{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41681/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41681","id":"gutenberg_41681","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41681","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- France -- Brittany"],"text":"BRETON LEGENDS.\n\n                      Translated from the French.\n\n\n\n                                 London\n\n                Burns, Oates, & Co., 17 Portman Street,\n                         and 63 Paternoster Row\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe various Collections of Household and Legendary Tales of different\ncountries which have appeared of late years sufficiently attest the\npopular interest which attaches to these curious and venerable relics\nof bygone days. Even such eminent scholars as the Messrs. Grimm have\nnot thought it beneath them to devote their time and research to the\ntask of collecting the old fireside Stories and Legends of Germany;\nand the result of their labours is a volume of tales of remarkable\ninterest and attractiveness, distinguished no less for variety and\ninvention than for pathos, humour, and graceful simplicity.\n\nSimilar Collections have been published from time to time in relation\nto other countries (among others, a remarkable one on the Norse\nLegends, recently issued); and it seemed to the Editors of the present\nvolume that the time had arrived when Brittany too might venture to\nput forward her claim in this respect to public attention. A selection\nof some of the best of the Breton Legends is therefore presented to\nthe reader in this little volume.\n\nIt may be remarked, that the Breton Legends, though possessing\nmuch that is common to the German and other National Tales, have\nyet features peculiar to themselves. They are, we may say, deeply\ncoloured by the character of the country in which they have their\nhome. The sea-coast of Brittany, with its rugged rocks and deep\nmysterious bays and inlets; the lone country heaths in which stand\nthe Menhir and Dolmen, with their dark immemorial traditions; the\ngray antiquated chateaus with their fosses and turrets,--all impart\na wild and severe character to its legends, and strike the reader\nwith a kind of awe which he scarcely feels in reading those of other\ncountries. In addition to this, the way in which the religion of the\nCross, and the doctrines and rites of the Church are interwoven with\nthe texture of almost every one of the Breton Tales, seems to mark\nthem off with still greater distinctness, lending them at the same\ntime a peculiar charm which can hardly fail to commend them to the\nsympathies of the religious reader.\n\nWe may add that the moral lessons to be derived from many of these\nLegends are as striking as they are ingeniously wrought out.\n\nThe Tales are a translation from the French; and for this the Editors\nare indebted to the skill and good taste of a lady, who has entered\nmost fully into the spirit and feeling of these simple but beautiful\nspecimens of Legendary Lore.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                         Page\n    The Three Wayfarers                     1\n    The Legend of St. Galonnek             14\n    The Korils of Plauden                  31\n    The Blessed Mao                        47\n    The Fate of Keris                      63\n    The Stones of Plouhinec                74\n    Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet; or, the Dwarf          84\n    The Spectre Laundresses                96\n    Robin Redbreast                       104\n    Comorre                               118\n    The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok        132\n    The Four Gifts                        150\n    The Palace of the proud King          167\n    The Piper                             172\n    The White Inn                         177\n    Peronnik the Idiot                    182\n    Appendix                              207\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBRETON LEGENDS.\n\nTHE THREE WAYFARERS.\n\n\nThere dwelt in the diocese of L\u00e9on, in ancient times, two young\nnoblemen, rich and comely as heart could desire. Their names were\nTonyk and Mylio.\n\nMylio, the elder, was almost sixteen, and Tonyk just fourteen years\nof age. They were both under the instruction of the ablest masters, by\nwhose lessons they had so well profited that, but for their age, they\nmight well have received holy orders, had such been their vocation.