresses.\"\n\nHe took the child in his arms and swung her on to the crupper of his\nsaddle. Then, dashing the spurs into his charger's flanks, he set off\nat a gallop for Saint-Malo, where he placed the little heiress in a\nconvent, with the object of marrying her when she had arrived at the\nage of fourteen.\n\nYears afterward Fontenelle and the heiress, who was now his wife, went\nto live at their manor of Coadelan. They had a little child beautiful\nas the day, who greatly resembled his father. One day a letter arrived\nfor the Seigneur, calling upon him to betake himself to Paris at once.\nHis wife was inconsolable.\n\n\"Do not set forth alone for Paris, I pray you,\" she said, \"for if you\ndo I shall instantly follow you. Remain at home, I beg of you, and I\nwill send a messenger in your stead. In the name of God, do not go,\nhusband, for if you do you will never return.\"\n\nBut Fontenelle disregarded his wife's entreaties, and, begging her to\ntake good care of their son during his absence, set forth on his\njourney to the capital. In due time he arrived in Paris and stood\nbefore the King and Queen. He greeted them courteously, but they\nlooked coldly on him, and the King told him bluntly that he should not\nreturn to Coadelan, adding: \"There are sufficient chains in my palace\nto restrain you.\"\n\nOn hearing this Fontenelle called his little page and begged him to\nreturn at once to his mistress and tell her to discard her finery,\nbecause she would soon be a widow, and to bring him back a coarse\nshirt and a white sheet, and, moreover, to bring a gold plate on which\nhis enemies might expose his head after his death.\n\n\"And, little page,\" he added, \"take a lock of my hair and place it on\nthe door of Coadelan, so that all men as they go to Mass may say, 'God\nhave mercy on the soul of Fontenelle.'\"\n\nThe page did as he was bidden, but as for the plate of gold it was\nuseless, for Fontenelle's head was thrown on the pavement to serve as\na ball for the children of the gutter.\n\nAll Paris was surprised when one day a lady from a distant country\narrived and made great stir in its narrow streets. Every one asked his\nneighbour who this dame might be. It was the heiress of Coadelan,\ndressed in a flowing robe of green. \"Alas!\" said the pitiful\nburgesses, \"if she knew what we know she would be dressed in black.\"\nShortly she stood before the King. \"Sire,\" said she, \"give me back my\nhusband, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"Alas! madam,\" replied the King, with feigned sorrow, \"what you ask is\nimpossible, for but three days ago he was broken on the wheel.\"\n\n\"Whoso goes to Coadelan to-day will turn away from it with grief, for\nthe ashes are black upon the hearth and the nettles crowd around the\ndoorway--and still,\" the ballad ends na\u00efvely, \"still the wicked world\ngoes round and the poor folk weep with anguish, and say, 'Alas that\nshe is dead, the mother of the poor.'\"\n\n\n_The Return from England_\n\nThere is a good deal of evidence to show that a considerable body of\nBretons accompanied the invading army of William the Conqueror when he\nset forth with the idea of gaining the English crown. They were\nattached to his second battle corps, and many of them received land in\nEngland. A ballad which, says Villemarqu\u00e9, bears every sign of\nantiquity deals with the fortunes of a young Breton, Silvestik, who\nfollowed in the train of the Conqueror. The piece is put into the\nmouth of the mother of Silvestik, who mourns her son's absence, and\nits tone is a tender and touching one.\n\n\"One night as I lay on my bed,\" says the anxious mother, \"I could not\nsleep. I heard the girls at Kerlaz singing the song of my son. O God,\nSilvestik, where are you now? Perhaps you are more than three hundred\nleagues from here, cast on the great sea, and the fishes feed upon\nyour fair body. Perhaps you may be married now to some Saxon damsel.\nYou were to have been wed to a lovely daughter of this land, Manna\u00efk\nde Pouldergat, and you might have been among us surrounded by\nbeautiful children, dwelling happily in your own home.\n\n[Illustration: THE FINDING OF SILVESTIK]\n\n\"I have taken to my door a little white dove which sits in a small\nhollow of the stone. I have tied to his neck a letter with the ribbon\nof my wedding-dress and have sent it to my son. Arise, my little dove,\narise on your two wings, fly far, very far across the great sea, and\ndiscover if my son is still alive and well.\"\n\nSilvestik rested in the shade of an English wood, and as he did so a\nfamiliar note fell upon his ear.\n\n\"That sound resembles the voice of my mother's little white dove,\" he\nsaid. The sound grew louder; it seemed to say, \"Good luck to you,\nSilvestik, good luck to you. I have here a letter for you.\"\n\nSilvestik in high happiness read the letter, and resolved to return\nhome to his sorrowing parent.\n\nTwo years passed, three years passed, and the dove did not return to\ndelight the heart of the longing mother, who day by day walked the\ndismal seashore waiting for the vessel that never came. One day of\nstorm she was wandering on the beach as usual when she saw a vessel\nbeing driven with great force upon the iron coast. Even as she watched\nit it dashed upon the rocks. Soon there were cast upon the shore the\nforms of many dead, and when the gale abated and the heart-sick mother\nwas able to search among them she found Silvestik!\n\nSeveral competent judges are of opinion that this ballad is\ncontemporary with the events which it relates. Many of the Breton\nlords who sailed with William the Conqueror did not return for several\nyears after the expedition had accomplished its object, and some not\nat all. Nothing is known regarding the hero. The bird is frequently\nthe messenger between lovers in ballad literature, but it is seldom\nthat it is found carrying letters between a mother and her\nson--indeed, this is perhaps the only instance known.\n\n\n_The Marriage-Girdle_\n\nThis ballad has reference to the Breton expedition which sailed for\nWales in 1405 to assist the Welsh under Owen Glendower to free their\nprincipality from the English yoke. The Bretons rendered material\nassistance to their Welsh brothers, and had the satisfaction on their\nreturn of knowing that they had accomplished that which no French king\nhad ever been able to achieve--the invasion of English territory. The\nexpedition was commanded by Jean de Rieux, Marshal of France, and\nnumbered ten thousand men.\n\nThe ballad tells how a young man on the morning after his betrothal\nreceived orders to join the standard of de Rieux \"to help the Bretons\noversea.\" It was with bitterness in his heart, says the lover, that he\nentered the house of his betrothed with the object of bidding her\nfarewell. He told her that duty called him, and that he must go to\nserve in England. At this her tears gushed forth, and she begged him\nnot to go, reminding him how changeful was the wind and how perfidious\nthe sea.\n\n\"Alas!\" said she, \"if you die what shall I do? In my impatience to\nhave news of you my heart will break. I shall wander by the seashore,\nfrom one cottage to another, asking the sailors if they have heard\ntell of you.\"\n\n\"Be comforted, Alo\u00efda,\" said her lover, \"and do not weep on my\naccount. I will send you a girdle from over the sea, a girdle of\npurple set with rubies.\"\n\nThey parted at daybreak, he to embark on the sea, she to weep, and as\nhe sought his ship he could hear the magpies cackle: \"If the sea is\nchangeable women are even more so.\"\n\nWhen the autumn had arrived the young girl said: \"I have looked far\nover the sea from the heights of the mountains of Arez. I have seen\nupon the waters a ship in danger, and I feel that upon it was him whom\nI love. He held a sword in his hand, he was engaged in a terrible\ncombat, he was wounded to death and his garments were covered with\nblood. I am certain that he is dead.\"\n\nAnd before many weeks had passed she was affianced to another.\n\nThen good news arrived in the land. The war was finished and the\ncavalier returned to his home with a gay heart. No sooner had he\nrefreshed himself than he went to seek his beloved. As he approached\nher dwelling he heard the sound of music, and observed that every\nwindow in the house was illuminated as if for a festival. He asked\nsome revellers whom he met outside the cause of this merrymaking, and\nwas told that a wedding was proceeding.\n\nIt is the custom in Brittany to invite beggars to a wedding, and when\nthese were now admitted one of them asked hospitality for the night.\nThis was at once granted him, but he sat apart, sad and silent. The\nbride, observing this, approached him and asked him why he did not\njoin in the feasting. He replied that he was weary with travel and\nthat his heart was heavy with sorrow. Desirous that the marriage\nfestivities should not flag, the bride asked him to join her in the\ndance, and he accepted the invitation, saying, however, that it was an\nhonour he did not merit.\n\nNow while they danced he came close to her and murmured in her ear:\n\n\"What have you done with the golden ring that you received from me at\nthe door of this very house?\"\n\nThe bride stared at him in wild dismay. \"Oh, heaven,\" she cried,\n\"behold, I have now two husbands! I who thought I was a widow!\"\n\n\"You think wrongly, _ma belle_,\" hissed the beggar; \"you will have no\nhusband this side of the grave,\" and drawing a dagger from under his\ncloak he struck the lady to the heart.\n\nIn the abbey of Daoulas there is a statue of the Virgin decorated with\na splendid girdle of purple sparkling with rubies, which came from\nacross the sea. If you desire to know who gave it to her, ask of a\nrepentant monk who lies prostrate on the grass before the figure of\nthe Mother of God.\n\nIt is strange that the faithless damsel should have alleged that she\nsaw her lover perish in a naval combat when in the very year to which\nthe circumstances of the ballad refer (1405) a Breton fleet\nencountered and defeated an English flotilla several leagues from\nBrest. \"The combat was terrible,\" says a historian of the Dukes of\nBurgundy, \"and was animated by the ancient hate between the English\nand the Bretons.\" Perhaps it was in this sea-fight that the lady\nbeheld her lover; and if, as she thought, he was slain, she scarcely\ndeserves the odium which the balladeer has cast upon her memory.\n\n\n_The Combat of Saint-Cast_\n\nThis ballad somewhat belies its name, for it has some relation to an\nextraordinary incident which was the means rather of preventing\nthan precipitating a battle. In 1758 a British army was landed upon\nthe shores of Brittany with the object of securing for British\nmerchant ships safety in the navigation of the Channel and of creating\na diversion in favour of the German forces, then our allies. A\ncompany of men from Lower Brittany, from the towns of Tr\u00e9guier and\nSaint-Pol-de-L\u00e9on, says Villemarqu\u00e9, were marching against a\ndetachment of Scottish Highlanders. When at a distance of about a\nmile the Bretons could hear their enemies singing a national song. At\nonce they halted stupefied, for the air was one well known to them,\nwhich they were accustomed to hear almost every day of their lives.\nElectrified by the music, which spoke to their hearts, they arose\nin their enthusiasm and themselves sang the patriotic refrain. It\nwas the Highlanders' turn to be silent. All this time the two\ncompanies were nearing one another, and when at a suitable distance\ntheir respective officers commanded them to fire; but the orders\nwere given, says the tradition, \"in the same language,\" and the\nsoldiers on both sides stood stock-still. Their inaction, however,\nlasted but a moment, for emotion carried away all discipline, the\narms fell from their hands, and the descendants of the ancient Celts\nrenewed on the field of battle those ties of brotherhood which had\nonce united their fathers.\n\nHowever unlikely this incident may seem, it appears to be confirmed by\ntradition, if not by history. The air which the rival Celts sang is,\nsays Villemarqu\u00e9,[49] common to both Brittany and \"the Highlands of\nScotland.\" With the music before me, it seems to bear a marked\nresemblance to The _Garb of Old Gaul_, composed by General Reid\n(1721-1807). Perhaps Reid, who was a Highlander, based his stirring\nmarch on an older Celtic theme common to both lands.\n\n\n_The Song of the Pilot_\n\nOne of the most famous of Breton nautical traditions tells of the\nchivalry displayed by a Breton crew toward the men of a British\nwarship. During the American War of Independence much enthusiasm was\nexcited in France in connexion with the valiant struggle for liberty\nin which the American colonies were engaged. A number of Breton ships\nreceived letters of marque enabling them to fight on the American side\nagainst Great Britain, and these attempted to blockade British\ncommerce. The _Surveillante_, a Breton vessel commanded by Cou\u00e9dic de\nKergoaler, encountered the British ship _Quebec_, commanded by Captain\nFarmer. In the course of the action the _Surveillante_ was nearly sunk\nby the British cannonade and the _Quebec_ went on fire. But Breton and\nBriton, laying aside their swords, worked together with such goodwill\nthat most of the British crew were rescued and the _Surveillante_ was\nsaved, although the _Quebec_ was lost, and this notwithstanding that\nnearly every man of both crews had been wounded in the fighting.\n\nI have here attempted a very free translation of the stirring ballad\nwhich relates this noteworthy incident, which cannot but be of\ninterest at such a time as the present.\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE PILOT\n\n Yo ho, ye men of Sulniac!\n We ship to-day at Vannes,\n We sail upon a glorious track\n To seek an Englishman.\n Our saucy sloop the _Surveillante_\n Must keep the seaways clear\n From Ushant in the north to Nantes:\n Aboard her, timoneer!\n\n See, yonder is the British craft\n That seeks to break blockade;\n St George's banner floats abaft\n Her lowering carronade.\n A flash! and lo, her thunder speaks,\n Her iron tempest flies\n Beneath her bows, and seaward breaks,\n And hissing sinks and dies.\n\n Thunder replied to thunder; then\n The ships rasped side by side,\n The battle-hungry Breton men\n A boarding sally tried,\n But the stern steel of Britain flashed,\n And spite of Breton vaunt\n The lads of Morbihan were dashed\n Back on the _Surveillante_.\n\n Then was a grim encounter seen\n Upon the seas that day.\n Who yields when there is strife between\n Britain and Brittany?\n Shall Lesser Britain rule the waves\n And check Britannia's pride?\n Not while her frigate's oaken staves\n Still cleave unto her side!\n\n But hold! hold! see, devouring fire\n Has seized the stout _Quebec_.\n The seething sea runs high and higher,\n The _Surveillante's_ a wreck.\n Their cannon-shot has breached our side,\n Our bolts have fired the foe.\n Quick, to the pumps! No longer bide!\n Below, my lads! below!\n\n The yawning leak is filled, the sea\n Is cheated of its prey.\n Now Bretons, let the Britons see\n The heart of Brittany!\n Brothers, we come to save, our swords\n Are sheathed, our hands are free.\n There is a fiercer fight toward,\n A fiercer foe than we!\n\n A long sea-day, till sank the sun,\n Briton and Breton wrought,\n And Great and Little Britain won\n The noblest fight ere fought.\n It was a sailors' victory\n O'er pride and sordid gain.\n God grant for ever peace at sea\n Between the Britains twain!\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [47] For the criticism on Villemarqu\u00e9's work see H. Gaidoz and P.\n S\u00e9billot, \"Bibliographie des Traditions et de la Litt\u00e9rature\n populaire de la Bretagne\" (in the _Revue Celtique_, t. v, pp.\n 277 ff.). The title _Barzaz-Breiz_ means \"The Breton Bards,\"\n the author being under the delusion that the early forms of the\n ballads he collected and altered had been composed by the\n ancient bards of Brittany.\n\n [48] Once a part of the forest of Broceliande. It has now\n disappeared.\n\n [49] _Barzaz-Breiz_, p. 335. S\u00e9billot (_Traditions de la\n Haute-Bretagne_, t. i, p. 346) says that he could gain nothing\n regarding this incident at the village of Saint-Cast but \"vague\n details.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX: THE BLACK ART AND ITS MINISTERS\n\n\nSorcery is a very present power in most isolated communities, and in\nthe civilized portions of Brittany it is but a thing of yesterday,\nwhile in the more secluded departments it is very much a thing of\nto-day. The old folk can recall the time when the farm, the dairy, and\nthe field were ever in peril of the spell, the enchantment, the\nnoxious beam of the evil eye, and tales of many a \"devilish cantrip\nsleight,\" as Burns happily characterized the activity of the witch and\nthe wizard, were told in hushed voices at the Breton fireside when the\nwinter wind blew cold from the cruel sea and the heaped faggots sent\nthe red glow of fire-warmth athwart the thick shadows of the great\nfarm kitchen, and old and young from grandsire to herd-boy made a\ngreat circle to hearken to the creepy tales so dear to the Breton\nheart.\n\nAs in the East, where to refuse baksheesh is to lay oneself open to\nthe curse of the evil eye, the beggar was regarded as the chief\npossessor of this bespelling member. The guild of tattered wanderers\nnaturally nourished this superstition, and to permit one of its\nmembers to hobble off muttering threats or curses was looked upon as\nsuicidal. Indeed, the mendicants were wont to boast of their feats of\nsorcery to the terrified peasants, who hastened to placate them by all\nthe means in their power.\n\nCertain villages, too, appear to have possessed an evil reputation\namong the country-folk as the dwelling-places of magicians, centres of\nsorcery, which it was advisable to shun. Thus we read in Breton\nproverb of the sorcerers of Foug\u00e8res, of Tr\u00e8ves, of Concoret, of\nL\u00e9zat.\n\nThe strangest circumstances were connected with the phenomena of\nsorcery by the credulous Bretons. Thus, did a peasant join a dance of\nwitches, the sabots he had on would be worn out in the course of the\nmerrymaking. A churn of turned butter, a sour pail of milk, were\ncertain to be accounted for by sorcery. In a certain village of\nMoncontour the cows, the dog, even the harmless, necessary cat, died\noff, and the farmer hastened to consult a diviner, who advised him to\nthrow milk in the fire and recite certain prayers. The farmer obeyed\nand the spell was broken!\n\nIn the town of Rennes about fifty years ago dwelt a knowing fellow\ncalled Robert, a very 'witch-doctor,' who investigated cases of\nsorcery and undertook the dissipation of enchantments. On a certain\nlarge farm the milk would yield no butter. An agricultural expert\nmight have hinted at poor pasturage, but the farmer and his wife had\nother views as to the cause of the 'insufficiency of fats,' as an\nanalyst would say, in the lacteal output of the establishment.\nStraightway they betook themselves to the mysterious Robert, who on\narriving to investigate the affair was attired in a skin dyed in two\ncolours. He held in leash a large black dog, evidently his familiar.\nHe exorcized the dairy, and went through a number of strange\nceremonies. Then, turning to the awestruck farm hands, he said:\n\n\"You may now proceed with your work. The spell is raised. It has been\na slow business. I must go now, but don't be afraid if you see\nanything odd.\"\n\nWith these words he whistled, and a great black horse at once\nappeared as if from nowhere. Placing his hand on its crupper, he\nvaulted into the saddle, bade good-bye to the astonished rustics, and\nwhile they gazed at him open-mouthed, vanished 'like a flash.'\n\nMany kinds of amulets or talismans were used by the Breton peasantry\nto neutralize the power of sorcerers. Thus, if a person carried a\nsnake with him the enchanters would be unable to harm his sight, and\nall objects would appear to him under their natural forms. Salt placed\nin various parts of a house guarded it against the entrance of wizards\nand rendered their spells void.\n\nBut many consulted the witch and the sorcerer for their personal\nadvantage, in affairs of the heart, to obtain a number in the casting\nof lots for conscription which would free them from military service,\nand so forth; and, as in other countries, there grew up a class of\nmiddlemen between the human and the supernatural who posed as\nfortune-tellers, astrologers, and quack mediciners.\n\nIt was said that sorcerers were wont to meet at the many Roches aux\nF\u00e9es in Brittany at fixed periods in order to deliberate as to their\nactions and settle their affairs. If anyone, it was declared, wandered\ninto their circle or was caught by them listening to their secret\nconclave he seldom lived long. Others, terrified at the sight\npresented by the gleaming eyes of the cat-sorcerers, blazing like live\ncoals, fled incontinently from their presence, and found that in the\nmorning the hair of their heads had turned white with the dread\nexperience. Long afterward they would sit by the fireside trembling\nvisibly at nothing, and when interrogated regarding their very evident\nfears would only groan and bury their faces in their hands.\n\nA story is told of one, Jean Foucault, who one moonlight night had,\nlike Tam o' Shanter, sat overlong\n\n Fast by an ingle bleezin' finely,\n Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely,\n\nwhere the cider was as good as the company, and, issuing at midnight's\nweary hour from his favourite inn, was not in a mood to run away from\nanything, however fearsome. Walking, or rather rolling, across the\nmoor singing the burden of the last catch he had trolled with his\nfellows at the ale-house, all on a sudden he stumbled into a circle of\nsorcerer-cats squatting around a cross of stone. They were of immense\nsize and of all colours, black, grey, white, tortoise-shell, and when\nhe beheld them seated round the crucifix, their eyes darting fire and\nthe hair bristling on their backs, his song died upon his lips and all\nhis bellicose feelings, like those of Bob Acres, leaked out at his\nfinger-tips. On catching sight of him the animals set up a horrible\ncaterwauling that made the blood freeze in his veins. For an awful\nmoment the angry cats glared at him with death in their looks, and\nseemed as if about to spring upon him. Giving himself up for lost, he\nclosed his eyes. But about his feet he could hear a strange purring,\nand, glancing downward, he beheld his own domestic puss fawning upon\nhim with every sign of affection.\n\n\"Pass my master, Jean Foucault,\" said the animal.\n\n\"It is well,\" replied a great grey tom, whom Jean took to be the\nleader; \"pass on, Jean Foucault.\"\n\nAnd Jean, the cider fumes in his head quite dissipated, staggered\naway, more dead than alive.\n\n\n_Druidic Magic_\n\nThe more ancient sorcerers of Brittany deserve a word of notice. Magic\namong the Celtic peoples in olden times was so clearly identified with\nDruidism that its origin may be said to have been Druidic. Whether\nDruidism was of Celtic origin, however, is a question upon which much\ndiscussion has taken place, some authorities, among them Rhys,\nbelieving it to have been of non-Celtic and even non-Aryan origin, and\nholding that the earliest non-Aryan or so-called Iberian people of\nBritain introduced the Druidic religion to the immigrant Celts. An\nargument advanced in favour of this theory is that the Continental\nCelts sent their neophyte Druid priests to Britain to undergo a\nspecial training at the hands of the British Druids, and that this\nisland seems to have been regarded as the headquarters of the cult.\nThe people of Cisalpine Gaul, for instance, had no Druidic priesthood.\nC\u00e6sar has told us that in Gaul Druidic seminaries were very numerous,\nand that within their walls severe study and discipline were entailed\nupon the neophytes, whose principal business was to commit to memory\ncountless verses enshrining Druidic knowledge and tradition. That this\ninstruction was astrological and magical we have the fullest\nproof.[50]\n\nThe Druids were magi as they were priests in the same sense that the\nAmerican Indian shaman is both magus and priest. That is, they were\nmedicine-men on a higher scale, and had reached a loftier stage of\ntranscendental knowledge than the priest-magicians of more barbarous\nraces. Thus they may be said to be a link between the barbarian\nshaman and the magus of medieval times. Many of their practices were\npurely shamanistic, while others more closely resembled medieval\nmagical rite. But they were not the only magicians of the Celts, for\nfrequently among that people we find magic power the possession of\nwomen and of the poetic craft. The magic of Druidism had many points\nof comparison with most magical systems, and perhaps approximated more\nto that black magic which desires power for the sake of power alone\nthan to any transcendental type. Thus it included the power to render\nthe magician invisible, to change his bodily shape, to produce an\nenchanted sleep, to induce lunacy, and to inflict death from afar.\n\nThe arts of rain-making, bringing down fire from heaven, and causing\nmists, snow-storms, and floods were also claimed for the Druids.\nMany of the spells probably in use among them survived until a\ncomparatively late period, and are still employed in some remote\nCeltic localities, the names of saints being substituted for those\nof Celtic deities. Certain primitive ritual, too, is still carried\nout in the vicinity of some megalithic structures in Celtic areas,\nas at Dungiven, in Ireland, where pilgrims wash before a great stone\nin the river Roe and then walk round it, and in many parts of\nBrittany.[51]\n\nIn pronouncing incantations the usual method employed was to stand\nupon one leg and to point with the forefinger to the person or object\non which the spell was to be laid, at the same time closing one eye,\nas if to concentrate the force of the entire personality upon that\nwhich was to be placed under ban. A manuscript possessed by the\nmonastery of St Gall, and dating from the eighth or ninth century,\nincludes magical formul\u00e6 for the preservation of butter and the\nhealing of certain diseases in the name of the Irish god Diancecht.\nThese and others bear a close resemblance to Babylonian and Etruscan\nspells, and thus go to strengthen the hypothesis often put forward\nwith more or less plausibility that Druidism had an Eastern origin. At\nall magical rites spells were uttered. Druids often accompanied an\narmy, to assist by their magical arts in confounding the enemy.[52]\n\nThere is some proof that in Celtic areas survivals of a Druidic\npriesthood have descended to our own time in a more or less debased\ncondition. Thus the existence of guardians and keepers of wells said\nto possess magical properties, and the fact that in certain families\nmagical spells and formul\u00e6 are handed down from one generation to\nanother, are so many proofs of the survival of Druidic tradition,\nhowever feeble. Females are generally the conservators of these\nmysteries, and that there were Druid priestesses is fairly certain.\n\nThe sea-snake's egg, or adder's stone, which is so frequently alluded\nto in Druidic magical tales, otherwise called _Glain Neidr_, was said\nto have been formed, about midsummer, by an assemblage of snakes. A\nbubble formed on the head of one of them was blown by others down the\nwhole length of its back, and then, hardening, became a crystal ring.\nIt was used as one of the insignia of the Archdruid, and was supposed\nto assist in augury.\n\nThe _herbe d'or_, or 'golden herb,' was a medicinal plant much in\nfavour among the Breton peasantry. It is the _selago_ of Pliny, which\nin Druidical times was gathered with the utmost veneration by a hand\nenveloped with a garment once worn by a sacred person. The owner of\nthe hand was arrayed in white, with bare feet, washed in pure water.\nIn after times the plant was thought to shine from a distance like\ngold, and to give to those who trod on it the power of understanding\nthe language of dogs, wolves, and birds.\n\nThese, with the mistletoe, the favourite Druidical plant, the sorcerer\nis entreated, in an old balled, to lay aside, to seek no more for vain\nenchantments, but to remember that he is a Christian.\n\n\n_Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse_\n\nThe touching story of the love of Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse has found its\nway into Breton legend as a tale of sorcery. Ab\u00e9lard was a Breton. The\nDuke of Brittany, whose subject he was born, jealous of the glory of\nFrance, which then engrossed all the most famous scholars of Europe,\nand being, besides, acquainted with the persecution Ab\u00e9lard had\nsuffered from his enemies, had nominated him to the Abbey of St\nGildas, and, by this benefaction and mark of his esteem, engaged him\nto pass the rest of his days in his dominions. Ab\u00e9lard received this\nfavour with great joy, imagining that by leaving France he would\nquench his passion for H\u00e9lo\u00efse and gain a new peace of mind upon\nentering into his new dignity.\n\nThe Abbey of St Gildas de Rhuys was founded on the inaccessible coast\nnear Vannes by St Gildas, a British saint, the schoolfellow and friend\nof St Samson of Dol and St Pol of L\u00e9on, and counted among its monks\nthe Saxon St Dunstan, who, carried by pirates from his native isle,\nsettled on the desolate shores of Brittany and became, under the name\nof St Goustan, the patron of mariners.\n\nSt Gildas built his abbey on the edge of a high, rocky promontory,\nthe site of an ancient Roman encampment, called Grand Mont, facing\nthe shore, where the sea has formed numerous caverns in the rocks.\nThe rocks are composed chiefly of quartz, and are covered to a\nconsiderable height with small mussels. Ab\u00e9lard, on his appointment\nto the Abbey of St Gildas, made over to H\u00e9lo\u00efse the celebrated\nabbey he had founded at Nogent, near Troyes, which he called the\nParaclete, or Comforter, because he there found comfort and\nrefreshment after his troubles. With Nogent he was to leave his\npeace. His gentle nature was unable to contend against the coarse\nand unruly Breton monks. As he writes in his well-known letter to\nH\u00e9lo\u00efse, setting forth his griefs: \"I inhabit a barbarous country\nwhere the language is unknown to me. I have no dealings with the\nferocious inhabitants. I walk the inaccessible borders of the\nstormy sea, and my monks have no other rule than their own. I wish\nthat you could see my dwelling. You would not believe it an abbey. The\ndoors are ornamented only with the feet of deer, of wolves and bears,\nboars, and the hideous skins of owls. I find each day new perils.\nI expect at every moment to see a sword suspended over my head.\"\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to outline the history of Ab\u00e9lard. Suffice\nit to say that he was one of the most brilliant scholars and\ndialecticians of all time, possessing a European reputation in his\nday. Falling in love with H\u00e9lo\u00efse, niece of Fulbert, a canon of\nParis, he awoke in her a similar absorbing passion, which resulted in\ntheir mutual disgrace and Ab\u00e9lard's mutilation by the incensed\nuncle. He and his H\u00e9lo\u00efse were buried in one tomb at the Paraclete.\nThe story of their love has been immortalized by the world's great\npoets and painters.\n\nAn ancient Breton ballad on the subject has been spoken of as a \"na\u00eff\nand horrible\" production, in which one will find \"a bizarre mixture of\nDruidic practice and Christian superstition.\" It describes H\u00e9lo\u00efse as\na sorceress of ferocious and sanguinary temper. Thus can legend\nmagnify and distort human failing! As its presentation is important in\nthe study of Breton folk-lore, I give a very free translation of this\nballad, in which, at the same time, I have endeavoured to preserve the\natmosphere of the original.\n\n\nTHE HYMN OF H\u00c9LO\u00cfSE\n\n O Ab\u00e9lard, my Ab\u00e9lard,\n Twelve summers have passed since first we kissed.\n There is no love like that of a bard:\n Who loves him lives in a golden mist!\n\n Nor word of French nor Roman tongue,\n But only Brezonek could I speak,\n When round my lover's neck I hung\n And heard the harmony of the Greek,\n\n The march of Latin, the joy of French,\n The valiance of the Hebrew speech,\n The while its thirst my soul did quench\n In the love-lore that he did teach.\n\n The bossed and bound Evangel's tome\n Is open to me as mine own soul,\n But all the watered wine of Rome\n Is weak beside the magic bowl.\n\n[Illustration: H\u00c9LO\u00cfSE AS SORCERESS]\n\n The Mass I chant like any priest,\n Can shrive the dying or bury the dead,\n But dearer to me to raise the Beast\n Or watch the gold in the furnace red.\n\n The wolf, the serpent, the crow, the owl,\n The demons of sea, of field, of flood,\n I can run or fly in their forms so foul,\n They come at my call from wave or wood.\n\n I know a song that can raise the sea,\n Can rouse the winds or shudder the earth,\n Can darken the heavens terribly,\n Can wake portents at a prince's birth.\n\n The first dark drug that ever we sipped\n Was brewed from toad and the eye of crow,\n Slain in a mead when the moon had slipped\n From heav'n to the fetid fogs below.\n\n I know a well as deep as death,\n A gloom where I cull the frondent fern,\n Whose seed with that of the golden heath\n I mingle when mystic lore I'd learn.\n\n I gathered in dusk nine measures of rye,\n Nine measures again, and brewed the twain\n In a silver pot, while fitfully\n The starlight struggled through the rain.\n\n I sought the serpent's egg of power\n In a dell hid low from the night and day:\n It was shown to me in an awful hour\n When the children of hell came out to play.\n\n I have three spirits--seeming snakes;\n The youngest is six score years young,\n The second rose from the nether lakes,\n And the third was once Duke Satan's tongue.\n\n The wild bird's flesh is not their food,\n No common umbles are their dole;\n I nourish them well with infants' blood,\n Those precious vipers of my soul.\n\n\n O Satan! grant me three years still,\n But three short years, my love and I,\n To work thy fierce, mysterious will,\n Then gladly shall we yield and die.\n\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse, wicked heart, beware!\n Think on the dreadful day of wrath,\n Think on thy soul; forbear, forbear!\n The way thou tak'st is that of death!\n\n Thou craven priest, go, get thee hence!\n No fear have I of fate so fell.\n Go, suck the milk of innocence,\n Leave me to quaff the wine of hell!\n\nIt is difficult to over-estimate the folk-lore value of such a ballad\nas this. Its historical value is clearly _nil_. We have no proof that\nH\u00e9lo\u00efse was a Breton; but fantastic errors of this description are so\nwell known to the student of ballad literature that he is able to\ndiscount them easily in gauging the value of a piece.\n\nIn this weird composition the wretched abbess is described as an\nalchemist as well as a sorceress, and she descends to the depths of\nthe lowest and most revolting witchcraft. She practises shape-shifting\nand similar arts. She has power over natural forces, and knows the\npast, the present, and the things to be. She possesses sufficient\nDruidic knowledge to permit her to gather the greatly prized serpent's\negg, to acquire which was the grand aim of the Celtic magician. The\ncircumstances of the ballad strongly recall those of the poem in which\nthe Welsh bard Taliesin recounts his magical experiences, his\nmetamorphoses, his knowledge of the darker mysteries of nature.\n\n\n_Nantes of the Magicians_\n\nThe poet is in accord with probability in making the magical exploits\nof Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse take place at Nantes--a circumstance not\nindicated in the translation owing to metrical exigencies. Nantes was,\nindeed, a classic neighbourhood of sorcery. An ancient college of\nDruidic priestesses was situated on one of the islands at the mouth of\nthe Loire, and the traditions of its denizens had evidently been\ncherished by the inhabitants of the city even as late as the middle of\nthe fourteenth century, for we find a bishop of the diocese at that\nperiod obtaining a bull of excommunication against the local\nsorcerers, and condemning them to the eternal fires with bell, book,\nand candle.[53]\n\nThe poet, it is plain, has confounded poor H\u00e9lo\u00efse with the dark\nsisterhood of the island of the Loire. The learning she received from\nher gifted lover had been her undoing in Breton eyes, for the simple\nfolk of the duchy at the period the ballad gained currency could\nscarcely be expected to discriminate between a training in rhetoric\nand philosophy and a schooling in the _grimoires_ and other\naccomplishments of the pit.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [50] Rice Holmes, _C\u00e6sar's Conquest_, pp. 532-536.\n\n [51] See Rolleston, _Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race_, p. 66.\n\n [52] See Gomme, _Ethnology in Folk-lore_, p. 94.\n\n [53] It is of interest to recall the fact that Ab\u00e9lard was born near\n Nantes, in 1079.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X: ARTHURIAN ROMANCE IN BRITTANY\n\n\nFierce and prolonged has been the debate as to the original birthplace\nof Arthurian legend, authorities of the first rank, the 'Senior\nWranglers' of the study, as Nutt has called them, hotly advancing the\nseveral claims of Wales, England, Scotland, and Brittany. In this\nplace it would be neither fitting nor necessary to traverse the whole\nground of argument, and we must content ourselves with the examination\nof Brittany's claim to the invention of Arthurian story--and this we\nwill do briefly, passing on to some of the tales which relate the\ndeeds of the King or his knights on Breton soil.\n\nConfining ourselves, then, to the proof of the existence of a body of\nArthurian legend in Brittany, we are, perhaps, a little alarmed at the\noutset to find that our manuscript sources are scanty. \"It had to be\nacknowledged,\" says Professor Saintsbury, \"that Brittany could supply\n_no ancient texts whatever_, and hardly any ancient traditions.\"[54]\nBut are either of these conditions essential to a belief in the Breton\norigin of Arthurian romance?\n\nThe two great hypotheses regarding Arthurian origins have been dubbed\nthe 'Continental' and the 'Insular' theories. The first has as its\nleading protagonist Professor Wendelin F\u00f6rster of Bonn, who believes\nthat the immigrant Britons brought the Arthur legend with them to\nBrittany and that the Normans of Normandy received it from their\ndescendants and gave it wider territorial scope. The second school,\nheaded by the brilliant M. Gaston Paris, believes that it originated\nin Wales.\n\nIf we consider the first theory, then, we can readily see that ancient\n_texts_ are not essential to its acceptance. In any case the entire\nbody of Arthurian texts prior to the twelfth century is so small as to\nbe almost negligible. The statement that \"hardly any ancient\ntraditions\" of the Arthurian legend exist in Brittany is an\nextraordinary one. In view of the circumstances that in extended\npassages of Arthurian story the scene is laid in Brittany (as in the\nMerlin and Vivien incident and the episode of Yseult of the White Hand\nin the story of Tristrem), that Geoffrey of Monmouth speaks of \"the\nBreton book\" from which he took his matter, and that Marie de France\nstates that her tales are drawn from old Breton sources, not to admit\nthe possible existence of a body of Arthurian tradition in Brittany\nappears capricious. Thomas's _Sir Tristrem_ is professedly based on\nthe poem of the Breton Br\u00e9ri, and there is no reason why Brittany,\ndrawing sap and fibre as it did from Britain, should not have produced\nArthurian stories of its own.\n\nOn the whole, however, that seems to represent the sum of its\npretensions as a main source of Arthurian romance. The Arthurian story\nseems to be indigenous to British soil, and if we trace the origin of\ncertain episodes to Brittany we may safely connect these with the\nearly British immigrants to the peninsula. This is not to say,\nhowever, that Brittany did not influence Norman appreciation of the\nArthurian saga. But that it did so more than did Wales is unlikely, in\nview of documentary evidence. Both Wales and Brittany, then, supplied\nmatter which the Norman and French poets shaped into verse, and if\nBrittany was not the birthplace of the legend it was, in truth, one of\nits cradle-domains.\n\n\n_The Sword of Arthur_\n\nLet us collect, then, Arthurian incidents which take place in\nBrittany. First, Arthur's finding of the marvellous sword Excalibur\nwould seem to happen there, as Vivien, or Nimue, the Lady of the Lake,\nwas undoubtedly a fairy of Breton origin who does not appear in\nBritish myth.\n\nFor the manner in which Arthur acquired the renowned Excalibur, or\nCaliburn, the _Morte d'Arthur_ is the authority. The King had broken\nhis sword in two pieces in a combat with Sir Pellinore of Wales, and\nhad been saved by Merlin, who threw Sir Pellinore into an enchanted\nsleep.\n\n\"And so Merlin and Arthur departed, and as they rode along King Arthur\nsaid, 'I have no sword.' 'No force,'[55] said Merlin; 'here is a sword\nthat shall be yours, an I may.' So they rode till they came to a lake,\nwhich was a fair water and a broad; and in the midst of the lake King\nArthur was aware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair\nsword in the hand. 'Lo,' said Merlin unto the King, 'yonder is the\nsword that I spoke of.' With that they saw a damsel going upon the\nlake. 'What damsel is that?' said the King. 'That is the Lady of the\nLake,' said Merlin; 'and within that lake is a rock, and therein is as\nfair a place as any on earth, and richly beseen; and this damsel will\ncome to you anon, and then speak fair to her that she will give you\nthat sword.' Therewith came the damsel to King Arthur and saluted him,\nand he her again. 'Damsel,' said the King, 'what sword is that which\nthe arm holdeth yonder above the water? I would it were mine, for I\nhave no sword.' 'Sir King,' said the damsel of the lake, 'that sword\nis mine, and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall\nhave it.' 'By my faith,' said King Arthur, 'I will give you any gift\nthat you will ask or desire.' 'Well,' said the damsel, 'go into yonder\nbarge, and row yourself unto the sword, and take it and the scabbard\nwith you; and I will ask my gift when I see my time.' So King Arthur\nand Merlin alighted, tied their horses to two trees, and so they went\ninto the barge. And when they came to the sword that the hand held,\nKing Arthur took it up by the handles, and took it with him, and the\narm and the hand went under the water; and so came to the land and\nrode forth. King Arthur looked upon the sword, and liked it passing\nwell. 'Whether liketh you better,' said Merlin, 'the sword or the\nscabbard?' 'Me liketh better the sword,' said King Arthur. 'Ye are\nmore unwise,' said Merlin, 'for the scabbard is worth ten of the\nsword; for while ye have the scabbard upon you, ye shall lose no\nblood, be ye never so sore wounded; therefore keep well the scabbard\nalway with you.'\"\n\n[Illustration: KING ARTHUR AND MERLIN AT THE LAKE]\n\nSir Lancelot du Lac, son of King Ban of Benwik, was stolen and brought\nup by the Lady of the Lake, from whose enchanted realm he took his\nname. But he does not appear at all in true Celtic legend, and is a\nmere Norman new-comer.\n\n\n_Tristrem and Ysonde_\n\nFollowing the Arthurian 'chronology' as set forth in the _Morte\nd'Arthur_, we reach the great episode of Sir Tristrem of Lyonesse, a\nlegendary country off the coast of Cornwall. This most romantic yet\nmost human tale must be accounted one of the world's supreme love\nstories. It has inspired some of our greatest poets, and moved Richard\nWagner to the composition of a splendid opera.\n\nOne of the first to bring this literary treasure to public notice was\nSir Walter Scott, who felt a strong chord vibrate in his romantic soul\nwhen perusing that version of the tale of which Thomas of Ercildoune\nis the reputed author. Taking this as the best and most ancient\nversion of _Tristrem_, we may detail its circumstances as follows:\n\nThe Duke Morgan and Roland Rise, Lord of Ermonie, two Cymric\nchieftains, had long been at feud, and at length the smouldering\nembers of enmity burst into open flame. In the contest that ensued the\ndoughty Roland prevailed, but he was a generous foe, and granted a\nseven years' truce to his defeated adversary. Some time after this\nevent Roland journeyed into Cornwall to the Court of Mark, where he\ncarried off the honours in a tourney. But he was to win a more\nprecious prize in the love of the fair Princess Blancheflour, sister\nof King Mark, who grew to adore him passionately.