\n\nBut in character the brothers were very unlike. Tonyk was pious,\ncharitable to the poor, and always ready to forgive those who had\noffended him: he hoarded neither money in his hand nor resentment\nin his heart. Mylio, on the other hand, while he gave but his due to\neach, would drive a hard bargain too, and never failed to revenge an\ninjury to the uttermost.\n\nIt had pleased God to deprive them of their father whilst yet in their\ninfancy, and they had been brought up by their widowed mother, a woman\nof singular virtue; but now that they were growing towards manhood,\nshe deemed it time to send them to the care of an uncle, who lived\nat some distance, and from whom they might receive good counsels for\ntheir walk in life, besides the expectation of an ample heritage.\n\nSo one day, after bestowing upon each a new cap, a pair of\nsilver-buckled shoes, a violet mantle, [1] a well-filled purse,\nand a horse, she bade them set forth towards the house of their\nfather's brother.\n\nThe two boys began their journey in the highest spirits, glad that\nthey were travelling into a new country. Their horses made such good\nspeed, that in the course of a few days they found themselves already\nin another kingdom, where the trees, and even the corn, were quite\ndifferent to their own. There one morning, coming to a cross-road,\nthey saw a poor woman seated near a wayside cross, her face buried\nin her apron.\n\nTonyk drew up his horse to ask her what she ailed; and the beggar\ntold him, sobbing, that she had just lost her son, her sole support,\nand that she was now cast upon the charity of Christian strangers.\n\nThe youth was touched with compassion; but Mylio, who waited at a\nlittle distance, cried out mockingly,\n\n\"You are not going to believe the first pitiful story told you by\nthe roadside! It is just this woman's trade to sit here and cheat\ntravellers of their money.\"\n\n\"Hush, hush, my brother,\" answered Tonyk, \"in the name of God; you\nonly make her weep the more. Do not you see that she is just the\nage and figure of our own dear mother, whom may God preserve.\" Then\nstooping towards the beggar-woman, he handed her his purse, saying,\n\n\"Here, my good woman, I can help you but a little; but I will pray\nthat God Himself may be your consolation.\"\n\nThe beggar took the purse, and pressed it to her lips; then said\nto Tonyk,\n\n\"Since my young lord has been so bountiful to a poor woman, let him\nnot refuse to accept from her this walnut. It contains a wasp with\na sting of diamond.\"\n\nTonyk took the walnut with thanks, and proceeded on his way with Mylio.\n\nEre long they came upon the borders of a forest, and saw a little\nchild, half naked, seeking somewhat in the hollows of the trees,\nwhilst he sung a strange and melancholy air, more mournful than the\nmusic of a requiem. He often stopped to clap his little frozen hands,\nsaying in his song, \"I am cold,--oh, so cold!\" and the boys could\nhear his teeth chatter in his head.\n\nTonyk was ready to weep at this spectacle, and said to his brother,\n\n\"Mylio, only see how this poor child suffers from the piercing wind.\"\n\n\"Then he must be a chilly subject,\" returned Mylio; \"the wind does\nnot strike me as so piercing.\"\n\n\"That may well be, when you have on a plush doublet, a warm cloth coat,\nand over all your violet mantle, whilst he is wrapped round by little\nbut the air of heaven.\"\n\n\"Well, and what then?\" observed Mylio; \"after all, he is but a\npeasant-boy.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Tonyk, \"when I think that you, my brother, might have\nbeen born to the same hard fate, it goes to my very heart; and I\ncannot bear to see him suffering. For Jesus' sake let us relieve him.\"\n\nSo saying he reined in his horse, and calling to him the little boy,\nasked what he was about.\n\n\"I am trying,\" said the child, \"if I can find any dragon-flies [2]\nasleep in the hollows of the trees.\"\n\n\"And what do you want with the dragon-flies?\" asked Mylio.\n\n\"When I have found a great many, I shall sell them in the town,\nand buy myself a garment as warm as sunshine.\"\n\n\"And how many have you found already?\" asked the young nobleman.\n\n\"One only,\" said the child, holding up a little rushen cage enclosing\nthe blue fly.\n\n\"Well, well, I will take it,\" interposed Tonyk, throwing to the boy\nhis violet mantle. \"Wrap yourself up in that nice warm cloak, my\npoor little fellow; and when you kneel down to your evening prayers,\nsay every night a 'Hail Mary' for us, and another for our mother.\"\n\nThe two brothers went forward on their journey; and Tonyk, having\nparted with his mantle, suffered sorely for a time from the cutting\nnorth wind; but the forest came to an end, the air grew milder,\nthe fog dispersed, and a vein of sunshine kindled in the clouds.\n\nThey presently entered a green meadow, where a fountain sprung; and\nthere beside it sat an aged man, his clothes in tatters, and on his\nback the wallet which marked him as a beggar.\n\nAs soon as he perceived the young riders, he called to them in\nbeseeching tones.\n\nTonyk approached him.\n\n\"What is it, father?\" said he, lifting his hand to his hat in\nrespectful consideration of the beggar's age.\n\n\"Alas, my dear young gentlemen,\" replied the old man, \"you see how\nwhite my hair is, and how wrinkled my cheeks. By reason of my age, I\nhave grown very feeble, and my feet can carry me no further. Therefore\nI must certainly sit here and die, unless one of you is willing to\nsell me his horse.\"\n\n\"Sell thee one of our horses, beggar!\" exclaimed Mylio, with\ncontemptuous voice; \"and wherewithal have you to pay for it?\"\n\n\"You see this hollow acorn,\" answered the mendicant: \"it contains\na spider capable of spinning a web stronger than steel. Let me have\none of your horses, and I will give you in exchange the acorn with\nthe spider.\"\n\nThe elder of the two boys burst into a loud laugh.\n\n\"Do you only hear that, Tonyk?\" said he, turning to his brother. \"By\nmy baptism, there must be two calf's feet in that fellow's shoes.\" [3]\n\nBut the younger answered gently,\n\n\"The poor can only offer what he has.\"\n\nThen dismounting, he went up to the old man, and added,\n\n\"I give you my horse, my honest friend, not in consideration of\nthe price you offer for him, but in remembrance of Christ, who has\ndeclared the poor to be His chosen portion. Take and keep him as your\nown, and thank God, in whose name I bestow him.\"\n\nThe old man murmured a thousand benedictions, and mounting with\nTonyk's aid, went on his way, and was soon lost in the distance.\n\nBut at this last alms-deed Mylio could no longer contain himself,\nand broke out into a storm of reproaches.\n\n\"Fool!\" cried he angrily to Tonyk, \"are you not ashamed of the state\nto which you have reduced yourself by your folly? You thought no\ndoubt that when you had stripped yourself of every thing, I would go\nshares with you in horse and cloak and purse. But no such thing. I\nhope this lesson at least will do you good, and that, by feeling the\ninconveniences of prodigality, you may learn to be more prudent for\nthe future.\"\n\n\"It is indeed a good lesson, my brother,\" replied Tonyk mildly; \"and\nI willingly receive it. I never so much as thought of sharing your\nmoney, horse, or cloak; go, therefore, on your way without troubling\nyourself about me, and may the Queen of angels guide you.\"\n\nMylio answered not a word, but trotted quickly off; whilst his young\nbrother followed upon foot, keeping him in sight as long as he was\nable, without a thought of bitterness arising in his heart.\n\nAnd thus they went on towards the entrance of a narrow defile between\ntwo mountains, so lofty that their tops were hidden in the clouds. It\nwas called the Accursed Strait; for a dreadful being dwelt among\nthose heights, and there laid wait for travellers, like a huntsman\nwatching for his game. He was a giant, blind, and without feet; but\nhad so fine an ear for sound, that he could hear the worm working\nher dark way within the earth. His servants were two eagles, which\nhe had tamed (for he was a great magician), and he sent them forth\nto catch his prey so soon as he could hear it coming. So the country\npeople of the neighbourhood, when they had to thread the dreaded pass,\nwere accustomed to carry their shoes in their hands, like the girls\nof Roscoff going to market at Morlaix, and held their breath lest\nthe giant should detect their passage. But Mylio, who knew nothing\nof all this, went on at full trot, until the giant was awakened by\nthe sound of horse's hoofs upon the stony way.\n\n\"Ho, ho, my harriers, where are you?