\n\nMeanwhile Duke Morgan took foul advantage of the absence of Roland,\nand invaded his land. Rohand, a trusty vassal of Roland, repaired to\nCornwall, where he sought out his master and told him of Morgan's\nbroken faith. Then Roland told Blancheflour of his plight, how that he\nmust return to his own realm, and she, fearing her brother Mark,\nbecause she had given her love to Roland without the King's knowledge,\nresolved to fly with her lover. The pair left Cornwall hurriedly, and,\nreaching one of Roland's castles, were wed there. Roland, however, had\nsoon to don his armour, for news was brought to him that Duke Morgan\nwas coming against him with a great army. A fierce battle ensued, in\nwhich Roland at first had the advantage, but the Duke, being\nreinforced, pressed him hotly, and in the end Roland was defeated and\nslain. Blancheflour received news of her lord's death immediately\nbefore the birth of her son, and, sore stricken by the woeful news,\nshe named him Tristrem, or 'Child of Sorrow.' Then, recommending him\nto the care of Rohand, to whom she gave a ring which had belonged to\nKing Mark, her brother, to prove Tristrem's relationship to that\nprince, she expired, to the intense grief of all her attendants. To\nsecure the safety of his ward, Rohand passed him off as his own child,\ninverting the form of his name to 'Tremtris.' Duke Morgan now ruled\nover the land of Ermonie, and Rohand had perforce to pay him a\nconstrained homage.\n\nWhen he arrived at a fitting age Tristrem was duly instructed in all\nknightly games and exercises by his foster-father, and grew apace in\nstrength and skill. Once a Norwegian vessel arrived upon the coast of\nErmonie laden with a freight of hawks and treasure (hawks at that\nperiod were often worth their weight in gold). The captain challenged\nanyone to a game of chess with him for a stake of twenty shillings,\nand Rohand and his sons, with Tristrem, went on board to play with\nhim. Tristrem moved so skilfully that he overcame the captain, and won\nfrom him, in many games, six hawks and the sum of a hundred pounds.\nWhile the games were proceeding Rohand went on shore, leaving Tristrem\nin the care of his preceptor, and the false captain, to avoid paying\nwhat he had lost, forced the preceptor to go on shore alone and put to\nsea with the young noble.\n\nThe ship had no sooner sailed away than a furious gale arose, and as\nit continued for some days the mariners became convinced that the\ntempest was due to the injustice of their captain, and being in sore\ndread, they paid Tristrem his winnings and set him ashore. Dressed in\na robe of 'blihand brown' (blue-brown), Tristrem found himself alone\non a rocky beach. First he knelt and requested Divine protection,\nafter which he ate some food which had been left him by the\nNorwegians, and started to journey through a forest, in which he\nencountered two palmers, who told him that he was in Cornwall. He\noffered these men gold to guide him to the Court of the king of the\ncountry, which they willingly undertook to do. On their way the\ntravellers fell in with a hunting party of nobles, and Tristrem was\nshocked to see the awkward manner in which the huntsmen cut up some\nstags they had slain. He could not restrain his feeling, and disputed\nwith the nobles upon the laws of venerie. Then he proceeded to skin a\nbuck for their instruction, like a right good forester, and ended by\nblowing the _mort_ or death-token on a horn.\n\n\n_Tristrem as Forester_\n\nThe nobles who beheld his skill were amazed, and speedily carried the\nnews to King Mark, who was highly interested. Tristrem was brought to\nhis presence and told his story, but Mark did not recognize that he\nwas speaking to his own nephew. The King's favourable impression was\nconfirmed by Tristrem's skill in playing the harp, and soon the youth\nhad endeared himself to the heart of the King, and was firmly settled\nat the Court.\n\nMeanwhile Rohand, distracted by the loss of his foster-son, searched\nfor him from one land to another without even renewing his tattered\ngarments. At last he encountered one of the palmers who had guided\nTristrem to the Court of King Mark, and learned of the great honour\naccorded to his ward. At Rohand's request the palmer took him to\nMark's hall; but when Rohand arrived thither his tattered and forlorn\nappearance aroused the contempt of the porter and usher and they\nrefused him entrance. Upon bestowing liberal largess, however, he was\nat length brought to Tristrem, who presented him to King Mark as his\nfather, acquainting him at the same time with the cause of their\nseparation. When Rohand had been refreshed by a bath, and richly\nattired by order of King Mark, the whole Court marvelled at his\nmajestic appearance.\n\nRohand, seated by King Mark's side at the banquet, imparted to him the\nsecret of Tristrem's birth, and in proof showed him the ring given him\nby Blancheflour, whereupon Mark at once joyfully recognized Tristrem\nas his nephew. Rohand further told of the tragic fate of Tristrem's\nparents through the treachery of Duke Morgan, and Tristrem, fired by\nthe tale of wrong, vowed to return at once to Ermonie to avenge his\nfather's death.\n\n\n_Tristrem Returns to Ermonie_\n\nAlthough applauding his pious intention, Mark attempted to dissuade\nhis nephew from such an enterprise of peril, until, seeing that\nTristrem would not be gainsaid, the King conferred upon him the honour\nof knighthood, and furnished him with a thousand men-at-arms. Thus\nequipped, Tristrem set sail for Ermonie, and, safely arrived in that\nkingdom, he garrisoned Rohand's castle with his Cornish forces.\n\nHe had no intention of remaining inactive, however, and once his men\nwere cared for, he repaired to the Court of the usurper, Duke Morgan,\naccompanied by fifteen knights, each bearing a boar's head as a gift.\nBut Rohand, apprehending rashness on the part of his foster-son, took\nthe precaution of following with the Cornish men-at-arms and his own\nvassals.\n\nWhen Tristrem arrived the Duke was at the feast-board, and he demanded\nTristrem's name and business. Tristrem boldly declared himself, and at\nthe end of an angry parley the Duke struck him a sore blow. A moment\nlater swords were flashing, and it might have gone ill with Tristrem\nhad not Rohand with his men come up in the nick of time. In the end\nDuke Morgan was slain and his followers routed. Having now recovered\nhis paternal domains Sir Tristrem conferred them upon Rohand, to be\nheld of himself as liege lord, and having done so he took leave of his\nfoster-father and returned to Cornwall.\n\n\n_The Combat with Moraunt_\n\nOn arriving at the palace of Mark, Tristrem found the Court in dismay,\nbecause of a demand for tribute made by the King of England. Moraunt,\nthe Irish ambassador to England, was charged with the duty of claiming\nthe tribute, which was no less than three hundred pounds of gold, as\nmany of coined silver, as many of tin, and a levy every fourth year of\nthree hundred Cornish children. Mark protested bitterly, and Tristrem\nurged him to bid defiance to the English, swearing that he would\nhimself defend the freedom of Cornwall. His aid was reluctantly\naccepted by the Grand Council, and he delivered to Moraunt a\ndeclaration that no tribute was due. Moraunt retorted by giving\nTristrem the lie, and the champions exchanged defiance. They sailed in\nseparate boats to a small island to decide the issue in single combat,\nand when they had landed Tristrem turned his boat adrift, saying\nsternly that one vessel would suffice to take back the victor. The\nchampions mounted their steeds at the outset, but after the first\nencounter Tristrem, leaping lightly from the saddle, engaged his\nadversary on foot. The Knight of Ermonie was desperately wounded in\nthe thigh, but, rallying all his strength, he cleft Moraunt to the\nchine, and, his sword splintering, a piece of the blade remained in\nthe wound.\n\nTristrem now returned to the mainland, where so great was the joy over\nhis return that he was appointed heir to Cornwall and successor to\nMark the Good. But his wound, having been inflicted by a poisoned\nblade, grew more grievous day by day. No leech might cure it, and the\nevil odour arising from the gangrene drove every one from his presence\nsave his faithful servitor Gouvernayl.\n\n\n_Fytte the Second_\n\nFytte (or Part) the Second commences by telling how Tristrem, forsaken\nby all, begged King Mark for a ship that he might leave the land of\nCornwall. Mark reluctantly granted his request, and the luckless\nTristrem embarked with Gouvernayl, his one attendant, and his harp as\nhis only solace. He steered for Caerleon, and remained nine weeks at\nsea, but meeting contrary winds he was driven out of his course, and\nat length came to the Irish coast, where he sought the haven of\nDublin. On arriving there he feigned that he had been wounded by\npirates, and learning that he was in Ireland, and recollecting that\nMoraunt, whom he had slain, was the brother to the Queen of that land,\nhe thought it wise to assume once more the name of Tremtris.\n\nSoon his fame as a minstrel reached the ears of the Queen of Ireland,\na lady deeply versed in the art of healing. She was, indeed, \"the best\nCouthe of Medicine\"[56] Tristrem had seen, and in order to heal his\nwound she applied to it \"a plaster kene.\" Later she invited him to the\nCourt, where his skill in chess and games astonished every one. So\ninterested in him did the royal lady become at last that she undertook\nto cure him, and effected her object by means of a medicated bath and\nother medieval remedies. Then, on account of his fame as a minstrel,\nhe was given the task of instructing the Princess Ysonde--as the name\n'Yseult' is written in this particular version.\n\nThis princess was much attached to minstrelsy and poetry, and under\nthe tuition of Tristrem she rapidly advanced in these arts, until at\nlength she had no equal in Ireland save her preceptor. And now\nTristrem, his health restored, and having completed Ysonde's\ninstruction, felt a strong desire to return to the Court of King Mark.\nHis request to be allowed to depart was most unwillingly granted by\nthe Queen, who at the leave-taking loaded him with gifts. With the\nfaithful Gouvernayl he arrived safely in Cornwall, where Mark received\nhim joyfully. When the King inquired curiously how his wound had been\ncured, Tristrem told him of the great kindness of the Irish Queen, and\npraised Ysonde so highly that the ardour of his uncle was aroused and\nhe requested Tristrem to procure him the hand of the damsel in\nmarriage. He assured Tristrem that no marriage he, the King, might\ncontract would annul the arrangement whereby Tristrem was to succeed\nto the throne of Cornwall. The nobles were opposed to the King's\ndesires, which but strengthened Tristrem in his resolve to undertake\nthe embassage, for he thought that otherwise it might appear that he\ndesired the King to remain unmarried.\n\n\n_The Marriage Embassy_\n\nWith a retinue of fifteen knights Tristrem sailed to Dublin in a ship\nrichly laden with gifts. Arrived at the Irish capital, he sent\nmagnificent presents to the King, Queen, and Princess, but did not\nannounce the nature of his errand. Hardly had his messengers departed\nthan he was informed that the people of Dublin were panic-stricken at\nthe approach of a terrible dragon. This monster had so affrighted the\nneighbourhood that the hand of the Princess had been offered to anyone\nwho would slay it. Tristrem dared his knights to attack the dragon,\nbut one and all declined, so he himself rode out to give it battle. At\nthe first shock his lance broke on the monster's impenetrable hide,\nhis horse was slain, and he was forced to continue the fight on foot.\nAt length, despite its fiery breath, he succeeded in slaying the\ndragon, and cut out its tongue as a trophy. But this exuded a subtle\npoison which deprived him of his senses.\n\nThus overcome, Tristrem was discovered by the King's steward, who cut\noff the dragon's head and returned with it to Court to demand the hand\nof Ysonde. But the Queen and her daughter were dubious of the man's\nstory, and upon visiting the place where the dragon had been slain,\nthey came upon Tristrem himself. Their ministrations revived him, and\nhe showed them the dragon's tongue as proof that he had slain the\ndread beast. He described himself as a merchant, and Ysonde, who did\nnot at first recognize him, expressed her regret that he was not a\nknight. The Queen now caused him to be conveyed to the palace, where\nhe was refreshed by a bath, and the false steward was cast into\nprison.\n\nMeanwhile the suspicions of the Princess had been aroused, and the\nbelief grew that this 'merchant' who had slain the dragon was none\nother than Tremtris, her old instructor. In searching for evidence to\nconfirm this conjecture she examined his sword, from which, she found,\na piece had been broken. Now, she possessed a fragment of a\nsword-blade which had been taken out of the skull of Moraunt, her\nuncle, and she discovered that this fragment fitted into the broken\nplace in Tristrem's sword, wherefore she concluded that the weapon\nmust have been that which slew the Irish ambassador. She reproached\nTristrem, and in her passion rushed upon him with his own sword. At\nthis instant her mother returned, and upon learning the identity of\nTristrem she was about to assist Ysonde to slay him in his bath when\nthe King arrived and saved him from the infuriated women. Tristrem\ndefended himself as having killed Moraunt in fair fight, and, smiling\nupon Ysonde, he told her that she had had many opportunities of\nslaying him while he was her preceptor Tremtris. He then proceeded to\nmake known the object of his embassy. He engaged that his uncle, King\nMark, should marry Ysonde, and it was agreed that she should be sent\nunder his escort to Cornwall.\n\nIt is clear that the Queen's knowledge of medicine was accompanied by\nan acquaintance with the black art, for on the eve of her daughter's\ndeparture she entrusted to Brengwain, a lady of Ysonde's suite, a\npowerful philtre or love potion, with directions that Mark and his\nbride should partake of it on the night of their marriage. While at\nsea the party met with contrary winds, and the mariners were forced to\ntake to their oars. Tristrem exerted himself in rowing, and Ysonde,\nremarking that he seemed much fatigued, called for drink to refresh\nhim. Brengwain, by a fateful error, presented the cup which held the\nlove potion. Both Tristrem and Ysonde unwittingly partook of this, and\na favourite dog, Hodain,\n\n That many a forest day of fiery mirth\n Had plied his craft before them,[57]\n\nlicked the cup. The consequence of this mistake was, of course, the\nawakening of a consuming passion each for the other in Tristrem and\nYsonde. A fortnight later the ship arrived at Cornwall. Ysonde was\nduly wed to King Mark, but her passion for Tristrem moved her to\ninduce her attendant Brengwain to take her place on the first night of\nher nuptials.\n\nAfterward, terrified lest Brengwain should disclose the secret in her\npossession, Ysonde hired two ruffians to dispatch her. But the\ndamsel's entreaties softened the hearts of the assassins and they\nspared her life. Subsequently Ysonde repented of her action and\nBrengwain was reinstated in full favour.\n\n\n_The Minstrel's Boon_\n\nAn Irish earl, a former admirer of Ysonde, arrived one day at the\nCourt of Cornwall disguised as a minstrel and bearing a harp of\ncurious workmanship, the appearance of which excited the curiosity of\nKing Mark, who requested him to perform upon it. The visitor demanded\nthat the King should first promise to grant him a boon, and the King\nhaving pledged his royal word, the minstrel sang to the harp a lay in\nwhich he claimed Ysonde as the promised gift.[58] Mark, having pledged\nhis honour, had no alternative but to become forsworn or to deliver\nhis wife to the harper, and he reluctantly complied with the\nminstrel's demand. Tristrem, who had been away hunting, returned\nimmediately after the adventurous earl had departed with his fair\nprize. He upbraided the King for his extravagant sense of honour, and,\nsnatching up his rote, or harp, hastened to the seashore, where Ysonde\nhad already embarked. There he sat down and played, and the sound so\ndeeply affected Ysonde that she became seriously ill, so that the earl\nwas induced to return with her to land. Ysonde pretended that\nTristrem's music was necessary to her recovery, and the earl, to whom\nTristrem was unknown, offered to take him in his train to Ireland. The\nearl had dismounted from the horse he was riding and was preparing to\nreturn on board, when Tristrem sprang into the saddle, and, seizing\nYsonde's horse by the bridle, plunged into the forest. Here the lovers\nremained for a week, after which Tristrem restored Ysonde to her\nhusband.\n\n[Illustration: TRISTREM AND YSONDE]\n\nNot unnaturally suspicion was aroused regarding the relations between\nTristrem and Ysonde. Meriadok, a knight of Cornwall, and an intimate\nfriend of Tristrem, was perhaps the most suspicious of all, and one\nsnowy evening he traced his friend to Ysonde's bower, to which\nTristrem gained entrance by a sliding panel. In this a piece of\nTristrem's green kirtle was left, and Meriadok bore the fragment to\nthe King, to whom he unfolded his suspicions. To test the truth of\nthese Mark pretended that he was going on a pilgrimage to the Holy\nLand, and asked his wife to whose care she would wish to be committed.\nYsonde at first named Tristrem, but on the advice of Brengwain resumed\nthe subject later and feigned a mortal hatred for her lover, which she\nascribed to the scandal she had suffered on his account. The fears of\nthe simple Mark were thus lulled to sleep; but those of Meriadok were\nby no means laid at rest. On his advice Mark definitely separated the\nlovers, confining Ysonde to a bower and sending Tristrem to a\nneighbouring city. But Tristrem succeeded in communicating with Ysonde\nby means of leafy twigs thrown into the river which ran through her\ngarden, and they continued to meet.\n\nTheir interviews were, however, discovered by the aid of a dwarf who\nconcealed himself in a tree. One night Mark took the dwarf's place,\nbut the lovers were made aware of his presence by his shadow and\npretended to be quarrelling, Tristrem saying that Ysonde had\nsupplanted him in the King's affections. Mark's suspicions were thus\nsoothed for the time being. On another occasion Tristrem was not so\nfortunate, and, being discovered, was forced to flee the country.\n\n\n_The Ordeal by Fire_\n\nMark now resolved to test his wife's innocence by the dread ordeal by\nfire, and he journeyed with his Court to Westminster, where the trial\nwas to take place. Tristrem, disguised as a peasant, joined the\nretinue, and when the party arrived in the Thames he carried Ysonde\nfrom the ship to the shore. When the moment for the ordeal came the\nQueen protested her innocence, saying that no man had ever laid hands\nupon her save the King and the peasant who had carried her from the\nship. Mark, satisfied by her evident sincerity, refused to proceed\nfurther with the trial, and Ysonde thus escaped the awful test.\n\nTristrem then betook him to Wales, and the fame of his prowess in that\nland came at length to Cornwall, so that at last his uncle grew heavy\nat heart for his absence and desired sight of him. Once more he\nreturned, but his fatal passion for Ysonde was not abated, and became\nat length so grievous to the good King that he banished both of the\nlovers from his sight. The two fled to a forest, and there dwelt in a\ncavern, subsisting upon venison, the spoil of Tristrem's bow. One day,\nweary with the chase, Tristrem lay down to rest by the side of the\nsleeping Ysonde, placing his drawn sword between them. Mark, passing\nthat way, espied them, and from the naked sword inferring their\ninnocence, became reconciled to them once more. But again suspicion\nfell upon them, and again Tristrem was forced to flee.\n\n\n_Tristrem in Brittany_\n\nAfter many adventures in Spain Tristrem arrived in Brittany, where he\naided the Duke of that country with his sword. The Duke's daughter,\nknown as Ysonde of the White Hand, hearing him sing one night a song\nof the beauty of Ysonde, thought that Tristrem was in love with her.\nThe Duke therefore offered Tristrem his daughter's hand, and, in\ndespair of seeing Ysonde of Ireland again, he accepted the honour. But\non the wedding-day the first Ysonde's ring dropped from his finger as\nif reproaching him with infidelity, and in deep remorse he vowed that\nYsonde of Brittany should be his wife in name only.\n\nNow the Duke of Brittany bestowed on Tristrem a fair demesne divided\nby an arm of the sea from the land of a powerful and savage giant\nnamed Beliagog, and he warned his son-in-law not to incur the\nresentment of this dangerous neighbour. But one day Tristrem's hounds\nstrayed into the forest land of Beliagog, and their master, following\nthem, was confronted by the wrathful owner. A long and cruel combat\nensued, and at last Tristrem lopped off one of the giant's feet.\nThereupon the monster craved mercy, which was granted on the condition\nthat he should build a hall in honour of Ysonde of Ireland and her\nmaiden, Brengwain. This hall was duly raised, and upon its walls was\nportrayed to the life the whole history of Tristrem, with pictures of\nYsonde of Ireland, Brengwain, Mark, and other characters in the tale.\nTristrem, the Duke, Ysonde of Brittany, and Ganhardin, her brother,\nwere riding to see this marvel when Ysonde confessed to Ganhardin that\nTristrem did not regard her as his wife. Ganhardin, angered,\nquestioned Tristrem, who concealed nothing from him and recounted to\nhim the story of his love for the Queen of Cornwall. Ganhardin was\ndeeply interested, and on beholding the picture of Brengwain in the\nnewly erected hall he fell violently in love with her.\n\n\n_The Forest Lovers_\n\nTristrem now returned to Cornwall with Ganhardin, and encountered\nYsonde the Queen and the fair Brengwain. But one Canados, the King's\nConstable, discovered them and carried the ladies back to Court.\nGanhardin made the best of his way home to Brittany, but Tristrem\nremained in Cornwall, disguised as a beggar.\n\nOur story now tells of a great tournament at the Cornish Court, and\nhow Ganhardin hied him from Brittany and rejoined Tristrem. The two\nentered the lists and took up the challenge of Meriadok and Canados.\nTristrem, tilting at his old enemy, wounded him desperately. The issue\nof the combat between Canados and Ganhardin hung in the balance when\nTristrem, charging at the Constable, overthrew and slew him. Then,\nfired with the lust of conquest, Tristrem bore down upon his foes and\nexacted a heavy toll of lives. So great was the scathe done that day\nthat Tristrem and Ganhardin were forced once more to fly to Brittany,\nwhere in an adventure Tristrem received an arrow in his old wound.\n\n\n_The French Manuscript_\n\nAt this point the Auchinleck MS., from which this account is taken,\nbreaks off, and the story is concluded, in language similar to that of\nthe original, by Sir Walter Scott, who got his materials from an old\nFrench version of the tale.\n\nWe read that Tristrem suffered sorely from his wound, in which, as\nbefore, gangrene set in. Aware that none but Ysonde of Ireland could\ncure him, the stricken knight called Ganhardin to his side and urged\nhim to go with all speed to Cornwall and tell the Queen of his mortal\nextremity. He entrusted him with his ring, and finally requested the\nBreton knight to take with him two sails, one white and the other\nblack, the first to be hoisted upon his return should Ysonde accompany\nhim back to Brittany, the sable sail to be raised should his embassy\nfail of success. Now Ysonde of Brittany overheard all that was said,\nher jealous fears were confirmed, and she resolved to be revenged upon\nher husband.\n\nGanhardin voyaged quickly to Cornwall, and arrived at the Court of\nKing Mark disguised as a merchant. In order to speed his mission he\npresented rich gifts to the King, and also a cup to Ysonde, into which\nhe dropped Tristrem's ring. This token procured him a private audience\nwith the Queen, and when she learned the deadly peril of her lover,\nYsonde hastily disguised herself and fled to the ship with Ganhardin.\nIn due course the vessel arrived off the coast of Brittany, carrying\nthe white sail which was to signify to Tristrem that Ysonde was\nhastening to his aid. But Ysonde of Brittany was watching, and\nperceiving from the signal that her rival was on board she hurried to\nher husband's couch. Tristrem begged her to tell him the colour of the\nsail, and in the madness of jealousy Ysonde said that it was black,\nupon which, believing himself forsaken by his old love, the knight\nsank back and expired.\n\nTristrem had scarce breathed his last when Ysonde entered the castle.\nAt the gate an old man was mourning Tristrem's death, and hearing the\nominous words which he uttered she hastened to the chamber where the\ncorpse of him she had loved so well was lying. With a moan she cast\nherself upon the body, covering the dead face with kisses and pleading\nupon the silent lips to speak. Realizing at last that the spirit had\nindeed quitted its mortal tenement, she raised herself to her feet and\nstood for a moment gazing wildly into the fixed and glassy eyes; then\nwith a great cry she fell forward upon the breast of her lover and was\nunited with him in death.\n\nOther versions of the story, with all the wealth of circumstance dear\nto the writer of romance, tell of the grievous mourning made at the\ndeath of the lovers, whom no fault of their own had doomed to the\ntyranny of a mutual passion, and it is recounted that even King Mark,\nwronged and shamed as he was, was unable to repress his grief at their\npitiful end.\n\nDespite the clumsiness of much of its machinery, despite its tiresome\nrepetitions and its minor blemishes, this tale of a grand passion must\never remain one of the world's priceless literary possessions. \"Dull\nmust he be of soul\" who, even in these days when folk no longer expire\nfrom an excess of the tender passion, can fail to be moved by the sad\nfate of the fair Queen and of her gallant minstrel-knight.\n\n Swiche lovers als thei\n Never schal be moe.\n\nAnd so they take their place with Hero and Leander, with Ab\u00e9lard and\nH\u00e9lo\u00efse, with Romeo and Juliet.\n\nIt would be unfitting here to tell how mythology has claimed the story\nof Tristrem and Ysonde and has attempted to show in what manner the\ncircumstances of their lives and adventures have been adapted to the\nold world-wide myth of the progress of the sun from dawn to\ndarkness.[59] The evidence seems very complete, and the theory is\nprobably well founded. The circumstances of the great epic of the\nsun-god fits most hero-tales. And it is well to recollect that even if\nromance-makers seized upon the plot of the old myth they did so\nunconscious of its mythic significance, and probably because it may\nhave been employed in the heroic literature of \"Rome la grant.\"\n\n\n_The Giant of Mont-Saint-Michel_\n\nIt was when he arrived in Brittany to ward off the projected invasion\nof England by the Roman Emperor Lucius that King Arthur encountered\nand slew a giant of \"marvellous bigness\" at St Michael's Mount, near\nPontorson. This monster, who had come from Spain, had made his lair on\nthe summit of the rocky island, whither he had carried off the Lady\nHelena, niece of Duke Hoel of Brittany. Many were the knights who\nsurrounded the giant's fastness, but none might come at him, for when\nthey attacked him he would sink their ships by hurling mighty boulders\nupon them, while those who succeeded in swimming to the island were\nslain by him ere they could get a proper footing. But Arthur,\nundismayed by what he had heard, waited until nightfall; then, when\nall were asleep, with Kay the seneschal and Bedivere the butler, he\nstarted on his way to the Mount.\n\nAs the three approached the rugged height they beheld a fire blazing\nbrightly on its summit, and saw also that upon a lesser eminence in\nthe sea some distance away a smaller fire was burning. Bedivere was\ndispatched in a boat to discover who had lit the fire on the smaller\nisland. Having landed there, he found an old woman lamenting loudly.\n\n\"Good mother,\" said he, \"wherefore do you mourn? What has befallen you\nin this place that you weep so sorely?\"\n\n\"Ah, young sir,\" replied the dame, drying her tears, \"get thee back\nfrom this place, I beseech thee, for as thou livest the monster who\ninhabits yonder mount will rend thee limb from limb and sup on thy\nflesh. But yesterday I was the nurse of the fair Helena, niece to Duke\nHoel, who lies buried here by me.\"\n\n\"Alas! then, the lady is no more?\" cried Bedivere, in distress.\n\n\"So it is,\" replied the old woman, weeping more bitterly than ever,\n\"for when that accursed giant did seize upon her terror did so\novercome her that her spirit took flight. But tarry not on this dread\nspot, noble youth, for if her fierce slayer should encounter thee he\nwill put thee to a shameful death, and afterward devour thee as is his\nwont with all those whom he kills.\"\n\nBedivere comforted the old woman as best he might, and, returning to\nArthur, told him what he had heard. Now on hearing of the damsel's\ndeath great anger took hold upon the King, so that he resolved to\nsearch out the giant forthwith and slay or be slain by him. Desiring\nKay and Bedivere to follow, he dismounted and commenced to climb St\nMichael's Mount, closely attended by his companions.\n\n[Illustration: KING ARTHUR AND THE GIANT OF MONT-SAINT-MICHEL]\n\nOn reaching the summit a gruesome spectacle awaited them. The great\nfire that they had seen in the distance was blazing fiercely, and\nbending over it was the giant, his cruel and contorted features\nbesmeared with the blood of swine, portions of which he was toasting\non spits. Startled at the sight of the knights, the monster rushed to\nwhere his club lay. This purpose Arthur deemed he might prevent, and,\ncovering himself with his shield, he ran at him while yet he fumbled\nfor the weapon. But with all his agility he was too late, for the\ngiant seized the mighty sapling and, whirling it in the air, brought\nit down on the King's shield with such force that the sound of the\nstroke echoed afar. Nothing daunted, Arthur dealt a trenchant stroke\nwith Excalibur, and gave the giant a cut on the forehead which made\nthe blood gush forth over his eyes so as nearly to blind him. But\nshrewd as was the blow, the giant had warded his forehead with his\nclub in such wise that he had not received a deadly wound, and,\nwatching his chance with great cunning, he rushed in within the sweep\nof Arthur's sword, gripped him round the middle, and forced him to the\nground.\n\nIron indeed would have been the grasp which could have held a knight\nso doughty as Arthur. Slipping from the monster's clutches, the King\nhacked at his adversary now in one place, now in another, till at\nlength he smote the giant so mightily that Excalibur was buried deep\nin his brain-pan. The giant fell like an oak torn up by the roots in\nthe fury of the winds. Rushing up as he crashed to the earth, Sir\nBedivere struck off the hideous head, grinning in death, to be a show\nto those in the tents below.\n\n\"But let them behold it in silence and without laughter,\" the King\ncharged Sir Bedivere, \"for never since I slew the giant Ritho upon\nMount Eryri have I encountered so mighty an adversary.\"\n\nAnd so they returned to their tents with daybreak.\n\n\n_A Doubting Thomas_\n\nIt is strange to think that Brittany, one of the cradles of Arthurian\nlegend, could have produced a disbeliever in that legend so early as\nthe year of grace 1113. It is on record that some monks from Brittany\njourneyed to England in that year, and were shown by the men of Devon\n\"the chair and the oven of that King Arthur renowned in the stories of\nthe Britons.\" They passed on to Cornwall, and when, in the church at\nBodmin, one of their servants dared to question the statement of a\ncertain Cornishman that Arthur still lived, he received such a buffet\nfor his temerity that a small riot ensued.[60] Does not this seem to\nbe evidence that the legend was more whole-heartedly believed in in\nthe Celtic parts of England, and was therefore more exclusively native\nto those parts than to Continental Brittany? The Cornish allegiance to\nthe memory of Arthur seems to have left little to be desired.\n\n\n_Arthur and the Dragon_\n\nThe manner in which Arthur slew a dragon at the Lieue de Gr\u00e8ve, and at\nthe same time made the acquaintance of St Efflam of Ireland, is told\nby Albert le Grand, monk of Morlaix. Arthur had been sojourning at the\nCourt of Hoel, Duke of Armorica, and, having freed his own land of\ndragons and other monsters, was engaged in hunting down the great\nbeasts with which Armorica abounded. But the monster which infested\nthe Lieue de Gr\u00e8ve was no ordinary dragon. Indeed, he was the most\ncunning saurian in Europe, and was wont to retire backward into the\ngreat cavern in which he lived so that when traced to it those who\ntracked him would believe that he had just quitted it.\n\nIn this manner he succeeded in deceiving Arthur and his knights, who\nfor days lingered in the vicinity of his cave in the hope of\nencountering him. One day as they stood on the seashore waiting for\nthe dragon a sail hove in sight, and soon a large coracle made of\nwicker-work covered with skins appeared. The vessel grounded and its\noccupants leapt ashore, headed by a young man of princely mien, who\nadvanced toward Arthur and saluted him courteously.\n\n\"Fair sir,\" he said, \"to what shore have I come? I am Efflam, the\nKing's son, of Ireland. The winds have driven us out of our course,\nand full long have we laboured in the sea.\"\n\nNow when Arthur heard the young man's name he embraced him heartily.\n\n\"Welcome, cousin,\" he said. \"You are in the land of Brittany. I am\nArthur of Britain, and I rejoice at this meeting, since it may chance\nfrom it that I can serve you.\"\n\nThen Efflam told Arthur the reason of his voyaging. He had been wed to\nthe Princess Enora, daughter of a petty king of Britain, but on his\nwedding night a strong impulse had come upon him to leave all and make\nhis penitence within some lonely wood, where he could be at peace from\nthe world. Rising from beside his sleeping wife, he stole away, and\nrousing several trusty servitors he set sail from his native shores.\nSoon his frail craft was caught in a tempest, and after many days\ndriven ashore as had been seen.\n\nArthur marvelled at the impulse which had prompted Efflam to seek\nretirement, and was about to express his surprise when the youth\nstartled him by telling him that as his vessel had approached the\nshore he and his men had caught sight of the dragon entering his\ncave.\n\nAt these words Arthur armed himself without delay with his sword\nExcalibur and his lance Ron, and, followed by his knights and by\nEfflam, drew near the cavern. As he came before the entrance the\ndragon issued forth, roaring in so terrible a manner that all but the\nKing were daunted and drew back. The creature's appearance was\nfearsome in the extreme. He had one red eye in the centre of his\nforehead, his shoulders were covered with green scales like plates of\nmail, his long, powerful tail was black and twisted, and his vast\nmouth was furnished with tusks like those of a wild boar.\n\nGrim and great was the combat. For three days did it rage, man and\nbeast struggling through the long hours for the mastery which neither\nseemed able to obtain. At the end of that time the dragon retired for\na space into his lair, and Arthur, worn out and well-nigh broken by\nthe long-drawn strife, threw himself down beside Efflam in a state of\nexhaustion.\n\n\"A draught of water, fair cousin,\" he cried in a choking voice. \"I\nperish with thirst.\"\n\nBut no water was to be found in that place save that of the salt sea\nwhich lapped the sands of Gr\u00e8ve. Efflam, however, was possessed of a\nfaith that could overcome all difficulties. Kneeling, he engaged in\nearnest prayer, and, arising, struck the hard rock three times with\nhis rod. \"Our blessed Lord will send us water,\" he exclaimed, and no\nsooner had he spoken than from the stone a fountain of pure crystal\nwater gushed and bubbled.\n\nWith a cry of ecstasy Arthur placed his lips to the stream and quaffed\nthe much-needed refreshment. His vigour restored, he was about to\nreturn to the dragon's cavern to renew the combat when he was\nrestrained by Efflam.\n\n\"Cousin,\" said he of Ireland, \"you have tried what can be done by\nforce; now let us see what can be achieved by prayer.\"\n\nArthur, marvelling and humbled, sat near the young man as he prayed.\nAll night he was busied in devotions, and at sunrise he arose and\nwalked boldly to the mouth of the cavern.\n\n\"Thou spawn of Satan,\" he cried, \"in the name of God I charge thee to\ncome forth!\"\n\nA noise as of a thousand serpents hissing in unison followed this\nchallenge, and from out his lair trailed the great length of the\ndragon, howling and vomiting fire and blood. Mounting to the summit of\na neighbouring rock, he vented a final bellow and then cast himself\ninto the sea. The blue water was disturbed as by a maelstrom; then all\nwas peace again.\n\nSo perished the dragon of the Lieue de Gr\u00e8ve, and so was proved the\nsuperiority of prayer over human strength and valour. St Efflam and\nhis men settled on the spot as hermits, and were miraculously fed by\nangels. Efflam's wife, Enora, was borne to him by angels in that\nplace, only to die when she had joined him. And when they came to tell\nEfflam that his new-found lady was no more and was lying cold in the\ncell he had provided for her, their news fell on deaf ears, for he too\nhad passed away. He is buried in Plestin Church, and his effigy,\nstanding triumphant above an open-mouthed dragon, graces one of its\nmany niches.\n\n\n_The Isle of Avalon_\n\nThe Bretons believe that an island off Tr\u00e9gastel, on the coast of the\ndepartment of C\u00f4tes-du-Nord, is the fabled Isle of Avalon to which\nKing Arthur, sore wounded after his last battle, was borne to be\nhealed of his hurts. With straining eyes the fisherman watches the\nmist-wrapped islet, and, peering through the evening haze, cheats\nhimself into the belief that giant forms are moving upon its shores\nand that spectral shapes flit across its sands--that the dark hours\nbring back the activities of the attendant knights and enchantresses\nof the mighty hero of Celtdom, who, refreshed by his long repose, will\none day return to the world of men and right the great wrongs which\nafflict humanity.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [54] _The Flourishing of Romance and the Rise of Allegory_, p. 135.\n\n [55] No matter.\n\n [56] _I.e._ had the best knowledge of medicine. _Couthe_, from A.S.\n _cunnan_ to know.\n\n [57] Swinburne, _Tristram of Lyonesse_.\n\n [58] This incident is common in Celtic romance, and seems to have been\n widely used in nearly all medieval literatures.\n\n [59] See Rev. Sir G. W. Cox, _Introduction to Mythology_, p. 326 ff.\n\n [60] See Zimmer, _Zeitschrift f\u00fcr Franz\u00f6sische Sprache und Literatur_,\n xii, pp. 106 ff.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI: THE BRETON LAYS OF MARIE DE FRANCE\n\n\nThe wonderful _Lais_ of Marie de France must ever hold a deep interest\nfor all students of Breton lore, for though cast in the literary mould\nof Norman-French and breathing the spirit of Norman chivalry those of\nthem which deal with Brittany (as do most of them) exhibit such\nevident marks of having been drawn from native Breton sources that we\nmay regard them as among the most valuable documents extant for the\nstudy and consideration of Armorican story.\n\nOf the personal history of Marie de France very little is known. The\ndate and place of her birth are still matters for conjecture, and\nuntil comparatively recent times literary antiquaries were doubtful\neven as to which century she flourished in. In the epilogue to her\n_Fables_ she states that she is a native of the Ile-de-France, but\ndespite this she is believed to have been of Norman origin, and also\nto have lived the greater part of her life in England. Her work, which\nholds few suggestions of Anglo-Norman forms of thought or expression,\nwas written in a literary dialect that in all likelihood was widely\nestranged from the common Norman tongue, and from this (though the\nmanuscripts in which they are preserved are dated later) we may judge\nher poems to have been composed in the second half of the twelfth\ncentury. The prologue of her _Lais_ contains a dedication to some\nunnamed king, and her _Fables_ are inscribed to a certain Count\nWilliam, circumstances which are held by some to prove that she was of\nnoble origin and not merely a _trouv\u00e8re_ from necessity.\n\nUntil M. Gaston Paris decided that this mysterious king was Henry II\nof England, and that the 'Count William' was Longsword, Earl of\nSalisbury, Henry's natural son by the 'Fair Rosamond,' the mysterious\nmonarch was believed to be Henry III. It is highly probable that the\n_Lais_ were actually written at the Court of Henry II, though the\n'King' of the flowery prologue is hardly reconcilable with the stern\nruler and law-maker of history. Be that as it may, Marie's poems\nachieved instant success. \"Her rhyme is loved everywhere,\" says Denis\nPyramus, the author of a life of St Edmund the King; \"for counts,\nbarons, and knights greatly admire it and hold it dear. And they love\nher writing so much, and take such pleasure in it, that they have it\nread, and often copied. These Lays are wont to please ladies, who\nlisten to them with delight, for they are after their own hearts.\"\nThis fame and its attendant adulation were very sweet to Marie, and\nshe was justly proud of her work, which, inspired, as she herself\ndistinctly states, by the lays she had heard Breton minstrels sing,\nhas, because of its vivid colouring and human appeal, survived the\npassing of seven hundred years. The scenes of the tales are laid in\nBrittany, and we are probably correct in regarding them as culled from\noriginal traditional material. As we proceed with the telling of these\nancient stories we shall endeavour to point out the essentially Breton\nelements they have retained.\n\n\n_The Lay of the Were-Wolf_\n\nIn the long ago there dwelt in Brittany a worshipful baron, for whom\nthe king of that land had a warm affection, and who was happy in the\nesteem of his peers and the love of his beautiful wife.\n\nOne only grief had his wife in her married life, and that was the\nmysterious absence of her husband for three days in every week. Where\nhe disappeared to neither she nor any member of her household knew.\nThese excursions preyed upon her mind, so that at last she resolved to\nchallenge him regarding them.\n\n\"Husband,\" she said to him pleadingly one day after he had just\nreturned from one of these absences, \"I have something to ask of you,\nbut I fear that my request may vex you, and for this reason I hesitate\nto make it.\"\n\nThe baron took her in his arms and, kissing her tenderly, bade her\nstate her request, which he assured her would by no means vex him.\n\n\"It is this,\" she said, \"that you will trust me sufficiently to tell\nme where you spend those days when you are absent from me. So fearful\nhave I become regarding these withdrawals and all the mystery that\nenshrouds them that I know neither rest nor comfort; indeed, so\ndistraught am I at times that I feel I shall die for very anxiety. Oh,\nhusband, tell me where you go and why you tarry so long!\"\n\nIn great agitation the husband put his wife away from him, not daring\nto meet the glance of her imploring, anxious eyes.\n\n\"For the mercy of God, do not ask this of me,\" he besought her. \"No\ngood could come of your knowing, only great and terrible evil.\nKnowledge would mean the death of your love for me, and my everlasting\ndesolation.\"\n\n\"You are jesting with me, husband,\" she replied; \"but it is a cruel\njest. I am all seriousness, I do assure you. Peace of mind can never\nbe mine until my question is fully answered.