\" cried he.\n\nThe white and the red eagle hastened to him.\n\n\"Go and fetch me for my supper what is passing by,\" exclaimed the\ngiant.\n\nLike balls from cannon-mouth they shot down the depths of the ravine,\nand seizing Mylio by his violet mantle, bore him upwards to the\ngiant's den.\n\nAt that moment Tonyk came up to the entrance of the defile. He\nsaw his brother in the act of being carried off by the two birds,\nand rushing towards him, uttered a loud cry; but the eagles almost\ninstantly vanished with Mylio in the clouds that hung over the loftiest\nmountain. For a few seconds the boy stood rooted to the spot with\nhorror, gazing on the sky and the straight rocks that rose above him\nlike a wall; then sinking on his knees, with folded hands, he cried,\n\n\"O God, the Almighty Maker of the world, save my brother Mylio!\"\n\n\"Trouble not God the Father for so small a matter,\" cried three little\nvoices close beside him.\n\nTonyk turned in amazement.\n\n\"Who speaks? where are you?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"In the pocket of thy doublet,\" replied the three voices.\n\nTonyk searched his pocket, and drew forth the walnut, the acorn,\nand the rushen cage, containing the three different insects.\n\n\"Is it you who will save Mylio?\" said he.\n\n\"We, we, we,\" they answered in their various tones.\n\n\"And what can you do, you poor little nobodies?\" continued Tonyk.\n\n\"Let us out, and thou shalt see.\"\n\nThe boy did as they desired; and immediately the spider crept\nto a tree, from which she began a web as strong and as shining as\nsteel. Then mounting on the dragon-fly, which raised her gradually in\nthe air, she still wove on her silvery network; the several threads\nof which assumed the form of a ladder constantly stretching upwards.\n\nTonyk mounted step by step on this miraculous ladder, until it brought\nhim to the summit of the mountain. Then the wasp flew before him,\nand led him to the giant's den.\n\nIt was a grotto hollowed in the cliff, and lofty as a\ncathedral-nave. The blind and footless ogre, seated in the middle,\nswayed his vast body to and fro like a poplar rocked by winds,\nsinging snatches of a strange song; while Mylio lay on the ground,\nhis legs and arms tucked behind him, like a fowl trussed for the\nspit. The two eagles were at a little distance, by the fireplace,\none ready to act as turnspit, whilst the other made up the fire.\n\nThe noise which the giant made in singing, and the attention he paid\nto the preparations for his feast, prevented his hearing the approach\nof Tonyk and his three tiny attendants; but the red eagle perceived\nthe youth, and, darting forward, would have seized him in its claws,\nhad not the wasp at that very moment pierced its eyes with her diamond\nsting. The white eagle, hurrying to its fellow's aid, shared the same\nfate. Then the wasp flew upon the ogre, who had roused himself on\nhearing the cries of his two servants, and set herself to sting him\nwithout mercy. The giant roared aloud, like a bull in August. But\nin vain he whirled around him his huge arms, like windmill-sails;\nhaving no eyes, he could not succeed in catching the creature, and\nfor want of feet it was equally impossible for him to escape from it.\n\nAt length he flung himself, face downwards, on the earth, to find some\nrespite from its fiery dart; but the spider then came up, and spun over\nhim a net that held him fast imprisoned. In vain he called upon the\neagles for assistance: savage with pain, and no longer fearing now they\nsaw him vanquished, their only impulse was to revenge upon him all the\nbitterness of their past long slavery. Fiercely flapping their wings,\nthey flew upon their former master, and tore him in their fury, as he\nlay cowering beneath the web of steel. With every stroke of their beaks\nthey carried off a strip of flesh; nor did they stay their vengeance\nuntil they had laid bare his bones. Then they crouched down upon the\nmangled carcass; and as the flesh of a magician, to say nothing of\nan ogre, is a meat impossible of digestion, they never rose again.\n\nMeanwhile Tonyk had unbound his brother; and, after embracing him with\ntears of joy, led him from the cavern to the edge of the precipice. The\ndragon-fly and the wasp soon appeared there, harnessed to the little\ncage of rushes, now transformed into a coach. They invited the two\nbrothers to seat themselves within it, whilst the spider placed\nherself behind like a magnificent lackey, and the equipage rolled\nonwards with the swiftness of the wind. In this way Tonyk and Mylio\ntravelled untired over meadows, woods, mountains, and villages (for\nin the air the roads are always in good order), until they came before\ntheir uncle's castle.\n\nThere the carriage came to ground, and rolled onwards towards the\ndrawbridge, where the brothers saw both their horses in waiting for\nthem. At the saddle-bow of Tonyk hung his purse and mantle; but the\npurse had grown much larger and heavier, and the mantle was now all\npowdered with diamonds.\n\nAstonished, the youth turned him towards the coach to ask what this\nmight mean; but, behold, the coach had disappeared; and instead of\nthe wasp, the spider, and the dragon-fly, there stood three angels\nall glorious with light. Awe-struck and bewildered, the brothers sank\nupon their knees.\n\nThen one of the angels, more beautiful and radiant than his fellows,\ndrew near to Tonyk, and thus spoke:\n\n\"Fear not, thou righteous one; for the woman, the child, and the old\nman, whom thou hast succoured were none others than our blessed Lady,\nher divine Son, and the holy saint Joseph. They sent us to guard thee\non thy way from harm; and, now that our mission is accomplished,\nwe return to Paradise. Only remember all that has befallen thee,\nand let it serve as an example for ever.\"\n\nAt these words the angels spread their wings, and soared away like\nthree white doves, chanting the Hosanna as it is sung in churches at\nthe Holy Mass.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF SAINT GALONNEK.\n\n\nSaint Galonnek was a native of Ireland, as, indeed, were almost all\nthe teachers in Brittany of those days, and called himself Galonnus,\nbeing evidently of Roman origin. But after he had left his native land,\nand the fame of his good deeds had spread far and wide, the Bretons,\nseeing that his heart was like one of those fresh springs of water\nthat are ever bubbling beneath unfading verdure, changed his name to\nGalonnek, which signifies in their language the open-hearted.\n\nAnd, in truth, never had any child of God a soul more tenderly\nawakened to the sufferings of his fellow-men. No sorrow was beneath his\nsympathy; but it was like the sea-breeze, springing with each tide,\nnever failing to refresh the traveller weary on his way, or to fill\nthe sails of the humble fishing-boat, and bring it safe to land.\n\nHis father and mother were people of substance, and though themselves\nburied in the darkness of paganism, spared not the tenderest solicitude\nin the education of their son. He was placed under the instruction\nof the most learned masters Ireland could afford, and above all, had\nthe honour of being a pupil of St. Patrick, then found amongst them\nlike a nightingale in the midst of wrens, or a beech-tree towering\nabove the ferns on a common.\n\nUnder his teaching the boy grew up, learning only to regard himself in\nthe person of God and his neighbours; and with so fervent a love for\nsouls did the holy apostle of Ireland inspire Galonnek, that at the\nage of eighteen he had no higher wish than to cross over to Brittany,\nand preach the kingdom of Heaven to sorrowful sinners.\n\nHis father and mother, who had then long since been converted,\ndesired to throw no hindrance in the way of his accomplishing this\npious work; but embracing him with tears, they bade him God speed,\nassured that they should meet again once more before the throne of God.\n\nGalonnek took his passage in a boat manned by evil-disposed sailors,\nwhose design was to plunder him; but when they discovered that\nthe holy youth was possessed of nothing but an iron crucifix and\na holly-staff, they turned him out upon the coast of Cornouaille,\nwhere they abandoned him, helpless and without provisions.\n\nGalonnek walked about a long time, not knowing where he was, but\nperfectly tranquil in his mind, certain that he was in his Master's\nkingdom. The sea that roared behind him, the birds that warbled in\nthe bushes, and the wind murmuring in the leaves, all spoke alike to\nhim, each with its own peculiar voice, the name of that Master whose\ncreatures and subjects they were.\n\nHe came at length, towards evening, to a part of the country lying\nbetween Audierne and Plougastel-des-Montagnes, and there finding\na village, he seated himself on the doorstep of the first house,\nawaiting an invitation to enter.