\"\n\nBut the baron, still greatly perturbed, remained firm. He could not\ntell her, and she must rest content with that. The lady, however,\ncontinued to plead, sometimes with tenderness, more often with tears\nand heart-piercing reproaches, until at length the baron, trusting to\nher love, decided to tell her his secret.\n\n\"I have to leave you because periodically I become a bisclaveret,\" he\nsaid. ('Bisclaveret' is the Breton name for were-wolf.) \"I hide myself\nin the depths of the forest, live on wild animals and roots, and go\nunclad as any beast of the field.\"\n\nWhen the lady had recovered from the horror of this disclosure and had\nrallied her senses to her aid, she turned to him again, determined at\nany cost to learn all the circumstances connected with this terrible\ntransformation.\n\n\"You know that I love you better than all the world, my husband,\" she\nbegan; \"that never in our life together have I done aught to forfeit\nyour love or your trust. So do, I beseech you, tell me all--tell me\nwhere you hide your clothing before you become a were-wolf?\"\n\n\"That I dare not do, dear wife,\" he replied, \"for if I should lose my\nraiment or even be seen quitting it I must remain a were-wolf so long\nas I live. Never again could I become a man unless my garments were\nrestored to me.\"\n\n\"Then you no longer trust me, no longer love me?\" she cried. \"Alas,\nalas that I have forfeited your confidence! Oh that I should live to\nsee such a day!\"\n\nHer weeping broke out afresh, this time more piteously than before.\nThe baron, deeply touched, and willing by any means to alleviate her\ndistress, at last divulged the vital secret which he had held from her\nso long.\n\nBut from that hour his wife cast about for ways and means to rid\nherself of her strange husband, of whom she now went in exceeding\nfear. In course of time she remembered a knight of that country who\nhad long sought her love, but whom she had repulsed. To him she\nappealed, and right gladly and willingly he pledged himself to aid\nher. She showed him where her lord concealed his clothing, and begged\nhim to spoil the were-wolf of his vesture on the next occasion on\nwhich he set out to assume his transformation. The fatal period soon\nreturned. The baron disappeared as usual, but this time he did not\nreturn to his home. For days friends, neighbours, and menials sought\nhim diligently, but no trace of him was to be found, and when a year\nhad elapsed the search was at length abandoned, and the lady was\nwedded to her knight.\n\nSome months later the King was hunting in the great forest near the\nmissing baron's castle. The hounds, unleashed, came upon the scent of\na wolf, and pressed the animal hard. For many hours they pursued him,\nand when about to seize him, Bisclaveret--for it was he--turned with\nsuch a human gesture of despair to the King, who had ridden hard upon\nhis track, that the royal huntsman was moved to pity. To the King's\nsurprise the were-wolf placed its paws together as if in supplication,\nand its great jaws moved as if in speech.\n\n\"Call off the hounds,\" cried the monarch to his attendants. \"This\nquarry we will take alive to our palace. It is too marvellous a thing\nto be killed.\"\n\nAccordingly they returned to the Court, where the were-wolf became an\nobject of the greatest curiosity to all. So frolicsome yet so gentle\nwas he that he became a universal favourite. At night he slept in the\nKing's room, and by day he followed him with all the dumb faithfulness\nof a dog. The King was extremely attached to him, and never permitted\nhis shaggy favourite to be absent from his side for a moment.\n\nOne day the monarch held a high Court, to which his great vassals and\nbarons and all the lords of his broad demesnes were bidden. Among them\ncame the knight who had wed the wife of Bisclaveret. Immediately upon\nsight of him the were-wolf flew at him with a savage joy that\nastonished those accustomed to his usual gentleness and docility. So\nfierce was the attack that the knight would have been killed had not\nthe King intervened to save him. Later, in the royal hunting-lodge she\nwho had been the wife of Bisclaveret came to offer the King a rich\npresent. When he saw her the animal's rage knew no bounds, and despite\nall restraint he succeeded in mutilating her fair face in the most\nfrightful manner. But for a certain wise counsellor this act would\nhave cost Bisclaveret his life. This sagacious person, who knew of the\nanimal's customary docility, insisted that some evil must have been\ndone him.\n\n\"There must be some reason why this beast holds these twain in such\nmortal hate,\" he said. \"Let this woman and her husband be brought\nhither so that they may be straitly questioned. She was once the wife\nof one who was near to your heart, and many marvellous happenings have\nere this come out of Brittany.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE WERE-WOLF]\n\nThe King hearkened to this sage counsel, for he loved the were-wolf,\nand was loath to have him slain. Under pressure of examination\nBisclaveret's treacherous wife confessed all that she had done, adding\nthat in her heart she believed the King's favourite animal to be no\nother than her former husband.\n\nInstantly on learning this the King demanded the were-wolf's vesture\nfrom the treacherous knight her lover, and when this was brought to\nhim he caused it to be spread before the wolf. But the animal behaved\nas though he did not see the garments.\n\nThen the wise counsellor again came to his aid.\n\n\"You must take the beast to your own secret chamber, sire,\" he told\nthe King; \"for not without great shame and tribulation can he become a\nman once more, and this he dare not suffer in the sight of all.\"\n\nThis advice the King promptly followed, and when after some little\ntime he, with two lords of his fellowship in attendance, re-entered\nthe secret chamber, he found the wolf gone, and the baron so well\nbeloved asleep in his bed.\n\nWith great joy and affection the King aroused his friend, and when the\nbaron's feelings permitted him he related his adventures. As soon as\nhis master had heard him out he not only restored to him all that had\nbeen taken from him, but added gifts the number and richness of which\nrendered him more wealthy and important than ever, while in just anger\nhe banished from his realm the wife who had betrayed her lord,\ntogether with her lover.\n\n\n_The Were-Wolf Superstition_\n\nThe were-wolf superstition is, or was, as prevalent in Brittany as in\nother parts of France and Europe. The term 'were-wolf' literally means\n'man-wolf,' and was applied to a man supposed to be temporarily or\npermanently transformed into a wolf. In its origins the belief may\nhave been a phase of lycanthropy, a disease in which the sufferer\nimagines himself to have been transformed into an animal, and in\nancient and medieval times of very frequent occurrence. It may, on the\nother hand, be a relic of early cannibalism. Communities of\nsemi-civilized people would begin to shun those who devoured human\nflesh, and they would in time be ostracized and classed with wild\nbeasts, the idea that they had something in common with these would\ngrow, and the belief that they were able to transform themselves into\nveritable animals would be likely to arise therefrom.\n\nThere were two kinds of were-wolf, voluntary and involuntary. The\nvoluntary included those persons who because of their taste for human\nflesh had withdrawn from intercourse with their fellows, and who\nappeared to possess a certain amount of magical power, or at least\nsufficient to permit them to transform themselves into animal shape at\nwill. This they effected by merely disrobing, by taking off a girdle\nmade of human skin, or putting on a similar belt of wolf-skin\n(obviously a later substitute for an entire wolf-skin; in some cases\nwe hear of their donning the skin entire). In other instances the body\nwas rubbed with magic ointment, or rain-water was drunk out of a\nwolf's footprint. The brains of the animal were also eaten. Olaus\nMagnus says that the were-wolves of Livonia drained a cup of beer on\ninitiation, and repeated certain magical words. In order to throw off\nthe wolf-shape the animal girdle was removed, or else the magician\nmerely muttered certain formul\u00e6. In some instances the transformation\nwas supposed to be the work of Satan.\n\nThe superstition regarding were-wolves seems to have been exceedingly\nprevalent in France during the sixteenth century, and there is\nevidence of numerous trials of persons accused of were-wolfism, in\nsome of which it was clearly shown that murder and cannibalism had\ntaken place. Self-hallucination was accountable for many of the cases,\nthe supposed were-wolves declaring that they had transformed\nthemselves and had slain many people. But about the beginning of the\nseventeenth century native common sense came to the rescue, and such\nconfessions were not credited. In Teutonic and Slavonic countries it\nwas complained by men of learning that the were-wolves did more damage\nthan real wild animals, and the existence of a regular 'college' or\ninstitution for the practice of the art of animal transformation among\nwere-wolves was affirmed.\n\nInvoluntary were-wolves, of which class Bisclaveret was evidently a\nmember, were often persons transformed into animal shape because of\nthe commission of sin, and condemned to pass a certain number of years\nin that form. Thus certain saints metamorphosed sinners into wolves.\nIn Armenia it was thought that a sinful woman was condemned to pass\nseven years in the form of a wolf. To such a woman a demon appeared,\nbringing a wolf-skin. He commanded her to don it, and from that moment\nshe became a wolf, with all the nature of the wild beast, devouring\nher own children and those of strangers, and wandering forth at night,\nundeterred by locks, bolts, or bars, returning only with the morning\nto resume her human form.\n\nIn was, of course, in Europe, where the wolf was one of the largest\ncarnivorous animals, that the were-wolf superstition chiefly gained\ncurrency. In Eastern countries, where similar beliefs prevailed,\nbears, tigers, and other beasts of prey were substituted for the\nlupine form of colder climes.\n\n\n_The Lay of Gugemar_\n\nOridial was one of the chief barons of King Arthur, and dwelt in\nBrittany, where he held lands in fief of that monarch. So deeply was\nhe attached to his liege lord that when his son Gugemar was yet a\nchild he sent him to Arthur's Court to be trained as a page. In due\ntime Arthur dubbed Gugemar knight and armed him in rich harness, and\nthe youth, hearing of war in Flanders, set out for that realm in the\nhope of gaining distinction and knightly honour.\n\nAfter achieving many valorous deeds in Flanders Gugemar felt a strong\ndesire to behold his parents once more, so, setting his face homeward,\nhe journeyed back to Brittany and dwelt with them for some time,\nresting after his battles and telling his father, mother, and sister\nNogent of the many enterprises in which he had been engaged. But he\nshortly grew weary of this inactive existence, and in order to break\nthe monotony of it he planned a great hunt in the neighbouring\nforest.\n\nEarly one morning he set out, and soon a tall stag was roused from its\nbed among the ferns by the noise of the hunters' horns. The hounds\nwere unleashed and the entire hunt followed in pursuit, Gugemar the\nforemost of all. But, closely as he pursued, the quarry eluded the\nknight, and to his chagrin he was left alone in the forest spaces with\nnothing to show for his long chase. He was about to ride back in\nsearch of his companions when on a sudden he noticed a doe hiding in a\nthicket with her fawn. She was white from ear to hoof, without a\nspot. Gugemar's hounds, rushing at her, held her at bay, and their\nmaster, fitting an arrow to his bow, loosed the shaft at her so that\nshe was wounded above the hoof and brought to earth. But the\ntreacherous arrow, glancing, returned to Gugemar and wounded him\ngrievously in the thigh.\n\nAs he lay on the earth faint and with his senses almost deserting him,\nGugemar heard the doe speak to him in human accents:\n\n\"Wretch who hast slain me,\" said she, \"think not to escape my\nvengeance. Never shall leech nor herb nor balm cure the wound which\nfate hath so justly inflicted upon thee. Only canst thou be healed by\na woman who loves thee, and who for that love shall have to suffer\nsuch woe and sorrow as never woman had to endure before. Thou too\nshalt suffer equally with her, and the sorrows of ye twain shall be\nthe wonder of lovers for all time. Leave me now to die in peace.\"\n\nGugemar was in sore dismay at hearing these words, for never had he\nsought lady's love nor had he cared for the converse of women. Winding\nhis horn, he succeeded in attracting one of his followers to the spot,\nand sent him in search of his companions. When he had gone Gugemar\ntore his linen shirt in pieces and bound up his wound as well as he\nmight. Then, dragging himself most painfully into the saddle, he rode\nfrom the scene of his misadventure at as great a pace as his injury\nwould permit of, for he had conceived a plan which he did not desire\nshould be interfered with.\n\nRiding at a hand-gallop, he soon came in sight of tall cliffs which\noverlooked the sea, and which formed a natural harbour, wherein lay a\nvessel richly beseen. Its sails were of spun silk, and each plank and\nmast was fashioned of ebony. Dismounting, Gugemar made his way to the\nshore, and with much labour climbed upon the ship. Neither mariner nor\nmerchant was therein. A large pavilion of silk covered part of the\ndeck, and within this was a rich bed, the work of the cunning\nartificers of the days of King Solomon. It was fashioned of cypress\nwood and ivory, and much gold and many gems went to the making of it.\nThe clothes with which it was provided were fair and white as snow,\nand so soft the pillow that he who laid his head upon it, sad as he\nmight be, could not resist sleep. The pavilion was lit by two large\nwaxen candles, set in candlesticks of gold.\n\nAs the knight sat gazing at this splendid couch fit for a king he\nsuddenly became aware that the ship was moving seaward. Already,\nindeed, he was far from land, and at the sight he grew more sorrowful\nthan before, for his hurt made him helpless and he could not hope\neither to guide the vessel or manage her so that he might return to\nshore. Resigning himself to circumstances, he lay down upon the ornate\nbed and sank into a deep and dreamless slumber.\n\n[Illustration: GUGEMAR COMES UPON THE MAGIC SHIP]\n\nWhen he awoke he found to his intense surprise that the ship had come\nto the port of an ancient city. Now the king of this realm was an aged\nman who was wedded to a young, fair lady, of whom he was, after the\nmanner of old men, intensely jealous. The castle of this monarch\nfrowned upon a fair garden enclosed from the sea by a high wall of\ngreen marble, so that if one desired to come to the castle he must do\nso from the water. The place was straitly watched by vigilant\nwarders, and within the wall so carefully defended lay the Queen's\nbower, a fairer chamber than any beneath the sun, and decorated with\nthe most marvellous paintings. Here dwelt the young Queen with one of\nher ladies, her own sister's child, who was devoted to her service and\nwho never quitted her side. The key of this bower was in the hands of\nan aged priest, who was also the Queen's servitor.\n\nOne day on awaking from sleep the Queen walked in the garden and\nespied a ship drawing near the land. Suddenly, she knew not why, she\ngrew very fearful, and would have fled at the sight, but her maiden\nencouraged her to remain. The vessel came to shore, and the Queen's\nmaiden entered it. No one could she see on board except a knight\nsleeping soundly within the pavilion, and he was so pale that she\nthought he was dead. Returning to her mistress, she told her what she\nhad seen, and together they entered the vessel.\n\nNo sooner did the Queen behold Gugemar than she was deeply smitten\nwith love for him. In a transport of fear lest he were dead she placed\nher hand upon his bosom, and was overjoyed to feel the warmth of life\nwithin him and that his heart beat strongly. At her touch he awoke and\ncourteously saluted her. She asked him whence he came and to what\nnation he belonged.\n\n\"Lady,\" he replied, \"I am a knight of Brittany. But yesterday, or so\nit seems to me, for I may have slumbered more than a day, I wounded a\ndeer in the forest, but the arrow with which I slew her rebounded and\nstruck me sorely. Then the beast, being, I trow, a fairy deer, spake,\nsaying that never would this wound be healed save by one damsel in the\nwhole world, and her I know not where to find. Riding seaward, I came\nto where this ship lay moored, and, entering it, the vessel drifted\noceanward. I know not to what land I have come, nor what name this\ncity bears. I pray you, fair lady, give me your best counsel.\"\n\nThe Queen listened to his tale with the deepest interest, and when\nGugemar made his appeal for aid and counsel she replied: \"Truly, fair\nsir, I shall counsel you as best I may. This city to which you have\ncome belongs to my husband, who is its King. Of much worship is he,\nbut stricken in years, and because of the jealousy he bears me he has\nshut me up between these high walls. If it please you you may tarry\nhere awhile and we will tend your wound until it be healed.\"\n\nGugemar, wearied and bewildered at the strange things which had\nhappened to him in the space of a day, thanked the Queen, and accepted\nher kind offer of entertainment with alacrity. Between them the Queen\nand her lady assisted him to leave the ship and bore him to a chamber,\nwhere he was laid in a fair bed and had his wound carefully dressed.\nWhen the ladies had withdrawn and the knight was left to himself he\nknew that he loved the Queen. All memory of his home and even of his\ntormenting wound disappeared, and he could brood only upon the fair\nface of the royal lady who had so charmingly ministered to him.\n\nMeanwhile the Queen was in little better case. All night she could not\nsleep for pondering upon the handsome youth who had come so\nmysteriously into her life, and her maiden, seeing this, and marking\nhow she suffered, went to Gugemar's chamber and told him in a frank\nand almost childlike manner how deeply her mistress had been smitten\nwith love for him.\n\n\"You are young,\" she said, \"so is my lady. Her lord is old and their\nunion is unseemly. Heaven intended you for one another and has brought\nyou together in its own good time.\"\n\nShortly, after she had heard Mass, the Queen summoned Gugemar into her\npresence. At first both were dumb with confusion. At last his passion\nurged Gugemar to speak, and his love-words came thick and fast. The\nQueen hearkened to them, and, feeling that they rang true, admitted\nthat she loved him in return.\n\nFor a year and a half Gugemar dwelt in the Queen's bower. Then the\nlovers met with misfortune.\n\nFor some days before the blow fell the Queen had experienced a feeling\nof coming evil. So powerfully did this affect her that she begged\nGugemar for a garment of his. The knight marvelled at the request, and\nasked her playfully for what reason she desired such a keepsake as a\nlinen shift.\n\n\"Friend,\" she replied, \"if it chance that you leave me or that we are\nseparated I shall fear that some other damsel may win your love. In\nthis shift which you give me I shall make a knot, and shall ask you to\nvow that never will you give your love to dame or damsel who cannot\nuntie this knot.\"\n\nThe knight complied with her request, and she made such a cunning knot\nin the garment as only she could unravel. For his part Gugemar gave\nthe Queen a wonderfully fashioned girdle which only he could unclasp,\nand he begged her that she would never grant her love to any man who\ncould not free her from it. Each promised the other solemnly to\nrespect the vows they had made.\n\nThat same day their hidden love was discovered. A chamberlain of the\nKing's observed them through a window of the Queen's bower, and,\nhastening to his master, told him what he had seen. In terrible wrath\nthe King called for his guards, and, coming upon the lovers unaware,\ncommanded them to slay Gugemar at once. But the knight seized upon a\nstout rod of fir-wood on which linen was wont to be dried, and faced\nthose who would slay him so boldly that they fell back in dismay.\n\nThe King questioned him as to his name and lineage, and Gugemar\nfearlessly related his story. The King was incredulous at first, but\nsaid that could the ship be found in which Gugemar had arrived he\nwould place him upon it and send him once more out to sea. After\nsearch had been made the vessel was found, and Gugemar was placed on\nit, the ship began to move, and soon the knight was well at sea.\n\nEre long the ship came to that harbour whence she had first sailed,\nand as Gugemar landed he saw to his surprise one of his own vassals\nholding a charger and accompanied by a knight. Mounting the steed,\nGugemar swiftly rode home, where he was received with every\ndemonstration of joy. But though his parents and friends did\neverything possible to make him happy, the memory of the fair Queen\nwho had loved him was ever with him night and day, so that he might\nnot be solaced by game or tilting, the chase or the dance. In vain\nthose who wished him well urged him to take a wife. At first he\nroundly refused to consider such a step, but when eagerly pressed by\nhis friends he announced that no wife should he wed who could not\nfirst unloose the knot within his shift. So sought after was Gugemar\nthat all the damsels in Brittany essayed the feat, but none of them\nsucceeded and each retired sorrowfully from the ordeal.\n\nMeanwhile the aged King had set his wife in a tower of grey marble,\nwhere she suffered agonies because of the absence of her lover. Ever\nshe wondered what had happened to him, if he had regained his native\nshore or whether he had been swallowed up by the angry sea. Frequently\nshe made loud moan, but there were none to hear her cries save\nstony-hearted gaolers, who were as dumb as the grey walls that\nenclosed her.\n\nOne day she chanced in her dolour to lean heavily upon the door of her\nprison. To her amazement it opened, and she found herself in the\ncorridor without. Hastening on impulse, and as if by instinct, to the\nharbour, she found there her lover's ship. Quickly she climbed upon\nits deck, and scarcely had she done so than the vessel began to move\nseaward. In great fear she sat still, and in time was wafted to a part\nof Brittany governed by one named Meriadus, who was on the point of\ngoing to war with a neighbouring chieftain.\n\nFrom his window Meriadus had seen the approach of the strange vessel,\nand, making his way to the seashore, entered the ship. Struck with the\nbeauty of the Queen, he brought her to his castle, where he placed her\nin his sister's chamber. He strove in every way to dispel the sadness\nwhich seemed to envelop her like a mantle, but despite his efforts to\nplease her she remained in sorrowful and doleful mood and would not be\ncomforted. Sorely did Meriadus press her to wed him, but she would\nhave none of him, and for answer showed him the girdle round her\nwaist, saying that never would she give her love to any man who could\nnot unloose its buckle. As she said this Meriadus seemed struck by her\nwords.\n\n\"Strange,\" he said, \"a right worthy knight dwells in this land who\nwill take no woman to his wife save she who can first untie a certain\ncrafty knot in his shift. Well would I wager that it was you who tied\nthis knot.\"\n\nWhen the Queen heard these words she well-nigh fainted. Meriadus\nrushed to succour her, and gradually she revived. Some days later\nMeriadus held a high tournament, at which all the knights who were to\naid him in the war were to be present, among them Gugemar. A festival\nwas held on the night preceding the tournament, at which Meriadus\nrequested his sister and the stranger dame to be present. As the Queen\nentered the hall Gugemar rose from his place and stared at her as at a\nvision of the dead. In great doubt was he whether this lady was in\ntruth his beloved.\n\n\"Come, Gugemar,\" rallied Meriadus, \"let this damsel try to unravel the\nknot in your shift which has puzzled so many fair dames.\"\n\nGugemar called to his squire and bade him fetch the shift, and when it\nwas brought the lady, without seeming effort, unravelled the knot. But\neven yet Gugemar remained uncertain.\n\n\"Lady,\" he said, \"tell me, I pray you, whether or not you wear a\ngirdle with which I girt you in a realm across the sea,\" and placing\nhis hands around her slender waist, he found there the secret belt.\n\nAll his doubts dispelled, Gugemar asked his loved one how she had come\nto the tower of Meriadus. When he had heard, he then and there\nrequested his ally to yield him the lady, but the chieftain roundly\nrefused. Then the knight in great anger cast down his glove and took\nhis departure, and, to the discomfiture of Meriadus, all those knights\nwho had gathered for the tournament and had offered to assist Meriadus\naccompanied Gugemar.\n\n[Illustration: GUGEMAR'S ASSAULT ON THE CASTLE OF MERIADUS]\n\nIn a body they rode to the castle of the prince who was at war with\nMeriadus, and next day they marched against the discourteous\nchieftain. Long did they besiege his castle, but at last when the\ndefenders were weak with hunger Gugemar and his men assailed the place\nand took it, slaying Meriadus within the ruins of his own hall.\nGugemar, rushing to that place where he knew his lady to be, called\nher forth, and in peace brought her back with him to his own demesne,\nwhere they were wed and dwelt long and happily.\n\nThere are several circumstances connected with this beautiful old tale\nwhich deeply impress us with a belief in its antiquity. The incident\nof the killing of the deer and the incurable nature of Gugemar's wound\nare undoubtedly legacies from very ancient times, when it was believed\nto be unlucky under certain circumstances to kill a beast of the\nchase. Some savage races, such as the North American Indians, consider\nit to be most unlucky to slay a deer without first propitiating the\ngreat Deer God, the chief of the Deer Folk, and in fact they attribute\nmost of the ills to which flesh is heir to the likelihood that they\nhave omitted some of the very involved ritual of the chase. It will be\nremembered that Tristrem of Lyonesse also had an incurable wound, and\nthere are other like instances in romance and myth.\n\nThe vessel which carries Gugemar over the sea is undoubtedly of the\nsame class as those magic self-propelled craft which we meet with very\nfrequently in Celtic lore, and the introduction of this feature in\nitself is sufficient to convince us of the Celtic or Breton origin of\nMarie's tale. We have such a craft in the Grail legend in the _Morte\nd'Arthur_, in which Galahad finds precisely such a bed. The vessel in\nthe Grail legend is described as \"King Solomon's Ship,\" and it is\nobvious that Marie or her Breton original must have borrowed the idea\nfrom a Grail source.\n\nLastly, the means adopted by the lovers to ensure one another's\nconstancy seem very like the methods of taboo. The knot that may not\nor cannot be untied has many counterparts in ancient lore, and the\ngirdle that no man but the accepted lover may loose is reminiscent of\nthe days when a man placed such a girdle around his wife or sweetheart\nto signify his sole possession of her. If a man could succeed in\npurloining a mermaid's girdle she was completely in his power. So is\nit with fairies in an Algonquin Indian tale. Even so late as Crusading\ntimes many knights departing to fight in the Holy Land bound a girdle\nround their ladies' waists in the hope that the gift would ensure\ntheir faithfulness.\n\n\n_The Lay of Laustic_\n\nThe Lay of Laustic, or the Nightingale, is purely of Breton origin,\nand indeed is proved to be so by its title. \"Laustic, I deem, men name\nit in that country\" (Brittany), says Marie in her preface to the lay,\n\"which being interpreted means _rossignol_ in French and 'nightingale'\nin good plain English.\" She adds that the Breton harper has already\nmade a lay concerning it--added evidence that the tale is of Celtic\nand not of French origin.\n\nIn the ancient town of Saint-Malo, in Brittany, dwelt two knights\nwhose valour and prowess brought much fame to the community. Their\nhouses were close to one another, and one of them was married to a\nlady of surpassing loveliness, while the other was a bachelor. By\ninsensible degrees the bachelor knight came to love his neighbour's\nwife, and so handsome and gallant was he that in time she returned his\npassion. He made every possible excuse for seeking her society, and on\none pretext or another was constantly by her side. But he was\nexceedingly careful of her fair fame, and acted in such a way that not\nthe slightest breath of scandal could touch her.\n\nTheir houses were separated by an ancient stone wall of considerable\nheight, but the lovers could speak together by leaning from their\ncasements, and if this was impossible they could communicate by\nsending written messages. When the lady's husband was at home she was\nguarded carefully, as was the custom of the time, but nevertheless she\ncontrived to greet her lover from the window as frequently as she\ndesired.\n\nIn due course the wondrous time of spring came round, with white drift\nof blossom and stir of life newly awakened. The short night hours grew\nwarm, and often did the lady arise from bed to have speech with her\nlover at the casement. Her husband grew displeased by her frequent\nabsences, which disturbed his rest, and wrathfully inquired the reason\nwhy she quitted his side so often.\n\n\"Oh, husband,\" she replied, \"I cannot rest because of the sweet song\nof the nightingale, whose music has cast a spell upon my heart. No\ntune of harp or viol can compare with it, and I may not close my eyes\nso long as his song continues in the night.\"\n\nNow the lady's husband, although a bold and hardy knight, was\nmalicious and ungenerous, and, disliking to have his rest disturbed,\nresolved to deal summarily with the nightingale. So he gave orders to\nhis servants to set traps in the garden and to smear every bough and\nbranch with birdlime in order that the bird might speedily be taken.\nHis orders were at once carried out, and the garden was filled with\nnets, while the cruel lime glittered upon every tree. So complete were\nthe preparations of the serving-men that an unfortunate nightingale\nwhich had made the garden its haunt and had filled it with music for\nmany a night while the lovers talked was taken and brought to the\nknight.\n\nSwiftly he bore the hapless bird to his wife's chamber, his eyes\nsparkling with malicious glee.\n\n\"Here is your precious songster,\" he said, with bitter irony. \"You\nwill be happy to learn that you and I may now spend our sleeping hours\nin peace since he is taken.\"\n\n\"Ah, slay him not, my lord!\" she cried in anguish, for she had grown\nto associate the bird's sweet song with the sweeter converse of her\nlover--to regard it as in a measure an accompaniment to his\nlove-words. For answer her husband seized the unhappy bird by the neck\nand wrung its head off. Then he cast the little body into the lap of\nthe dame, soiling her with its blood, and departed in high anger.\n\nThe lady pitifully raised what was left of the dead songster and\nbitterly lamented over it.\n\n\"Woe is me!\" she cried. \"Never again can I meet with my lover at the\ncasement, and he will believe that I am faithless to him. But I shall\ndevise some means to let him know that this is not so.\"\n\nHaving considered as to what she should do, the lady took a fine piece\nof white samite, broidered with gold, and worked upon it as on a\ntapestry the whole story of the nightingale, so that her knight might\nnot be ignorant of the nature of the barrier that had arisen between\nthem.\n\nIn this silken shroud she wrapped the small, sad body of the slain\nbird and gave it in charge of a trusty servant to bear to her lover.\nThe messenger told the knight what had occurred. The news was heavy to\nhim, but now, having insight to the vengeful nature of her husband, he\nfeared to jeopardize the lady's safety, so he remained silent. But he\ncaused a rich coffer to be made in fine gold, set with precious\nstones, in which he laid the body of the nightingale, and this small\nfuneral urn he carried about with him on all occasions, nor could any\ncircumstance hinder him from keeping it constantly beside him.\n\n Wrap me love's ashes in a golden cloth\n To carry next my heart. Love's fire is out,\n And these poor embers grey, but I am loath\n To quench remembrance also: I shall put\n His relics over that they did consume.\n Ah, 'tis too bitter cold these cinders to relume!\n\n Place me love's ashes in a golden cup,\n To mingle with my wine. Ah, do not fear\n The old flame in my soul shall flicker up\n At the harsh taste of what was once so dear.\n I quaff no fire: there is no fire to meet\n This bitterness of death and turn it into sweet.\n\n\n_The Lay of Eliduc_\n\nIn the tale of Eliduc we have in all probability a genuine product of\nnative Breton romance. So at least avers Marie, who assures us that it\nis \"a very ancient Breton lay,\" and we have no reason to doubt her\nword, seeing that, had she been prone to literary dishonesty, it would\nhave been much easier for her to have passed off the tale as her own\noriginal conception. There is, of course, the probability that it was\nso widely known in its Breton version that to have done so would have\nbeen to have openly courted the charge of plagiarism--an impeachment\nwhich it is not possible to bring against this most charming and\ndelightful poetess.\n\nEliduc, a knight of Brittany, was happy in the confidence of his King,\nwho, when affairs of State caused his absence from the realm, left his\ntrusted adherent behind him as viceroy and regent. Such a man, staunch\nand loyal, could scarcely be without enemies, and the harmless\npleasure he took in the chase during the King's absence was construed\nby evil counsellors on the monarch's return as an unwarranted licence\nwith the royal rights of venery. The enemies of Eliduc so harped upon\nthe knight's supposed lack of reverence for the royal authority that\nat length the King's patience gave way and in an outburst of wrath he\ngave orders for Eliduc's banishment, without vouchsafing his former\nfriend and confidant the least explanation of this petulant action.\n\nDismayed by the sudden change in his fortunes, Eliduc returned to his\nhouse, and there acquainted his friends and vassals with the King's\nunjust decree. He told them that it was his intention to cross the sea\nto the kingdom of Logres, to sojourn there for a space. He placed his\nestates in the hands of his wife and begged of his vassals that they\nwould serve her loyally. Then, having settled his affairs, he took ten\nknights of his household and started upon his journey. His wife,\nGuildeluec, accompanied him for several miles, and on parting they\npledged good faith to one another.\n\nIn due time the cavalcade came to the seashore and took ship for the\nrealm of Logres. Near Exeter, in this land, dwelt an aged king who\nhad for his heir a daughter called Guillardun. This damsel had been\nasked in marriage by a neighbouring prince, and as her father had\nrefused to listen to his proposals the disappointed suitor made war\nupon him, spoiling and wasting his land. The old King, fearful for his\nchild's safety, had shut her up in a strong castle for her better\nsecurity and his own peace of mind.\n\nNow Eliduc, coming to that land, heard the tale of the quarrel between\nthe King and his neighbour, and considered as to which side he should\ntake. After due deliberation he arranged to fight on the side of the\nKing, with whom he offered to take service. His offer was gratefully\naccepted, and he had not been long in the royal host when he had an\nopportunity of distinguishing himself. The town wherein he was lodged\nwith his knights was attacked by the enemy. He set his men in ambush\nin a forest track by which it was known the enemy would approach the\ntown, and succeeded in routing them and in taking large numbers of\nprisoners and much booty. This feat of arms raised him high in the\nestimation of the King, who showed him much favour, and the Princess,\nhearing of his fame, became very desirous of beholding him. She sent\nher chamberlain to Eliduc saying that she wished to hear the story of\nhis deeds, and he, quite as anxious to see the imprisoned Princess of\nwhom he had heard so much, set out at once. On beholding each other\nthey experienced deep agitation. Eliduc thought that never had he seen\nso beautiful and graceful a maiden, and Guillardun that this was the\nmost handsome and comely knight she had ever met.\n\nFor a long time they spoke together, and then Eliduc took his leave\nand departed. He counted all the time lost that he had remained in the\nkingdom without knowing this lady, but he promised himself that now he\nwould frequently seek her society. Then, with a pang of remorse, he\nthought of his good and faithful wife and the sacred promise he had\nmade her.\n\nGuillardun, on her part, was none the less ill at ease. She passed a\nrestless night, and in the morning confided her case to her aged\nchamberlain, who was almost a second father to her, and he, all\nunwitting that Eliduc was already bound in wedlock to another,\nsuggested that the Princess should send the knight a love-token to\ndiscover by the manner in which he received it whether or not her love\nwas returned. Guillardun took this advice, and sent her lover a girdle\nand a ring by the hands of the chamberlain. On receiving the token\nEliduc showed the greatest joy, girded the belt about his middle, and\nplaced the ring on his finger. The chamberlain returned to the\nPrincess and told her with what evident satisfaction Eliduc had\nreceived the gifts. But the Princess in her eagerness showered\nquestions upon him, until at last the old man grew impatient.\n\n\"Lady,\" he said, somewhat testily, \"I have told you the knight's\nwords; I cannot tell you his thoughts, for he is a prudent gentleman\nwho knows well what to hide in his heart.\"\n\nAlthough he rejoiced at the gifts Eliduc had but little peace of mind.\nHe could think of nothing save the vow he had made to his wife before\nhe left her. But thoughts of the Princess would intrude themselves\nupon him. Often he saw Guillardun, and although he saluted her with a\nkiss, as was the custom of the time, he never spoke a single word of\nlove to her, being fearful on the one hand of breaking his conjugal\nvow and on the other of offending the King.\n\nOne evening when Eliduc was announced the King was in his daughter's\nchamber, playing at chess with a stranger lord. He welcomed the knight\nheartily, and much to the embarrassment of the lovers begged his\ndaughter to cherish a closer friendship for Eliduc, whom he brought to\nher notice as a right worthy knight. The pair withdrew somewhat from\nthe others, as if for the purpose of furthering the friendship which\nthe old King so ardently seemed to desire, and Eliduc thanked the\nPrincess for the gifts she had sent him by the chamberlain. Then the\nPrincess, taking advantage of her rank, told Eliduc that she desired\nhim for her husband, and that, did he refuse her, she would die\nunwed.\n\n\"Lady,\" replied the knight, \"I have great joy in your love, but have\nyou thought that I may not always tarry in this land? I am your\nfather's man until this war hath an end. Then shall I return unto mine\nown country.\" But Guillardun, in a transport of love, told him she\nwould trust him entirely with her heart, and passing great was the\naffection that grew between them.\n\nEliduc, in spite of his love for the Princess, had by no means\npermitted his conduct of the war to flag. Indeed, if anything, he\nredoubled his efforts, and pressed the foe so fiercely that at length\nhe was forced to submit. And now news came to him that his old master,\nthe King who had banished him from Brittany, was sore bestead by an\nenemy and was searching for his former vice-regent on every hand, who\nwas so mighty a knight in the field and so sage at the council-board.\nTurning upon the false lords who had spoken evil of his favourite, he\noutlawed them from the land for ever. He sent messengers east and\nwest and across the seas in search of Eliduc, who when he heard the\nnews was much dismayed, so greatly did he love Guillardun. These twain\nhad loved with a pure and tender passion, and never by word or deed\nhad they sullied the affection they bore one another. Dearly did the\nPrincess hope that Eliduc might remain in her land and become her\nlord, and little did she dream that he was wedded to a wife across the\nseas. For his part Eliduc took close counsel with himself. He knew by\nreason of the fealty he owed to his King that he must return to\nBrittany, but he was equally aware that if he parted from Guillardun\none or other of them must die.\n\nDeep was the chagrin of the King of Logres when he learned that Eliduc\nmust depart from his realm, but deeper far was his daughter's grief\nwhen the knight came to bid her farewell. In moving words she urged\nhim to remain, and when she found that his loyalty was proof even\nagainst his love, she begged of him to take her with him to Brittany.\nBut this request he turned aside, on the plea that as he had served\nher father he could not so offend him as by the theft of his daughter.\nHe promised, however, by all he held most dear that he would return\none day, and with much sorrow the two parted, exchanging rings for\nremembrance.\n\nEliduc took ship and swiftly crossed the sea. He met with a joyous\nreception from his King, and none was so glad at his return as his\nwife. But gradually his lady began to see that he had turned cold to\nher. She charged him with it, and he replied that he had pledged his\nfaith to the foreign lord whom he had served abroad.\n\nVery soon through his conduct the war was brought to a victorious\nclose, and almost immediately thereafter Eliduc repaired across the\nsea to Logres, taking with him two of his nephews as his squires. On\nreaching Logres he at once went to visit Guillardun, who received him\nwith great gladness. She returned with him to his ship, which\ncommenced the return voyage at once, but when they neared the\ndangerous coast of Brittany a sudden tempest arose, and waxed so\nfierce that the mariners lost all hope of safety. One of them cried\nout that the presence of Guillardun on board the ship endangered all\ntheir lives and that the conduct of Eliduc, who had already a faithful\nwife, in seeking to wed this foreign woman had brought about their\npresent dangerous position. Eliduc grew very wroth, and when\nGuillardun heard that her knight was already wedded she swooned and\nall regarded her as dead. In despair Eliduc fell upon his betrayer,\nslew him, and cast his body into the sea. Then, guiding the ship with\na seaman's skill, he brought her into harbour.\n\nWhen they were safely anchored, Eliduc conceived the idea of taking\nGuillardun, whom he regarded as dead, to a certain chapel in a great\nforest quite near his own home. Setting her body before him on his\npalfrey, he soon came to the little shrine, and making a bier of the\naltar laid Guillardun upon it. He then betook him to his own house,\nbut the next morning returned to the chapel in the forest. Mourning\nover the body of his lady-love, he was surprised to observe that the\ncolour still remained in her cheeks and lips. Again and again he\nvisited the chapel, and his wife, marvelling whither he went, bribed a\nvarlet to discover the object of his repeated absences. The man\nwatched Eliduc and saw him enter the chapel and mourn over the body\nof Guillardun, and, returning, acquainted his lady with what he had\nseen.\n\nGuildeluec--for such, we will remember, was the name of Eliduc's\nwife--set out for the shrine, and with astonishment beheld the\nlifelike form of Guillardun laid on the altar. So pitiful was the\nsight that she herself could not refrain from the deepest sorrow. As\nshe sat weeping a weasel came from under the altar and ran across\nGuillardun's body, and the varlet who attended Guildeluec struck at it\nwith his staff and killed it. Another weasel issued, and, beholding\nits dead comrade, went forth from the chapel and hastened to the wood,\nwhence it returned, bearing in its mouth a red flower, which it placed\non the mouth of its dead companion. The weasel which Guildeluec had\nbelieved to be dead at once stood up. Beholding this, the varlet cast\nhis staff at the animals and they sped away, leaving the red flower\nbehind them.