\n\nBut, far from that, the owner of the house bade him rise and go\naway. Galonnek then went to the door of the next house, and received\nthe same inhospitable order; and so on from door to door throughout\nthe village. And from the expression every where used to him, zevel,\nthis village was afterwards called Plouzevel, literally, people who\nsaid, Get up.\n\nThe saint was preparing to stretch his weary limbs by the roadside,\nwhen he perceived a cabin which he had not yet noticed, and drew near\nthe door.\n\nIt was the dwelling of a poor widow, possessed only of a few acres\nof barren land, which she had no longer strength to till. But if the\nfruits of her land were little worth, those of her heart were rich and\nplentiful. So tenderly generous was her charity, that if any one asked\nher for a draught of goat's milk, she would give him cream; and if one\nbegged for cream, she would have been ready to bestow the goat itself.\n\nShe received Galonnek as if he had been her dearly-beloved son, long\nabsent, and supposed dead. She ministered to him of the best she had,\nlistening with devotion to his holy teaching; and having already\ncharity, the very key of true religion, she was ready to embrace with\nall her heart the faith of Christ. So early as the very next morning\nshe begged the grace of baptism; and Galonnek, seeing that the love\nof her neighbours had already made her a Christian in intention,\nconsented to bestow it. But water was wanted at the moment of the\nceremony; and St. Galonnek going out, took a spade, and digging for\na few moments in the old woman's little courtyard, there sprung out\nan abundant fountain; and he said,\n\n\"By the aid of this water your barren land will become fertile meadows\ncovered with rich grass, and you will be able to feed as many cows\nin your new pastures as you have now goats browsing on your heath.\"\n\nThis miracle began to open the eyes of the villagers; and they gave\npermission to Galonnek to take up his abode in a forest which stretched\nin those days from Plouzevel to the sea-shore. There the holy disciple\nof St. Patrick built himself a hut of turf and boughs.\n\nOne day whilst praying in this oratory, he heard the hoofs of a\nrunaway horse; and leaving his devotions to see what was the matter,\nhe saw a knight thrown from his horse amidst the thicket.\n\nGalonnek ran to his assistance; and having with much difficulty\ncarried him to his hermitage, he began to bathe his wounds, to dress\nthem with leaves for want of ointment, and to bind them up with strips\ntorn from his own gown of serge.\n\nNow it chanced that this knight was the Count of Cornouaille himself;\nand he was found presently by the attendants, whom he had outstripped,\npeacefully sleeping on the saint's bed of fern. But behold, when\nhe awakened, that saint's prayers had stood instead of remedies,\nand all his wounds were healed.\n\nAnd whilst all stood astonished at this miracle, St. Galonnek said\ngently,\n\n\"Do not be so much surprised; for if by faith mountains may be moved,\nwhy should not charity heal death itself?\"\n\nThe count, filled with wonder and delight, declared that the whole\nforest should become the property of the man who had done so much\nfor him; and not that only, but that he should have as much good\nmeadow-land as could be enclosed within the strips he had torn from\nhis gown to bind the wounds, each strip being reduced to single\nthreads. Thus Galonnek became the owner of a whole parish; and a\nproverb arose, which is still current in those parts, That it is\nwith the length of a benefit received one must measure the field\nof gratitude.\n\nYet Galonnek was none the richer, notwithstanding the noble liberality\nof the count. All the income of his estate was given to the poor,\nwhilst he still lived on in his leafy hermitage. But as many young men\nwere attracted from the neighbourhood by his reputation for holiness\nand learning, he built many other cells beside his own; and thus from\nhis school in that solitary glade the light of the Gospel went forth\nin time through all the length and breadth of the country.\n\nIt was amidst the perfume of wild-flowers, beside the murmuring brook,\nthat Galonnek taught his pupils. He would teach them to understand\nsomewhat of the providence of God by making them observe the tender\ncare with which the little birds prepare a downy nest for offspring\nyet unborn. He would point out to their attention how the earth yields\nmoisture to the roots of trees, how the trees become a dwelling-place\nfor thrushes and for finches, and how these again make musical the\nforest with their cheerful strains, to illustrate the advantage and\nnecessity of mutual benevolence and brotherly love. And when need was\nto stimulate their efforts or their perseverance, he would lead them\nto behold the ant, unwearied in her toil, or the constant woodpecker\nwhose tiny bill achieves the scooping of an oak.\n\nBut this teaching did not confine him in one place; and wherever he\nwent his presence was as that of a star in the midst of darkness.\n\nNow in those days the inhabitants of Brittany still exercised the\nright of wrecking, or in other words, reserved to themselves the\nprivilege of plundering any unfortunate vessels thrown upon their\ncoasts. They spoke of the sea as a cow given to their ancestors by\nGod, and that brought forth every winter for their benefit; thus they\nlooked on shipwrecks as a positive blessing.\n\nOne night, during a heavy storm, as Galonnek was returning to his\nforest from the sick-bed of a poor man, he saw the dwellers on the\ncoast leading a bull along the rocks. His head was bound down towards\nhis fore-legs, and a beacon-light was fastened to his horns. The\ncrippled gait of the animal gave an oscillating motion to the light,\nwhich might be well mistaken at a distance for the lantern of a ship\npitching out at sea, and thus deceive bewildered vessels, uncertain\nin the tempest of their course, into the notion of yet being far from\nshore. Already one thus treacherously beguiled was on its way to\nruin, and might be seen close upon the rocks, its full white sails\ngleaming through the night; another moment and it would have been\naground among the breakers.\n\nGalonnek rushed amidst the peasants, extinguished the false beacon,\nand reproached them for such treachery. But they would not listen to\nhim, and prepared to rekindle the light. Then the saint cried,\n\n\"By all your hopes in this world and the next, have done! for it is\nyour own brethren and children that you are drawing to destruction.\"\n\nAnd whilst they stood uncertain, God kindled up the sky with flashing\nlightning; and beholding the vessel as if it had been noonday, they\nsaw that it was indeed a Breton ship.\n\nTerrified by the dangers to which they had exposed themselves, they\nall fell down at the saint's feet; the women kissed the hem of his\ngarment with floods of tears, as if his hands had rescued their sons\nfrom the depths of the sea, and all with one voice exclaimed,\n\n\"But for him we should have become the murderers of our friends\nand neighbours.\"\n\n\"Alas, those whom you have already lured to death were equally your\nneighbours and your friends,\" replied St. Galonnek; \"for we are\nall descended from Adam, and have been ransomed by the blood of the\nsame God.\"\n\nThe peasants, deeply moved, perceived their guilt, and promised to\nrenounce this custom of their fathers.\n\nMuch about the same time, the country of Pluguffant was ravaged\nby a dragon, which devoured whole flocks with their shepherds and\ndogs. In vain had the most courageous men banded themselves together\nto destroy it. The ferocious monster had put them all to flight; and\nnow nobody dared to stir out of doors to lead his cattle to water,\nor go and work in the fields. As soon as Galonnek knew this sad state\nof things, he set out for the court of the Count of Cornouaille,\nand asked there which knight was the most valiant before God and\nman. Every voice declared him to be Messire Tanguy de Carfor, who\nhad made a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, and killed more than a\nthousand Saracens with his own hand.\n\nGalonnek desired him to gird on his sword and armour, and to come and\nfight the dragon, which God had given him a mission to destroy. Carfor\ninstantly armed himself, and accompanied the saint to the monster's\nden, from which he came out, howling frightfully at their approach.\n\nCarfor hesitated in spite of himself at so unwonted an appearance;\nbut Galonnek said to him,\n\n\"For your soul's sake, messire, have confidence in God, and you shall\nkill this monster as easily as a gadfly.