\n\n[Illustration: ELIDUC CARRIES GUILLARDUN TO THE FOREST CHAPEL]\n\nGuildeluec immediately picked the flower up, and returning with it to\nthe altar where Guillardun lay, placed it on the maiden's mouth. In a\nfew moments she heard a sigh, and Guillardun sat up, and inquired if\nshe had slept long. Guildeluec asked her name and degree, and\nGuillardun in reply acquainted her with her history and lineage,\nspeaking very bitterly of Eliduc, who, she said, had betrayed her in a\nstrange land. Guildeluec declared herself the wife of Eliduc, told\nGuillardun how deeply the knight had grieved for her, and declared her\nintention of taking the veil and releasing Eliduc from his marriage\nvow. She conducted Guillardun to her home, where they met Eliduc, who\nrejoiced greatly at the restoration of his lady-love. His wife\nfounded a convent with the rich portion he bestowed upon her, and\nEliduc, in thankfulness for Guillardun's recovery, built a fair church\nclose by his castle and endowed it bountifully, and close beside it\nerected a great monastery. Later Guillardun entered the convent of\nwhich Guildeluec was the abbess, and Eliduc, himself feeling the call\nof the holy life, devoted himself to the service of God in the\nmonastery. Messages passed between convent and monastery in which\nEliduc and the holy women encouraged each other in the pious life\nwhich they had chosen, and by degrees the three who had suffered so\ngreatly came to regard their seclusion as far preferable to the world\nand all its vanities.\n\n\n_The Lay of Equitan_\n\nThe Lay of Equitan is one of Marie's most famous tales. Equitan was\nKing of Nantes, in Brittany, and led the life of a pleasure-seeker. To\nwin approval from the eyes of fair ladies was more to him than\nknightly fame or honour.\n\nEquitan had as seneschal a trusty and faithful knight, who was to the\npleasure-loving seigneur as his right hand. This faithful servant was\nalso captain of Equitan's army, and sat as a judge in his courts. To\nhis undoing he had a wife, as fair a dame as any in the duchy of\nBrittany. \"Her eyes,\" says the old lay, \"were blue, her face was warm\nin colour, her mouth fragrant and her nose dainty.\" She was ever\ntastefully dressed and courtly in demeanour, and soon attracted the\nattention of such an admirer of the fair sex as Equitan, who desired\nto speak with her more intimately. He therefore, as a subterfuge,\nannounced that a great hunt would take place in that part of his\ndomains in which his seneschal's castle was situated, and this gave\nhim the opportunity of sojourning at the castle and holding converse\nwith the lady, with whom he became so charmed that in a few days he\nfell deeply in love with her. On the night of the day when he first\nbecame aware that he loved her Equitan lay tossing on his bed, in a\ntorment of fiery emotion. He debated with himself in what manner he\nshould convey to his seneschal's wife the fact that he loved her, and\nat length prepared a plot which he thought would be likely to\nsucceed.\n\nNext day he rose as usual and made all arrangements to proceed with\nthe chase. But shortly after setting out he returned, pleading that he\nhad fallen sick, and took to his bed. The faithful seneschal could not\ndivine what had occurred to render his lord so seriously indisposed as\nhe appeared to be, and requested his wife to go to him to see if she\ncould minister to him and cheer his drooping spirits.\n\nThe lady went to Equitan, who received her dolefully enough. He told\nher without reserve that the malady from which he suffered was none\nother than love for herself, and that did she not consent to love him\nin return he would surely die. The dame at first dissented, but,\ncarried away by the fiery eloquence of his words, she at last assured\nhim of her love, and they exchanged rings as a token of troth and\ntrust.\n\nThe love of Equitan and the seneschal's wife was discovered by none,\nand when they desired to meet he arranged to go hunting in the\nneighbourhood of the seneschal's castle. Shortly after they had\nplighted their troth the great barons of the realm approached the\nKing with a proposal that he should marry, but Equitan would have none\nof this, nor would he listen to even his most trusted advisers with\nregard to such a subject. The nobles were angered at his curt and even\nsavage refusal to hearken to them, and the commons were also greatly\ndisturbed because of the lack of a successor. The echoes of the\ndisagreement reached the ears of the seneschal's wife, who was much\nperturbed thereby, being aware that the King had come to this decision\nfor love of her.\n\nAt their next meeting she broached the subject to her royal lover,\nlamenting that they had ever met.\n\n\"Now are my good days gone,\" she said, weeping, \"for you will wed some\nking's daughter as all men say, and I shall certainly die if I lose\nyou thus.\"\n\n\"Nay, that will not be,\" replied Equitan. \"Never shall I wed except\nyour husband die.\"\n\nThe lady felt that he spoke truly, but in an evil moment she came to\nattach a sinister meaning to the words Equitan had employed regarding\nher husband. Day and night she brooded on them, for well she knew that\ndid her husband die Equitan would surely wed her. By insensible\ndegrees she came to regard her husband's death as a good rather than\nan evil thing, and little by little Equitan, who at first looked upon\nthe idea with horror, became converted to her opinion. Between them\nthey hatched a plot for the undoing of the seneschal. It was arranged\nthat the King should go hunting as usual in the neighbourhood of his\nfaithful servant's castle. While lodging in the castle, the King and\nthe seneschal would be bled in the old surgical manner for their\nhealth's sake, and three days after would bathe before leaving the\nchamber they occupied, and the heartless wife suggested that she\nshould make her husband's bath so fiercely hot that he would not\nsurvive after entering it. One would think that the seneschal would\neasily have been able to escape such a simple trap, but we must\nremember that the baths of Norman times were not shaped like our own,\nbut were exceedingly deep, and indeed some of them were in form almost\nlike those immense upright jars such as the forty thieves were\nconcealed in in the story of Ali Baba, so that in many cases it was\nnot easy for the bather to tell whether the water into which he was\nstepping was hot or otherwise.\n\nThe plot was carried out as the lady had directed, but not without\nmuch misgiving on the part of Equitan. The King duly arrived at the\ncastle, and announced his intention to be bled, requesting that the\nseneschal should undergo the same operation at the same time, and\noccupy the same chamber by way of companionship. Then after the leech\nhad bled them the King asked that he might have a bath before leaving\nhis apartment, and the seneschal requested that his too should be made\nready. Accordingly on the third day the baths were brought to the\nchamber, and the lady occupied herself with filling them. While she\nwas doing so her lord left the chamber for a space, and during his\nabsence the King and the lady were clasped in each other's arms. So\nrapt were the pair in their amorous dalliance that they failed to\nnotice the return of the seneschal, who, when he saw them thus\nengaged, uttered an exclamation of surprise and wrath. Equitan,\nturning quickly, saw him, and with a cry of despair leapt into the\nbath that the lady had prepared for the seneschal, and there perished\nmiserably, while the enraged husband, seizing his faithless wife,\nthrust her headlong into the boiling water beside her lover, where she\ntoo was scalded to death.\n\n\n_The Lay of the Ash-Tree_\n\nIn olden times there dwelt in Brittany two knights who were neighbours\nand close friends. Both were married, and one was the father of twin\nsons, one of whom he christened by the name of his friend. Now this\nfriend had a wife who was envious of heart and rancorous of tongue,\nand on hearing that two sons had been born to her neighbour she spoke\nslightingly and cruelly about her, saying that to bear twins was ever\na disgrace. Her evil words were spread abroad, and at last as a result\nof her malicious speech the good lady's husband himself began to doubt\nand suspect the wife who had never for a moment given him the least\noccasion to do so.\n\nStrangely enough, within the year two daughters were born to the lady\nof the slanderous tongue, who now deeply lamented the wrong she had\ndone, but all to no purpose. Fearful of the gossip which she thought\nthe event would occasion, she gave one of the children to a faithful\nhandmaiden, with directions that it should be laid on the steps of a\nchurch, where it might be picked up as a foundling and nourished by\nsome stranger. The babe was wrapped in a linen cloth, which again was\ncovered with a beautiful piece of red silk that the lady's husband had\npurchased in the East, and a handsome ring engraved with the family\ninsignia and set with garnets was bound to the infant's arm with\nsilken lace. When the child had thus been attired the damsel took it\nand carried it for many miles into the country, until at last she came\nto a city where there was a large and fair abbey. Breathing a prayer\nthat the child might have proper guardianship, the girl placed it on\nthe abbey steps as her mistress had ordered her to do, but, afraid\nthat it might catch cold on such a chilly bed, she looked around and\nsaw an ash-tree, thick and leafy, with four strong branches, among the\nfoliage of which she deposited the little one, commending it to the\ncare of God, after which she returned to her mistress and acquainted\nher with what had passed.\n\nIn the morning the abbey porter opened the great doors of the house of\nGod so that the people might enter for early Mass. As he was thus\nengaged his eye caught the gleam of red silk among the leaves of the\nash-tree, and going to it he discovered the deserted infant. Taking\nthe babe from its resting-place, he returned with it to his house,\nand, awaking his daughter, who was a widow with a baby yet in the\ncradle, he asked her to cherish it and care for it. Both father and\ndaughter could see from the crimson silk and the great signet ring\nthat the child was of noble birth. The porter told the abbess of his\ndiscovery, and she requested him to bring the child to her, dressed\nprecisely as it had been found. On beholding the infant a great\ncompassion was aroused in the breast of the holy woman, who resolved\nto bring up the child herself, calling her her niece, and since she\nwas taken from the ash giving her the name of Fr\u00eane.\n\nFr\u00eane grew up one of the fairest damsels in Brittany. She was frank in\nmanner, yet modest and discreet in bearing and speech. At Dol,\nwhere, as we have read, there is a great menhir and other prehistoric\nmonuments, there lived a lord called Buron, who, hearing reports of\nFr\u00eane's beauty and sweetness, greatly desired to behold her.\nRiding home from a tournament, he passed near the convent, and,\nalighting there, paid his respects to the abbess, and begged that he\nmight see her niece. Buron at once fell in love with the maiden, and\nin order to gain favour with the abbess bestowed great riches upon the\nestablishment over which she presided, requesting in return that he\nmight be permitted to occupy a small apartment in the abbey should he\nchance to be in the neighbourhood.\n\nIn this way he frequently saw and spoke with Fr\u00eane, who in turn fell\nin love with him. He persuaded her to fly with him to his castle,\ntaking with her the silken cloth and ring with which she had been\nfound.\n\nBut the lord's tenants were desirous that he should marry, and had set\ntheir hearts upon his union with a rich lady named Coudre, daughter of\na neighbouring baron. The marriage was arranged, greatly to the grief\nof Fr\u00eane, and duly took place. Going to Buron's bridal chamber, she\nconsidered it too mean, blinded with love as she was, for such as he,\nand placed the wondrous piece of crimson silk in which she had been\nwrapped as an infant over the coverlet. Presently the bride's mother\nentered the bridal chamber in order to see that all was fitting for\nher daughter's reception there. Gazing at the crimson coverlet, she\nrecognized it as that in which she had wrapped her infant daughter.\nShe anxiously inquired to whom it belonged, and was told that it was\nFr\u00eane's. Going to the damsel, she questioned her as to where she had\nobtained the silk, and was told by Fr\u00eane that the abbess had given it\nto her along with a ring which had been found upon her when, as an\ninfant, she had been discovered within the branches of the ash-tree.\n\nThe mother asked anxiously to see the ring, and on beholding it told\nFr\u00eane of their relationship, which at the same time she confessed to\nher husband, the baron. The father was overjoyed to meet with a\ndaughter he had never known, and hastened to the bridegroom to\nacquaint him with Fr\u00eane's story. Great joy had Buron, and the\narchbishop who had joined him to Coudre gave counsel that they should\nbe parted according to the rites of the Church and that Buron should\nmarry Fr\u00eane. This was accordingly done, and when Fr\u00eane's parents\nreturned to their own domain they found another husband for Coudre.\n\n\n_The Lay of Graelent_\n\nGraelent was a Breton knight dwelling at the Court of the King of\nBrittany, a very pillar to him in war, bearing himself valiantly in\ntourney and joust. So handsome and brave was he that the Queen fell\nmadly in love with him, and asked her chamberlain to bring the knight\ninto her presence. When he came she praised him greatly to his face,\nnot only for his gallantry in battle, but also for his comeliness; but\nat her honeyed words the youth, quite abashed, sat silent, saying\nnothing. The Queen at last questioned him if his heart was set on any\nmaid or dame, to which he replied that it was not, that love was a\nserious business and not to be taken in jest.\n\n\"Many speak glibly of love,\" he said, \"of whom not one can spell the\nfirst letter of its name. Love should be quiet and discreet or it is\nnothing worth, and without accord between the lovers love is but a\nbond and a constraint. Love is too high a matter for me to meddle\nwith.\"\n\nThe Queen listened greedily to Graelent's words, and when he had\nfinished speaking she discovered her love for him; but he turned from\nher courteously but firmly.\n\n\"Lady,\" he said, \"I beg your forgiveness, but this may not be. I am\nthe King's man, and to him I have pledged my faith and loyalty. Never\nshall he know shame through any conduct of mine.\"\n\nWith these words he took his leave of the Queen. But his protestations\nhad altered her mind not at all. She sent him messages daily, and\ncostly gifts, but these he refused and returned, till at last the\nroyal dame, stung to anger by his repulses, conceived a violent hatred\nfor him, and resolved to be revenged upon him for the manner in which\nhe had scorned her love.\n\nThe King of Brittany went to war with a neighbouring monarch, and\nGraelent bore himself manfully in the conflict, leading his troops\nagain and again to victory. Hearing of his repeated successes, the\nQueen was exceedingly mortified, and made up her mind to destroy his\npopularity with the troops. With this end in view she prevailed upon\nthe King to withhold the soldiers' pay, which Graelent had to advance\nthem out of his own means. In the end the unfortunate knight was\nreduced almost to beggary by this mean stratagem.\n\nOne morning he was riding through the town where he was lodged, clad\nin garments so shabby that the wealthy burgesses in their fur-lined\ncloaks and rich apparel gibed and jeered at him, but Graelent, sure of\nhis own worth, deigned not to take notice of such ill-breeding, and\nfor his solace quitted the crowded streets of the place and took his\nway toward the great forest which skirted it. He rode into its gloom\ndeep in thought, listening to the murmur of the river which flowed\nthrough the leafy ways.\n\nHe had not gone far when he espied a white hart within a thicket. She\nfled before him into the thickest part of the forest, but the silvern\nglimmer of her body showed the track she had taken. On a sudden deer\nand horseman dashed into a clearing among the trees where there was a\ngrassy lawn, in the midst of which sprang a fountain of clear water.\nIn this fountain a lady was bathing, and two attendant maidens stood\nnear. Now Graelent believed that the lady must be a fairy, and knowing\nwell that the only way to capture such a being was to seize her\ngarments, he looked around for these, and seeing them lying upon a\nbush he laid hands upon them.\n\nThe attendant women at this set up a loud outcry, and the lady herself\nturned to where he sat his horse and called him by name.\n\n\"Graelent, what do you hope to gain by the theft of my raiment?\" she\nasked. \"Have you, a knight, sunk so low as to behave like a common\npilferer? Take my mantle if you must, but pray spare me my gown.\"\n\nGraelent laughed at the lady's angry words, and told her that he was\nno huckster. He then begged her to don her garments, as he desired to\nhave speech with her. After her women had attired her, Graelent took\nher by the hand and, leading her a little space away from her\nattendants, told her that he had fallen deeply in love with her. But\nthe lady frowned and seemed at first offended.\n\n\"You do not know to whom you proffer your love,\" she said. \"Are you\naware that my birth and lineage render it an impertinence for a mere\nknight to seek to ally himself with me?\"\n\nBut Graelent had a most persuasive tongue, and the deep love he had\nconceived for the lady rendered him doubly eloquent on this occasion.\nAt last the fairy-woman, for such she was, was quite carried away by\nhis words, and granted him the boon he craved.\n\n\"There is, however, one promise I must exact from you,\" she said, \"and\nthat is that never shall you mention me to mortal man. I on my part\nshall assist you in every possible manner. You shall never be without\ngold in your purse nor costly apparel to wear. Day and night shall I\nremain with you, and in war and in the chase will ride by your side,\nvisible to you alone, unseen by your companions. For a year must you\nremain in this country. Now noon has passed and you must go. A\nmessenger shall shortly come to you to tell you of my wishes.\"\n\nGraelent took leave of the lady and kissed her farewell. Returning to\nhis lodgings in the town, he was leaning from the casement considering\nhis strange adventure when he saw a varlet issuing from the forest\nriding upon a palfrey. The man rode up the cobbled street straight to\nGraelent's lodgings, where he dismounted and, entering, told the\nknight that his lady had sent him with the palfrey as a present, and\nbegged that he would accept the services of her messenger to take\ncharge of his lodgings and manage his affairs.\n\nThe serving-man quickly altered the rather poor appearance of\nGraelent's apartment. He spread a rich coverlet upon his couch and\nproduced a well-filled purse and rich apparel. Graelent at once sought\nout all the poor knights of the town and feasted them to their hearts'\ncontent. From this moment he fared sumptuously every day. His lady\nappeared whenever he desired her to, and great was the love between\nthem. Nothing more had he to wish for in this life.\n\nA year passed in perfect happiness for the knight, and at its\ntermination the King held a great feast on the occasion of Pentecost.\nTo this feast Sir Graelent was bidden. All day the knights and barons\nand their ladies feasted, and the King, having drunk much wine, grew\nboastful. Requesting the Queen to stand forth on the da\u00efs, he asked\nthe assembled nobles if they had ever beheld so fair a dame as she.\nThe lords were loud in their praise of the Queen, save Graelent only.\nHe sat with bent head, smiling strangely, for he knew of a lady fairer\nby far than any lady in that Court. The Queen was quick to notice this\nseeming discourtesy, and pointed it out to the King, who summoned\nGraelent to the steps of the throne.\n\n\"How now, Sir Knight,\" said the King; \"wherefore did you sneer when\nall other men praised the Queen's beauty?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" replied Graelent, \"you do yourself much dishonour by such a\ndeed. You make your wife a show upon a stage and force your nobles to\npraise her with lies when in truth a fairer dame than she could very\neasily be found.\"\n\nNow when she heard this the Queen was greatly angered and prayed her\nhusband to compel Graelent to bring to the Court her of whom he\nboasted so proudly.\n\n\"Set us side by side,\" cried the infuriated Queen, \"and if she be\nfairer than I before men's eyes, Graelent may go in peace, but if not\nlet justice be done upon him.\"\n\nThe King, stirred to anger at these words, ordered his guards to seize\nGraelent, swearing that he should never issue from prison till the\nlady of whom he had boasted should come to Court and pit herself\nagainst the Queen. Graelent was then cast into a dungeon, but he\nthought little of this indignity, fearing much more that his rashness\nhad broken the bond betwixt him and his fairy bride. After a while he\nwas set at liberty, on pledging his word that he would return bringing\nwith him the lady whom he claimed as fairer than the Queen.\n\nLeaving the Court, he betook himself to his lodging, and called upon\nhis lady, but received no answer. Again he called, but without result,\nand believing that his fairy bride had utterly abandoned him he gave\nway to despair. In a year's time Graelent returned to the Court and\nadmitted his failure.\n\n\"Sir Graelent,\" said the King, \"wherefore should you not be punished?\nYou have slandered the Queen in the most unknightly manner, and given\nthe lie to those nobles who must now give judgment against you.\"\n\nThe nobles retired to consider their judgment upon Graelent. For a\nlong time they debated, for most of them were friendly to him and\nhe had been extremely popular at Court. In the midst of their\ndeliberations a page entered and prayed them to postpone judgment,\nas two damsels had arrived at the palace and were having speech with\nthe King concerning Graelent. The damsels told the King that their\nmistress was at hand, and begged him to wait for her arrival, as she\nhad come to uphold Graelent's challenge. Hearing this, the Queen\nquitted the hall, and shortly after she had gone a second pair of\ndamsels appeared bearing a similar message for the King. Lastly\nGraelent's young bride herself entered the hall.\n\nAt sight of her a cry of admiration arose from the assembled nobles,\nand all admitted that their eyes had never beheld a fairer lady. When\nshe reached the King's side she dismounted from her palfrey.\n\n\"Sire,\" she said, addressing the King, \"hasty and foolish was\nGraelent's tongue when he spoke as he did, but at least he told the\ntruth when he said that there is no lady so fair but a fairer may be\nfound. Look upon me and judge in this quarrel between the Queen and\nme.\"\n\nWhen she had spoken every lord and noble with one voice agreed that\nshe was fairer than her royal rival. Even the King himself admitted\nthat it was so, and Sir Graelent was declared a free man.\n\nTurning round to seek his lady, the knight observed that she was\nalready some distance away, so, mounting upon his white steed, he\nfollowed hotly after her. All day he followed, and all night, calling\nafter her and pleading for pity and pardon, but neither she nor her\nattendant damsels paid the slightest attention to his cries. Day after\nday he followed her, but to no purpose.\n\nAt last the lady and her maidens entered the forest and rode to the\nbank of a broad stream. They set their horses to the river, but when\nthe lady saw that Graelent was about to follow them she turned and\nbegged him to desist, telling him that it was death for him to cross\nthat stream. Graelent did not heed her, but plunged into the torrent.\nThe stream was deep and rapid, and presently he was torn from his\nsaddle. Seeing this, the lady's attendants begged her to save him.\nTurning back, the lady clutched her lover by the belt and dragged him\nto the shore. He was well-nigh drowned, but under her care he speedily\nrecovered, and, say the Breton folk, entered with her that realm of\nFairyland into which penetrated Thomas the Rhymer, Ogier the Dane, and\nother heroes. His white steed when it escaped from the river grieved\ngreatly for its master, rushing up and down the bank, neighing loudly,\nand pawing with its hoofs upon the ground. Many men coveted so noble\na charger, and tried to capture him, but all in vain, so each year,\n\"in its season,\" as the old romance says, the forest is filled with\nthe sorrowful neighing of the good steed which may not find its\nmaster.\n\nThe story of Graelent is one of those which deal with what is known to\nfolk-lorists as the 'fairy-wife' subject. A taboo is always placed\nupon the mortal bridegroom. Sometimes he must not utter the name of\nhis wife; in other tales, as in that of Melusine, he must not seek her\non a certain day of the week. The essence of the story is, of course,\nthat the taboo is broken, and in most cases the mortal husband loses\nhis supernatural mate.\n\nAnother incident in the general _motif_ is the stealing of the\nfairy-woman's clothes. The idea is the same as that found in stories\nwhere the fisherman steals the sea-woman's skin canoe as a prelude to\nmaking her his wife, or the feather cloak of the swan-maiden is seized\nby the hunter when he finds her asleep, thus placing the supernatural\nmaiden in his power. Among savages it is quite a common and usual\ncircumstance for the spouses not to mention each other's names for\nmonths after marriage, nor even to see one another's faces. In the\nstory under consideration the taboo consists in the mortal bridegroom\nbeing forbidden to allude in any circumstances to his supernatural\nwife, who is undoubtedly the same type of being encountered by Thomas\nthe Rhymer and Bonny Kilmeny in the ballads related of them. They are\ndenizens of a country, a fairy realm, which figures partly as an abode\nof the dead, and which we are certainly justified in identifying with\nthe Celtic Otherworld. The river which the fairy-woman crosses bears a\ncertain resemblance to the Styx, or she tells Graelent plainly that\nshould he reach its opposite bank he is as good as dead. Fairyland in\nearly Celtic lore may be a place of delight, but it is none the less\none of death and remoteness.\n\n\n_The Lay of the Dolorous Knight_\n\nOnce more the scene is laid in Nantes, and \"some harpers,\" says Marie,\n\"call it the Lay of the Four Sorrows.\" In this city of Brittany dwelt\na lady on whom four barons of great worship had set their love. They\nwere not singular in this respect, as the damsel's bright eyes had set\nfire to the hearts of all the youths of the ancient town. She smiled\nupon them all, but favoured no one more than another. Out of this\ngreat company, however, the four noblemen in question had constituted\nthemselves her particular squires. They vied with one another in the\nmost earnest manner to gain her esteem; but she was equally gracious\nto all and it was impossible to say that she favoured any.\n\nIt was not surprising, then, that each one of the four nobles believed\nthat the lady preferred him to the others. Each of them had received\ngifts from her, and each cried her name at tournaments. On the\noccasion of a great jousting, held without the walls of Nantes, the\nfour lovers held the lists, and from all the surrounding realms and\nduchies came hardy knights to break a spear for the sake of chivalry.\n\nFrom matins to vespers the friendly strife raged fiercely, and against\nthe four champions of Nantes four foreign knights especially pitted\nthemselves. Two of these were of Hainault, and the other two were\nFlemings. The two companies charged each other so desperately that the\nhorses of all eight men were overthrown. The four knights of Nantes\nrose lightly from the ground, but the four stranger knights lay still.\nTheir friends, however, rushed to their rescue, and soon the\nchallengers were lost in a sea of steel.\n\nNow the lady in whose honour the lists were defended by these four\nbrave brethren in arms sat beholding their prowess in the keenest\nanxiety. Soon the knights of Nantes were reinforced by their friends,\nand the strife waxed furiously, sword to sword and lance to lance.\nFirst one company and then the other gained the advantage, but, urged\non by rashness, the four challenging champions charged boldly in front\nof their comrades and became separated from them, with the dire result\nthat three of them were killed and the fourth was so grievously\nwounded that he was borne from the press in a condition hovering\nbetween life and death. So furious were the stranger knights because\nof the resistance that had been made by the four champions that they\ncast their opponents' shields outside the lists. But the knights of\nNantes won the day, and, raising their three slain comrades and him\nwho was wounded, carried all four to the house of their lady-love.\n\nWhen the sad procession reached her doors the lady was greatly grieved\nand cast down. To her three dead lovers she gave sumptuous burial in a\nfair abbey. As for the fourth, she tended him with such skill that ere\nlong his wounds were healed and he was quite recovered. One summer day\nthe knight and the lady sat together after meat, and a great sadness\nfell upon her because of the knights who had been slain in her cause.\nHer head sank upon her breast and she seemed lost in a reverie of\nsorrow. The knight, perceiving her distress, could not well understand\nwhat had wounded her so deeply.\n\n\"Lady,\" said he, \"a great sorrow seems to be yours. Reveal your grief\nto me, and perchance I can find you comfort.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" replied the lady, \"I grieve for your companions who are\ngone. Never was lady or damsel served by four such valiant knights,\nthree of whom were slain in one single day. Pardon me if I call them\nto mind at this time, but it is my intention to make a lay in order\nthat these champions and yourself may not be forgotten, and I will\ncall it 'The Lay of the Four Sorrows.'\"\n\n\"Nay, lady,\" said the knight, \"call it not 'The Lay of the Four\nSorrows,' but rather 'The Lay of the Dolorous Knight.' My three\ncomrades are dead. They have gone to their place; no more hope have\nthey of life; all their sorrows are ended and their love for you is as\ndead as they. I alone am here in life, but what have I to hope for? I\nfind my life more bitter than they could find the grave. I see you in\nyour comings and goings, I may speak with you, but I may not have your\nlove. For this reason I am full of sorrow and cast down, and thus I\nbeg that you give your lay my name and call it 'The Lay of the\nDolorous Knight.'\"\n\nThe lady looked earnestly upon him. \"By my faith,\" she said, \"you\nspeak truly. The lay shall be known by the title you wish it to be.\"\n\nSo the lay was written and entitled as the knight desired it should\nbe. \"I heard no more,\" says Marie, \"and nothing more I know. Perforce\nI must bring my story to a close.\"\n\nThe end of this lay is quite in the medieval manner, and fitly\nconcludes this chapter. We are left absolutely in the dark as to\nwhether the knight and the lady came together at last. I for one do\nnot blame Marie for this, as with the subtle sense of the fitness of\nthings that belongs to all great artists she saw how much more\neffective it would be to leave matters as they were between the\nlovers. There are those who will blame her for her inconclusiveness;\nbut let them bear in mind that just because of what they consider her\nfailing in this respect they will not be likely to forget her tale,\nwhereas had it ended with wedding-bells they would probably have\nstored it away in some mental attic with a thousand other dusty\nmemories.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII: THE SAINTS OF BRITTANY\n\n\nAn important department in Breton folk-lore is the hagiology of the\nprovince--the legendary lore of its saints. This, indeed, holds almost\nas much of the marvellous as its folk-tales, ballads, and historical\nlegends, and in perusing the tales of Brittany's saintly heroes we\nhave an opportunity of observing how the _motifs_ of popular fiction\nand even of pagan belief reflect upon religious romance.\n\nJust as some mythology is not in itself religious, but very often mere\nfiction fortuitously connected with the names of the gods, so\nhagiology is not of sacerdotal but popular origin. For the most part\nit describes the origin of its heroes and accounts for their miracles\nand marvellous deeds by various means, just as mythology does. It must\nbe remembered that the primitive saint was in close touch with\npaganism, that, indeed, he had frequently to fight the Druid and the\nmagician with his own weapons, and therefore we must not be surprised\nif in some of these tales we find him somewhat of a magician himself.\nBut he is invariably on the side of light, and the things of darkness\nand evil shrink from contact with him.\n\n\n_St Barbe_\n\nOverlooking the valley of the Ell\u00e9, near the beautiful and historic\nvillage of Le Faouet, is a ledge of rock, approached by an almost\ninaccessible pathway. On this ledge stands the chapel of St Barbe,\none of the strangest and most 'pagan' of the Breton saints. She\nprotects those who seek her aid from sudden death, especially death\nby lightning. Of recent years popular belief has extended her sphere\nof influence to cover those who travel by automobile! She is also\nregarded as the patroness of firemen, at whose annual dinner her\nstatue, surrounded by flowers, presides. She is extremely popular in\nBrittany, and once a year, on the last Sunday of June, pilgrims arrive\nat Le Faouet to celebrate her festival. Each, as he passes the\nbelfry which stands beside the path, pulls the bell-rope, and the\nyoung men make the tour of a small neighbouring chapel, dedicated to\nSt Michel, Lord of Heights. Then they drink of a little fountain\nnear at hand and purchase amulets, which are supposed to be a\npreservative against sudden death and which are known as 'Couronnes\nde Ste Barbe.' St Barbe is said to have been the daughter of a pagan\nfather, and to have been so beautiful that he shut her up in a tower\nand permitted no one to go near her. She succeeded, however, in\ncommunicating with the outer world, and sent a letter to Origen of\nAlexandria, entreating him to instruct her in the Christian faith, as\nshe had ceased to believe in the gods of her fathers. Origen\ndispatched one of his monks to her, and under his guidance she\nbecame a Christian. She was called upon to suffer for her faith, for\nshe was brought before the Gallo-Roman proconsul, and, since she\nrefused to sacrifice to the pagan gods, was savagely maltreated, and\nsentenced to be beaten as she walked naked through the streets;\nbut she raised her eyes to heaven and a cloud descended and hid her\nfrom the gaze of the impious mortals who would otherwise have\nwitnessed her martyrdom. Subsequently she was spirited away to the\ntop of a mountain, where, however, her presence was betrayed by a\nshepherd. Her pagan father, learning of her hiding-place, quickly\nascended the height and beheaded her with his own hand. The legends\nof St Barbe abound in strange details, which are more intelligible\nif we regard the Saint as being the survival of some elemental\ngoddess connected with fire. The vengeance of heaven descended upon\nher enemies, for both her father and the shepherd who betrayed her\nwere destroyed, the former being struck by lightning on his\ndescent from the mountain, and the latter being turned into marble.\n\nThe legend of the foundation of the chapel at Le Faouet is illustrative\nof the strange powers of this saint. A Lord of Toulboudou, near\nGu\u00e9men\u00e9, was overtaken by a severe thunderstorm while hunting. No\nshelter was available, and as the storm increased in fury the huntsmen\ntrembled for their lives, and doubtless repeated with much fervour\nthe old Breton charm:\n\n Sainte Barbe et sainte Claire,\n Preservez-moi du tonnerre,\n Si le tonnerre tombe\n Qu'il ne tombe pas sur moi!\n\nwhich may be roughly translated:\n\n Saint Barbe the great and sainted Clair,\n Preserve me from the lightning's glare.\n When thunderbolts are flashing red\n Let them not burst upon my head.\n\nThe Lord of Toulboudou, however, was not content with praying to the\nSaint. He vowed that if by her intercession he was preserved from\ndeath he would raise a chapel to her honour on the narrow ledge of\nrock above. No sooner had he made this vow than the storm subsided,\nand safety was once more assured. In the ancient archives of Le\nFaouet we read that on the 6th of July, 1489, John of Toulboudou\nbought of John of Bouteville, Lord of Faouet, a piece of ground on the\nflank of the Roche-Marche-Bran, twenty-five feet by sixteen feet, on\nwhich to build a chapel to the honour of St Barbe, and there the\nchapel stands to this day.\n\n\n_How St Convoyon Stole the Relics_\n\nSt Convoyon, first Abbot of Redon (or Rodon) and Bishop of Quimper,\nwas of noble birth. He was born near Saint-Malo and educated at Vannes\nunder Bishop Reginald, who ordained him as deacon and afterward as\npriest. Five clerks attached themselves to him, and the company went\nto dwell together in a forest near the river Vilaine, finally\nestablishing themselves at Redon. The lord of that district was very\nfavourably inclined toward the monastery and sent his son to be\neducated there, and when he himself fell sick and believed his last\nhours to be nigh he caused himself to be carried to this religious\nhouse, where his hair was shaven to the monastic pattern. Contrary to\nexpectation, he recovered, and after settling his affairs at his\ncastle he returned to Redon, where he died at a later date. St\nConvoyon had some difficulty in obtaining confirmation of the grants\ngiven to him by this seigneur. He set out with a disciple named\nGwindeluc to seek the consent of Louis the Pious, taking with him a\nquantity of wax from his bees at Redon, intending to present it to the\nKing, but he was refused admission to the royal presence. But Nomeno\u00eb,\nGovernor of Brittany, visited Redon, and encouraged the Saint to\nendeavour once more to obtain the King's sanction, and this time Louis\nconfirmed the grants.\n\nSo the monastery of Redon was built and its church erected, but, as\nthe chroniclers tell us, \"there was no saintly corpse under its altar\nto act as palladium to the monastery and work miracles to attract\npilgrims.\" Convoyon therefore set out for Angers, accompanied by two\nof his monks, and found lodging there with a pious man named Hildwall.\nThe latter inquired as to the object of their visit to Angers, and\nwith considerable hesitation, and only after extracting a promise of\nsecrecy, Convoyon confessed that they had come on a body-snatching\nexpedition. He asked his friend's advice as to what relics they should\nendeavour to secure. Hildwall told him that interred in the cathedral\nwere the bones of St Apothemius, a bishop, of whom nothing was known\nsave that he was a saint. His bones lay in a stone coffin which had a\nheavy lid. Hildwall added that several monks had attempted to steal\nthe relics, but in vain. Convoyon and his monks bided their time for\nthree days, and then on a dark night, armed with crowbars, they set\nout on their gruesome mission.\n\nThey reached the cathedral, entered, and, after singing praises and\nhymns, raised the coffin lid. Securing the bones, they made off with\nthem as quickly as possible, and in due course reached Redon with them\nin safety. The reception of the relics was celebrated by the monks\nwith great pomp and ceremony. Miracles were at once performed, and the\npopularity of St Apothemius was firmly established.\n\n[Illustration: CONVOYON AND HIS MONKS CARRY OFF THE RELICS OF ST\nAPOTHEMIUS]\n\nWhen the Bishop of Vannes died, in 837, the see was filled by\nSusannus, who obtained it by bribery. Convoyon, grieved and indignant\nat the prevalence of corruption in the Church, urged Nomeno\u00eb to summon\na council of bishops and abbots and endeavour to put a stop to these\ndeplorable practices. At this council the canons against simony were\nread; but the bishops retorted that they did not sell Holy Orders, and\nexpected no fees--though they took presents! Susannus was, naturally\nenough, most emphatic about this. At length it was decided that a\ndeputation should be sent to Rome to obtain an authoritative statement\non the point, and that it should consist of Susannus of Vannes, F\u00e9lix\nof Quimper, and Convoyon, who was to carry \"gold crowns inlaid with\njewels\" as a gift from Nomeno\u00eb to the Pope. The decision given by Pope\nLeo on the matter is far from clear. The Nantes chronicle asserts that\nLeo made Convoyon a duke, and gave him permission to wear a gold\ncoronet. He also presented him with a valuable gift--the bones of St\nMarcellinus, Bishop of Rome and martyr, which Convoyon took back with\nhim to Redon and deposited in his church there.\n\nOn a later day Nomeno\u00eb raised the standard of revolt against Charles\nthe Bald of France--a circumstance alluded to in our historical\nsketch. He ravaged Poitou with sword and flame, but respected the\nabbey of Saint-Florent, though, to insult Charles, he forced the monks\nto place a statue of himself on their tower, with the face turned\ndefiantly toward France. During Nomeno\u00eb's absence the monks sent news\nof his action to the hairless monarch, who tore down the statue and\nerected a white stone figure \"of ludicrous appearance,\" its mocking\nface turned toward Brittany. In revenge Nomeno\u00eb burned Saint-Florent\nto the ground and carried off the spoils to enrich the abbey of Redon.\nThe success of the Breton chief forced Charles to come to terms.\nNomeno\u00eb and his son, it was agreed, should assume the insignia of\nroyalty and hold Rennes, Nantes, and all Brittany.\n\nConvoyon, as we have seen, benefited by the spoils won by the Breton\nchampion. Later, as his abbey at Redon was situated by a tidal river,\nand was thus exposed to the ravages of the Normans, he and his monks\nmoved farther inland to Pl\u00e9lan. There he died and was buried, about\nA.D. 868, but his body was afterward removed to Redon, where he had\nlived and laboured so long. His relics were dispersed during the\ntroublous times of the Revolution.\n\n\n_Tivisiau, the Shepherd Saint_\n\nSt Tivisiau, or, more correctly, Turiau, has a large parish, as,\nalthough he was Bishop of Dol, we find him venerated as patron saint\nas far west as Landivisiau. He belongs to the earlier half of the\nseventh century, and, unlike most other Armorican ascetics, was of\nBreton origin, his father, Lelian, and his mother, Mageen, being\ngraziers on the borders of the romantic and beautiful forest of\nBroceliande. The young Tivisiau was set to watch the sheep, and as he\ndid so he steeped his soul in the beauty of the wonderful forest land\nabout him, and his thoughts formed themselves into lays, which he sang\nas he tended his flock, for, like that other shepherd of old, King\nDavid, his exquisite voice could clothe his beautiful thoughts. The\nmonastery of Balon stood near the lad's home, and often he would leave\nhis sheep in the wilderness and steal away to listen to the monks\nchanting. Sometimes he joined in the service, and one day the Bishop\nof Dol, paying a visit to this outlying portion of his diocese, heard\nthe sweet, clear notes of the boy's voice soaring above the lower\ntones of the monks. Enthralled by its beauty, the Bishop made\ninquiries as to who the singer was, and Tivisiau being brought\nforward, the prelate asked him to sing to him.\n\n[Illustration: ST TIVISIAU, THE SHEPHERD SAINT]\n\nAgain and again did he sing, till at last the Bishop, who had lingered\nas long as he might in the little out-of-the-world monastery to listen\nto the young songster, was obliged to take his departure. The boy's\npersonality had, however, so won his affection that he arranged with\nthe monks of Balon that he should take him to Dol, and so it came\nabout that Tivisiau was educated at that ancient religious centre,\nwhere his voice was carefully trained. The Bishop made him his\nsuffragan, and, later Abbot of Dol, and when at length he came to\nrelinquish the burden of his office he named Tivisiau as his\nsuccessor.\n\nThe story provides a noteworthy example of the power exercised in\nearly times by a beautiful voice. But this love of music and the\nsusceptibility to the emotion it calls forth are not peculiar to any\ncentury of Celtdom. Love of music, and the temperament that can hear\nthe voice of the world's beauty, in music, in poetry, in the wild sea\nthat breaks on desolate shores, or in the hushed wonder of hills and\nvalleys, is as much a part of the Celt as are the thews and the sinews\nthat have helped to carry him through the hard days of toil and\npoverty that have been the lot of so many of his race in their\nstruggle for existence--whether in the far-off Outer Isles of the\nmist-wreathed and mystic west coast of Scotland, or among the Welsh\nmountains, or in picturesque Brittany, or in the distressful,\nbeautiful, sorrow-haunted Green Isle.\n\nAt Landivisiau one finds much exquisite carving in the south porch,\nwhich is all that remains of the early building to show how beautiful\nmust have been the church to which it belonged. There is also a very\nancient and picturesque fountain, known to tradition as that of St\nTivisiau.\n\n\n_St Nennocha_\n\nThe legend of Nennocha is held to be pure fable, but is interesting\nnevertheless. It tells how a king in Wales, called Breochan, had\nfourteen sons, who all deserted him to preach the Gospel. Breochan\nthen made a vow that if God would grant him another child he would\ngive to the Church a tithe of all his gold and his lands, and later on\nhis wife, Moneduc, bore him a daughter, whom they baptized Nennocha.\nNennocha was sent away to a foster father and mother, returning home\nat the age of fourteen. A prince of Ireland sought her hand in\nmarriage, but St Germain, who was then at her father's palace,\npersuaded her to embrace the religious life, and the disappointed King\nsadly gave his consent. A great multitude assembled to accompany the\nmaiden in her renunciation of the world, \"numbering in its midst four\nbishops and many priests and virgins.\" We are told how they all took\nship together and sailed to Brittany. The Breton king gave the\nprincess land at Ploermel, and there she founded a great monastery,\nwhere she lived till death claimed her.\n\n\n_St Enora_\n\nSeveral old Breton songs tell us the story of St Enora (or Honora),\nthe wife of Efflam (already alluded to in the chapter on Arthurian\nlegend), but these accounts vary very considerably in their\ndetails. One account giving us \"stern facts\" relates how St Efflam\nwas betrothed for political reasons to Enora, a Saxon princess, and\nspeaks of how impossible it was to expect that such a union could\nprove anything but disastrous when it was not a love match. So,\nwhether partly to escape from a married life which jarred his\nsusceptibilities, or entirely on account of his religious asceticism,\nEfflam left his wife and crossed to Brittany to lead the life of a\nreligious hermit. One of the Breton songs gives the beginning of\nthe story in a much more picturesque way. It relates how Enora,\n\"beautiful as an angel,\" had many suitors, but would give her hand to\nnone save the Prince Efflam, \"son of a stranger King.\" But Efflam,\ntorn by the desire to lead the religious life, far away from the\nworld, rose \"in the midst of the night, his wedding night,\" and\ncrept softly away, no one seeing him save his faithful dog, which\nhe loved. So he came to the seashore and crossed to Brittany. The\nstory of his landing and his meeting with Arthur has already been\ntold, and we have seen how his fate was once more, by divine\nagency, linked with that of Enora. The song tells us how the angels\ncarried the princess over the sea and set her on the door-sill of\nher husband's cell. Presently she awoke, and, finding herself there,\nshe knocked three times and cried out to her husband that she was\n\"his sweetheart, his wife,\" whom God had sent. St Efflam, knowing her\nvoice, came out, and \"with many godly words he took her hand in\nhis.\" One account says that he sent her to the south of Brittany to\nfound a convent for nuns, as he wished to devote his life entirely to\nthe service of God and the contemplation of nature. All versions\nagree on the point that he built a hut for her beside his own, and\none story relates how he made her wear a veil over her face and\nonly spoke to her through the door! But one Breton song with more of\nthe matter of poetry in it than the rest tells how the little hut\nhe built for her was shaded by green bushes and sheltered by a\nrock, and that there they lived, side by side, for a long and happy\ntime, while the fame of the miracles they wrought spread through\nthe land. Then one night some sailors on the sea \"saw the sky open\nand heard a burst of heavenly music,\" and next day when a poor woman\ntook her sick child to Enora to beg for her aid she could get no\nresponse, and looking in she beheld the royal lady lying dead. The\nhumble place was alight with her radiance, and near her a little boy\nin white was kneeling. The woman then ran to tell St Efflam of her\ndiscovery, only to find that he too was lying dead in his cell.\n\n\n_Corseul the Accursed_\n\nThe town of Corseul has sunk into insignificance, and its failure to\nachieve prosperity is said to be due to its covert hostility to St\nMalo--or, as he is more correctly called, Machutes. Coming to Brittany\non missionary enterprise, the Saint found that Christianity had not\npenetrated to the district of Corseul, where the old pagan worship\nstill obtained. He therefore decided that his work must lie chiefly\namong the Curiosolites of that land, and determined that his first\ncelebration of Easter Mass there should take place in the very centre\nof the pagan worship, the temple of Haute-B\u00e9cherel. The people of the\ndistrict received him coldly, but without open hostility, and he and\nhis monks prepared for the Christian festival in the pagan shrine, to\nfind to their dismay that they had omitted to bring either chalice or\nwine for the Eucharist. Several of the monks were sent into the town\nto buy these, but in all Corseul they could find no one willing to\nsell either cup or wine, because of the hostility of the idolatrous\nfolk of the place. At last the Saint performed a miracle to provide\nthese necessaries, but he never forgave the insult to his religion,\nand while he founded monasteries broadcast over his diocese he avoided\nCorseul, and as Christianity became more and more universal the pagan\ntown gradually paid the penalty of its enmity to the cause of Christ.\n\n\n_St Keenan_\n\nSt Keenan (sixth century) was surnamed Colodoc, or \"He who loves to\nlose himself,\" a beautiful epitome of his character. As in so many\ninstances in the chronicles of Breton hagiology, confusion regarding\nSt Keenan has arisen among a multiplicity of chronicles. He seems to\nhave been a native of Connaught, whence he crossed into Wales and\nbecame a disciple of Gildas.\n\nHe was told to \"go forward\" carrying a little bell, until he reached a\nplace called Ros-ynys, where the bell would ring of itself, and there\nhe would find rest. He asked Gildas to provide him with a bell, but\nthe abbot could only supply him with a small piece of metal. Keenan,\nhowever, blessed this, and it grew until it was large enough for a\ngood bell to be cast from it. Thus equipped, the Saint set out, and\njourneyed until he reached an arm of the sea, where he sat down on the\ngrass to rest. While lying at his ease he heard a herdsman call to his\nfellow: \"Brother, have you seen my cows anywhere?\" \"Yes,\" replied the\nother, \"I saw them at Ros-ynys.\" Rejoicing greatly at finding himself\nin the vicinity of the place he sought, Keenan descended to the shore,\nwhich has since been called by his name. Greatly athirst, he struck a\nrock with his staff, and water gushed forth in answer to the stroke.\nTaking ship, he crossed the firth and entered a little wood. All at\nonce, to his extreme joy, the bell he carried commenced to tinkle, and\nhe knew he had reached the end of his journey--the valley of Ros-ynys,\nafterward St David's.\n\nLater, deciding to cross to Brittany with his disciples, Keenan\ndispatched some of his company to beg for corn for their journey from\na merchant at Landegu. They met with a gruff refusal, but the merchant\nmockingly informed them they could have the corn if they carried off\nthe whole of his barge-load. When the Saint embarked the barge broke\nits moorings and floated after him all the way! He landed at Cl\u00e9der,\nwhere he built a monastery, which he enriched with a copy of the\nGospels transcribed by his own hand.\n\nThe fatal contest between King Arthur and Modred, his nephew, caused\nKeenan to return to Britain, and he is said to have been present at\nthe battle of Camelot and to have comforted Guinevere after the death\nof her royal husband, exhorting her to enter a convent. He afterward\nreturned to Cl\u00e9der, where he died. The monastery fell into ruin, and\nthe place of his burial was forgotten, till one night an angel\nappeared in a vision to one of the inhabitants of Cl\u00e9der and bade him\nexhume the bones of the Saint, which he would find at a certain spot.\nThis the man did, and the relics were recovered. A fragment of them is\npreserved in the cathedral of Saint-Brieuc. St Keenan is popularly\nknown in Brittany as St K\u00e9, or St Quay.\n\n\n_St Nicholas_\n\nOne very interesting and curious saint is St Nicholas, whose cult\ncannot be traced to any Christian source, and who is most probably the\nsurvival of some pagan divinity. He is specially the saint of\nseafaring men, and is believed to bring them good luck, asking nothing\nin return save that they shall visit his shrine whenever they happen\nto pass. This is a somewhat dilapidated chapel at Land\u00e9vennec, of\nwhich the seamen seem to show their appreciation, if one may judge\nfrom the fact that the little path leading up to it is exceedingly\nwell worn.\n\n\n_St Bieuzy_\n\nSt Bieuzy was a friend and disciple of St Gildas. Flying from England\nat the coming of the Saxons, they crossed to Brittany and settled\nthere, one of their favourite retreats being the exquisite La\nRoche-sur-Blavet, where they took up their abode in the shadow of the\ngreat rock and built a rough wooden shelter. The chapel there shows\nthe 'bell' of St Gildas, and by the river is a great boulder hollowed\nlike a chair, where Bieuzy was wont to sit and fish. St Bieuzy,\nhowever, possessed thaumaturgical resources of his own, having the\ngift of curing hydrophobia, and the hermitage of La Roche-sur-Blavet\nbecame so thronged by those seeking his aid that only by making a\nprivate way to the top of the great rock could he obtain respite to\nsay his prayers. This gift of his was the cause of his tragic death.\nOne day as he was celebrating Mass the servant of a pagan chief ran\ninto the chapel, crying out that his master's dogs had gone mad, and\ndemanding that Bieuzy should come immediately and cure them. Bieuzy\nwas unwilling to interrupt the sacred service and displeased at the\nirreverence of the demand, and the servant returned to his master, who\nrushed into the chapel and in his savage frenzy struck the Saint such\na blow with his sword that he cleft his head in twain. The heroic\nSaint completed the celebration of Mass--the sword still in the\nwound--and then, followed by the whole congregation, he walked to the\nmonastery of Rhuys, where he received the blessing of his beloved St\nGildas, and fell dead at his feet. He was buried in the church, and a\nfountain at Rhuys was dedicated to him. It is satisfactory to note\nthat the entire establishment of the murderer of the Saint is said to\nhave perished of hydrophobia!\n\n\n_St Leonorius_\n\nSt Leonorius, or L\u00e9onore (sixth century), was a disciple of St Iltud,\nof Wales, and was ordained by St Dubricus; he crossed to Brittany in\nearly life. The legend that most closely attaches to his name is one\nof the most beautiful of all the Breton beliefs, and is full of the\npoetry and romance that exist for the Celt in all the living things\naround him. The Saint and his monks had worked hard to till their\nground--for the labours of holy men included many duties in addition\nto religious ministrations--but when they came to sow the seed they\nfound that they had omitted to provide themselves with wheat! All\ntheir labour seemed in vain, and they were greatly distressed as to\nwhat they would do for food if they had no harvest to look forward to,\nwhen suddenly they saw, perched on a little wayside cross, a tiny\nrobin redbreast holding in its beak an ear of wheat! The monks\njoyfully took the grain, and, sowing it, reaped an abundant harvest!\nAccounts vary somewhat in the details of this story. Some say that the\nbird led the monks to a store of grain, and others question the fact\nthat the bird was a robin, but the popular idea is that the robin\nproffered the grain, and so universal and so strong is this belief\nthat \"Robin Redbreast's corn\" is a byword in Brittany for \"small\nbeginnings that prosper.\"\n\nThe Saint is said to have possessed the most marvellous attainments.\nWe are told that he learnt the alphabet in one day, the \"art of\nspelling\" the following day, and calligraphy the next! He is also\nsaid to have been a bishop at the age of fifteen. Tradition avers\nthat he ploughed the land with stags, and that an altar was\nbrought to him from the depth of the sea by two wild pigeons to serve\nfor his ministrations. The circumstance that animals or birds were\nemployed--predominantly the latter--as the divine means of rendering\naid to the Saint is common to many of these legends. We thus have\nsaintly romance linked with the 'friendly animals' formula of\nfolk-lore.\n\n\n_St Patern_\n\nMany quaint and pretty stories are told of the childhood and youth of\nSt Patern, the patron saint of Vannes. His intense religious fervour\nwas probably inherited from his father, Petranus, who, we are told,\nleft his wife and infant son and crossed to Ireland to embrace the\nlife religious. One day as his mother sat by the open window making a\ndress for her baby she was called away, and left the little garment\nlying on the sill. A bird flew past, and, attracted by the soft\nwoollen stuff, carried it off to line its nest. A year later when the\nnest was destroyed the dress was discovered as fresh and clean as when\nit was stolen--a piece of symbolism foretelling the purity and\nholiness of the future saint.\n\nAs soon as the child could speak his mother sent him to school. She\nhoped great things from the quiet, earnest boy, in whom she had\nobserved signs of fervent piety. One day he came home and asked his\nmother where his father was. \"All the other boys have fathers,\" he\nsaid; \"where is mine?\" His mother sadly told him that his father,\nwishing to serve God more perfectly than it was possible for him to do\nat home, had gone to Ireland to become a monk. \"Thither shall I go\ntoo, when I'm a man,\" said Patern, and he made a resolve that when he\ngrew up he would also enter a monastery. Accordingly, having finished\nhis studies in the monastery of Rhuys, he set out for Britain, where\nhe founded two religious houses, and then crossed to Ireland, where he\nmet his father. Eventually he returned to Vannes, as one of the nine\nbishops of Brittany, but he did not agree with his brethren regarding\ncertain ecclesiastical laws, and at last, not wishing to \"lose his\npatience,\" he abandoned his diocese and went to France, where he ended\nhis days as a simple monk.\n\nThere is an interesting legend to account for the foundation of the\nchurch of St Patern at Vannes. We are told how for three years after\nPatern left Vannes the people were afflicted by a dreadful famine. No\nrain fell, and the distress was great. At length it was remembered\nthat Patern had departed without giving the people his blessing, and\nat once \"a pilgrimage set forth to bring back his sacred body, that it\nmight rest in his own episcopal town.\" But the body of the blessed\nPatern \"refused to be removed,\" until one of the pilgrims, who had\nbefore denied the bishop a certain piece of ground, promised to gift\nit to his memory and to build a church on it to the Saint's honour,\nwhereupon the body became light enough to be lifted from the grave and\nconveyed to Vannes. No sooner had the sacred corpse entered Vannes\nthan rain fell in torrents. Hagiology abounds in instances of this\ndescription, which in many respects bring it into line with\nmythology.\n\n\n_St Samson_\n\nWe have already related the story of Samson's birth. Another legend\nregarding him tells how one day when the youths attached to the\nmonastery where he dwelt were out winnowing corn one of the monks was\nbitten by an adder and fainted with fright. Samson ran to St Iltud to\ntell the news, with tears in his eyes, and begged to be allowed to\nattempt the cure of the monk. Iltud gave him permission, and Samson,\nfull of faith and enthusiasm, rubbed the bite with oil, and by degrees\nthe monk recovered. After this Samson's fame grew apace. Indeed, we\nare told that the monks grew jealous of him and attempted to poison\nhim. He was ordained a bishop at York, and lived a most austere life,\nthough his humanity was very apparent in his love for animals.\n\nHe was made abbot of a monastery, and endeavoured to instil\ntemperance into the monks, but at length gave up the attempt in\ndespair and settled in a cave at the mouth of the Severn. Then one\nnight \"a tall man\" appeared to him in a vision, and bade him go to\nArmorica, saying to him--so the legend goes: \"Thou goest by the sea,\nand where thou wilt disembark thou shalt find a well. Over this\nthou wilt build a church, and around it will group the houses forming\nthe city of which thou wilt be a bishop.\" All of which came to\npass, and for ages the town has been known as the episcopal city\nof Dol. Accompanied by forty monks, Samson crossed the Channel and\nlanded in the Bay of Saint-Brieuc. One version of the story tells\nus that the Saint and numerous other monks fled from Britain to\nescape the Saxon tyranny, and that Samson and six of his suffragans\nwho crossed the sea with him were known as the 'Seven Saints of\nBrittany.'\n\n\n_Brittany's Lawyer Saint_\n\nFew prosperous and wealthy countries produce saints in any great\nnumber, and in proof of the converse of this we find much hagiology in\nBrittany and Ireland. Let lawyers take note that while many saints\nspring from among the _bourgeoisie_ they include few legal men. An\noutstanding exception to this rule is St Yves (or Yvo), probably the\nbest known, and almost certainly the most beloved, saint in Brittany.\nSt Yves is the only regularly canonized Breton saint. He was born at\nKermartin, near Tr\u00e9guier, in 1253, his father being lord of that\nplace. The house where he first saw the light was pulled down in 1834,\nbut the bed in which he was born is still preserved and shown. His\nname is borne by the majority of the inhabitants of the districts of\nTr\u00e9guier and Saint-Brieuc, and one authority tells us how \"in the\nBreton tongue his praises are sung as follows:\n\n N'hen eus ket en Breiz, n'hen eus ket unan,\n N'hen eus ket uer Zant evel Sant Erwan.\n\nThis, in French, runs:\n\n Il n'y a pas en Bretagne, il n'y en a pas un,\n Il n'y a pas un saint comme saint Yves.\"\n\nHe began his legal education when he was fourteen, and studied law in\nthe schools of Paris, becoming an ecclesiastical judge, and later\n(1285) an ordained priest and incumbent of Tredrig. Subsequently he\nwas made incumbent of Lohanec, which post he held till his death. As a\njudge he possessed a quality rare in those days--he was inaccessible\nto bribery! That this was appreciated we find in the following _bon\nmot_:\n\n Saint Yves \u00e9tait Breton,\n Avocat et pas larron:\n Chose rare, se dit-on.\n\nHe invariably endeavoured to induce disputants to settle their\nquarrels 'out of court' if possible, and applied his talents to\ndefending the cause of the poor and oppressed, without fee. He was\nknown as 'the poor man's advocate,' and to-day in the department of\nthe C\u00f4tes-du-Nord, when a debtor repudiates his debt, the creditor\nwill pay for a Mass to St Yves, in the hope that he will cause the\ndefaulter to die within the year! St Yves de V\u00e9rit\u00e9 is the special\npatron of lawyers, and is represented in the _mortier_, or lawyer's\ncap, and robe.\n\nSt Yves spent most of his income in charity, turning his house into an\norphanage, and many are the stories told of his humanity and\ngenerosity. The depth of his sympathy, and its practical result, are\nshown in an incident told us of how one morning he found a poor,\nhalf-naked man lying on his doorstep shivering with cold, having spent\nthe night there. Yves gave up his bed to the beggar the next night,\nand himself slept on the doorstep, desiring to learn by personal\nexperience the sufferings of the poor. On another occasion, while\nbeing fitted with a new coat, he caught sight of a miserable man on\nthe pavement outside who was clad in rags and tatters that showed his\nskin through many rents. Yves tore off the new coat and, rushing out,\ngave it to the beggar, saying to the astonished and horrified tailor:\n\"There is plenty of wear still in my old coats. I will content myself\nwith them.\" His pity and generosity led him to still further kindness\nwhen he was visiting a hospital and saw how ill-clad some of the\npatients were, for he actually gave them the clothes he was wearing at\nthe time, wrapping himself in a coverlet till he had other garments\nsent to him from home. He was wont to walk beside the ploughmen in the\nfields and teach them prayers. He would sit on the moors beside the\nshepherd-boys and instruct them in the use of the rosary; and often he\nwould stop little children in the street, and gain their interest and\naffection by his gentleness.\n\n[Illustration: ST YVES INSTRUCTING SHEPHERD-BOYS IN THE USE OF THE ROSARY]\n\nHis shrewd legal mind was of service to the poor in other ways than in\nthe giving of advice. A story is told of how two rogues brought a\nheavy chest to a widow, declaring it to contain twelve hundred pieces\nof gold and asking her to take charge of it. Some weeks later one of\nthem returned, claimed the box, and removed it. A few days later the\nsecond of the men arrived and asked for the box, and when the poor\nwoman could not produce it he took her to court and sued her for the\ngold it had contained. Yves, on hearing that the case was going\nagainst the woman, offered to defend her, and pleaded that his client\nwas ready to restore the gold, but only to both the men who had\ncommitted it to her charge, and that therefore both must appear to\nclaim it. This was a blow to the rogues, who attempted to escape, and,\nfailing to do so, at length confessed that they had plotted to extort\nmoney from the widow, the chest containing nothing but pieces of old\niron.\n\nYves was so eloquent and earnest a preacher that he was continually\nreceiving requests to attend other churches, which he never refused.\nOn the Good Friday before his death he preached in seven different\nparishes. He died at the age of fifty, and was buried at Tr\u00e9guier.\nDuke John V, who founded the Chapelle du Duc, had a special regard for\nYves, and erected a magnificent tomb to his memory, which was for\nthree centuries the object of veneration in Brittany.\n\nDuring the French Revolution the reliquary of St Yves was destroyed,\nbut his bones were preserved and have been re-enshrined at Tr\u00e9guier.\nHis last will and testament--leaving all his goods to the poor--is\npreserved, together with his breviary, in the sacristy of the church\nat Minihy.\n\nThe Saint is generally represented with a cat as his symbol--typifying\nthe lawyer's watchful character--but this hardly seems a fitting\nemblem for such a beautiful character as St Yves.\n\n\n_St Budoc of Dol_\n\nThe legend of St Budoc of Dol presents several peculiar features. It\nwas first recited by professional minstrels, then \"passed into the\nsanctuary, and was read in prose in cathedral and church choirs as a\nnarrative of facts,\" although it seems curious that it could have been\nheld to be other than fiction.\n\nA Count of Goelc, in Brittany, sought in marriage Az\u00e9nor, \"tall as a\npalm, bright as a star,\" but they had not been wedded a year when\nAz\u00e9nor's father married again, and his new wife, jealous of her\nstepdaughter, hated her and determined to ruin her. Accordingly she\nset to work to implant suspicion as to Az\u00e9nor's purity in the minds of\nher father and husband, and the Count shut his wife up in a tower and\nforbade her to speak to anyone. Here all the poor Countess could do\nwas to pray to her patron saint, the Holy Bridget of Ireland.\n\nHer stepmother, however, was not content with the evil she had already\nwrought, and would not rest until she had brought about Az\u00e9nor's\ndeath. She continued her calumnies, and at length the Count assembled\nall his barons and his court to judge his wife. The unfortunate and\ninnocent Countess was brought into the hall for trial, and, seated on\na little stool in the midst of the floor, the charges were read to her\nand she was called upon to give her reply. With tears she protested\nher innocence, but in spite of the fact that no proof could be brought\nagainst her she was sent in disgrace to her father in Brest. He in\nturn sat in judgment upon her, and condemned her to death, the\nsentence being that she should be placed in a barrel and cast into the\nsea, \"to be carried where the winds and tides listed.\" We are told\nthat the barrel floated five months, \"tossing up and down\"--during\nwhich time Az\u00e9nor was supplied with food by an angel, who passed it to\nher through the bung-hole.\n\nDuring these five months, the legend continues, the poor Countess\nbecame a mother, the angel and St Bridget watching over her. As soon\nas the child was born his mother made the sign of the Cross upon him,\nmade him kiss a crucifix, and patiently waited the coming of an\nopportunity to have him baptized. The child began to speak while in\nthe cask. At last the barrel rolled ashore at Youghal Harbour, in the\ncounty of Cork. An Irish peasant, thinking he had found a barrel of\nwine, was proceeding to tap it with a gimlet when he heard a voice\nfrom within say: \"Do not injure the cask.\" Greatly astonished, the man\ndemanded who was inside, and the voice replied: \"I am a child desiring\nbaptism. Go at once to the abbot of the monastery to which this land\nbelongs, and bid him come and baptize me.\" The Irishman ran to the\nabbot with the message, but he not unnaturally declined to believe the\nstory, till, with a true Hibernian touch, the peasant asked him if it\nwere likely that he would have told 'his reverence' anything about his\nfind had there been \"anything better than a baby\" in the barrel!\nAccordingly the abbot hastened to the shore, opened the cask, and\nfreed the long-suffering Countess of Goelc and her son, the latter of\nwhom he christened by the name of Budoc, and took under his care.\n\nMeantime, the \"wicked stepmother,\" falling ill and being at the point\nof death, became frightened when she thought of her sin against\nAz\u00e9nor, and confessed the lies by which she had wrought the ruin of\nthe Countess. The Count, overcome by remorse and grief, set out in\nquest of his wife. Good luck led him to Ireland, where he disembarked\nat Youghal and found his lost ones. With great rejoicing he had a\nstately ship made ready, and prepared to set out for Brittany with\nAz\u00e9nor and Budoc, but died before he could embark. Az\u00e9nor remained in\nIreland and devoted herself to good works and to the training of her\nson, who from an early age resolved to embrace the religious life,\nand was in due course made a monk by the Abbot of Youghal. His mother\ndied, and on the death of the Abbot of Youghal he was elected to rule\nthe monastery. Later, upon the death of the King of Ireland, the\nnatives raised Budoc to the temporal and spiritual thrones, making him\nKing of Ireland and Bishop of Armagh.\n\nAfter two years he wished to retire from these honours, but the\npeople were \"wild with despair\" at the tidings, and surrounded the\npalace lest he should escape. One night, while praying in his\nmetropolitan church, an angel appeared to him, bidding him betake\nhimself to Brittany. Going down to the seashore, it was indicated to\nhim that he must make the voyage in a stone trough. On entering this\nit began to move, and he was borne across to Brittany, landing at\nPorspoder, in the diocese of L\u00e9on. The people of that district drew\nthe stone coffer out of the water, and built a hermitage and a\nchapel for the Saint's convenience. Budoc dwelt for one year at\nPorspoder, but, \"disliking the roar of the waves,\" he had his stone\ntrough mounted on a cart, and yoking two oxen to it he set forth,\nresolved to follow them wherever they might go and establish\nhimself at whatever place they might halt. The cart broke down at\nPlourin, and there Budoc settled for a short time; but trouble with\ndisorderly nobles forced him to depart, and this time he went to\nDol, where he was well received by St Malglorious, then its bishop,\nwho soon after resigned his see to Budoc. The Saint ruled at Dol\nfor twenty years, and died early in the seventh century.\n\nAnother Celtic myth of the same type is to be found on the shores of\nthe Firth of Forth. The story in question deals with the birth of St\nMungo, or St Kentigern, the patron saint of Glasgow. His mother was\nThenaw, the Christian daughter of the pagan King Lot of Lothian,\nbrother-in-law of King Arthur, from his marriage with Arthur's sister\nMargawse. Thus the famous Gawaine would be Thenaw's brother. Thenaw\nmet Ewen, the son of Eufuerien, King of Cumbria, and fell deeply in\nlove with him, but her father discovered her disgrace and ordered her\nto be cast headlong from the summit of Traprain Law, once known as\nDunpender, a mountain in East Lothian. A kindly fate watched over the\nprincess, however, and she fell so softly from the eminence that she\nwas uninjured. Such Christian subjects as Lot possessed begged her\nlife. But if her father might have relented his Druids were\ninexorable. They branded her as a sorceress, and she was doomed to\ndeath by drowning. She was accordingly rowed out from Aberlady Bay to\nthe vicinity of the Isle of May, where, seated in a skin boat, she was\nleft to the mercy of the waves. In this terrible situation she cast\nherself upon the grace of Heaven, and her frail craft was wafted up\nthe Forth, where it drifted ashore near Culross. At this spot\nKentigern was born, and the mother and child were shortly afterward\ndiscovered by some shepherds, who placed them under the care of St\nSerf, Abbot of Culross. To these events the date A.D. 516 is\nassigned.\n\n\n_'Fatal Children' Legends_\n\nThis legend is, of course, closely allied with those which recount the\nfate and adventures of the 'fatal children.' Like OEdipus, Romulus,\nPerseus, and others, Budoc and Kentigern are obviously 'fatal\nchildren,' as is evidenced by the circumstances of their birth. We\nare not told that King Lot or Az\u00e9nor's father had been warned that if\ntheir daughters had a son they would be slain by that child, but it is\nprobably only the saintly nature of the subject of the stories which\ncaused this circumstance to be omitted. Dana\u00eb, the mother of Perseus,\nwe remember, was, when disgraced, shut up in a chest with her child,\nand committed to the waves, which carried her to the island of\nSeriphos, where she was duly rescued. Romulus and his brother Remus\nwere thrown into the Tiber, and escaped a similar fate. The Princess\nDesonelle and her twin sons, in the old English metrical romance of\n_Sir Torrent of Portugal_, are also cast into the sea, but succeed in\nmaking the shore of a far country. All these children grow up endowed\nwith marvellous beauty and strength, but their doom is upon them, and\nafter numerous adventures they slay their fathers or some other\nunfortunate relative. But the most characteristic part of what seems\nan almost universal legend is that these children are born in the most\nobscure circumstances, afterward rising to a height of splendour which\nmakes up for all they previously suffered. It is not necessary to\nexplain nowadays that this is characteristic of nearly all sun-myths.\nThe sun is born in obscurity, and rises to a height of splendour at\nmidday.\n\nThus in the majority of these legends we find the sun personified. It\nis not sufficient to object that such an elucidation smacks too much\nof the tactics of Max M\u00fcller to be accepted by modern students of\nfolk-lore. The student of comparative myth who does not make use of\nthe best in all systems of mythological elucidation is undone, for no\none system will serve for all examples.\n\nTo those who may object, \"Oh, but Kentigern was a _real_ person,\" I\nreply that I know many myths concerning 'real' people. For the matter\nof that, we assist in the manufacture of these every day of our lives,\nand it is quite a fallacy that legends cannot spring up concerning\nveritable historical personages, and even around living, breathing\nfolk. And for the rest of it mythology and hagiology are hopelessly\nintermingled in their _motifs_.\n\n\n_Miraculous Crossings_\n\nAnother Celtic saint besides Budoc possessed a stone boat. He is St\nBaldred, who, like Kentigern, hails from the Firth of Forth, and dwelt\non the Bass Rock. He is said to have chosen this drear abode as a\nrefuge from the eternal wars between the Picts and the Scots toward\nthe close of the seventh century. From this point of vantage, and\nprobably during seasons of truce, he rowed to the mainland to minister\nto the spiritual wants of the rude natives of Lothian. Inveresk seems\nto have been the eastern border of his 'parish.' Tradition says that\nhe was the second Bishop of Glasgow, and thus the successor of\nKentigern, but the lack of all reliable data concerning the western\nsee subsequent to the death of Glasgow's patron saint makes it\nimpossible to say whether this statement is authentic or otherwise.\nMany miracles are attributed to Baldred, not the least striking of\nwhich is that concerning a rock to the east of Tantallon Castle, known\nas 'St Baldred's Boat.' At one time this rock was situated between the\nBass and the adjacent mainland, and was a fruitful source of\nshipwreck. Baldred, pitying the mariners who had to navigate the\nFirth, and risk this danger, rowed out to the rock and mounted upon\nit; whereupon, at his simple nod, it was lifted up, and, like a ship\ndriven by the wind, was wafted to the nearest shore, where it\nthenceforth remained. This rock is sometimes called 'St Baldred's\nCoble,' or 'Cock-boat.' This species of miracle is more commonly\ndiscovered in the annals of hagiology than in those of pure myth,\nalthough in legend we occasionally find the landscape altered by order\nof supernatural or semi-supernatural beings.\n\nOne rather striking instance of miraculous crossing is that of St\nNoyala, who is said to have crossed to Brittany on the leaf of a tree,\naccompanied by her nurse. She was beheaded at Beignon, but walked to\nPontivy carrying her head in her hands. A chapel at Pontivy is\ndedicated to her, and was remarkable in the eighteenth century for\nseveral interesting paintings on a gold ground depicting this legend.\n\nWe find this incident of miraculous crossing occurring in the stories\nof many of the Breton saints. A noteworthy instance is that of St\nTugdual, who, with his followers, crossed in a ship which vanished\nwhen they disembarked. Still another example is found in the case of\nSt Vougas, or Vie, who is specially venerated in Tr\u00e9guennec. He is\nthought to have been an Irish bishop, and is believed to have mounted\na stone and sailed across to Brittany upon it. This particular version\nof the popular belief may have sprung from the fact that there is a\nrock off the coast of Brittany called 'the Ship,' from a fancied\nresemblance to one. In course of time this rock was affirmed to have\nbeen the ship of St Vougas.\n\n\n_Az\u00e9nor the Pale_\n\nThere is a story of another Az\u00e9nor, who, according to local history,\nmarried Yves, heritor of Kermorvan, in the year 1400. A popular\nballad of Cornouaille tells how this Az\u00e9nor, who was surnamed 'the\nPale,' did not love her lord, but gave her heart to another, the Clerk\nof Mezl\u00e9an.\n\nOne day she sat musing by a forest fountain, dressed in a robe of\nyellow silk, wantonly plucking the flowers which grew on the mossy\nparapet of the spring and binding them into a bouquet for the Clerk of\nMezl\u00e9an.\n\nThe Seigneur Yves, passing by on his white steed at a hand-gallop,\nobserved her \"with the corner of his eye,\" and conceived a violent\nlove for her.\n\nThe Clerk of Mezl\u00e9an had been true to Az\u00e9nor for many a day, but he\nwas poor and her parents would have none of him.\n\nOne morning as Az\u00e9nor descended to the courtyard she observed great\npreparations on foot as if for a festival.\n\n\"For what reason,\" she said, \"has this great fire been kindled, and\nwhy have they placed two spits in front of it? What is happening in\nthis house, and why have these fiddlers come?\"\n\nThose whom she asked smiled meaningly.\n\n\"To-morrow is your wedding-day,\" said they.\n\nAt this Az\u00e9nor the Pale grew still paler, and was long silent.\n\n\"If that be so,\" she said, \"it will be well that I seek my marriage\nchamber early, for from my bed I shall not be raised except for\nburial.\"\n\nThat night her little page stole through the window.\n\n\"Lady,\" he said, \"a great and brilliant company come hither. The\nSeigneur Yves is at their head, and behind him ride cavaliers and a\nlong train of gentlemen. He is mounted on a white horse, with\ntrappings of gold.\"\n\nAz\u00e9nor wept sorely.\n\n\"Unhappy the hour that he comes!\" she cried, wringing her hands.\n\"Unhappy be my father and mother who have done this thing!\"\n\nSorely wept Az\u00e9nor when going to the church that day. She set forth\nwith her intended husband, riding on the crupper of his horse. Passing\nby Mezl\u00e9an she said:\n\n\"I pray you let me enter this house, Seigneur, for I am fatigued with\nthe journey, and would rest for a space.\"\n\n\"That may not be to-day,\" he replied; \"to-morrow, if you wish it.\"\n\nAt this Az\u00e9nor wept afresh, but was comforted by her little page. At\nthe church door one could see that her heart was breaking.\n\n\"Approach, my daughter,\" said the aged priest. \"Draw near, that I may\nplace the ring upon your finger.\"\n\n\"Father,\" replied Az\u00e9nor, \"I beg of you not to force me to wed him\nwhom I do not love.\"\n\n\"These are wicked words, my child. The Seigneur Yves is wealthy, he\nhas gold and silver, ch\u00e2teaux and broad lands, but the Clerk of\nMezl\u00e9an is poor.\"\n\n\"Poor he may be, Father,\" murmured Az\u00e9nor, \"yet had I rather beg my\nbread with him than dwell softly with this other.\"\n\nBut her relentless parents would not hearken to her protestations, and\nshe was wed to the Lord Yves. On arriving at her husband's house she\nwas met by the Seigneur's mother, who received her graciously, but\nonly one word did Az\u00e9nor speak, that old refrain that runs through all\nballad poetry.\n\n\"Tell me, O my mother,\" she said, \"is my bed made?\"\n\n\"It is, my child,\" replied the ch\u00e2telaine. \"It is next the Chamber of\nthe Black Cavalier. Follow me and I will take you thither.\"\n\nOnce within the chamber, Az\u00e9nor, wounded to the soul, fell upon her\nknees, her fair hair falling about her.\n\n\"My God,\" she cried, \"have pity upon me!\"\n\nThe Seigneur Yves sought out his mother.\n\n\"Mother of mine,\" said he, \"where is my wife?\"\n\n\"She sleeps in her high chamber,\" replied his mother. \"Go to her and\nconsole her, for she is sadly in need of comfort.\"\n\nThe Seigneur entered. \"Do you sleep?\" he asked Az\u00e9nor.\n\nShe turned in her bed and looked fixedly at him. \"Good morrow to you,\nwidower,\" she said.\n\n\"By the saints,\" cried he, \"what mean you? Why do you call me\nwidower?\"\n\n\"Seigneur,\" she said meaningly, \"it is true that you are not a widower\nyet, but soon you will be.\"\n\nThen, her mind wandering, she continued: \"Here is my wedding gown;\ngive it, I pray you, to my little servant, who has been so good to me\nand who carried my letters to the Clerk of Mezl\u00e9an. Here is a new\ncloak which my mother broidered; give it to the priests who will sing\nMasses for my soul. For yourself you may take my crown and chaplet.\nKeep them well, I pray, as a souvenir of our wedding.\"\n\nWho is that who arrives at the hamlet as the clocks are striking the\nhour? Is it the Clerk of Mezl\u00e9an? Too late! Az\u00e9nor is dead.\n\n\"I have seen the fountain beside which Az\u00e9nor plucked flowers to make\na bouquet for her 'sweet Clerk of Mezl\u00e9an,'\" says the Vicomte Hersart\nde la Villemarqu\u00e9, \"when the Seigneur of Kermorvan passed and withered\nwith his glance her happiness and these flowers of love. Mezl\u00e9an is in\nruins, no one remains within its gates, surmounted by a crenellated\nand machicolated gallery.\"\n\nThere is a subscription at the end of the ballad to the effect that it\nwas written on a round table in the Manor of H\u00e9nan, near Pont-Aven, by\nthe \"bard of the old Seigneur,\" who dictated it to a damsel. \"How\ncomes it,\" asks Villemarqu\u00e9, \"that in the Middle Ages we still find a\nseigneur of Brittany maintaining a domestic bard?\" There is no good\nreason why a domestic bard should not have been found in the Brittany\nof medieval times, since such singers of the household were maintained\nin Ireland and Scotland until a relatively late date--up to the period\nof the '45 in the case of the latter country.\n\n\n_St Pol of L\u00e9on_\n\nSt Pol (or Paul) of L\u00e9on (sixth century) was the son of a Welsh\nprince, and, like so many of the Breton saints, he was a disciple of\nSt Iltud, being also a fellow-student of St Samson and St Gildas. At\nthe age of sixteen he left his home and crossed the sea to Brittany.\nIn the course of time other young men congregated round him, and he\nbecame their superior, receiving holy orders along with twelve\ncompanions. Near these young monks dwelt Mark, the King of Vannes, who\ninvited Pol to visit his territory and instruct his people. The Saint\nwent to Vannes and was well received, but after dwelling for some time\nin that part of the country he felt the need of solitude once more,\nand entreated the King that he might have permission to depart and\nthat he might be given a bell; \"for,\" as the chronicler tells us, \"at\nthat time it was customary for kings to have seven bells rung before\nthey sat down to meat.\"\n\nThe King, however, vexed that Pol should wish to leave him, refused to\ngive him the bell, so the Saint went without it. Before leaving Vannes\nPol visited his sister, who lived in solitude with other holy women on\na little island, but when the time came for him to depart she wept and\nentreated him to stay, and the Saint remained with her for another\nthree days. When he was finally taking leave of her, she begged him\nthat as he was \"powerful with God\" he would grant her a request, and\nwhen Pol asked what it was she desired him to do, she explained that\nthe island on which she dwelt was small \"and incommodious for landing\"\nand requested him to pray to God that it might be extended a little\ninto the sea, with a \"gentle shore.\" Pol said she had asked what was\nbeyond his power, but suggested that they should pray that her desire\nmight be granted. So they prayed, and the sea began to retreat,\n\"leaving smooth, golden sand where before there had been only stormy\nwaves.\" All the nuns came to see the miracle which had been wrought,\nand the sister of St Pol gathered pebbles and laid them round the land\nnewly laid bare, and strewed them down the road that she and her\nbrother had taken. These pebbles grew into tall pillars of rock, and\nthe avenue thus formed is to this day called 'the Road of St Pol.'\nThus do the peasants explain the Druidical circles and avenue on the\nislet.\n\nAfter this miracle Pol departed, and rowed to the island of Ouessant,\nand later he travelled through Brittany, finally settling in the\nisland of Batz, near the small town encompassed by mud walls which has\nsince borne his name. There he founded a monastery. The island was at\nthat time infested by a dreadful monster, sixty feet long, and we are\ntold how the Saint subdued this dragon. Accompanied by a warrior, he\nentered its den, tied his stole round its neck, and, giving it to his\ncompanion to lead, he followed them, beating the animal with his\nstick, until they came to the extremity of the island. There he took\noff the stole and commanded the dragon to fling itself into the\nsea--an order which the monster immediately obeyed. In the church on\nthe island a stole is preserved which is said to be that of St Pol.\nAnother story tells us how St Jaoua, nephew of St Pol, had to call in\nhis uncle's aid in taming a wild bull which was devastating his cell.\nThese incidents remind us of St Efflam's taming of the dragon. St Pol\nis one of the saints famous for his miraculous power over wild\nbeasts.\n\nThe Saint's renown became such that the Breton king made him\nArchbishop of L\u00e9on, giving him special care and control of the city\nbearing his name. We are told how the Saint found wild bees swarming\nin a hollow tree, and, gathering the swarm, set them in a hive and\ntaught the people how to get honey. He also found a wild sow with her\nlitter and tamed them. The descendants of this progeny remained at\nL\u00e9on for many generations, and were regarded as royal beasts. Both of\nthese stories are, of course, a picturesque way of saying that St Pol\ntaught the people to cultivate bees and to keep pigs.\n\nSt Pol's early desire to possess a bell was curiously granted later,\nas one day when he was in the company of a Count who ruled the land\nunder King Childebat a fisherman brought the Count a bell which he had\npicked up on the seashore. The Count gave it to St Pol, who smiled and\ntold him how he had longed and waited for years for such a bell. In\nthe cathedral at Saint-Pol-de-L\u00e9on is a tiny bell which is said to\nhave belonged to St Pol, and on the days of pardon \"its notes still\nring out over the heads of the faithful,\" and are supposed to be\nefficacious in curing headache or earache.\n\nIn the cathedral choir is the tomb of St Pol, where \"his skull, an\narm-bone, and a finger are encased in a little coffer, for the\nveneration of the devout.\" St Pol built the cathedral at L\u00e9on, and was\nits first bishop. Strategy had to be resorted to to secure the see for\nhim. The Count gave Pol a letter to take in person to King Childebat,\nwhich stated that he had sent Pol to be ordained bishop and invested\nwith the see of L\u00e9on. When the Saint discovered what the letter\ncontained he wept, and implored the King to respect his great\ndisinclination to become a bishop; but Childebat would not listen,\nand, calling for three bishops, he had him consecrated. The Saint was\nreceived with great joy by the people of L\u00e9on, and lived among them to\na green old age.\n\nIn art St Pol is most generally represented with a dragon, and\nsometimes with a bell, or a cruse of water and a loaf of bread,\nsymbolical of his frugal habits.\n\n\n_St Ronan_\n\nOf St Ronan there is told a tale of solemn warning to wives addicted\nto neglecting their children and \"seeking their pleasure elsewhere,\"\nas it is succinctly expressed. St Ronan was an Irish bishop who came\nto L\u00e9on, where he retired into a hermitage in the forest of N\u00e9vet.\nGrallo, the King of Brittany, was in the habit of visiting him in his\ncell, listening to his discourses, and putting theological questions\nto him. The domestic question must have been a problem even in those\ndays, since we find Grallo's Queen, Queban, in charge of her\nfive-year-old daughter. Family cares proving rather irksome, Queban\nsolved the difficulty of her daughter by putting the child into a box,\nwith bread and milk to keep her quiet, while she amused herself with\nfrivolous matters. Unfortunately, this ingeniously improvized _cr\u00eache_\nproved singularly unsuccessful, for the poor little girl choked on a\npiece of crust, and when the Queen next visited the child she found to\nher horror that she was dead. Terrified at the fatal result of her\nneglect, and not daring to confess what had happened, the Queen, being\na woman of resource, closed the box and raised a hue and cry to find\nthe girl, who she declared must have strayed.\n\nShe rushed in search of her husband to St Ronan's cell, and upbraided\nthe hermit for being the cause of the King's absence. \"But for you,\"\nshe declared, \"my daughter would not have been lost!\" But it was a\nfatal mistake to accuse the Saint, or to imagine that he could be\ndeceived. Sternly rebuking her, he challenged her with the fact that\nthe child lay dead in a box, with milk and bread beside her! Rising,\nhe left his cell, and, followed by the agitated royal couple, he led\nthe way to where the proof of the Queen's neglect and deceit was\nfound. Small mercy was shown in those days to erring womanhood, and\nthe guilty Queen was instantly \"stoned with stones till she died.\" The\nSaint completed his share in the matter by casting himself on his\nknees beside the child, whereupon she was restored to life.\n\n\n_St Goezenou_\n\nSt Goezenou (_circ._ A.D. 675) was a native of Britain whose parents\ncrossed to Brittany and settled near Brest, where the Saint built an\noratory and cabin for himself. The legend runs that the prince of the\nneighbourhood having offered to give him as much land as he could\nsurround with a ditch in one day, the Saint took a fork and dragged it\nalong the ground after him as he walked, in this way enclosing a\nleague and a half of land, the fork as it trailed behind him making a\nfurrow and throwing up an embankment, on a small scale. This story is\nquite probably a popular tradition, which grew up to explain the\norigin of old military earthworks in that part of the country, which\nwere afterward utilized by the monks of St Goezenou.\n\n[Illustration: QUEEN QUEBAN STONED TO DEATH]\n\nIt is also related of this worthy Saint that he had such a horror of\nwomen that he set up a huge menhir to mark the boundary beyond which\nno female was to pass under penalty of death. On one occasion a woman,\neither to test the extent of the Saint's power or from motives of\nenmity, pushed another woman who was with her past this landmark; but\nthe innocent trespasser was unhurt and her assailant fell dead.\n\nOn one occasion, we are told, Goezenou asked a farmer's wife for some\ncream cheeses, but the woman, not wishing to part with them, declared\nthat she had none. \"You speak the truth,\" said the Saint. \"You had\nsome, but if you will now look in your cupboard you will find they\nhave been turned into stone,\" and when the ungenerous housewife ran to\nher cupboard she found that this was so! The petrified cheeses were\nlong preserved in the church of Goezenou--being removed during the\nRevolution, and afterward preserved in the manor of Kergivas.\n\nGoezenou governed his church for twenty-four years, till he met with a\nviolent death. Accompanied by his brother St Magan, he went to\nQuimperl\u00e9 to see the monastery which St Corbasius was building there,\nbut he began to praise the architecture of his own church, and this so\nenraged the master builder that he dropped his hammer on the critic's\nhead. To add to the grief of St Magan, St Corbasius endeavoured to\nappropriate the body of the murdered Saint. He consented, however, to\nallow St Magan to have such bones as he was able to identify as\nbelonging to his brother, whereupon St Magan prayed all night, and\nnext morning spread a sheet for the bones, which miraculously arranged\nthemselves into an entire skeleton, which the sorrowing Magan was thus\nenabled to remove.\n\n\n_St Winwaloe, or Gwenaloe_\n\nSt Winwaloe, born about 455, was the son of Fragan, Governor of L\u00e9on,\nwho had married a wealthy lady named Gwen. Their son was so beautiful\nthat they named him Gwenaloe, or 'He that is white.' When the lad was\nabout fifteen years old he was given to the care of a holy man, with\nwhom he lived on the islet called Ile-Verte. One day a pirate fleet\nwas sighted off the coast, near the harbour of Guic-sezne, and\nWinwaloe, who was with his father at the time, is said to have\nexclaimed, \"I see a thousand sails,\" and to this day a cross which\nmarks the spot is called 'the Cross of the Thousand Sails,' to\ncommemorate the victory which Fragan and his son won over the pirates,\nwho landed but were utterly defeated by the Governor and his\nretainers. During the fight Winwaloe, \"like a second Moses,\" prayed\nfor victory, and when the victory had been won he entreated his father\nto put the booty gained to a holy use and to build a monastery on the\nsite of the battle. This was done, and the monastery was called\nLoc-Christ.\n\nLeaving his master after some years, Winwaloe settled on the island of\nSein, but finding that it was exposed to the fury of every gale that\nblew from the Atlantic he left it and went to Land\u00e9vennec, on the\nopposite side of the harbour at Brest. There he established a\nmonastery, gathered round him many disciples, and dwelt there until\nhis death, many years later. He died during the first week of Lent,\n\"after bestowing a kiss of peace on his brethren,\" and his body is\npreserved at Montreuil-sur-Mer, his chasuble, alb, and bell being laid\nin the Jesuit church of St Charles at Antwerp.\n\nIn art St Winwaloe is represented vested as an abbot, with staff in\none hand and a bell in the other, standing beside the sea, from which\nfishes arise as if in answer to the sound of his bell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII: COSTUMES AND CUSTOMS OF BRITTANY\n\n\nDistinctive national costume has to a great extent become a thing of\nthe past in Europe, and for this relinquishment of the picturesque we\nhave doubtless in a measure to thank the exploitation of remote\ndistricts as tourist and sporting centres. Brittany, however, has been\nremarkably faithful to her sartorial traditions, and even to-day in\nthe remoter parts of the west and in distant sea-coast places her men\nand women have not ceased to express outwardly the strong national and\npersonal individuality of their race. In these districts it is still\npossible for the traveller to take a sudden, bewildering, and wholly\nentrancing step back into the past.\n\nIn Cornouaille the national costume is more jealously cherished than\nin any other part of the country, even to the smallest details, for\nhere the men carry a _pen-bas_, or cudgel, which is as much a\nsupplement to their attire and as characteristic of it as the Irish\nshillelagh is of the traditional Irish dress. Quimper is perhaps\nsecond to Cornouaille in fidelity to the old costume, for all the men\nwear the national habit. On gala days this consists of gaily\nembroidered and coloured waistcoats, which often bear the travelling\ntailor's name, and voluminous _bragou-bras_, or breeches of blue or\nbrown, held at the waist with a broad leather belt with a metal buckle\nand caught in at the knee with ribbons of various hues, the whole set\noff with black leather leggings and shoes ornamented with silver\nbuckles. A broad-brimmed hat, beneath which the hair falls down\nsometimes to below the shoulders, finishes a toilet which on weekdays\nor work-days has to give place to white _bragou-bras_ of tough\nmaterial, something more sombre in waistcoats, and the ever\nserviceable sabot.\n\n\n_Hats and Hymen_\n\nIn the vast stretch of the salt-pans of Escoublac, between Batz and Le\nCroisic, where the entire population of the district is employed, the\nworkers, or _paludiers_, affect a smock-frock with pockets, linen\nbreeches, gaiters, and shoes all of white, and with this dazzling\ncostume they wear a huge, flapping black hat turned up on one side to\nform a horn-shaped peak. This peak is very important, as it indicates\nthe state of the wearer, the young bachelor adjusting it with great\nnicety over the ear, the widower above his forehead, and the married\nman at the back of his head. On Sundays or gala-days, however, this\nuniform is discarded in favour of a multicoloured and more distinctive\nattire, the breeches being of fine cloth, exceedingly full and pleated\nand finished with ribbons at the knees, the gaiters and white shoes of\neveryday giving place to white woollen stockings with clocks\nembroidered on them and shoes of light yellow, while the smock is\nsupplanted by several waistcoats of varying lengths and shades, which\nare worn one above the other in different coloured tiers, finished at\nthe neck with a turnover muslin collar. The holiday hat is the same,\nsave for a roll of brightly and many tinted chenille.\n\nSeveral petticoats of pleated cloth, big bibs or plastrons called\n_pi\u00e8ces_, of the same shade as their dresses, and a shawl with a\nfringed border, compose the costume of the women. The aprons of the\ngirls are very plain and devoid of pockets, but the older women's are\nrich in texture and design, some of them being of silk and others\neven of costly brocade. The women's head-dress is almost grotesque in\nits originality, the hair being woven into two rolls, swathed round\nwith tape, and wound into a coronet across the head. Over this is\ndrawn tightly a kind of cap, which forms a peak behind and is crossed\nin front like a handkerchief. Should widowhood overtake a woman she\nrelinquishes this _coiffe_ and shrouds her head and shoulders in a\nrough black triangular-shaped sheepskin mantle.\n\nThe toilette of a bride is as magnificent as the widow's is depressing\nand dowdy. It consists of three different dresses, the first of white\nvelvet with apron of moire-antique, the second of purple velvet, and\nthe third of cloth of gold with embroidered sleeves, with a _pi\u00e8ce_ of\nthe same material. A wide sash, embroidered with gold, is used for\nlooping up all these resplendent skirts in order to reveal the gold\nclocks which adorn the stockings. These, and all gala costumes, are\ncarefully stored away at the village inn, and may be seen by the\ntraveller sufficiently interested to pay a small fee for the\nprivilege.\n\n\n_Quaint Head-dresses_\n\nThough the dress of the Granville women does not attempt to equal or\nrival the magnificence just described, nevertheless it is as quaint\nand characteristic. They favour a long black or very dark coat, with\nbordering frills of the same material and shade, and their cap is a\nsort of _bandeau_, turning up sharply at the ears, and crested by a\nwhite handkerchief folded square and laid flat on top.\n\nIn Ouessant the peasant women adopt an Italian style of costume, their\nhead-dress, from under which their hair falls loosely, being exactly\nin almost every detail like that which one associates with the women\nof Italy. The costume of the man from St Pol is, like that of the\nGranville women, soberer than most others of Brittany. Save for his\nbuttons, the buckle on his hat, and the clasps of white metal\nfastening his leather shoes, his dress, including spencer, waistcoat,\ntrousers, and stockings, is of black, and his hair is worn falling on\nhis shoulders, while he rarely carries the _pen-bas_--an indication,\nperhaps, of his rather meditative, pious temperament.\n\nAt Villecheret the cap of the women is bewilderingly varied and very\npeculiar. At first sight it appears to consist of several large sheets\nof stiff white paper, in some cases a sheet of the apparent paper\nspreading out at either side of the head and having another roll\nplaced across it; in other cases a ridged roof seems to rest upon the\nhair, a roof with the sides rolling upward and fastened at the top\nwith a frail thread; while a third type of head-dress is of the\nskull-cap order, from which is suspended two ties quite twenty inches\nlong and eight inches wide, which are doubled back midway and fastened\nagain to the top of the skull-cap. The unmarried woman who adopts this\n_coiffe_ must wear the ties hanging over the shoulders.\n\nOriginality in head-dress the male peasant leaves almost entirely to\nthe woman, for nearly everywhere in Brittany one meets with the long,\nwide-brimmed, black hat, with a black band, the dullness of which is\nrelieved by a white or blue metal buckle, as large as those usually\nfound on belts. To this rule the Plougastel man is one of the\nexceptions, wearing a red cap with his trousers and coat of white\nflannel.\n\nAt Muzillac, some miles distant from La Roche-Bernard, the women\nsupplant the white _coiffe_ with a huge black cap resembling the cowl\nof a friar, while at Pont l'Abb\u00e9 and along the Bay of Audierne the cap\nor _bigouden_ is formed of two pieces, the first a species of\nskull-cap fitting closely over the head and ears, the second a small\ncircular piece of starched linen, shaped into a three-cornered peak,\nthe centre point being embroidered and kept in position by a white\ntape tie which fastens under the chin. Over the skull-cap the hair is\ndressed _en chignon_. The dress accompanying this singular _coiffe_\nand _coiffure_ has a large yellow _pi\u00e8ce_, with sleeves to match. The\nmen wear a number of short coats, one above the other, the shortest\nand last being trimmed with a fringe, and occasionally ornamented with\nsentences embroidered in coloured wools round the border, describing\nthe patriotic or personal sentiments of the wearer.\n\nThe women of Morlaix are also partial to the tight-fitting _coiffe_.\nThis consists of five broad folds, forming a base from which a\nfan-like fall of stiffened calico spreads out from ear to ear,\ncompletely shading the nape of the neck and reaching down the back\nbelow the shoulders. Many of the women wear calico tippets, while the\nmore elderly affect a sort of mob-cap with turned-up edges, from which\nto the middle of the head are stretched two wide straps of calico,\njoined together at the ends with a pin. Most of the youths of Morlaix\nwear the big, flapping hat, but very often a black cloth cap is also\nseen. This is ridiculous rather than picturesque, for so long is it\nthat with almost every movement it tips over the wearer's nose. The\ntunic accompanying either hat or cap is of blue flannel, and over it\nis worn a black waistcoat. The porters of the market-places wear a\nsort of smock. The young boys of Morlaix dress very like their elders,\nand nearly all of them wear the long loose cap, with the difference\nthat a tasselled end dangles down the back.\n\n[Illustration: MODERN BRITTANY]\n\nOn religious festivals the gala dress is always donned in all\nvicinities of Brittany, and the costume informs the initiated at once\nin what capacity the Breton is present. For instance, the _porteuses_,\nor banner-bearers, of certain saints are dressed in white; others may\nbe more gorgeously or vividly attired in gowns of bright-coloured silk\ntrimmed with gold lace, scarves of silver thread, aprons of gold\ntissue or brocade, and lace _coiffes_ over caps of gold or silver\ntissue; while some, though in national gala dress, will have flags or\ncrosses to distinguish them from the more commonplace worshipper.\n\n\n_Religious Festivals_\n\nThis dressing for the part and the occasion is interwoven with the\nBreton's existence as unalterably as sacred and profane elements are\ninto the occasions of his religious festivals. A feast day well and\npiously begun is interspersed and concluded with a gaiety and abandon\nwhich by contrast strikes a note of profanity. Yet Brittany is quite\nthe most devotedly religious of all the French provinces, and one may\nsee the great cathedrals filled to their uttermost with congregations\nincluding as many men as women. Nowhere else, perhaps, will one find\nsuch great masses of people so completely lost in religious fervour\nduring the usual Church services and the grander and more impressive\nfestivals so solemnly observed. This reverence is attributed by some\nto the power of superstition, by others to the Celtic temperament of\nthe worshippers; but from whatever cause it arises no one who has\nlived among the Bretons can doubt the sincerity and childlike faith\nwhich lies at the base of it all, a faith of which a medieval\nsimplicity and credence are the keynotes.\n\n\n_The Pardons_\n\nThis pious punctiliousness is not confined to Church services and\nceremonies alone, for rarely are wayside crosses or shrines\nunattended by some simple peasant or peasants telling beads or\nunfolding griefs to a God Who, they have been taught, takes the\ndeepest interest in and compassionates all the troubles and trials\nwhich may befall them. Between May and October the religious\nardour of the Breton may be witnessed at its strongest, for during\nthese months the five great 'Pardons' or religious pilgrimage\nfestivals are solemnized in the following sequence: the Pardon of the\nPoor, at Saint-Yves; the Pardon of the Singers, at Rumengol; the\nPardon of the Fire, at Saint-Jean-du-Doigt; the Pardon of the\nMountain, at Trom\u00e9nie-de-Saint-Renan; the Pardon of the Sea, at\nSainte-Anne-la-Palud.\n\nThe Pardon of the Poor, the Pardon of the Singers, and the Pardon of\nthe Sea are especially rigorous and exacting, but the less celebrated\nPardon of Notre Dame de la Clart\u00e9, in Morbihan, has an earthly as much\nas a celestial object, for while the pilgrimage does homage to the\nVirgin it is at the same time believed to facilitate marriage. Here,\nonce the sacred side of the festival has been duly observed, the young\nman in search of a wife circles about the church, closely scrutinizing\nall the eligible demoiselles who come within range of his vision. As\nsoon as he decides which maiden most appeals to him, he asks her\npolitely if she will accept a gift from him, and at the same time\npresents a large round cake, with which he has armed himself for that\noccasion. \"Will mademoiselle break the cake with me?\" is the customary\nform of address, and in the adoption or rejection of this suggestion\nlies the young peasant's yea or nay.\n\nThe Pardon of Saint-Jean-du-Doigt takes place on the 22nd of June, and\nis, perhaps, the most solemn of these festivals. During its\ncelebration the relic of the Saint, the little finger of his right\nhand, is held before the high altar of the church by an _abb\u00e9_ clad in\nhis surplice. The finger is wrapped in the finest of linen, and one by\none the congregation files past the _abb\u00e9_ for the purpose of touching\nfor one brief moment the relic he holds. At the same time another\ncleric stands near the choir, holding the skull of St M\u00e9riadec, and\nbefore this the pilgrims also promenade, reverently bowing their heads\nas they go. The devotees then repair to a side wall near which there\nis a fountain, the waters of which have been previously sanctified by\nbathing in them the finger of St Jean suspended from a gold chain, and\ninto this the pilgrims plunge their palms and vigorously rub their\neyes with them, as a protection against blindness. This concludes the\nreligious side of the Pardon, and immediately after its less edifying\nceremonies begin.\n\nThe Pardon of the Mountain is held on Trinity Sunday at Trom\u00e9nie.\nEvery sixth year there is the 'Grand Trom\u00e9nie,' an event which draws\nan immense concourse of people from all parts. The principal feature\nof this great day from the spectator's point of view is the afternoon\nprocession. It is of the most imposing description, and all who have\ncome to take part in the Pardon join it, as with banners flying and\nmuch hymn-singing it takes its way out of the town to wind round a\nmountain in the vicinity.\n\n\n_Barking Women_\n\nIn the old days of religious enthusiasm a remarkable phenomenon often\nattended these festivals, when excitement began to run high, as it was\ncertain to do among a Celtic people. This was the barking of certain\nhighly strung hysterical women. In time it became quite a usual\nfeature, but now, happily, it is a part of the ceremony which has\nalmost entirely disappeared. There is a legend in connexion with this\ncustom that the Virgin appeared before some women disguised as a\nbeggar, and asked for a draught of water, and, when they refused it,\ncaused them and their posterity to be afflicted with the mania.\n\n\n_The Sacring Bell_\n\nAnother custom of earlier times was that of ringing the sacring bell.\nThese bells are very tiny, and are attached at regular intervals to\nthe outer rim of a wooden wheel, wrongly styled by some 'the Wheel of\nFortune,' from which dangles a long string. In most places the sacring\nbell is kept as a curiosity, though in the church of St Bridget at\nBerhet the _Sant-e-roa_, or Holy Wheel, is still rung by pilgrims\nduring Mass. The bells are set pealing through the medium of a long\nstring by the impatient suppliant, to remind the saint to whom the\n_Sant-e-roa_ may be dedicated of the prayerful requests with which he\nor she has been assailed.\n\nThere are in many of the churches of Brittany wide, old-fashioned\nfireplaces, a fact which testifies to a very sensible practice which\nprevailed in the latter half of the sixteenth century--that of\nwarming the baptismal water before applying it to the defenceless head\nof the lately born. The most famous of these old fireplaces belong to\nthe churches of St Bridget in Perguet, Le Moustoir-le-Juch, St Non at\nPenmarch, and Br\u00e9v\u00e9lenz. In the church at the latter place one of the\npinnacles of the porch forms the chimney to its historic hearth.\n\n\n_The Venus of Quinipily_\n\nChildless people often pay a visit to some standing stone in their\nneighbourhood in the hope that they may thereby be blessed with\noffspring. Famous in this respect is the 'Venus,' or _Groabgoard_, of\nQuinipily, a rough-hewn stone in the likeness of a goddess. The\nletters ...LIT... still remain on it--part of a Latin inscription\nwhich has been thought to have originally read ILITHVIA, \"a name in\nkeeping with the rites still in use before the image,\" says\nMacCulloch.[61]\n\n\n_Holy Wells_\n\nThe holy well is another institution dating from early days, and there\nis hardly a church in Brittany which does not boast one or more of\nthese shrines, which are in most cases dedicated to the saint in whose\nhonour the church has been raised. So numerous are these wells that to\nname them and dwell at any length on the curative powers claimed for\ntheir waters would fill a large volume. Worthy of mention, however, is\nthe Holy Well of St Bieuzy, as typical of most of such sacred springs.\nIt is close to the church of the same name in Bieuzy, and flows from a\ngranite wall. Its waters are said to relieve and cure the mentally\nderanged. Some of the wells are large enough to permit the afflicted\nto bathe in their waters, and of these the well near the church of\nGoezenou is a good example. It is situated in an enclosure surrounded\nby stone seats for the convenience of the devotees who may desire to\nimmerse themselves bodily in it. Several of these shrines bear dates,\nbut whether they are genuine is a matter for conjecture.\n\n\n_Reliquaries_\n\nEvery Breton churchyard worthy of the name has its reliquary or\nbone-house. There may be seen rows of small boxes like dog-kennels\nwith heart-shaped openings. Round these openings, names, dates, and\npious ejaculations are written. Looking through the aperture, a\nglimpse of a skull may startle one, for it is a gruesome custom of the\ncountry to dig up the bones of the dead and preserve the skulls in\nthis way. The name upon the box is that once borne by the deceased,\nthe date that of his death, and the charitable prayer is for the\nrepose of his soul. Occasionally these boxes are set in conspicuous\nplaces in the church, but generally they remain in the reliquary. In\nthe porch of the church of St Tr\u00e9meur, the son of the notorious Breton\nBluebeard, Comorre, there is one of the largest collections of these\nreceptacles in Brittany. Rich people who may have endowed or founded\nsacred edifices are buried in an arched recess of the abbey or church\nthey have benefited.\n\n\n_Feeding the Dead_\n\nIn some parts of Brittany hollows are found in tombstones above\ngraves, and these are annually filled with holy water or libations of\nmilk. It would seem as if this custom linked prehistoric with modern\npractice and that the cup-hollows frequently met with on the top of\ndolmens may have been intended as receptacles for the food of the\ndead. The basins scooped in the soil of a barrow may have served the\nsame purpose. On the night of All Souls' Day, when this libation is\nmade, the supper is left spread on the table of each cottage and the\nfire burns brightly, so that the dead may return to refresh and warm\nthemselves after the dolours of the grave.\n\n\n_The Passage de l'Enfer_\n\nHow hard custom dies in Brittany is illustrated by the fact that it is\nstill usual at Tr\u00e9guier to convey the dead to the churchyard in a boat\nover a part of the river called the 'Passage de l'Enfer,' instead of\ntaking the shorter way by land. This custom is reminiscent of what\nProcopius, a historian of the sixth century, says regarding Breton\nCeltic custom in his _De Bello Gothico_. Speaking of the island of\nBrittia, by which he means Britain, he states that it is divided by a\nwall. Thither fishermen from the Breton coast are compelled to ferry\nover at darkest night the shades of the dead, unseen by them, but\nmarshalled by a mysterious leader. The fishermen who are to row the\ndead across to the British coast must go to bed early, for at midnight\nthey are aroused by a tapping at the door, and they are called in a\nlow voice. They rise and go down to the shore, attracted by some force\nwhich they cannot explain. Here they find their boats, apparently\nempty, yet the water rises to the bulwarks, as if they were crowded.\nOnce they commence the voyage their vessels cleave the water speedily,\nmaking the passage, usually a day and a half's sailing, in an hour.\nWhen the British shore is reached the souls of the dead leave the\nboats, which at once rise in the sea as if unloaded. Then a loud voice\non shore is heard calling out the name and style of those who have\ndisembarked.\n\nProcopius had, of course, heard the old Celtic myth of an oversea\nElysium, and had added to it some distorted reminiscence of the old\nRoman wall which divided Britain. The 'ship of souls' is evidently a\nfeature of Celtic as well as of Latin and Greek belief.\n\n\n_Calvaries_\n\nCalvaries, or representations of the passion on the Cross, are most\nfrequently encountered in Brittany, so much so, indeed, that it has\nbeen called 'the Land of the Calvaries.' Over the length and breadth\nof the country they are to be met at almost every turn, some of them\nno more than rude, simple crosses originating in local workshops, and\nothers truly magnificent in carving and detail. Some of the most\nfamous are those situated at Plougastel, Saint-Th\u00e9gonnec, and\nGuimiliau.\n\nThe Calvary of Plougastel dates from the early sixteenth century, and\nconsists of an arcade beneath a platform filled with statues. The\nsurrounding frieze has carvings in bas-relief representing incidents\nin the life of Christ. The Calvary of Saint-Th\u00e9gonnec represents\nvividly the phases of the passion, being really a 'way of the Cross'\nin sculpture. It bears the unmistakable stamp of the sixteenth\ncentury. The Calvary of Guimiliau is dated 1580 and 1588. A platform\nsupported by arches bears the three crosses, the four evangelists, and\nother figures connected with the principal incidents in the life and\npassion of our Lord. The principal figures, that of Christ and those\nof the attending Blessed Virgin and St John, are most beautifully and\nsympathetically portrayed. The figures in the representations from the\nlife of Christ, which are from necessity much smaller than those of\nthe Crucifixion, are dressed in the costume of the sixteenth century.\nThe entire Calvary is sculptured in Kersanton stone.\n\n[Illustration: THE SOULS OF THE DEAD]\n\nWhether these and other similar groups are really works of art is\nperhaps a matter for discussion, but regarding their impressiveness\nthere cannot be two opinions. By the bulk of the people they are\nheld in great reverence, and rarely are they unattended by tiny\ncongregations of two or three, while on the occasion of important\nreligious festivals people flock to them in hundreds.\n\n\n_Weddings_\n\nIn many of their religious observances the Bretons are prone to\nconfuse the sacred with the profane, and chief among these is the\nwedding ceremony--the customs attendant on which in some ostensibly\nChristian countries are yet a disgrace to the intellect as well as the\ngood feeling of man. In rural Brittany, however, the revelry which\nensues as soon as the church door closes on the newly wedded pair is\nmore like that associated with a children's party than the recreation\nof older people. Should the marriage be celebrated in the morning,\ntables laid out with cakes are ranged outside the church door, and\nwhen the bridal procession files out of the church the bride and\nbridegroom each take a cake from the table and leave a coin in its\nstead for the poor. The guests follow suit, and then the whole party\nrepairs to the nearest meadow, where endless _ronds_ are begun.\n\nThe _rond_ is a sort of dance in which the whole assembly joins\nhands and revolves slowly with a hop-skip-and-a-jump step to the\naccompaniment of a most wearisome and unvarying chant, the music for\nwhich is provided by the _biniou_, or bagpipe, and the flageolet\nor hautboy, both being occasionally augmented by the drum. Before\nthe ceremony begins the musicians who are responsible for this\nprimitive harmony are dispatched to summon the guests, who, of\ncourse, arrive in the full splendour of the national gala costume. As\nsoon as the _ronds_ are completed to the satisfaction of everybody\nthe custom common to so many countries of stealing the bride away\nis celebrated. At a given signal she speeds away from the party,\nhotly pursued by the young gallants present, and when she is\novertaken she presents the successful swain with a cup of coffee at a\npublic _caf\u00e9_. This interlude is followed by dinner, and after that\nthe _ronds_ are resumed. These festivities, in the case of prosperous\npeople, sometimes last three days, during which time the guests are\nentertained at their host's expense. If the wedding happens to be held\nin the evening, dancing is about the only amusement indulged in, and\nthis follows an elaborate wedding supper. The _biniou_ and its\ncompanions are decidedly _en \u00e9vidence_, while sometimes the monotony\nof the _ronds_ is varied by the _grand rond_, a much more graceful\nand intricate affair, containing many elaborate and difficult steps;\nbut the more ordinary dance is the favourite, probably because of the\ndifficulties attending the other.\n\n\n_Breton Burials_\n\nAn ancient Breton funeral ceremony was replete with symbolic meaning\nand ritual, which have been carried down through the Middle Ages to\nthe present time. As soon as the head of the family had ceased to\nbreathe, a great fire was lit in the courtyard, and the mattress upon\nwhich he had expired was burned. Pitchers of water and milk were\nemptied, for fear, perhaps, that the soul of the defunct might be\nathirst. The dead man was then enveloped from head to foot in a great\nwhite sheet and placed in a description of funeral pavilion, the hands\njoined on the breast, the body turned toward the east. At his feet a\nlittle stool was placed, and two yellow candles were lit on each side\nof him. Then the beadle or gravedigger, who was usually a poor man,\nwent round the country-side to carry the news of death, which he\nusually called out in a high, piping voice, ringing his little bell\nthe while. At the hour of sunset people arrived from all parts for the\npurpose of viewing the body. Each one carried a branch, which he\nplaced on the feet of the defunct.\n\nThe evening prayer was recited by all, then the women sang the\ncanticles. From time to time the widow and children of the deceased\nraised the corner of the shroud and kissed it solemnly. A repast was\nserved in an adjoining room, where the beggar sat side by side with\nthe wealthy, on the principle that all were equal before death. It is\nstrange that the poor are always associated with the griefs as with\nthe pleasures of Breton people; we find them at the feast of death and\nat the baptism as at the wedding rejoicing.\n\nIn the morning the rector of the parish arrived and all retired, with\nthe exception of the parents, if these chanced to be alive, in whose\npresence the beadle closed the coffin. No other member of the family\nwas permitted to take part in this solemn farewell, which was regarded\nas a sacred duty. The coffin was then placed on a car drawn by oxen,\nand the funeral procession set out, preceded by the clergy and\nfollowed by the female relations of the deceased, wearing yellow\nhead-dresses and black mantles. The men followed with bared heads. On\narriving at the church the coffin was disposed on trestles, and the\nwidow sat close by it throughout the ceremony. As it was lowered into\nthe tomb the last words of the prayer for the dead were repeated by\nall, and as it touched the soil beneath a loud cry arose from the\nbereaved.\n\nThe Breton funeral ceremony, like those prevalent among other Celtic\npeoples, is indeed a lugubrious affair, and somewhat recalls the Irish\nwake in its strange mixture of mourning and feasting; but curiously\nenough brightness reigns afterward, for the peasant is absolutely\nassured that at the moment his friend is placed in the tomb he\ncommences a life of joy without end.\n\n\n_Tartarus and Paradise_\n\nTwo very striking old Breton ballads give us very vivid pictures of\nthe Breton idea of Heaven and its opposite. That dealing with the\ninfernal regions hails from the district of L\u00e9on. It is attributed to\na priest named Morin, who flourished in the fifteenth century, but\nothers have claimed it for a Jesuit father called Maunoir, who lived\nand preached some two hundred years later. In any case it bears the\necclesiastical stamp. \"Descend, Christians,\" it begins, \"to see what\nunspeakable tortures the souls of the condemned suffer through the\njustice of God, Who has chained them in the midst of flames for\nhaving abused their gifts in this world. Hell is a profound abyss,\nfull of shadow, where not the least gleam of light ever comes. The\ngates have been closed and bolted by God, and He will never open them\nmore. The key is lost!\n\n\"An oven heated to whiteness is this place, a fire which constantly\ndevours the lost souls. There they will eternally burn, tormented by\nthe intolerable heat. They gnash their teeth like mad dogs; they\ncannot escape the flames, which are over their heads, under their\nfeet, and on all sides. The son rushes at his father, and the daughter\nat her mother. They drag them by the hair through the midst of flames,\nwith a thousand maledictions, crying, 'Cursed be ye, lost woman, who\nbrought us into the world! Cursed be ye, heedless man, who wert the\ncause of our damnation!'\n\n\"For drink they have only their tears. Their skins are scorched, and\nbitten by the teeth of serpents and demons, and their flesh and their\nbones are nothing but fuel to the great fire of Hell!\n\n\"After they have been for some time in this furnace, they are plunged\nby Satan into a lake of ice, and from this they are thrown once more\ninto the flames, and from the flames into the water, like a bar of\niron in a smithy. 'Have pity, my God, have pity on us!' they call; but\nthey weep in vain, for God has closed His ears to their plaints.\n\n\"The heat is so intense that their marrow burns within their bones.\nThe more they crave for pity, the more they are tormented.\n\n\"This fire is the anger of God which they have aroused; verily it may\nnever be put out.\"\n\nOne turns with loathing, with anger, and with contempt from this\nproduction of medieval ecclesiasticism. When one thinks of the\nthousands of simple and innocent people who must have been tortured\nand driven half wild with terror by such infamous utterances as this,\none feels inclined to challenge the oft-repeated statement concerning\nthe many virtues of the medieval Church. But Brittany is not the only\nplace where this species of terrorism was in vogue, and that until\ncomparatively recent times. The writer can recall such descriptions as\nthis emanating from the pulpits of churches in Scottish villages only\nsome thirty years ago, and the strange thing is that people of that\ngeneration were wont to look back with longing and admiration upon the\nold style of condemnatory sermon, and to criticize the efforts of the\nyounger school of ministers as being wanting in force and lacking the\nspirit of menace so characteristic of their forerunners. There are no\nsuch sermons nowadays, they say. Let us thank God that to the credit\nof human intelligence and human pity there are not!\n\nThe opposite to this picture is provided by the ballad on Heaven. It\nis generally attributed to Michel de Kerodern, a Breton missionary of\nthe seventeenth century, but others claim its authorship for St Herv\u00e9,\nto whom we have already alluded. In any case it is as replete with\nsuperstitions as its darker fellow. The soul, it says, passes the\nmoon, sun, and stars on its Heavenward way, and from that height turns\nits eyes on its native land of Brittany. \"Adieu to thee, my country!\nAdieu to thee, world of suffering and dolorous burdens! Farewell,\npoverty, affliction, trouble, and sin! Like a lost vessel the body\nlies below, but wherever I turn my eyes my heart is filled with a\nthousand felicities. I behold the gates of Paradise open at my\napproach and the saints coming out to receive me. I am received in the\nPalace of the Trinity, in the midst of honours and heavenly harmonies.\nThe Lord places on my head a beautiful crown and bids me enter into\nthe treasures of Heaven. Legions of archangels chant the praise of\nGod, each with a harp in his hand. I meet my father, my mother, my\nbrothers, the men of my country. Choirs of little angels fly hither\nand thither over our heads like flocks of birds. Oh, happiness without\nequal! When I think of such bliss to be, it consoles my heart for the\npains of this life.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n [61] _Religion of the Ancient Celts_, p. 289.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY & INDEX\n\n A\n\n AB\u00c9LARD. A Breton monk;\n the story of H\u00e9lo\u00efse and, 248-253\n\n ABERLADY BAY. A bay in the Firth of Forth, Scotland, 357\n\n ABERNETHY. A town in Scotland;\n the Round Tower at, 52\n\n ABERYSTWYTH. A town in Wales;\n Taliesin buried at, 22\n\n ADDER'S STONE. A substance supposed to have magical properties,\n employed in Druidic rites, 247;\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse, represented as a sorceress, said to have possessed,\n 252\n\n ALAIN III. Count of Brittany (Count of Vannes);\n drives back the Northmen, 25\n\n ALAIN IV (BARBE-TORTE). Arch-chief of Brittany;\n defeats the Northmen, 25-26\n\n ALAIN V. Duke of Brittany, 27, 28\n\n ALAIN FERGANT. Duke of Brittany, 30\n\n ALAIN. Son of Eudo of Brittany, 29\n\n ALBERT LE GRAND. Monk of Morlaix, 278\n\n ALCHEMY. The art of;\n the position of, in the fifteenth century, 175;\n Gilles de Retz experiments in, 175-179\n\n ALGONQUINS. A race of North American Indians;\n mentioned, 302\n\n ALI BABA. The story of;\n mentioned, 316\n\n ALL SOULS' DAY. The custom of leaving food for the dead on, 383\n\n ALO\u00cfDA. A maiden;\n in the ballad of the Marriage-girdle, 234-236\n\n 'ALPINE' RACE. A European ethnological division;\n the Bretons probably belong to, 14, 37 _n._\n\n AMENOPHIS III. An Egyptian king;\n mentioned, 43\n\n AMERICA. _See_ United States\n\n ANGERS. A town in France;\n St Convoyon goes to, to obtain holy relics from the cathedral,\n 336\n\n ANIMALS. Frequently the bearers of divine aid, in legends of the\n saints, 347;\n St Pol noted for his miraculous power over wild beasts, 366\n\n ANIMISM, 86-87\n\n ANKOU, THE. The death-spirit of Brittany, 101-102\n\n ANNA\u00cfK. A maiden;\n in a story of the Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande, 199-202\n\n ANNE. Duchess of Brittany;\n married to Charles VIII of France, and then to Louis XII, 36;\n the oratory of, in the ch\u00e2teau of Dinan, 209;\n gives the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino to John of Ch\u00e2lons, 210\n\n ANTWERP. The city;\n relics of St Winwaloe preserved in the Jesuit church of St Charles\n at, 371;\n mentioned, 205\n\n APPLE, THE. Said to have been introduced into Brittany by Telio,\n 18\n\n ARDMORE. A town in Ireland;\n the Round Tower at, 51-52\n\n AREZ, MOUNTAINS OF. Same as Montagnes d'Arr\u00e9e, _which see_\n\n ARGOED. A place in Wales;\n battle of, 22\n\n ARMAGH. A city in Ireland;\n Budoc made Bishop of, 356\n\n ARMENIA. The country;\n were-wolf superstition in, 291\n\n ARMOR ('On the Sea'). The ancient Celtic name for Brittany, 13\n\n ARMORICA. The Latin name for the country of Brittany, 13, 15;\n Julius C\u00e6sar in, 16;\n two British kingdoms in, 19;\n the first monastery in, founded by Gw\u00e9nnol\u00e9, 185;\n King Arthur hunts wild beasts in, 278;\n St Samson bidden to go to, 349\n\n ARTHUR, KING. British chieftain, of legendary fame;\n his finding of Excalibur, 256-257;\n his encounter with the giant of Mont-Saint-Michel, 275-277;\n his existence doubted by Bretons in the twelfth century, 278;\n his fight with the dragon at the Lieue de Gr\u00e8ve, 278-281;\n carried to the Isle of Avalon after his last battle, 282;\n Gugemar at the Court of, 292;\n his contest with Modred, 344;\n his sister Margawse the wife of King Lot of Lothian, 357;\n mentioned, 64, 66, 173, 212, 224\n\n ARTHUR. Duke of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet;\n murdered by King John of England, 30\n\n ARTHURIAN ROMANCE. Resemblances in Villemarqu\u00e9's _Barzaz-Breiz_ to,\n 224;\n the controversy as to the original birthplace of, 228,\n 254-255;\n indigenous to British soil, 255\n\n ARZ. _See_ Ile d'Arz\n\n ASH-TREE, THE LAY OF THE. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 317-320\n\n AUCHENTORLIE. An estate in Scotland;\n inscribed stones at, 46\n\n AUCHINLECK MS. A manuscript containing a version of the story of\n Tristrem and Ysonde, 272\n\n AUDIERNE, BAY OF. A bay on the Breton coast;\n national costume in the district of, 376\n\n AULNOY, COMTESSE D'. Noted seventeenth-century French authoress;\n mentioned, 144\n\n AURAY. A town in Brittany;\n battle at, 35;\n centre from which to visit the megaliths of Carnac, 42\n\n AVALON, ISLE OF. A fabled island to which King Arthur was carried\n after his last battle, 282\n\n AVENUE OF SPHINXES. At Karnak, Egypt, 43\n\n AZ\u00c9NOR. Mother of St Budoc of Dol, 354-356\n\n AZ\u00c9NOR THE PALE. A maiden;\n the legend of, 360-364\n\n B\n\n BACCHUS. The Greek god of wine;\n mentioned, 189\n\n BALON. Monastery of;\n St Tivisiau and, 338-339\n\n BAN. King of Benwik;\n father of Sir Lancelot, 257\n\n BANGOR TEIVI. A village in Wales;\n Taliesin said to have died at, 22\n\n BARANTON, THE FOUNTAIN OF. A magical fountain in Broceliande,\n 70-71\n\n BARD. Singer or poet attached to noble households;\n late survival of the custom of maintaining, 364\n\n BARKING WOMEN. A phenomenon connected with religious festivals,\n 380\n\n BARON OF JAUIOZ, THE. A ballad, 145-147\n\n BARRON. A fictitious youth;\n in a story of Gilles de Retz, 178\n\n BARZAZ-BREIZ (\"The Breton Bards\"). A collection of Breton ballads\n made by Villemarqu\u00e9;\n cited (under sub-title, _Chants populaires de la Bretagne_), 57\n _n._;\n criticism of, 211-212\n\n BASS ROCK. An islet in the Firth of Forth, 359\n\n BATZ.\n I. An island off the coast of Brittany; St Pol settles on,\n 365-366\n II. A town in Brittany, 373\n\n BAYARD, THE CHEVALIER DE. A famous French knight;\n mentioned, 31\n\n BEAN NIGHE ('The Washing Woman'). An evil spirit of the Scottish\n Highlands, 100\n\n BEAUMANOIR. A Breton noble house, 229\n\n BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. The story of;\n mentioned, 137\n\n BEAUVAU. Matthew, Seigneur of;\n in the story of the Clerk of Rohan, 190-193\n\n BEDIVERE, SIR. One of King Arthur's knights;\n accompanies Arthur on his expedition against the giant of\n Mont-Saint-Michel, 275-277\n\n BEES. Cultivated by the monks of Dol, 19;\n St Pol taught the people to cultivate, 366\n\n BEIGNON. A town in Brittany, 360\n\n BELGIUM. Mentioned, 52\n\n BELIAGOG. A giant;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 271\n\n BELSUNCE DE CASTELMORON, HENRI-FRAN\u00c7OIS-XAVIER DE. Bishop of\n Marseilles;\n mentioned, 195\n\n BENEDICTION OF THE BEASTS. A festival held at Carnac, 45\n\n BERHET. A village in Brittany;\n the custom of ringing the sacring bell still observed in the\n church of St Bridget at, 380\n\n BERRY. John, Duke of;\n mentioned, 145\n\n BERRY. Caroline, Duchess of;\n imprisoned in the castle of Nantes, 205\n\n BERTRAND DE DINAN. A Breton knight, 29\n\n BIEUZY. A town in Brittany;\n the Holy Well of St Bieuzy at, 381\n\n BIGOUDEN. A cap worn by the women in some parts of Brittany, 376\n\n BINIOU. A musical instrument resembling the bagpipe;\n one of the national instruments of Brittany, 229;\n played at weddings, 386\n\n BIRDS. In Breton tradition, the dead supposed to return to earth in\n the form of, 227;\n frequently messengers in ballad literature, 233;\n in the legends of the saints, commonly the bearers of divine aid,\n 347\n\n BISCLAVERET. The Breton name for a were-wolf;\n in the Lay of the Were-wolf, 287-289, 291\n\n BLACK MOUNTAIN. The name of one of the peaks of the Black Mountains,\n 197\n\n BLACK MOUNTAINS. A mountain chain in Brittany, 196\n\n BLANCHE OF CASTILE. Mother of Louis IX, 208\n\n BLANCHEFLOUR. Princess, sister of King Mark, mother of Tristrem;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258-259, 261\n\n BLOIS. A famous French ch\u00e2teau;\n mentioned, 206\n\n BLOIS, CHARLES OF. Duke of Brittany;\n contests the succession to the duchy, 30-32;\n taken prisoner by Joan of Flanders, 31;\n the marriage of, with Joan of Penthi\u00e8vre, 32;\n defeated at Auray, 35;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino taken by, 210\n\n BLUEBEARD. The villain in the nursery-tale;\n Gilles de Retz identified with, 174, 180;\n the story of, identified with the story of Comorre and Triphyna,\n 180\n\n BLUE CHAMBER. A boudoir in the ch\u00e2teau of Tourlaville, 209\n\n BODMIN. A town in Cornwall;\n mentioned, 278\n\n BOITEUX. A fiend;\n in the story of the Princess Starbright, 123, 124, 125\n\n BONCOTEST, COLLEGE OF. One of the colleges of the old University of\n Paris;\n Fontenelle at, 229\n\n BONNY KILMENY. A ballad by James Hogg;\n mentioned, 327\n\n BOURDAIS, MARC. A peasant, nicknamed Maraud;\n in the story of the Lost Daughter, 75-77\n\n BOUTEVILLE. John of, Seigneur of Faouet;\n mentioned, 335\n\n BOY WHO SERVED THE FAIRIES, THE. The story of, 88-95\n\n BRAN ('Crow'). A Breton warrior;\n the story of, 225-227;\n analogies between the story of, and the poem of _Sir Tristrem_,\n 227-228\n\n BRENGWAIN. A lady of Ysonde's suite;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 267, 269, 271, 272\n\n BRENHA, FATHER JOS\u00c9. A Portuguese antiquary;\n mentioned, 47\n\n BREOCHAN. A legendary Welsh king, father of St Nennocha, 340\n\n BR\u00c9RI. A Breton poet, 255\n\n BREST. A town in Brittany, 354, 368, 371\n\n BRETON. The language, 15-16\n\n BRETONS. The race;\n their origin and affinities, 13-15, 17, 37 _n._;\n Bretons join William of Normandy in his expedition against\n England, 29, 232, 233;\n send an expedition to help Owen Glendower, 234;\n defeat the English in a naval battle, 236\n\n BREVELENZ. A village in Brittany;\n a fireplace in the church of, 381\n\n BREZONEK. The language spoken by the Bretons, 15-16\n\n BRIAN. Son of Eudo of Brittany, 29\n\n BRIDE OF SATAN, THE. The story of, 143-144;\n mentioned, 147\n\n BRITAIN. Celts flee from, to Brittany, before the Saxon invaders,\n 15, 17;\n subject kingdoms of, in Brittany, 19;\n immigrants from, in Brittany, form a confederacy and fight against\n the Franks, 22-23;\n the headquarters of the Druidic cult, 245;\n Arthurian romance indigenous to, 255;\n St Patern founds religious houses in, 348;\n St Samson fled from, to Brittany, 350;\n Procopius' story of the ferrying of the Breton dead over to,\n 383-384\n\n BRITONS. The race;\n members of, emigrate to Brittany, 15, 17, 22-23;\n carried Arthurian romance to Brittany, 254, 255\n\n BRITTANY. Divisions and character of the country, 13;\n Julius C\u00e6sar in, 16;\n the Latin tongue did not spread over, 17;\n the origin of the name, 17;\n Nomeno\u00eb wins the independence of, 23;\n invaded by Northmen, 25;\n the Northmen expelled from, 26;\n division of, into counties and seigneuries, 27;\n relations with Normandy, 27-30;\n French influences in, 30;\n the War of the Two Joans, 30-31, 35-36;\n annexed to France by Francis I, 36;\n the prehistoric stone monuments of, 37-53;\n the fairies of, 54-95;\n the sprites and demons of, 96-105;\n 'world-tales' in, 106-155;\n folk-tales of, 156-172;\n popular legends of, 173-202;\n the ch\u00e2teaux of, 202-210;\n hero-tales of, 211-240;\n sends help to Owen Glendower in his conflict with the English,\n 234;\n a British army in, 237;\n the black art in, 241-253;\n Arthurian romance in, 254-282;\n Arthur found Excalibur in, 256;\n Tristrem in, 270-271, 272;\n the scene of the _Lais_ of Marie de France, 284;\n the saints of, 332-371;\n many saints in, 350;\n costumes of, 372-377;\n customs of, 378-388;\n religious observance in, 377-378;\n holy wells in, 381-382;\n observances relating to the dead and interments, 382-384,\n 386-388;\n Calvaries in, 384-385;\n wedding ceremonies in, 385-386\n\n BRITTANY, COUNTS AND DUKES OF. _See under_ Alain; Arthur; Blois,\n Charles of; Conan; Dreux; Eudo; Francis; Geoffrey; Hoel; John;\n _and_ Salomon\n\n BRITTIA. Procopius' name for Britain, 383\n\n BROCELIANDE. A forest in Brittany, 54-73;\n the shrine of Arthurian story, 55;\n the Korrigan a denizen of, 56;\n the scene of the adventures of Merlin and Vivien, 64;\n the fountain of Baranton in, 70-71;\n lines on, 71;\n in the story of Bruno of La Montagne, 72-73;\n the wood of Hell\u00e9an a part of, 221;\n mentioned, 338\n\n BRODINEUF. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 207\n\n BROWNIES. Elfish beings of small size;\n distinct from fairies, 87\n\n BRUNHILDA. Queen of Austrasia;\n mentioned, 31\n\n BRUNO OF LA MONTAGNE. The story of, 72-73\n\n BRUYANT. A friend of Butor of La Montagne;\n in the story of Bruno of La Montagne, 72-73\n\n BUGELNOZ, or TEUS. A beneficent spirit of the Vannes district,\n 100\n\n BURIAL CUSTOMS. In Brittany, 382-384, 386-388\n\n BURNS, ROBERT. The poet;\n his use of old songs and ballads, 211;\n mentioned, 241\n\n BURON. A knight;\n in the Lay of the Ash-tree, 318-320\n\n BUTOR. Baron of La Montagne;\n in the story of Bruno of La Montagne, 72\n\n C\n\n CADOUDAL, GEORGES. A Chouan leader;\n mentioned, 25\n\n CAERLEON-UPON-USK. A town in Wales;\n Tristrem sails for, 263;\n mentioned, 21\n\n C\u00c6SAR. _See_ Julius\n\n CALENDAR, THE. Supernatural beings often associated with, 97\n\n CALIBURN. A name for Excalibur. _See_ Excalibur\n\n CALLERNISH. A district in the island of Lewis, Outer Hebrides;\n mentioned, 53\n\n CALVARIES. Representations of the passion on the Cross;\n common in Brittany, 384-385\n\n CAMARET. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 41\n\n CAMELOT. A legendary town in England, the scene of King Arthur's\n Court;\n the battle at, in which King Arthur was killed, 344;\n mentioned, 64\n\n CANADOS. King Mark's Constable, in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde,\n 272\n\n CANCOET. A village in Brittany;\n the Maison des Follets at, 49\n\n CARADEUC. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 207\n\n CARDIGAN BAY. A bay in Wales;\n the site of a submerged city, according to Welsh legend, 187,\n 188\n\n CARDIGANSHIRE. Welsh county;\n mentioned, 22\n\n CARHAIX. A town in Brittany;\n Comorre the ruler of, 180\n\n CARNAC. A town in Brittany;\n the megaliths at, 42-45;\n the legend of, 44-45;\n the 'Benediction of the Beasts' at, 45;\n sometimes called 'Ty C'harriquet,' 98;\n its megaliths supposed to have been built by the gorics, 98;\n the gorics' revels around the megaliths of, 99\n\n CAROLINE. Queen of England, wife of George II;\n mentioned, 196\n\n CASTLE OF THE SUN, THE. The story of, 131-137\n\n CATTWG. A town in Wales;\n Taliesin and Gildas said to have been educated at the school of,\n 21\n\n CAYOT D\u00c9LANDRE, F. M. A Breton poet, 43\n\n 'CELTIC.' The term;\n its disputed connotation, 37\n\n CELTS. The race;\n the Bretons a division of, 14-15;\n Druidism may not have originated with, 245;\n musical and poetic elements in the temperament of, 339\n\n CHAMBER OF THE BLACK CAVALIER. In the ballad of Az\u00e9nor the Pale,\n 362\n\n CHAMBORD. A famous French ch\u00e2teau;\n mentioned, 206\n\n CHAMP DOLENT ('Field of Woe'). The field in which the menhir of Dol\n stands, 40;\n the battle in, 40\n\n CHAMPTOC\u00c9. A Breton ch\u00e2teau;\n the home of Gilles de Retz, 175, 176, 179-180\n\n CHANGELINGS. The Breton fairies and, 83\n\n CHANSONS DE GESTES. Medieval French poems with an heroic theme;\n Villemarqu\u00e9's work marked by the style of, 224-225\n\n CHANTS POPULAIRES DE LA BRETAGNE. The sub-title of Villemarqu\u00e9's\n _Barzaz-Breiz_. _See_ _Barzaz-Breiz_\n\n CHAPELLE DU DUC. A chapel at Tr\u00e9guier, built by Duke John V, 353\n\n CHARLEMAGNE. The Emperor;\n mentioned, 225\n\n CHARLES I (THE BALD). King of France;\n Nomeno\u00eb rises against, 23, 337-338\n\n CHARLES V. King of France;\n mentioned, 32\n\n CHARLES VI. King of France;\n mentioned, 174\n\n CHARLES VIII. King of France;\n Anne of Brittany married to, 36\n\n CHARLES. A youth;\n in the story of the Princess of Tronkolaine, 115-121\n\n CHASE, THE. Superstitions of, 301\n\n CH\u00c2TEAU DES PAULPIQUETS. A name given to a megalithic structure in\n Questembert, 49\n\n CH\u00c2TEAUX. Of Brittany;\n their rich legendary and historical associations, 202-203;\n stories of, 203-210\n\n CH\u00c2TEAUBRIAND. Fran\u00e7ois-Ren\u00e9-Auguste, Viscount of;\n famous French writer and statesman;\n associated with the ch\u00e2teau of Comburg, 207\n\n CH\u00c2TEAUBRIANT. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 207\n\n CH\u00c2TEAUBRIANT. Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, Countess of;\n a story of her relations with King Francis I and her fate, 207;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino given to, by Francis I, 210\n\n CHAVEAU-NARISHKINE, COUNTESS. Restored the ch\u00e2teau of Kerjolet,\n 208\n\n CHILDEBAT. A Breton king, 366;\n and St Pol, 367\n\n CHRAMNE. Son of Clotaire I, King of the Franks, 40\n\n CHRISTIANITY. St Samson teaches, in Brittany, 17-19;\n the Curiosolites refuse to receive the teachings of St Malo,\n 342\n\n CHURCH. The early;\n hostility of, to the fairies, 56\n\n CINDERELLA. The story of;\n mentioned, 144\n\n CISALPINE GAUL. Roman province;\n had no Druidic priesthood, 245\n\n CLAIRSCHACH. The Highland harp;\n replaced as the national instrument by the bagpipe, 229\n\n CLAUDE. Queen of Francis I of France, 36\n\n CL\u00c9DER. A town in Brittany;\n St Keenan built a monastery at, 344\n\n CLERK OF ROHAN, THE. The story of, 189-193\n\n CLISSON. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 204-205\n\n CLISSON, OLIVER DE. A celebrated Breton soldier, Constable of\n France;\n fought in the War of the Two Joans, 35, 204;\n and the ch\u00e2teau of Clisson, 204;\n and the ch\u00e2teau of Josselin, 205, 206\n\n CLOTAIRE I. King of the Franks, 40\n\n COADELAN. The manor of;\n occupied by Fontenelle, 230, 231;\n has gone to decay, 232\n\n COADELAN, THE LADY OF. Her daughter carried off by Fontenelle,\n 229-230\n\n COAT-SQUIRIOU, MARQUIS OF. In the story of the Youth who did not\n Know, 106-109\n\n COCKNO. A place in Scotland;\n inscribed stones at, 47\n\n COESORON. A river in Brittany, 17\n\n CO\u00caTMAN. The house of, 204\n\n CO\u00caTMAN, VISCOUNT OF. A Breton nobleman;\n mentioned, 204-205\n\n CO\u00cbTQUEN, TOWER OF. One of the towers in the city wall of Dinan,\n 209\n\n COIFFES. Of Brittany;\n specimens of, in the museum at Kerjolet, 208\n _See_ Head-dress\n\n COLE, KING. A half-legendary British king;\n mentioned, 173\n\n COLODOC. A name given to St Keenan. _See_ St Keenan\n\n COMBAT OF SAINT-CAST, THE. The ballad of, 236-238\n\n COMBOURG. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 207-208;\n Ch\u00e2teaubriand associated with, 208\n\n COMORRE THE CURSED. The story of, 180-184;\n mentioned, 382\n\n COMTE DE GABALIS, LE. The Abb\u00e9 de Villars' work;\n mentioned, 64\n\n CONAN I. Count of Brittany (Count of Rennes), 27\n\n CONAN II. Duke of Brittany;\n and Duke William of Normandy, 27-29\n\n CONAN III. Duke of Brittany, 30;\n patron of Ab\u00e9lard, 248\n\n CONAN IV. Duke of Brittany, 30\n\n CONAN. Father of Morvan, 215\n\n CONCARNEAU. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Kerjolet in, 208\n\n CONCORET. A town in Brittany;\n had a reputation as the abode of sorcerers, 242\n\n CONCURRUS. A village in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n CONNAUGHT. An Irish province;\n St Keenan a native of, 343\n\n CONSTANCE. Daughter of Conan IV of Brittany;\n married to Geoffrey Plantagenet, 30\n\n CONTES POPULAIRES DE LA HAUTE-BRETAGNE. P. S\u00e9billot's work;\n cited, 83 _n._\n\n CORK. A county of Ireland;\n mentioned, 355\n\n CORNOUAILLE. A district in Brittany;\n the ancient Cornubia, 19;\n formed by immigrants from Britain, 23;\n Az\u00e9nor the Pale, a ballad of, 360-364;\n distinctive national costume in, 372;\n mentioned, 108\n\n CORNUBIA. A British kingdom in Armorica, the modern Cornouaille,\n 19\n\n CORNWALL. An English county, anciently a kingdom;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 257-262;\n mentioned, 278\n\n CORSEUL. A town in Brittany;\n the people of, refuse the teachings of St Malo, 342-343\n\n CORSTORPHINE. A village near Edinburgh;\n the legend of the building of the church at, 51\n\n COSTUME. Breton;\n specimens of, in the museum at Kerjolet, 208;\n the faithfulness of the Bretons to their national costume, 372;\n the varieties of, 372-377;\n the costume of Cornouaille, 372;\n of Quimper, 372-373;\n of the workers of the Escoublac district, 373-374;\n of the women of Granville, 374;\n of the women of Ouessant, 374;\n of the men of St Pol, 375;\n of Pont l'Abb\u00e9 and the Bay of Audierne, 376;\n of Morlaix, 376-377;\n gala dress in Brittany, 377\n\n C\u00d4TES-DU-NORD. One of the departments of Brittany, 13;\n part of the ancient kingdom of Domnonia, 19;\n mentioned, 41, 88, 167, 282, 351\n\n COUDRE. A maiden;\n in the Lay of the Ash-tree, 319-320\n\n COURILS. A race of gnomes peculiar to Brittany, 87, 98-99\n\n COURONNES DE STE BARBE. Amulets sold at the festival of St Barbe at\n Le Faouet, 333\n\n COX, REV. SIR G. W. Cited, 275 _n._\n\n CRAON. The house of, 174\n\n CRIONS. A race of gnomes peculiar to the ruins of Tresmalouen, 99\n\n CROMLECH. The term;\n its derivation and significance, 38\n\n CROSS OF THE THOUSAND SAILS. A monument at Guic-sezne, 370\n\n CRUSADES. Mentioned, 190\n\n CULROSS. A town in Scotland;\n St Kentigern born at, 357\n\n CUP-AND-RING ALTAR. A monument discovered in the Milton of Colquhoun\n district, Scotland, 47\n\n CUP-AND-RING MARKINGS. Symbols inscribed on megaliths;\n their meaning and purpose, 46-48\n\n CUPID AND PSYCHE. The story of;\n mentioned, 137\n\n CURIOSOLIT\u00c6. A Gallic tribe which inhabited Brittany, 16;\n the Curiosolites refuse to receive Christian teaching from St Malo,\n 342-343\n\n CYMBELINE. A half-legendary British king;\n mentioned, 173\n\n D\n\n DAGWORTH, SIR THOMAS. An English knight;\n at the battle of La Roche-Derrien, 31\n\n DAHUT. Princess, daughter of Gradlon;\n in the legend of Ys, 185, 186\n\n DANA\u00cb. A maiden, in Greek mythology, mother of Perseus;\n mentioned, 358\n\n DAOINE SIDHE. Irish deities, 87\n\n DAOULAS. A village in Brittany;\n the statue of the Virgin in the abbey of, adorned with a girdle of\n rubies, 236\n\n DEAD, THE. In Breton tradition, supposed to return to earth in the\n form of birds, 227;\n food left for, 382-383, 387;\n burial customs, 382-384, 386-388;\n the Breton dead ferried over to Britain, 383-384\n\n DEATH-BIRD. A bird whose note is supposed to portend misfortune to\n the maiden who hears it, 145, 147\n\n DEATH-SPIRIT. The Ankou, 101-102\n\n DEER GOD. A deity of the North American Indians, 301\n\n D\u00c9LANDRE, CAYOT. _See_ Cayot\n\n DEMETER. Greek corn goddess;\n mentioned, 59\n\n DEMON LOVER, THE. A Scottish ballad;\n mentioned, 144\n\n DEMONS. Of Brittany, 96-105;\n the invariable accompaniment of an illiterate peasantry, 96\n\n DENIS PYRAMUS. An Anglo-Norman chronicler;\n on the poems of Marie de France, 284\n\n DESONELLE, PRINCESS. Heroine of _Sir Torrent of Portugal_;\n mentioned, 358\n\n DEVIL, THE. The erection of the megalithic monuments ascribed to,\n 49;\n the Teus and, 100\n _See also_ Satan\n\n DIANA. Roman moon-goddess;\n mentioned, 74\n\n DIANCECHT. An Irish god;\n mentioned, 247\n\n DINAN.\n I. A town in Brittany, 194, 195, 209\n II. The ch\u00e2teau of, 209\n\n DOL. A town in Brittany;\n the menhir near, 18, 39-40, 318;\n St Samson settled near, 18;\n the Northmen defeated by Alain Barbe-torte near, 26;\n the legend of the menhir of, 40;\n Buron lived at, 318;\n St Turiau, or Tivisiau, associated with, 338-339;\n the legend of the founding of, by St Samson, 350;\n the legend of St Budoc of, 353-358\n\n DOL, BISHOP OF. And St Tivisiau, 338-339\n\n DOL DES MARCHANDS. The name given to a dolmen near Dol, 48\n\n DOLMENS. Derivation and meaning of the term, 38;\n purpose of the monuments, 38-39;\n the dolmen-chapel at Plouaret, 41;\n the dolmen at Tr\u00e9gunc, 42;\n the dolmen at Rocenaud, 46;\n cup-and-ring markings upon, 46-48;\n the dolmen at Penhapp, 48;\n the dolmen near the wood of Rocher, 50;\n the dolmen at La Lande-Marie, 51;\n the dolmen of Ess\u00e9, 53;\n haunted by nains, 96;\n cup-hollows on, may have been intended as receptacles for food for\n the dead, 383\n\n DOLOROUS KNIGHT, THE LAY OF THE, or THE LAY OF THE FOUR SORROWS. One\n of the _Lais_ of Marie de France, 328-331\n\n DOMNON\u00c9E. A county of Brittany, 23\n _See also_ Domnonia\n\n DOMNONIA. A British kingdom in Armorica, 19, 27\n _See also_ Domnon\u00e9e\n\n DOTTIN, GEORGES. Cited, 37 _n._\n\n DOUARNENEZ, BAY OF. A bay on the Breton coast;\n the city of Ys said to have been situated there, 185\n\n DRACHENFELS. A famous castle on the Rhine;\n mentioned, 203\n\n DREUX, PIERRE DE. Duke of Brittany;\n defeats John of England at Nantes, 30\n\n DREZ, JOB ANN. A sexton;\n in a story of the Yeun, 103-105\n\n DRUIDISM. In early times, sorcery identified with, 245;\n the question whether Druidism was of Celtic or non-Celtic origin,\n 245;\n the nature of the practices of, 245-248;\n survival of Druidic spells and ritual, 246;\n an Eastern origin claimed for, 247;\n survivals of the Druidic priesthood, 247;\n a college of Druidic priestesses situated near Nantes, 253;\n mentioned, 53\n _See also_ Druids\n\n DRUIDS. Origin of the cult, 245;\n the nature of their practices, 245-246;\n in the legend of Kentigern's birth, condemn Thenaw, 357\n _See also_ Druidism\n\n DUBLIN. The city;\n Tristrem comes to, 263;\n Tristrem's second visit to, 265\n\n DUBRIC. Archbishop who officiated at the marriage of King Arthur and\n Guinevere, 67\n\n DU GUESCLIN, BERTRAND. A famous knight, Constable of France;\n helps Charles of Blois in the War of the Two Joans, 31-32;\n a notable figure in Breton legend, 32;\n buried at Saint-Denis, 32;\n the legend of the Ward of, 33-35;\n taken prisoner at the battle of Auray, 35\n\n DUNGIVEN. A town in Ireland;\n Druidic ritual still observed at, 246\n\n DUNPENDER. A mountain in East Lothian, now called Traprain Law;\n Thenaw cast from, 357\n\n DUSII. Spirits inhabiting Gaul, 100\n\n DYLAN. A British sea-god;\n mentioned, 69\n\n DYONAS. A god of the Britons;\n Vivien sometimes represented as the daughter of, 69\n\n E\n\n EDINBURGH. The city;\n mentioned, 51, 60, 203\n\n EDMUND. King of East Anglia;\n mentioned, 284\n\n ELIDUC, THE LAY OF. One of the LAIS of Marie de France, 305-313\n\n ELL\u00c9. A river in Brittany, 19, 332\n\n \u00c9LORN. A river in Brittany, 19\n\n ELPHIN. Son of the Welsh chieftain Urien;\n taught by Taliesin, 21\n\n ELVES. In Teutonic mythology, diminutive spirits;\n the fairy race of Celtic countries may have been confused with,\n 87\n\n EMERALD COAST, THE. A district in the southern portion of Brittany,\n 13\n\n ENGLAND.\n I. The country;\n loses its ancient British name, which becomes that of Brittany,\n 17;\n Bretons who accompanied William the Conqueror receive land in,\n 232;\n Bretons invade, from Wales, 234;\n claimed as the birthplace of Arthurian romance, 254;\n King Arthur moves against the Emperor Lucius' threatened\n invasion of, 275;\n the existence of King Arthur credited in, in the twelfth\n century, 278;\n Marie de France lived in, 283\n II. The State;\n supports John of Montfort's claim to Brittany, 31\n\n ENORA. _See_ St Enora\n\n EQUITAN, THE LAY OF. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 313-317\n\n ERDEVEN. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n ERMONIE. A mythical kingdom, in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde;\n Roland Rise, Lord of, 258;\n Duke Morgan becomes Lord of, 259;\n Tristrem returns to, 261\n\n ERNAULT, E. Cited, 16 _n._\n\n ERYRI, MOUNT. King Arthur slew the giant Ritho upon, 277\n\n ESCOUBLAC. A town in Brittany, 373\n\n ESS\u00c9. A village in Brittany;\n the dolmen of, 53\n\n ESTAING, PIERRE D'. A French alchemist;\n mentioned, 175\n\n \u00c9TANG DE LAVAL. A lake, supposed to cover the site of the submerged\n city of Ys, 185\n\n ETHWIJE. Wife of Geoffrey I of Brittany, 196, 198\n\n EUDO. Count of Brittany, son of Geoffrey I, 27, 29\n\n EUFUERIEN. King of Cumbria, 357\n\n EVEN THE GREAT. Breton leader;\n defeats the Norsemen at the battle of Kerlouan, 225, 227\n\n EWEN. Son of Eufuerien, King of Cumbria, 357\n\n EXCALIBUR. King Arthur's miraculous sword;\n given to Arthur in Brittany, 256-257;\n Arthur kills the giant of Mont-Saint-Michel with, 277;\n mentioned, 280\n\n EXETER. The city;\n mentioned, 307\n\n F\n\n FABLES. Of Marie de France, 283\n\n FAIRIES. Credited with the erection of the megalithic monuments,\n 49-52;\n magically imprisoned in dolmens, trees, and pillars, 52;\n the fairy lore of Brittany bears evidence of Celtic influence,\n 54;\n the fairies of Brittany hostile to man, 54, 55-56, 85;\n the Church the enemy of, 56;\n what derived from, in folk-lore, 73-74;\n the varying conceptions of, 73;\n the Bretons' ideas of, 74-75;\n the fairies of the _houles_, 75, 88;\n the fairies' distaste for being recognized, and stories\n illustrating this, 82;\n bestow magical sight, 82-83;\n and changelings, 83;\n prone to take animal, bird, and fish shapes, 83-84;\n probable reasons for the fairies' malevolence, 85-86;\n origin of the fairy idea, 85-87;\n may have originally been deities, 87;\n in Brittany, conceived as of average mortal height, 87;\n the _Margots la f\u00e9e_, a variety of, 88;\n a story illustrating fairy malevolence, 88;\n the fairy-woman in the Lay of Graelent, 322-328\n\n FAIRYLAND. Graelent enters, 326;\n identified with the Celtic Otherworld, 327;\n a place of death and remoteness, 328\n\n FAIRY-WIFE. A folk-lore _motif_, 327\n\n FALCON, THE. A ballad, 196-198\n\n FARMER, CAPTAIN GEORGE. Commander of the _Quebec_;\n in a Breton ballad, 238\n\n FAYS. _See_ Fairies\n\n FEBRUARY. The month;\n personified in the story of Princess Starbright, 128-129\n\n F\u00c9LIX. Bishop of Quimper, 337\n\n FEUILLET, OCTAVE. A French novelist;\n mentioned, 206\n\n FINETTE CENDRON ('Cinderella'). Mme d'Aulnoy's story of;\n mentioned, 144\n\n FINIST\u00c8RE. One of the departments of Brittany, 13;\n part of the ancient kingdom of Domnonia, 19;\n mentioned, 41, 49, 180\n\n FIONS. A name sometimes given to the fairies in Brittany, occurring\n also in Scottish and Irish folk-lore, 74\n\n FIRE-GODDESS. St Barbe probably represents the survival of a, 334\n\n FIREPLACES in Breton churches, 380-381\n\n FISHERMAN AND THE FAIRIES, THE. The story of, 80-83\n\n FLAMEL, NICOLAS. A French alchemist;\n mentioned, 175\n\n FLANDERS. The country;\n Gugemar in, 292;\n mentioned, 145\n\n FOLK-TALES. Of Brittany, 156-172\n\n FONTENELLE, GUY EDER DE. A Breton leader, associated with the\n Catholic League, 229-232\n\n F\u00d6RSTER, PROFESSOR WENDELIN. And the origin of Arthurian romance,\n 254\n\n FORTH. A river in Scotland;\n mentioned, 357\n\n FORTH, FIRTH OF. Mentioned, 356, 359\n\n FOSTER-BROTHER, THE. The story of, 167-172\n\n FOUCAULT, JEAN. A Breton peasant;\n a story of, 244\n\n FOUG\u00c8RES. A town in Brittany;\n had a reputation as the dwelling-place of sorcerers, 242\n\n FOUQUET, NICOLAS. A French statesman;\n imprisoned in the castle of Nantes, 205\n\n FOUR SORROWS, THE LAY OF THE, or THE LAY OF THE DOLOROUS KNIGHT. One\n of the _Lais_ of Marie de France, 328-331\n\n FRAGAN. Governor of L\u00e9on, father of St Winwaloe, 370\n\n FRANCE.\n I. The country;\n manners and fashions of, spread in Brittany, 30;\n the were-wolf superstition prevalent in, 291\n II. The State;\n intervenes in the conflict between Brittany and Normandy, 30;\n Brittany annexed by, under Francis I, 36\n\n FRANCIS I. King of France;\n annexes Brittany to France, 36;\n and Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, the Countess of Ch\u00e2teaubriant, 207;\n gives the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino to Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, 210\n\n FRANCIS I. Duke of Brittany, 36\n\n FRANKS. The people;\n exercised a nominal suzerainty over Brittany, 23;\n Morvan fights with, 216-221;\n \"Morvan will return to drive the Franks from the Breton land,\"\n 224\n\n FRANKS, KING OF THE. In Villemarqu\u00e9's _Barzaz-Breiz_;\n and Morvan's fight with the Moor, 218-220;\n Morvan fights with, 220-221;\n the character drawn in the style of the _chansons de gestes_,\n 224\n\n FREDEGONDA. Queen of Neustria;\n mentioned, 31\n\n FR\u00c9MIET, EMMANUEL. A French sculptor;\n mentioned, 206\n\n FR\u00caNE. A maiden;\n in the Lay of the Ash-tree, 318-320\n\n FULBERT. A canon of Notre-Dame, Paris, uncle of H\u00e9lo\u00efse, 249;\n mutilated Ab\u00e9lard, 250\n\n FUNERAL CUSTOMS AND CEREMONIES. In Brittany, 382-384, 386-388\n\n G\n\n GAIDOZ, H. Cited, 212 _n._\n\n GANHARDIN. Brother of Ysonde of the White Hand;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 271-272, 273\n\n GARB OF OLD GAUL, THE. A song;\n mentioned, 237\n\n GARGANTUA. A mythical giant;\n the erection of the megalithic monuments ascribed to, 49\n\n GARLON, THE CLERK OF. In a legend of the Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande,\n 199-202\n\n GAVR'INIS ('Goat Island'). An island in the Gulf of Morbihan;\n the tumulus at, 48;\n nains' inscriptions on the megaliths of, 98\n\n GAWAINE, SIR. One of King Arthur's knights;\n mentioned, 357\n\n GEBER. An Arabian alchemist;\n mentioned, 175\n\n GEOFFREY I. Duke of Brittany, 27;\n in the legend of the Falcon, 196\n\n GEOFFREY II (PLANTAGENET). Duke of Brittany, 30\n\n GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. An English chronicler;\n the presentation of Vivien in his work, 69;\n and the presentation of Merlin, 70;\n acknowledged a Breton source for his work, 255\n\n GILDAS. A British chronicler;\n fellow-pupil with Taliesin at the school of Cattwg, 21;\n St Keenan associated with, 343;\n St Bieuzy a friend and disciple of, 345;\n the bell of, in the chapel at La Roche-sur-Blavet, 345;\n St Bieuzy dies in the presence of, 346;\n St Pol of L\u00e9on a fellow-student of, 364\n\n GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS. A Welsh chronicler;\n and the legend of the submerged city, 187\n\n GIRDLE. Superstition of the, 302\n\n GLAIN NEIDR. The sea-snake's egg or adder's stone, used in Druidic\n rites, 247;\n H\u00e9lo\u00efse, represented as a sorceress, said to have possessed,\n 252\n\n GLASGOW. The city;\n mentioned, 357, 359\n\n GOELC. A seigneury of Brittany;\n a Count of, the father of St Budoc of Dol, 354, 355\n\n GOEZENOU. A village in Brittany;\n the cheeses petrified by St Goezenou preserved in the church of,\n 369;\n holy well at, 382\n\n GOIDELIC DIALECT. A Celtic tongue, 15\n\n GOLDEN BELL, CH\u00c2TEAU OF THE. In the story of the Youth who did not\n Know, 111-114\n\n GOLDEN BELL, PRINCESS. In the story of the Youth who did not Know,\n 110-115\n\n GOLDEN HERB. A plant supposed in Druidical times to possess magical\n properties, 247-248\n\n GOMME, SIR G. L. Cited, 173, 247 _n._\n\n GORICS. A race of gnomes peculiar to Brittany, 87, 98-99\n\n GOULVEN. A village in Brittany;\n historical tablet in the church of, 225\n\n GOUVERNAYL. Servitor to Tristrem;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 263, 264\n\n GRADLON MEUR. A ruler of Ys;\n in the legend of the city, 185-186;\n the statue of, at Quimper, 188-189;\n supposed to have introduced the vine into Brittany, 189\n\n GRAELENT, THE LAY OF. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 320-328\n\n GRAIL. Legend of the;\n a parallel incident in the Lay of Gugemar and, 301-302\n\n GRALLO. King of Brittany;\n and St Ronan, 367\n\n GRAND MONT. An eminence upon which St Gildas built his abbey, 249\n\n GRAND TROM\u00c9NIE. The special celebration of the Pardon of the\n Mountain held every sixth year, 379-380\n\n GRANVILLE. A town in Brittany;\n women's costume in, 374\n\n GRIFESCORNE. King of the Demons;\n in the story of the Youth who did not Know, 111, 114\n\n GROABGOARD. An image at Quinipily, 381\n\n GROTTES AUX F\u00c9ES. Name given to the megalithic monuments by the\n Bretons, 48, 49\n\n GU\u00c9MEN\u00c9. A town in Brittany, 334\n\n GU\u00c9RANDE. A town in Brittany, 198\n\n GU\u00c9RANDE. Louis-Fran\u00e7ois, Marquis of;\n the story of, 199-202\n\n GUERECH. Count of Vannes;\n in the story of Comorre the Cursed, 180-181, 183, 184\n\n GUGEMAR, THE LAY OF. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 292-302\n\n GUIC-SEZNE. A town in Brittany, 370\n\n GUILDELUEC. Wife of Eliduc, 306-313\n\n GUILLARDUN. A princess;\n in the Lay of Eliduc, 307-313\n\n GUILLEVIC, A. Cited, 16 _n._\n\n GUIMILIAU. A town in Brittany;\n the Calvary at, 384-385\n\n GUINDY. A river in Brittany, 167, 220\n\n GUINEVERE. King Arthur's Queen;\n mentioned, 67;\n comforted by St Keenan after Arthur's death, 344\n\n GUINGAMP. A town in Brittany, 229\n\n GWEN. Mother of St Winwaloe, 370\n\n GWENALOE ('He that is white'). The Breton name for St Winwaloe,\n 370\n\n GWENN-ESTRAD. A place in Wales;\n battle of, 22\n\n GWENNOLA\u00cfK. A maiden of Tr\u00e9guier;\n in the story of the Foster-brother, 167-172\n\n GW\u00c9NNOL\u00c9. A holy man;\n in the legend of the city of Ys, 185, 186\n\n GWEZKLEN. The Breton name for Du Guesclin, 32\n _See_ Du Guesclin\n\n GWINDELUC. A monk, a disciple of St Convoyon, 335\n\n GWYDDNO. Twelfth-century Welsh bard;\n relates the story of the submerged city, 188\n\n H\n\n HAINAULT. A Belgian province;\n mentioned, 328\n\n HARP, THE. Not now popular in Brittany, but in ancient times one of\n the national instruments, 228-229\n\n HATCHET OF BRITTANY, THE. An appellation of Morvan, 221\n\n HAUTE-B\u00c9CHEREL. A town in Brittany;\n pagan temple at, 342\n\n HEAD-DRESS. Of the women of the Escoublac district, 374;\n of the women of Ouessant, 374;\n of the women of Villecheret, 375;\n of the men of Brittany, does not vary much, 375;\n headgear of the men of Plougastel, 375;\n of the women of Muzillac, 376;\n of the women of Pont l'Abb\u00e9 and the Bay of Audierne, 376;\n of the women of Morlaix, 376\n _See also_ COIFFES\n\n HEAVEN. An old Breton conception of, 388, 390-391\n\n HELENA, LADY. Niece of Duke Hoel I of Brittany;\n carried off by the giant of Mont-Saint-Michel, 275, 276\n\n HELL. In the story of the Bride of Satan, 144;\n an old Breton conception of, 388-389\n\n HELL\u00c9AN, WOOD OF. A former part of the forest of Broceliande, 221,\n 224\n\n HELO\u00cfSE. An abbess, beloved of Ab\u00e9lard;\n the story of Ab\u00e9lard and, 248-253;\n in a Breton ballad represented as a sorceress, 250-253\n\n H\u00c9NAN. Manor of, in Brittany, 364\n\n HENDERSON, GEORGE. Cited, 52\n\n HENNEBONT. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 206\n\n HENRY II. King of England, 30;\n identified as the king to whom Marie of France dedicated her\n _Lais_, 284\n\n HENRY III. King of England;\n mentioned, 284\n\n HENRY IV. King of France;\n and Fontenelle, 231-232;\n mentioned, 204\n\n HENWG. A Welsh bard;\n said to be the father of Taliesin, 21\n\n HERSART DE LA VILLEMARQU\u00c9, VICOMTE. Writer on Breton legendary\n lore;\n his poem on Nomeno\u00eb, 23;\n his ballad of Alain Barbe-torte, 25-27;\n and a story of the Clerk of Rohan, 190 _n._;\n his _Barzaz-Breiz_, 211-212;\n stories from his _Barzaz-Breiz_, 212-237;\n indications of the source of his matter, 224-225;\n and the story of Fontenelle, 230;\n and the story of the Combat of Saint-Cast, 237;\n on the story of Az\u00e9nor the Pale, 363, 364;\n cited, 57 _n._, 65 _n._, 184 _n._, 247\n\n HERV\u00c9. Son of Kyvarnion;\n the story of the wolf and, 22;\n mentioned, 390\n\n HIGHLANDERS. Scottish;\n in the story of the Combat of Saint-Cast, 237\n\n HIGHLANDS. Scottish;\n beliefs in, respecting stones, 52-53;\n the 'Washing Woman' of, 100\n\n HILDWALL. A pious man of Angers;\n St Convoyon lodges with, 336\n\n HODAIN. A dog;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 267\n\n HOEL I. Duke of Brittany, 275, 276, 278\n\n HOEL V. Duke of Brittany, 30\n\n HOLGER. A half-mythical Danish hero;\n mentioned, 212\n\n HOLMES, T. RICE. Cited, 245 _n._\n\n HOLY LAND. _See_ Palestine\n\n HOULES. Caverns;\n the Bretons suppose fairies to inhabit, 75\n\n HUON DE M\u00c9RY. A thirteenth-century writer;\n on the fountain of Baranton, 71\n\n HURLERS, THE. A Cornish legend;\n mentioned, 44\n\n I\n\n IBERIANS. A non-Aryan race, supposed to have inhabited Britain;\n held by Rhys to be the originators of Druidism, 245\n\n IDA. King of Bernicia;\n mentioned, 21, 22\n\n ILE D'ARZ. An island off the coast of Brittany;\n megaliths in, 48\n\n ILE-DE-FRANCE. A French province;\n Marie of France said to have been a native of, 283\n\n ILE AUX MOINES. An island in the Gulf of Morbihan;\n megalithic monuments in, 48\n\n ILE DE SEIN. An island off the Breton coast, 63;\n St Winwaloe settled on, 371\n\n ILE-VERTE. An island off the Breton coast;\n St Winwaloe lived on, 370\n\n ILLE-ET-VILAINE. One of the departments of Brittany, 13, 39,\n 50\n\n INVERESK. A village in Scotland;\n mentioned, 359\n\n IOUENN. A young man;\n in the story of the Man of Honour, 147-155\n\n IRELAND. Markings on the megalithic monuments in, 46;\n the legend of the submerged city in, 187;\n the harp anciently the national instrument of, 229;\n Tristrem in, 264, 265-267;\n Petranus, father of St Patern, goes to, 347;\n St Patern meets his father in, 348;\n many saints in, 350;\n Az\u00e9nor and Budoc in, 355-356;\n Budoc made King of, 356;\n late survival of the custom of keeping domestic bards in, 364\n\n IRELAND, KING OF. In the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 265, 266\n\n IRELAND, QUEEN OF. In the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 264-267\n\n IRMINSUL. A Saxon idol;\n probable connexion between the menhir and the worship of, 18\n _n._\n\n ISIDORE OF SEVILLE. A Spanish ecclesiastic and writer;\n mentioned, 100\n\n J\n\n JANUARY. The month;\n personified, in the story of the Princess Starbright, 128-129\n\n JARGEAU. A town in France;\n the battle of, 174\n\n JAUDY. A river in Brittany, 31, 167\n\n JAUIOZ. A seigneury in Languedoc;\n the story of Louis, Baron of, 145-146\n\n JEANNE DARC. The French heroine;\n mentioned, 174;\n the play or mystery of, 175\n\n JOAN OF FLANDERS. Wife of John of Montfort;\n in the War of the Two Joans, 31\n\n JOAN OF PENTHI\u00c8VRE. _See_ Penthi\u00e8vre\n\n JOB THE WITLESS. In the story of the Foster-brother, 169\n\n JOHN (LACKLAND). King of England;\n mentioned, 30\n\n JOHN III. Duke of Brittany, 30\n\n JOHN IV. Duke of Brittany\n _See_ Montfort, John of\n\n JOHN V. Duke of Brittany, son of the famous John of Montfort,\n 35-36;\n and Gilles de Retz, 179;\n built a magnificent tomb for St Yves, 353\n\n JOHN. Duke of Ch\u00e2lons;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino given to, 210\n\n JOSSELIN. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 205-206\n\n JOYOUS GARDEN. A garden raised by enchantment by Merlin to please\n Vivien, 66;\n mentioned, 67, 69\n\n JUD-HAEL. A Breton chieftain;\n the vision of, 20-21\n\n JUDIK-HAEL. A Breton chieftain, son of Jud-Hael, 21\n\n JULIUS C\u00c6SAR. On the Druids of Gaul, 245\n\n K\n\n KADO THE STRIVER. A Breton peasant, leader of a revolt, 197-198\n\n KARNAK. A village in Egypt;\n mentioned, 43\n\n KARO. Son of a Breton chieftain;\n in a story of Nomeno\u00eb, 23-25\n\n KAY, SIR. King Arthur's seneschal, 275\n\n KENNEDY. A character in a Highland tale, 51\n\n KERGARIOU, COMTE DE. And the story of Fontenelle, 230\n\n KERGIVAS. A place in Brittany;\n the cheeses petrified by St Goezenou preserved in the manor of,\n 369\n\n KERGOALER, COU\u00c9DIC DE. Captain of the _Surveillante_;\n in a Breton ballad, 238\n\n KERGONAN. A village in the Ile aux Moines;\n megaliths at, 48\n\n KERIDWEN. A fertility goddess who dwelt in Lake Tegid, Wales;\n mentioned, 59\n\n KER-IS. A name of the city of Ys, 185\n _See_ Ys\n\n KERJOLET. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 208\n\n KERLAZ. A village in Brittany, 232\n\n KERLESCANT. A village in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n KERLOUAN. A town in Brittany;\n battle at, between Norsemen and Bretons, 225;\n the oak on the battlefield at, 227\n\n KERMARIO. A village in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n KERMARTIN. A village in Brittany;\n St Yves born at, 350\n\n KERMORVAN. A place in Brittany;\n Yves the Seigneur of, in the ballad of Az\u00e9nor the Pale, 360-363\n\n KERODERN, MICHEL DE. A Breton missionary, 390\n\n KEROUEZ. An old ch\u00e2teau;\n in the story of the Seigneur with the Horse's Head, 137\n\n KERSANTON. A place in Brittany;\n stone from, forms the Calvary of Guimiliau, 385\n\n KERVRAN. A village in Brittany;\n the warrior Bran taken prisoner at, 225\n\n KING OF THE ANTS. In the story of the Princess of Tronkolaine,\n 118, 119, 120\n\n KING OF THE BIRDS. In the story of the Youth who did not Know,\n 111, 113\n\n KING OF THE FISHES. In a tale from Saint-Cast, 84-85;\n in the story of the Youth who did not Know, 110, 114\n\n KING OF THE LIONS. In the story of the Princess of Tronkolaine,\n 118, 119, 120\n\n KING OF THE SPARROW-HAWKS. In the story of the Princess of\n Tronkolaine, 118, 119\n\n KIPLING, RUDYARD. Quoted, 86\n\n KORRIGAN, THE. A forest fairy;\n a denizen of Broceliande, 56;\n in the story of the Seigneur of Nann, 57-58;\n associated with water, an element of fertility, 59;\n an enchantress, 60;\n in the story of the Unbroken Vow, 62-63;\n desired union with humanity, 64;\n mentioned, 69, 98\n\n KYVARNION. A British bard, father of Herv\u00e9, 22\n\n L\n\n LADY OF LA GARAYE, THE. Poem by Mrs Norton;\n quoted, 194, 195, 196\n\n LADY OF THE LAKE. In Arthurian legend, Vivien;\n foster-mother of Lancelot, 69, 257;\n of Breton origin, 256;\n gives Arthur the sword Excalibur, 256-257\n _See also_ Vivien\n\n LA GARAYE. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, near Dinan;\n the story of the Lady of, 195\n\n LAILOKEN. A character in early British legend;\n mentioned, 70\n\n LAIS. Of Marie de France;\n their value in the study of Breton lore, 283;\n date and other circumstances of their composition, 283-284;\n stories from, 284-289, 292-331\n\n LAKE OF ANGUISH, THE. A lake in Hell;\n in the story of the Bride of Satan, 144;\n in the story of the Baron of Jauioz, 146\n\n LA LANDE MARIE. A place in Brittany;\n the dolmen at, 51\n\n LANCELOT, SIR. One of the Knights of the Round Table, son of King\n Ban of Benwik;\n stolen and brought up by Vivien, 257;\n does not appear in Celtic legend, 257;\n mentioned, 64, 69\n\n LAND\u00c9VENNEC. A town in Brittany;\n a chapel of St Nicholas at, 345;\n a monastery built at, by St Winwaloe, 371\n\n LANDIVISIAU. A town in Brittany, 338;\n fine carvings in the church of, 339-340\n\n LANDEGU. A village in Cornwall;\n St Keenan at, 344\n\n LANGOAD. A town in Brittany, 198\n\n LANGUAGE. Brezonek, the tongue of the Bretons, 15;\n the old Breton tongue closely similar to Welsh, 15;\n the Latin tongue did not spread over Brittany, 17\n\n LARGOET. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 206\n\n LA ROCHE-BERNARD. A town in Brittany, 376\n\n LA ROCHE-SUR-BLAVET. A place in Brittany;\n a retreat of Gildas and St Bieuzy, 345\n\n LA ROCHE-DERRIEN. A place in Brittany;\n battle at, 31\n\n LA ROCHE-JAGU. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 203-204\n\n LA ROSE. A young man;\n in the story of the Magic Rose, 156-162\n\n LATIN. The language;\n did not spread over Brittany, 17\n\n LAUSTIC, THE LAY OF. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 302-305\n\n LAVAL, GILLES DE. _See_ Retz\n\n LAVAL, JEAN DE. Governor of Brittany, 207;\n married to Fran\u00e7oise de Foix, Countess of Ch\u00e2teaubriant, 207\n\n LAY OF THE WERE-WOLF, THE. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 284-289\n\n LEAGUE, THE. A Catholic organization formed against the Huguenots,\n 205, 206;\n Fontenelle associated with, 229\n\n LE BRAZ, ANATOLE. Cited, 102, 184 _n._\n\n LE CLERC, L. Cited, 16 _n._\n\n LE CROISIC. A town in Brittany, 373\n\n LE FAOUET. A village in Brittany;\n the chapel of St Barbe near, 332-333, 334-335\n\n LEGEND. The meaning of the term, 173\n\n LE GOFF, P. Cited, 16 _n._\n\n LE GRAND, A. Cited, 184 _n._\n\n L\u00c9GUER. A town in Brittany, 220\n\n L\u00c9GUER, LAKE OF. In the story of the Princess Starbright, 121,\n 131\n\n LELIAN. Father of St Tivisiau, 338\n\n LE MOUSTOIR-LE-JUCH. A village in Brittany;\n fireplace in the church of, 381\n\n LEO IV. Pope;\n Nomeno\u00eb sends gifts to, 337;\n and St Convoyon, 337\n\n L\u00c9ON.\n I. A county of Brittany, 23, 143, 212, 225, 226, 229,\n 356, 367, 388\n II. The see of;\n given to St Pol, 367\n\n LE ROUZIC, ZACHARIE. A Breton arch\u00e6ologist;\n mentioned, 45\n\n LEWIS. An island in the Outer Hebrides;\n mentioned, 53\n\n LEYDEN, JOHN. A Scottish poet and Orientalist;\n his treatment of legendary material, 211\n\n L\u00c9ZAT. A town in Brittany;\n had a reputation as the abode of sorcerers, 242\n\n LEZ-BREIZ, MORVAN. _See_ Morvan\n\n LIEUE DE GR\u00c8VE. A place in Brittany;\n Arthur's fight with the dragon of, 278-281\n\n LIVONIA. The country;\n were-wolf superstition in, 290\n\n LLANVITHIN. A village in Wales;\n mentioned, 21\n\n LOC-CHRIST. Monastery of, built under the persuasion of St Winwaloe,\n 370-371\n\n LOCMARIA. A place in Brittany, 199\n\n LOCMARIAQUER. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n LOGRES. An ancient British kingdom;\n in the Lay of Eliduc, 306-311\n\n LOGUIVY-PLOUGRAS. A town in Brittany, 137\n\n LOHANEC. A village in Brittany;\n St Yves incumbent of, 351\n\n LOHENGRIN. A knight, in German legend;\n mentioned, 137\n\n LOIRE. The river;\n mentioned, 16, 174, 253\n\n LOIRE-INF\u00c9RIEURE. One of the departments of Brittany, 13\n\n LONDON. The city;\n mentioned, 31, 99\n\n LONG MEG. A Cumberland legend;\n mentioned, 44\n\n LONGSWORD, WILLIAM. Earl of Salisbury;\n identified as the nobleman to whom Marie of France dedicated her\n _Fables_, 284\n\n LORELEI. A water-spirit of the Rhine;\n mentioned, 64\n\n LORGNEZ. A Frankish chieftain;\n Morvan fights with, and slays, 217-218\n\n LOST DAUGHTER, THE. The story of, 75-80\n\n LOT. King of Lothian, grandfather of St Kentigern, 357\n\n LOTHIAN. A district in Scotland, formerly a kingdom;\n mentioned, 357, 359\n\n LOTHIAN, EAST. A county of Scotland;\n mentioned, 357\n\n LOUD\u00c9AC. An _arrondissement_ of Brittany, 88\n\n LOUGH NEAGH. A lake in Ireland;\n according to Irish legend, the site of submerged city, 187\n\n LOUIS I (THE PIOUS). King of France;\n places the native chieftain Nomeno\u00eb over Brittany, 23;\n St Convoyon visits, to obtain confirmation of grants, 335\n\n LOUIS IX. King of France;\n mentioned, 208\n\n LOUIS XI. King of France;\n mentioned, 36, 205\n\n LOUIS XII. King of France;\n Anne of Brittany married to, 36\n\n LOUIS XV. King of France;\n honours the Count of La Garaye, 195\n\n LOUIS. Baron of Jauioz;\n the story of, 145-147\n\n LOUVRE, THE. A palace in Paris;\n mentioned, 206\n\n LUCIUS. Roman consul, sometimes referred to as Emperor;\n King Arthur moves against, 275\n\n LUZEL, F. M. His _Guerziou Breiz-Izel_, mentioned, 211\n\n LYONESSE. A legendary kingdom near Cornwall, 257\n\n M\n\n MACCULLOCH, J. R. Cited, 59 _n._, 70, 102, 188 _n._, 189\n _n._, 381\n\n MACCUNN, HAMISH. Composer;\n mentioned, 145\n\n MACHUTES. _See_ St Malo\n\n MACPHERSON, JAMES. A Scottish poet;\n mentioned, 23, 211\n\n MACRITCHIE, D. Cited, 74\n\n MAC-TIERNS ('Sons of the Chief'). A name given to Brian and Alain,\n sons of Count Eudo, 29\n\n MAGEEN. Mother of St Tivisiau, 338\n\n MAGIC. _See_ Sorcery\n\n MAGIC ROSE, THE. The story of, 156-162\n\n MAH[=A]BH[=A]RATA. A Hindu epic;\n mentioned, 52\n\n MAISON DES FOLLETS. A name given to a megalithic structure at\n Cancoet, 49\n\n MAMAU, Y. Welsh deities, 87\n\n MAN OF HONOUR, THE. The story of, 147-155\n\n MARAUD. A peasant;\n in the story of the Lost Daughter, 75-77\n\n MARCH. The month;\n personified in the story of Princess Starbright, 128-129\n\n MARGAWSE. Sister of King Arthur, wife of King Lot of Lothian, 357\n\n MARGOTS LA F\u00c9E, LES. Fairies which inhabit large rocks and the\n moorlands, 88\n\n MARGUERITE. A maiden, avenged by Du Guesclin, 33-35\n\n MARIE DE FRANCE. A twelfth-century French poetess;\n acknowledged Breton sources for her work, 255, 283;\n the _Lais_ and _Fables_ of, 283-284;\n personal history, 283;\n stories from the _Lais_, 284-331;\n and the Lay of Laustic, 302;\n and the Lay of Eliduc, 305-306;\n and the Lay of the Dolorous Knight, 328, 330-331\n\n MARK. King of Cornwall;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258-274\n\n MARK. King of Vannes;\n and St Pol of L\u00e9on, 364\n\n MAROT, CLAUDE TOUSSAINT. Count of La Garaye;\n the story of, 194-196\n\n MARRIAGE. Costume of the bride in the Escoublac district, 374;\n the Pardon of Notre Dame de la Clart\u00e9 made the occasion of\n betrothals, 378;\n wedding customs, 385-386\n\n MARRIAGE-GIRDLE, THE. The ballad of, 234-236\n\n MARSEILLES. The city;\n mentioned, 195\n\n MATSYS, QUENTIN. A Flemish painter;\n the well of, at Antwerp, 205\n\n MATTHEW. Seigneur of Beauvau;\n in the story of the Clerk of Rohan, 189-193\n\n MAUNOIR. A Jesuit Father, 388\n\n MAURON. A town in Brittany;\n battle at, 31\n\n MAY, ISLE OF. An island in the Firth of Forth, 357\n\n MAYENNE. Charles de Lorraine, Duke of;\n one of the leaders of the Catholic League, 229\n\n MEGALITHS. The derivation and meaning of the terms 'menhir' and\n 'dolmen,' 37-38;\n nature and purpose of the monuments, 38-39;\n the menhir of Dol, and its legend, 39-41;\n the chapel-dolmen at Plouaret, 41;\n the megaliths at Camaret, 41;\n at Penmarch, 41;\n at Carnac, 42-45;\n the tumulus at Mont-Saint-Michel, 45;\n the dolmen at Rocenaud, 46;\n 'cup-and-ring' markings, 46-48;\n the gallery of Gavr'inis, 48;\n the megaliths of the Ile aux Moines and the Ile d'Arz, 48;\n folk-beliefs associated with the monuments, 48-53;\n tales connected with them, 52;\n the question of the date of their erection, 53;\n the nains' inscriptions upon, 97-98;\n the megaliths of Carnac supposed to have been built by the gorics,\n 98\n _See also_ Menhir _and_ Dolmens\n\n MELUSINE. A fairy, in French folk-lore;\n mentioned, 327\n\n MENAO. A place in Wales;\n battle of, 22\n\n M\u00c9N\u00c9AC. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n MENHIR. A megalithic monument, 18;\n the menhir of Dol, 18, 39-40;\n probably connected with pillar-worship and Irminsul-worship, 18\n _n._;\n derivation and meaning of the term, 38;\n purpose of the monuments, 38-39\n\n MERIADOK. A Cornish knight;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 269, 272\n\n MERIADUS. A Breton chieftain;\n in the Lay of Gugemar, 299-301\n\n MERLIN. An enchanter, in Arthurian legend;\n meets Vivien in Broceliande, and is afterward enchanted by her\n there, 65-69;\n his relationship with Vivien as presented in Arthurian legend,\n 69;\n the varying conceptions of, 70;\n the typical Druid or wise man of Celtic tradition, 70;\n protects Arthur in his combat with Sir Pellinore, 256;\n and Arthur's finding of Excalibur, 256-257\n\n MEZL\u00c9AN. A place in Brittany, 362, 363;\n the Clerk of, in the ballad of Az\u00e9nor the Pale, 361-363\n\n MILTON OF COLQUHOUN. A district in Scotland;\n inscribed stones found in, 47\n\n MINIHY. A town in Brittany;\n St Yves' will and breviary preserved in the church of, 353\n\n MODRED, SIR. Nephew of King Arthur;\n his contest with the King, 344\n\n MONCONTOUR. A village in Brittany, 242\n\n MONEDUC. Mother of St Nennocha, 340\n\n MONTAGNES D'ARR\u00c9E, or AREZ. A mountain chain in Brittany;\n the Yeun in, 102;\n mentioned, 235\n\n MONTALEMBERT, COMTE DE. His _Moines d'Occident_, cited, 19\n\n MONTFORT, JOHN OF. Duke of Brittany (John IV);\n disputes the succession to the Dukedom, 30-32, 35-36;\n captures the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino, 210;\n mentioned, 204\n\n MONTMORENCY. The house of;\n mentioned, 174\n\n MONTREUIL-SUR-MER. A town in the Pas-de-Calais, France;\n St Winwaloe's body preserved at, 371\n\n MONT-SAINT-MICHEL.\n I. A tumulus, 45-46\n II. An island off the coast of Brittany, 45 _n._;\n King Arthur's fight with the giant of, 275;\n mentioned, 103\n\n MOOR, THE. In a story of Morvan;\n Morvan's fight with, 218-220;\n the character of, probably drawn from Carlovingian legend, 225\n\n MOORS, THE. Mentioned, 225\n\n MOORE, THOMAS. The poet;\n quoted, 187\n\n MORAUNT. An Irish ambassador at the English Court;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 262-263, 264, 266\n\n MORBIHAN.\n I. One of the departments of Brittany, 13, 48, 49;\n the nains' inscriptions on the megaliths of, 98;\n the Pardon of Notre Dame de la Clart\u00e9 held in, 378\n II. An inland sea or gulf in the south of Brittany, (Gulf of\n Morbihan);\n naval battle between the Romans and Veneti probably took place in,\n 16;\n mentioned, 48\n\n MORGAN, DUKE. A Cymric chieftain;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258-259, 261-262\n\n MORIN. A priest, 388\n\n MORLAIX. A town in Brittany;\n the castle of, haunted by gorics, 99;\n the teursts of the district of, 100;\n in the story of the Youth who did not Know, 106, 107, 108,\n 109;\n national costume in, 376-377\n\n MORTE D'ARTHUR. Malory's romance;\n the presentation of Vivien in, 69;\n Arthur's finding of Excalibur related in, 256;\n incident in, paralleled in the Lay of Gugemar, 301-302;\n mentioned, 257\n\n MORVAN LEZ-BREIZ. A famous Breton hero of the ninth century, 212;\n stories of, 212-224;\n tradition that he will return to \"drive the Franks from the Breton\n land,\" 224\n\n MOURIOCHE, THE. A malicious demon, 101\n\n M\u00dcLLER, W. MAX. Mentioned, 358\n\n MURILLO. A celebrated Spanish painter;\n paintings by, in the ch\u00e2teau of Caradeuc, 207\n\n MUT. An Egyptian goddess;\n mentioned, 43\n\n MUZILLAC. A town in Brittany;\n head-dress of the women of, 376\n\n N\n\n NAINS. A race of demons;\n their character, 96-98;\n guardians of hidden treasure, 99\n\n NAMNETES. A Gallic tribe which inhabited Brittany, 16\n\n NANN, THE SEIGNEUR OF. The story of, 57-59\n\n NANTES. A city in Brittany;\n in a ballad, represented as the scene of magical exploits of\n Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse, 253;\n traditionally associated with sorcery, 253;\n Equitan the King of, 313;\n the scene of the Lay of the Dolorous Knight, 328;\n Nomeno\u00eb obtains possession of, 338;\n mentioned, 17, 30, 168, 169, 170, 180, 337\n\n NANTES. The castle of, 205\n\n NEOLITHIC AGE. The race which built the stone monuments of Brittany\n probably belonged to, 37 _n._\n\n N\u00c9VET. Forest of, in L\u00e9on, 367\n\n N\u00c9VEZ. A town in Brittany, 190\n\n NEW CALEDONIA. An island in the Pacific;\n markings on the megalithic monuments in, 46-47\n\n NICOLE, THE. A mischievous spirit, 100-101\n\n NIGHTINGALE, THE LAY OF THE. One of the _Lais_ of Marie de France,\n 302\n\n NIGHT-WASHERS. A race of supernatural beings, 100\n\n NIMUE. A name under which Vivien, the Lady of the Lake, appears in\n some romances, 69;\n mentioned, 256\n _See_ Vivien\n\n NOGENT. Sister of Gugemar, 292\n\n NOGENT-SUR-SEINE. A town in France;\n the abbey at, founded by Ab\u00e9lard, and made over by him to H\u00e9lo\u00efse,\n 249;\n Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse buried at, 250\n\n NOLA. A youth;\n in the story of the Foster-brother, 170-171\n\n NOMENO\u00cb. A Breton chieftain, afterward King of Brittany;\n rises against Charles the Bald and defeats him, 23, 337-338;\n a story of, 23-25;\n and St Convoyon, 335, 336, 337;\n sends gifts to Pope Leo IV, 337;\n burns the abbey of Saint-Florent, 337\n\n NORMANDY. The duchy;\n early relations of Brittany with, 27-30\n\n NORMANS. The Bretons rise against, 196-198;\n spread the Arthur legend, 254, 255;\n mentioned, 338\n\n NOROUAS. Personification of the north-west wind;\n a story of, 163-167\n\n NORTHMEN, NORSEMEN. Invade Brittany, 25;\n defeated by Alain Barbe-torte and expelled from Brittany,\n 25-27;\n the battle of Kerlouan between the Bretons and, 225\n\n NORTH-WEST WIND, THE. Personification of;\n a story of, 163-167\n\n NORTON, MRS. An English poetess;\n her _Lady of La Garaye_, quoted, 194, 195, 196\n\n N'OUN DOARE. A youth;\n in the story of the Youth who did not Know, 106-115\n\n NUTT, A. Cited, 99 _n._, 254\n\n O\n\n OBERON. King of the fairies;\n mentioned, 74\n\n OEDIPUS. King of Thebes;\n mentioned, 357\n\n OGIER THE DANE. One of the paladins of Charlemagne;\n entered Fairyland, 326\n\n OLAUS MAGNUS. A sixteenth-century Swedish ecclesiastic and writer;\n mentioned, 290\n\n ORIDIAL. Father of Gugemar, 292\n\n ORIGEN. One of the Fathers of the early Church;\n and St Barbe, 333\n\n ORL\u00c9ANS. The city;\n the siege of (1428-29), 174;\n the play or mystery of, on Jeanne Darc, 175;\n mentioned, 229\n\n OSISMII. A Gallic tribe which inhabited Brittany, 16\n\n OSSIAN. A semi-legendary Celtic bard and warrior;\n mentioned, 211\n\n OSSORY. A district in Ireland;\n emigration from, to Brittany, 22\n\n OTHERWORLD. The Celtic, 171-172;\n Fairyland identified with, 327\n\n OUESSANT. An island off the coast of Brittany;\n St Pol in, 365;\n the costume of the women of, 374-375\n\n OUST. A river in Brittany, 205\n\n OWAIN. A Welsh chieftain, son of Urien;\n Taliesin the bard of, 22\n\n OWEN GLENDOWER. A Welsh chieftain;\n the Bretons send an expedition to help, in his conflict with the\n English, 234\n\n P\n\n PALESTINE. Mentioned, 145, 190, 269, 302\n\n PARACLETE ('Comforter'). Name given by Ab\u00e9lard to his abbey at\n Nogent, 249;\n Ab\u00e9lard and H\u00e9lo\u00efse buried at, 250\n\n PARDONS. Religious pilgrimage festivals of the Bretons, 378-380\n\n PARIS. The city;\n mentioned, 108, 109, 112, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118,\n 119, 120-121, 156, 157, 158, 195, 208, 229,\n 230-231, 351\n\n PARIS, GASTON. A noted French philologist;\n claims that Arthurian romance originated in Wales, 254;\n identifies the persons to whom Marie de France dedicated her\n _Lais_ and _Fables_, 284\n\n PASSAGE DE L'ENFER. An arm of the sea over which the Breton dead\n were supposed to be ferried, 383\n\n PATAY. A village in Loiret, France;\n the battle of, 174\n\n PAVIA. A city in Italy;\n Francis I of France taken prisoner at, 207\n\n PELLINORE, SIR. One of the Knights of the Round Table;\n Arthur broke his sword in combat with, 256\n\n PEMBROKESHIRE. Welsh county;\n St Samson a native of, 17\n\n PENATES. Household gods of the Romans;\n mentioned, 53\n\n PEN-BAS. A cudgel carried by the men of Cornouaille, 372;\n rarely carried by the men of St Pol, 375\n\n PENHAPP. A village in the Ile aux Moines;\n dolmen at, 48\n\n PENMARCH. A town in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 41;\n Ty C'harriquet near, 49;\n a fireplace in the church of St Non at, 381\n\n PENRAZ. A village in the Isle of Arz;\n megaliths at, 48\n\n PENTECOST. A Jewish festival;\n mentioned, 324\n\n PENTHI\u00c8VRE. A former county of Brittany, 27, 205\n\n PENTHI\u00c8VRE. Joan of;\n wife of Charles of Blois, 30;\n in the War of the Two Joans, 31;\n her marriage to Charles, 32\n\n PENTHI\u00c8VRE. Stephen, Count of, 208\n\n PERCIVAL. Hero of _Percival le Gallois_;\n analogy between his flight and that of Morvan, 224\n\n PERCIVAL LE GALLOIS. Arthurian saga;\n mentioned, 224\n\n P\u00c8RE LA CHIQUE. An old man;\n in the story of the Magic Rose, 159-160, 162\n\n PERGUET. A village in Brittany;\n the fireplace in the church of St Bridget at, 381\n\n PERSEUS. A mythical Greek hero;\n mentioned, 357, 358\n\n PERTHSHIRE. Scottish county;\n the 'Washing Woman' in, 100\n\n PETRANUS. Father of St Patern, 347\n\n PHILIP VI. King of France;\n mentioned, 30\n\n PICTS. The race;\n Celts flee from Britain to Brittany, to escape, 17;\n the legend that they built the original church of Corstorphine,\n near Edinburgh, 51;\n \"wee fouk but unco' strang,\" 99\n\n PIGS. St Pol taught the people to keep, 366\n\n PILLAR-WORSHIP. Probable connexion of the menhir with, 18 _n._\n\n PILLARS. Tales of spirits enclosed in, 52\n\n PLACE OF SKULLS, THE. In the story of the Bride of Satan, 144\n\n PL\u00c9LAN. A town in Brittany;\n St Convoyon removes to, from Redon, 338\n\n PLESTIN-LES-GR\u00c8VES. A town in Brittany;\n St Efflam buried in the church of, 281\n\n PLOERMEL. A town in Brittany;\n St Nennocha founded her monastery at, 340\n\n PLOUARET. A town in Brittany;\n the dolmen-chapel at, 41\n\n PLOUBALAY. A town in Brittany;\n in the story of the Fisherman and the Fairies, 81\n\n PLOUBER. A town in Brittany, 199, 202\n\n PLOUGASTEL. A town in Brittany;\n the costume of the men of, 375;\n the Calvary of, 384\n\n PLOUHARNEL. A village in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n PLOURIN. A village in Brittany;\n St Budoc lived at, 356\n\n POITOU. A former county of France;\n ravaged by Nomeno\u00eb, 337;\n mentioned, 176\n\n POMPONIUS MELA. A Roman geographer;\n quoted, 63\n\n PONT L'ABB\u00c9. A town in Brittany;\n national costume in, 376\n\n PONT-AVEN. A village in Brittany, 364\n\n PONTIVY. A town in Brittany;\n chapel to St Noyola at, 360\n\n PONTORSON. A town in Brittany, 275\n\n POOR, THE. Regard paid to, at Breton festivals and ceremonies,\n 387\n\n PORSPODER. A town in Brittany;\n St Budoc lands at, and dwells in, 356\n\n POULDERGAT, MANNA\u00cfK DE. The bride-to-be of Silvestik, 232\n\n PRAGUE. Capital of Bohemia;\n mentioned, 203\n\n PRELATI. An alchemist of Padua, employed by Gilles de Retz, 176,\n 178-179\n\n PRINCESS STARBRIGHT, THE. The story of, 121-131;\n mentioned, 153\n\n PRINCESS OF TRONKOLAINE, THE. The story of, 115-121\n\n PROCOPIUS. A Byzantine historian;\n on a Breton burial custom, 383-384\n\n PROP OF BRITTANY, THE. Name given to Morvan, chieftain of L\u00e9on,\n 212;\n stories of, 212-224\n\n Q\n\n QUEBAN. Wife of King Grallo;\n St Ronan discovers her fault, 368\n\n QUEBEC, THE. A British vessel;\n her fight with the _Surveillante_, 238-240\n\n QUEEN ANNE'S TOWER. Name of the keep of the ch\u00e2teau of Dinan, 209\n\n QUESTEMBERT. A town in Brittany;\n the Ch\u00e2teau des Paulpiquets at, 49\n\n QUIBERON. A town in Brittany, 46\n\n QUIMPER. A city in Brittany;\n St Convoyon Bishop of, 335;\n national costume in, 372-373;\n mentioned, 186, 188\n\n QUIMPER, COUNT OF. In a story of Morvan, 213, 216\n\n Quimperl\u00e9. A town in Brittany;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Rustefan near, 208;\n St Goezenou killed at the building of the monastery at, 370\n\n R\n\n RAMA. A hero in Hindu mythology;\n mentioned, 52\n\n R[=A]M[=A]YANA. A Hindu epic;\n mentioned, 52\n\n RAOUL LE GAEL. A Breton knight, 29\n\n RAVELSTON QUARRY. A quarry near Edinburgh;\n mentioned, 51\n\n REDON or RODON. A town in Brittany;\n the abbey of: founded by St Convoyon, 335-336;\n the bones of St Apothemius carried to, 336;\n the bones of St Marcellinus carried to, 337;\n Nomeno\u00eb takes spoil from the Abbey of Saint-Florent to, 337;\n St Convoyon removes from, 338;\n St Convoyon buried at, 338\n\n REDONES. A Gallic tribe which inhabited Brittany, 16\n\n REGINALD. Bishop of Vannes, 335, 336\n\n REID, GENERAL JOHN. The composer of _The Garb of Old Gaul_, 238\n\n REINACH, SALOMON. Cited, 53\n\n RELIGION. Brittany the most religious of the French provinces,\n 377;\n the religious element in the Breton character, 377-378\n\n RELIQUARIES. In Brittany, 382\n\n REMUS. In Roman legend, brother of Romulus;\n mentioned, 358\n\n RENAISSANCE ARCHITECTURE. References to, 205, 206, 209\n\n REN\u00c9. Constable of Naples, 190\n\n RENNES. A city in Brittany;\n the scene of Nomeno\u00eb's vengeance, 23-25;\n the Counts of, gain ascendancy in Brittany, 27;\n the marriage of Charles of Blois and Joan of Penthi\u00e8vre at, 32;\n Robert the sorcerer dwelt in, 242;\n Nomeno\u00eb obtains possession of, 338;\n mentioned, 17, 181, 195\n\n RESTALRIG. A village near Edinburgh;\n the well of St Triduana at, 59-60\n\n RETIERS. A town in Brittany the Roches aux F\u00e9es at, 51\n\n RETZ, or RAIS. A district in Brittany, 23, 174\n\n RETZ, CARDINAL DE. A French politician and writer;\n imprisoned in the castle of Nantes, 205\n\n RETZ, GILLES DE. A Breton nobleman;\n a story of, 173-180;\n the identification of, with Bluebeard, 174, 180\n\n REVOLUTION, FRENCH. Of 1789;\n mentioned, 188, 195, 338, 353, 369\n\n REVUE CELTIQUE. Cited, 212 _n._\n\n RHEINSTEIN. A famous castle on the Rhine;\n mentioned, 203\n\n RHINE. The river;\n mentioned, 203\n\n RHUYS. _See_ St Gildas de Rhuys\n\n RHYS, SIR JOHN. And the origin of Druidism, 245;\n mentioned, 70\n\n RICHARD II. Duke of Normandy;\n mentioned, 196\n\n RICHELIEU, CARDINAL. A famous French statesman;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Tonqu\u00e9dec demolished by order of, 204\n\n RIEUX, JEAN DE. Marshal of Brittany;\n leader of the expedition to help Owen Glendower, 234\n\n RITHO. A giant whom King Arthur slew, 277\n\n ROAD OF ST POL, THE. Name given by Breton peasants to a megalithic\n avenue, 365\n\n ROBERT I. Duke of Normandy, 28\n\n ROBERT. A sorcerer who dwelt in Rennes, 242-243\n\n ROBERT DE VITRY. A Breton knight, 29\n\n ROCENAUD. A village in Brittany;\n dolmen at, 46\n\n ROCEY. The house of, 174\n\n ROCHE-MARCHE-BRAN. A rocky hill;\n the chapel of St Barbe built on, 335\n\n ROCHER, THE WOOD OF. The dolmen near, 50\n\n ROCHERS. A Breton ch\u00e2teau;\n Mme S\u00e9vign\u00e9 associated with, 208\n\n ROCHES AUX F\u00c9ES. Name given to the megalithic monuments by the\n Bretons, 49;\n near Saint-Didier-et-Marpire, 50;\n in Rhetiers, 51;\n supposed to be the meeting-place of sorcerers, 243\n\n ROCKFLOWER. A fairy maiden;\n in a tale from Saint-Cast, 83\n\n RODRIGUEZ, FATHER. Mentioned, 47\n\n ROE. A river in Ireland;\n Druidic ritual associated with, 246\n\n ROGER. An English knight;\n in the legend of the Ward of Du Guesclin, 33-35\n\n ROHAN. The house of, 206\n\n ROHAN. Alain, Viscount of, 189\n\n ROHAN. Jeanne de, daughter of Alain de Rohan;\n in the story of the Clerk of Rohan, 189-193\n\n ROHAND. A vassal of Roland;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258-259, 260-261, 262\n\n ROLAND, SIR. A knight;\n in the story of the Unbroken Vow, 60-63\n\n ROLAND RISE. A Cymric chieftain, Lord of Ermonie;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258-259, 261\n\n ROLLESTON, T. W. Cited, 246\n\n ROLLO. A famous Norse leader, first Duke of Normandy;\n mentioned, 28\n\n ROMANS, THE. In Brittany, 16\n\n ROME. The city;\n mentioned, 196, 337\n\n ROMULUS. In Roman legend, the founder of Rome;\n mentioned, 357, 358\n\n RON. The name of King Arthur's lance, 280\n\n ROND. A dance performed at weddings, 385-386\n\n ROSAMOND. Mistress of Henry II of England (Rosamond Clifford, 'the\n Fair Rosamond');\n mentioned, 284\n\n ROS-YNYS. A place in Wales, afterward St David's;\n a story of St Keenan and, 343-344\n\n ROUND TOWER. At Ardmore, Ireland, 51;\n at Abernethy, Perthshire, 52\n\n RUMENGOL. A village in Brittany;\n the Pardon of the Singers held at, 378\n\n S\n\n SACRING BELLS. The use of, an old Breton custom, 380\n\n ST ANNE. A Breton saint;\n Morvan prays to, 216-217;\n Morvan rewards with gifts, 218;\n Morvan gives praise to, for his victory over the Moor, 220;\n frees Morvan from his burden, 224;\n mentioned, 146\n\n SAINTE-ANNE-LA-PALUD. A village in Brittany;\n the Pardon of the Sea held at, 378\n\n ST APOTHEMIUS. St Convoyon steals the bones of, from Angers\n Cathedral, and takes them to Redon, 336\n\n ST AUGUSTINE. Archbishop of Canterbury;\n mentioned, 100\n\n ST BALDRED. A Celtic saint, 359-360\n\n ST BALDRED'S BOAT. A rock in the Firth of Forth;\n the legend of, 359\n\n ST BARBE. A Breton saint, 332-335\n\n SAINTE-BARBE. A village in Brittany;\n megaliths at, 42\n\n ST BIEUZY. A Breton saint, 345-346;\n the Holy Well of, at Bieuzy, 381\n\n ST BRIDGET. An Irish saint;\n Az\u00e9nor prays to, and is helped by, 354;\n church of, at Berhet, the custom of ringing the sacring bell\n survives in, 380;\n church of, at Perguet, the fireplace in, 381\n\n SAINT-BRIEUC.\n I. An _arrondissement_ of Brittany, 88, 350\n II. A town in Brittany;\n a relic of St Keenan preserved in the cathedral of, 344\n\n SAINT-BRIEUC, BAY OF. A bay on the Breton coast;\n the Nicole of, 100;\n mentioned, 18, 350\n\n ST BUDOC. A Breton saint;\n the legend of, 353-356\n\n SAINT-CAST. A village in Brittany;\n in the story of the Lost Daughter, 75;\n a story from, 84;\n the story of the Combat of, 236-237;\n mentioned, 83\n\n ST CECILIA'S DAY. Ceremonies in honour of King Gradlon on, 189\n\n ST CHARLES. Jesuit church of, at Antwerp;\n relics of St Winwaloe preserved at, 371\n\n ST CONVOYON. A Breton saint, 335-338\n\n ST CORBASIUS. A Breton saint;\n kills St Goezenou, 370\n\n ST CORNELY. A Breton saint, the patron of cattle;\n in a legend of Carnac, 44-45\n\n ST DAVID'S. A city in Wales, originally called Ros-ynys;\n in a story of St Keenan, 344\n\n SAINT-DENIS. A famous abbey, in the city of Saint-Denis, in France;\n Du Guesclin buried in, 32\n\n SAINT-DIDIER. A village in Brittany;\n the Roches aux F\u00e9es near, 50\n\n ST DUBRICUS. A British saint;\n mentioned, 346\n\n ST DUNSTAN. A British saint, called St Goustan in Brittany,\n 248-249\n\n ST EFFLAM. A Breton saint;\n and King Arthur's encounter with the dragon of the Lieue de Gr\u00e8ve,\n 278-281;\n the story of St Enora and, 340-342;\n mentioned, 366\n\n ST ENORA, or HONORA. A Breton saint;\n the story of Efflam and, 279, 281, 340-342\n\n SAINT-FLORENT. A town in France;\n Nomeno\u00eb and the abbey of, 337\n\n ST GALL. A famous monastery in Switzerland;\n mentioned, 247\n\n ST GERMAIN. A French saint, Bishop of Paris;\n the exchange of wax for wine between St Samson and, 19;\n persuades Nennocha to embrace the religious life, 340\n\n ST GILDAS. A British saint;\n in the story of Comorre the Cursed, 181, 183-184;\n founded the abbey of St Gildas de Rhuys, near Vannes, 248-249\n\n ST GILDAS DE RHUYS. An abbey near Vannes;\n founded by St Gildas, 248-249;\n Ab\u00e9lard appointed abbot of, 248;\n St Bieuzy died and was buried at, 346;\n St Patern educated at, 348\n\n ST GOEZENOU. A Breton saint, 368-370\n\n ST GOUSTAN. The Breton name of St Dunstan, 249\n\n ST HENWG. _See_ Henwg\n\n ST HONORA, or ENORA. _See_ St Enora\n\n ST ILTUD. A Welsh saint;\n in a legend of St Samson, 349;\n St Pol a disciple of, 364;\n mentioned, 346\n\n ST IVES. _See_ St Yves\n\n SAINT-JACUT-DE-LA-MER. A village in Brittany;\n in the story of the Fisherman and the Fairies, 80, 84\n\n ST JAOUA. A Breton saint, 366\n\n SAINT-JEAN-DU-DOIGT. A village in Brittany;\n the Pardon of the Fire held at, 378, 379\n\n ST JOHN. A Breton saint, 197\n\n ST KADO. A Breton saint;\n mentioned, 197\n\n ST K\u00c9, or ST QUAY. Popular name in Brittany for St Keenan, 344\n\n ST KEENAN. A Breton saint, 343-344\n\n ST KENTIGERN, or ST MUNGO. Patron saint of Glasgow;\n the legend of, 356-357;\n mentioned, 70, 359\n\n ST LAZARUS. The Order of;\n Louis XV sends to the Count of La Garaye, 195\n\n ST LEONORIUS, or L\u00c9ONORE. A Breton saint, 346-347\n\n ST LOUIS. _See_ Louis IX\n\n ST MAGAN. A Breton saint, brother of St Goezenou, 370\n\n ST MALGLORIOUS. A Breton saint, 356\n\n ST MALO, or MACHUTES. A Breton saint;\n the people of Corseul hostile to the teachings of, 343\n\n SAINT-MALO. A town in Brittany;\n the scene of the Lay of Laustic, 302;\n St Convoyon born near, 335;\n mentioned, 230\n\n SAINT-MALO, BAY OF. The Nicole of, 100-101\n\n ST MARCELLINUS. Bishop of Rome;\n the bones of, given to St Convoyon by Pope Leo IV, and taken by\n him to Redon, 337\n\n ST M\u00c9RIADEC. A Breton saint;\n his skull used in the ritual of the Pardon of Saint-Jean-du-Doigt,\n 379\n\n ST MICHAEL. The archangel;\n chapel of, on the tumulus of Mont-Saint-Michel, 46;\n the child Morvan thinks he has seen, 213;\n Morvan thinks a knight more splendid than, 214\n\n ST MICHEL. A Breton saint, 'Lord of Heights';\n a chapel of, near Le Faouet, 333\n\n ST MUNGO. _See_ St Kentigern\n\n ST NENNOCHA. A Breton saint, 340\n\n ST NICHOLAS. A Breton saint;\n probably the survival of a pagan divinity, 345\n\n ST NICOLAS DE BIEUZY. Church of, in Bieuzy, 180\n\n ST NON. A Breton saint;\n a fireplace in the church of, at Penmarch, 381\n\n ST NOYALA. A Breton saint, 360\n\n ST PATERN. A Breton saint, 347-349\n\n ST POL, or PAUL. Of L\u00e9on;\n a Breton saint, 248, 364-367\n\n SAINT-POL-DE-L\u00c9ON. A town in Brittany;\n the bell of St Pol in the cathedral of, 367;\n St Pol buried in the cathedral of, 367;\n the cathedral of, built by St Pol, 367;\n costume of the men of, 375;\n mentioned, 237, 365, 366\n\n ST ROCH. A Breton saint;\n shrine of, at Auray, 42;\n and the markings on the dolmen at Rocenaud, 46\n\n ST RONAN. A Breton saint, 367\n\n ST SAMSON. A British saint;\n settles in Brittany, 17-19;\n St Gildas the friend of, 248;\n stories of, 349-350;\n St Pol of L\u00e9on a fellow-student of, 364\n\n ST SERF. A Scottish saint, abbot of Culross, 357\n\n SAINT-TH\u00c9GONNEC. A town in Brittany;\n the Calvary at, 384\n\n ST TIVISIAU, or TURIAU. A Breton saint, 338-339;\n the fountain of, at Landivisiau, 340\n\n ST TREMEUR. A Breton saint, son of Comorre;\n the reliquary in the church of, 382\n\n ST TRIDUANA. Guardian of a well at Restalrig, near Edinburgh,\n 59-60\n\n ST TRIPHYNE. A Breton saint;\n wife of Comorre, 180\n _See_ Triphyna\n\n ST TUGDUAL. A Breton saint;\n founded the church of Tr\u00e9guier, 167;\n made a miraculous crossing to Brittany, 360\n\n ST TURIAU. _See_ St Tivisiau\n\n ST VOUGAS, or VIE. A Breton saint, 360\n\n ST WINWALOE. A Breton saint, 370-371\n\n ST YVES, or YVO. Brittany's favourite saint, 350-353\n\n SAINT-YVES. A village in Brittany;\n the Pardon of the Poor held at, 378\n\n SAINTS. Stories of, an important element in Breton folk-lore,\n 332;\n the primitive saint driven to use methods similar to those of the\n pagan priests around him, 332;\n tales of the Breton saints, 332-371;\n the product of poor countries rather than of prosperous ones,\n 350\n\n SAINTSBURY, G. E. B. Cited, 254\n\n SALOMON III. Count of Brittany;\n drives back the Northmen, 25\n\n SANT-E-ROA ('Holy Wheel'). Apparatus of the sacring bell;\n at the church of St Bridget, Berhet, 380\n\n SATAN. A story of, 143-144;\n Gilles de Retz seeks association with, 177-179;\n in an old Breton conception of Hell, 389\n _See also_ Devil\n\n SAXONS. The race;\n Celts flee from Britain to Brittany to escape, 15, 17\n\n SCOTLAND. Markings on the megalithic monuments in, 46-47;\n the harp formerly the national instrument of, 229;\n claimed as the birthplace of Arthurian romance, 254;\n late survival of the custom of keeping domestic bards in, 364;\n mentioned, 52\n\n SCOTS. The race;\n Celts flee from Britain to Brittany to escape, 17\n\n SCOTT, SIR WALTER. The novelist;\n his treatment of legendary matter, 211;\n one of the first to bring the story of Tristrem to public notice,\n 258;\n continued the story of Tristrem beyond the point at which the\n Auchinleck MS. breaks off, 272\n\n SEA OF DARKNESS, THE. In the story of the Castle of the Sun, 132\n\n SEA-SNAKE'S EGG. _See_ Adder's Stone\n\n S\u00c9BILLOT, PAUL. Cited, 52, 212 _n._;\n mentioned, 74;\n and the story of the Combat of Saint-Cast, 237 _n._\n\n SEIGNEUR WITH THE HORSE'S HEAD, THE. The story of, 137-143\n\n SEIGNEUR OF NANN, THE. The story of, 57-59\n\n SEIN. _See_ Ile de Sein\n\n SERIPHOS. An island in the \u00c6gean Sea to which Dana\u00eb was carried;\n mentioned, 358\n\n SEVEN SAINTS OF BRITTANY. St Samson and six others who fled with him\n from Britain, 350\n\n SEVEN SLEEPERS, THE. Seven Christian youths of Ephesus who hid to\n escape persecution and slept for several hundreds of years;\n an altar to, in the dolmen-chapel at Plouaret, 41\n\n SEVERN. The river;\n mentioned, 349\n\n S\u00c9VIGN\u00c9, MME DE. A famous French epistolary writer;\n sojourned in the castle of Nantes, 205;\n wrote many of her letters from the ch\u00e2teau of Rochers, 208\n\n SHARPE, CHARLES KIRKPATRICK. An antiquary and writer, friend of Sir\n Walter Scott;\n his treatment of legendary material, 211\n\n SHEWALTON SANDS. A place in Scotland;\n inscribed stones found at, 47\n\n SHIP, THE. A rock off the coast of Brittany, said to have been the\n vessel of St Vougas, 360\n\n SHIP O' THE FIEND, THE. Orchestral work by Hamish MacCunn;\n mentioned, 145\n\n SHIP OF SOULS. A feature in Breton folk-belief, 384\n\n SIGHT, MAGICAL. Bestowed by fairies, 82-83\n\n SILVESTIK. A young Breton who followed in the train of William the\n Conqueror to England;\n the story of, 232-233\n\n SIMROCK, C. J. Cited, 83\n\n SKYE. An island off the west coast of Scotland;\n the 'Washing Woman' in, 100\n\n SLIEVE GRIAN. A mountain in Ireland;\n mentioned, 52\n\n SMALL, A. Cited, 52\n\n SOCI\u00c9T\u00c9 ACAD\u00c9MIQUE DE BREST, BULLETIN DE. Cited, 199 _n._\n\n SONG OF THE PILOT, THE. A Breton ballad, 238-240\n\n SORCERY. Belief in, prevalent in Brittany, 241-243;\n in ancient times, identified with Druidism, 245\n\n SOUTH-WEST WIND, THE. Personification of, in a wind-tale, 163\n\n SOUVESTRE, \u00c9MILE. A French novelist and dramatist;\n mentioned, 180\n\n SPAIN. Tristrem in, 270;\n the giant of Mont-Saint-Michel came from, 275\n\n SPENSER, EDMUND. The poet;\n mentioned, 56\n\n STONES. Folk-tales and beliefs connected with, 52-53\n\n STYX. In Greek mythology, a river of the underworld;\n mentioned, 327\n\n SUN, THE. Personified in the story of the Princess of Tronkolaine,\n 117-118;\n the story of Tristrem and Ysonde claimed as a sun-myth, 274-275;\n personified in the 'fatal children' stories, 358\n\n SUN-PRINCESS. A story of the search for, 121-131\n\n SUROUAS. Name of the south-west wind;\n in a wind-tale, 163\n\n SURVEILLANTE, LE. A Breton vessel;\n her fight with the British ship _Quebec_, 238-240\n\n SUSANNUS. Bishop of Vannes, 336-337\n\n SUSCINO. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 209-210\n\n SWINBURNE, Algernon. The poet;\n quoted, 267\n\n T\n\n TADEN. A village in Brittany;\n the Count and Countess of La Garaye buried at, 195\n\n TALIESIN ('Shining Forehead'). A British bard;\n and the vision of Jud-Hael, 20-21;\n early years, 21;\n the bard of Urien and Owain-ap-Urien, 22;\n death of, 22;\n probably sojourned in Brittany, 22;\n acquainted with black art, 252\n\n TAM O' SHANTER. The character in Burns's poem;\n mentioned, 244\n\n TANTALLON CASTLE. A famous ruin in Scotland;\n mentioned, 359\n\n TARTARY. The country;\n mentioned, 115\n\n TEGID, LLYN. A lake in Wales (Lake Bala);\n the dwelling-place of Keridwen, a fertility goddess, 59\n\n TELIO. A British monk, associated with St Samson;\n said to have introduced the apple into Brittany, 18\n\n TEURSTA POULICT. A variety of the teursts taking animal shape,\n 100\n\n TEURSTS. A race of evil spirits, 100\n\n TEUS, or BUGELNOZ. A beneficent spirit of the district of Vannes,\n 100\n\n THENAW. Mother of St Kentigern, 357\n\n THIERRY, J. N. A. A French historian;\n quoted, 17\n\n THOMAS THE RHYMER, or THOMAS OF ERCILDOUNE. Thirteenth-century\n Scottish poet;\n his version of the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 258 _et seq._;\n visited Fairyland, 326;\n mentioned, 64, 255, 327\n\n THOUARS, CATHERINE DE. Wife of Gilles de Retz, 174\n\n THOUARS, GUY DE. A French knight;\n married to Constance of Brittany, 30\n\n TIBER. The river;\n mentioned, 358\n\n TINA. A maiden;\n in the story of the Baron of Jauioz, 145-147\n\n TITANIA. Queen of the fairies;\n mentioned, 74\n\n TONQU\u00c9DEC. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 204\n\n TOPOGRAPHY OF IRELAND. A work by Giraldus Cambrensis;\n cited, 187\n\n TORRENT OF PORTUGAL, SIR. A fifteenth-century English metrical\n romance;\n mentioned, 358\n\n TOULBOUDOU. A seigneury near Gu\u00e9men\u00e9, 334\n\n TOULBOUDOU, John, Lord of;\n builds the chapel of St Barbe at Le Faouet, 334-335\n\n TOUR D'ELVEN. A keep of the ch\u00e2teau of Largoet, 206\n\n TOURLAVILLE. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 208-209\n\n TOWER OF LONDON, THE. Charles of Blois confined in, 31;\n the name of, occurs frequently in Celtic and Breton romance, 99\n\n TRAPRAIN LAW. A mountain in East Lothian, formerly called\n Dunpender;\n Thenaw cast from, 357\n\n TREASURE, J. P. Cited, 16 _n._\n\n TREDRIG. A village in Brittany;\n St Yves the incumbent of, 351\n\n TREES. Tales of spirits enclosed in, 52\n\n TR\u00c9GASTEL. A town on the Breton coast;\n an island near believed by the Bretons to be the fabled Isle of\n Avalon, 282\n\n TR\u00c9GUENNEC. A village in Brittany;\n St Vougas associated with, 360\n\n TR\u00c9GUIER.\n I. A former county of Brittany, 27, 350\n II. A town in Brittany;\n St Yves buried at, 353;\n a burial custom of, 383;\n mentioned, 167, 168, 237, 350\n\n TR\u00c9GUNC. A town in Brittany;\n dolmen at 42\n\n TREMALOUEN. A hamlet in Brittany;\n ruins at, haunted by courils, 99\n\n TREMTRIS. Inverted form of Tristrem's name given him by Rohand to\n secure his safety, 259;\n Tristrem assumes the name in Ireland, 264, 266\n\n TR\u00c9PASS\u00c9S, BAY OF. A bay on the Breton coast, 185\n\n TR\u00c8VES. A village in Brittany;\n had a reputation as the abode of sorcerers, 242\n\n TRIDWAN. _See_ St Triduana\n\n TRIEUX. A river in Brittany, 203, 204\n\n TRIPHYNA (ST TRIPHYNE). A maiden, married to Comorre, 180-184\n\n TRISTREM, SIR ('Child of Sorrow'). One of the Knights of the Round\n Table, son of Blancheflour;\n the story of, and Ysonde, 257-275;\n mentioned, 301\n\n TRISTREM, SIR. An ancient metrical romance;\n incidents in, paralleled in the story of Bran, 227-228;\n date of composition of, 228;\n had a Breton source, 255;\n Sir Walter Scott one of the first to bring Thomas the Rhymer's\n version of, to public notice, 258;\n Thomas the Rhymer's version of, recounted, 258-272;\n Scott's continuation of the Auchinleck MS., 272-274;\n the story of Tristrem and Ysonde claimed as a sun-myth, 274-275\n\n TROGOFF. The ch\u00e2teau of;\n in the legend of the Ward of Du Guesclin, 33-35\n\n TROLLOPE, T. ADOLPHUS. Quoted, 179-180\n\n TROM\u00c9NIE-DE-SAINT-RENAN. A town in Brittany;\n the Pardon of the Mountain held at, 378, 379\n\n TROYES. A city in France;\n Ab\u00e9lard's abbey of Nogent near, 249\n\n TUGDUAL SALA\u00dcN. A peasant of Plouber, composer of a ballad on the\n Marquis of Gu\u00e9rande, 199, 202\n\n TY C'HARRIQUET ('The House of the Gorics')\n I. A name given to a megalithic structure near Penmarch, 49\n II. A name applied to Carnac, 98\n\n TY EN CORYGANNT. A name given to a megalithic structure in Morbihan,\n 49\n\n U\n\n UNBROKEN VOW, THE. A story of Broceliande, 60-63\n\n UNITED STATES, THE. The Bretons aid, in the War of Independence,\n 238\n\n URIEN. A Welsh chieftain;\n Taliesin the bard of, 21, 22\n\n V\n\n VAL-\u00c8S-DUNES. A place in Brittany;\n Alain, Count of Brittany, defeated in battle at, 28\n\n VALLEY OF BLOOD. A place in hell;\n in the story of the Baron of Jauioz, 146\n\n VANNES.\n I. A former county of Brittany;\n mentioned, 23, 180\n II. The city;\n the dialect of, 16 _and n._;\n the ancient city of the Veneti, 17;\n the Teus or Bugelnoz of, 100;\n in the story of Comorre the Cursed, 183;\n the ch\u00e2teau of Suscino near, 209;\n the abbey of St Gildas near, 248;\n St Convoyon educated at, 335;\n St Patern the patron saint of, 347;\n St Patern Bishop of, 348;\n the legend of the founding of the church of St Patern at,\n 348;\n St Pol of L\u00e9on in, 364\n\n VENETI. A Gallic tribe which inhabited Brittany, 16, 17\n\n 'VENUS, THE.' An image at Quinipily, 381\n\n VILAINE. A river in Brittany, 335\n\n VILLARS, ABB\u00c9 DE. A French priest and writer;\n cited, 64\n\n VILLECHERET. A village in Brittany;\n the head-dress of the women of, 375\n\n VILLEMARQU\u00c9. _See_ Hersart de la Villemarqu\u00e9\n\n VINE, THE. Said to have been introduced into Brittany by Gradlon,\n 189\n\n VIRGIN MARY, THE. In a Breton legend, 380\n\n VITR\u00c9. A Breton ch\u00e2teau, 208\n\n VIVIEN. An enchantress, in Arthurian legend;\n meets Merlin in Broceliande, and afterward enchants him there,\n 65-69;\n as presented in Arthurian legend and in other romances, 69;\n may be classed as a water-spirit, 69;\n the probable purpose of the story of Merlin and, in Arthurian\n legend, 70;\n of Breton origin, and does not appear in British myth, 256;\n gives Arthur the sword Excalibur, 256-257;\n Sir Lancelot stolen and brought up by, 257\n\n W\n\n WACE. A twelfth-century Anglo-Norman poet;\n quoted, 54;\n and the fountain of Baranton, 71\n\n WAGNER, RICHARD. The composer;\n mentioned, 258\n\n WALES. Legend of the submerged city in, 187, 188;\n the harp anciently the national instrument of, 229;\n Bretons send an expedition to, to help Glendower, 234;\n claimed as the birthplace of Arthurian romance, 254;\n helped the development of Arthurian romance, 255;\n Tristrem sojourns in, and wins fame there, 270;\n mentioned, 59, 343\n\n WAR OF INDEPENDENCE, AMERICAN. Bretons take part in, against\n England, 238\n\n WAR OF THE TWO JOANS, THE. A war waged for the succession to the\n Dukedom of Brittany, 31-32, 35-36\n\n WARD OF DU GUESCLIN, THE. A Du Guesclin legend, 33-35\n\n WASHING WOMAN, THE. An evil spirit of the Scottish Highlands, 100\n\n WEDDING CUSTOMS. In Brittany, 385-386\n _See also_ Marriage\n\n WELLS, HOLY. In Brittany, 381-382\n\n WELSH. The language;\n the Breton tongue akin to, 15\n\n WERE-WOLF. A man transformed into a wolf;\n the prevalence, origin, and forms of the superstition, 289-292;\n a were-wolf story, 284-289\n\n WESTMINSTER. The city;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, Ysonde carried to, for trial,\n 270\n\n WEXFORD. A county of Ireland;\n emigration from, to Brittany, 22\n\n WHEEL OF FORTUNE, THE. A name wrongly given to part of the apparatus\n of the sacring bell, 380\n\n WHITE CHURCH. A church in Tr\u00e9guier;\n in the story of the Foster-brother, 170, 171\n\n WILLIAM II. Duke of Normandy (William the Conqueror);\n Conan II of Brittany and, 27, 28-29;\n Bretons accompany, on his expedition against England, 232,\n 233\n\n WILLIAM, COUNT. The name of the nobleman to whom Marie of France\n dedicated her Fables, identified with Longsword, Earl of\n Salisbury, 283-284\n\n WINDS, THE. Play a large part in Breton folk-lore, 162;\n a wind-tale, 163-167\n\n WINE. St Germain exchanges for wax from the monks of Dol, 19;\n a wine festival in honour of King Gradlon, 189\n\n WOMEN. In early communities, magical power often the possession of,\n 246;\n generally the conservators of surviving Druidic tradition, 247;\n St Goezenou's antipathy to, 369;\n costume of the women of Brittany--_see_ Costume _and_ Head-dress\n\n WOOD OF CHESTNUTS. Mentioned in a story of Morvan, 217\n\n Y\n\n YEUN, THE. A morass of evil repute, 102-103;\n a story of, 103-105\n\n YORK. The city, in England;\n St Samson ordained at, 349\n\n YOUDIC, THE. A part of the Yeun peat-bog, 103;\n a story of, 103-105\n\n YOUGHAL. A town in Ireland;\n Az\u00e9nor and the infant Budoc washed ashore at, 355;\n Budoc becomes abbot of the monastery at, 356\n\n YOUGHAL, ABBOT OF. In the legend of St Budoc, 355, 356\n\n YOUTH WHO DID NOT KNOW. The story of, 106-115\n\n YS, or IS. A submerged city of legend;\n the legend of, 184-188;\n such a legend common to several Celtic races, 187;\n Giraldus Cambrensis and the legend of, 187-188\n\n YSEULT. _See_ Ysonde\n\n YSONDE, or YSEULT. Daughter of the King of Ireland;\n some incidents in her story paralleled in the ballad of Bran,\n 228;\n the story of Tristrem and, 257-274;\n the story of Tristrem and, claimed as a sun-myth, 274-275\n\n YSONDE OF THE WHITE HAND. Daughter of Hoel I, Duke of Brittany;\n in the story of Tristrem and Ysonde, 271, 273\n\n YVES. Husband of Az\u00e9nor the Pale, 361-363\n\n YVON. A youth;\n in the story of the Castle of the Sun, 131-137\n\n YVONNE. A maiden;\n in the story of the Castle of the Sun, 131-137\n\n\n ZIMMER, H. Cited, 278\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber Notes\n\nTypographical inconsistencies have been changed and are listed below.\n\nHyphenation has been standardized.\n\nOtherwise, archaic spelling and the author's punctuation style have\nbeen preserved.\n\nPassages in italics indicated by _underscores_.\n\nThe macrons over the a's in Mah[=a]bh[=a]rata and R[=a]m[=a]yana are\nindicated by [=a].\n\n\nTranscriber Changes\n\nThe following changes were made to the original text:\n\n Page 113: Added quote (\"What do you desire? You have only to speak\n and it shall be =brought.\"=)\n\n Page 121: Was 'litle' (You can restore me permanently to my human\n shape if you choose to show only a =little= perseverance\n and courage.)\n\n Page 206: Added apostrophe (in Octave =Feuillet's= _Roman d'un jeune\n Homme pauvre_)\n\n Page 227: Added quote (for when you die you will at least end your\n days in =Brittany.\"=)\n\n Page 267: Was 'attendent' (her passion for Tristrem moved her to\n induce her =attendant= Brengwain to take her place)\n\n Page 357: Was 'Eufeurien' (Thenaw met Ewen, the son of =Eufuerien=,\n King of Cumbria, and fell deeply in love with him)\n\n Footnote 38: Was 'Legende' (_La =L\u00e9gende= de la Mort_)\n\n Index: Was 'bulit' (the chapel of St Barbe =built= on, 335)","title":"Legends & Romances of Brittany","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":123124}