\"\n\nThus encouraged, the knight advanced to the attack, and with scarce an\neffort pierced the dragon three times through with his sword, whilst\nthe saint called upon the three Persons of the Most Holy Trinity.\n\nGalonnek also freed the country from many other scourges, such as\nwolves, reptiles, and mosquitoes with fiery stings; and being now old\nenough to receive holy orders, he was ordained by St. Pol; and built\na little chapel beside his oratory, where every day he celebrated Mass.\n\nMeanwhile the leafy cells around him multiplied so fast, that at\nlast they were united in a monastery, called by Galonnek Youlmad,\nor the house of good desires.\n\nHe was engaged in drawing up a rule for this monastery, when he was\ninterrupted by a disturbing rumour which arose in the neighbourhood.\n\nIt was said that a woman clothed in red, and with a ghastly\ncountenance, had taken passage in a fishing-boat from Crozon. She\nlanded near Poullons; and when questioned as to her name on departing,\nshe had replied that she was called the Lady of Pestilence. And, in\nfact, it came to pass, that within a very few days both men and animals\nwere smitten with a contagious disease, which carried them off after a\nfew hours' illness. So great was the mortality, that wood sufficient\nfor the coffins could not be found; and for want of grave-diggers,\nthe corpses were laid to rest in furrows hollowed by the plough.\n\nThose who were well off gathered all their effects together in wagons,\nand harnessing all the horses they possessed, drove away at full\nspeed to the mountains, which the pallid woman had not passed. But the\npoorer people, who had no means of conveyance, and were unwilling to\nleave their little all, awaited their doom at home, like sheep lying\ndown to rest around the butcher's door.\n\nIn this extremity, however, they were not abandoned by Galonnek. He\nwent from hut to hut, carrying aid or consolation. Linen for shrouds\nand wood for coffins might indeed be wanting; but he swathed the\nfever-spotted dead in leafy twigs, and bore them in his own arms\nto consecrated earth, laying them down tenderly as sleeping infants\nin their cradle-bed. Then planting a branch of yew, and another of\nblossoming broom, he entwined them in the form of a cross, and set\nthem as an emblem on the grave; the yew symbolising the sorrow which\nunderlies the whole course of life, and the blossoming broom the\ntransitory joys which gleam across it. And it is said, that when at\nlast the pestilence was stayed, these holy crosses covered a space of\nthree days' journey. So many generous and pious acts had spread the\nfame of Galonnek both far and wide, and all Cornouaille was inflamed\nwith devotion. Persons came from all parts to the convent of Good\nDesires to listen to his teaching, to ask his prayers, and to offer him\ngifts; but these the saint only accepted for the purposes of charity.\n\n\"The priest,\" he used to say, \"is only as a canal, which serves to\ncarry water from overflowing streams to arid barren plains.\"\n\nAnother of his sayings was, \"God has given us two hands; one with\nwhich to receive His good treasures, and the other to administer the\nsame to those who need.\"\n\nAnd thus, although the neighbouring nobles had loaded him with\npresents, his monastery and church were radiant only with his good\nactions. He was accustomed to sleep upon an osier hurdle, and wore\nnothing better than a gown of faded serge. But all this external\npoverty threw out with stronger lustre the brightness of his hidden\nworth; and Galonnek was like one of those caskets made of earth or\nbark, in which are treasured rubies and carbuncles.\n\nThe see of Cornouaille becoming vacant, Galonnek was summoned with\none voice to fill it. He was anxious to refuse; but St. Pol himself\ncame to find him out, and said to him that God's stars have no right\nto conceal themselves in the grass, but must take their places in\nthe firmament. Then St. Galonnek resigned himself; but when the\nmoment came for leaving the turfen oratory, where he had spent the\nbest part of his life, his heart became so heavy that he burst into\ntears, and cried aloud, \"Alas, how shall I become worthy of the new\noffice which my brethren impose upon me?\" Then, falling on his knees,\nhe prayed most fervently until God put strength into his heart. When\nhe arose, he took the humble chalice he had been accustomed to use,\nhis sole possession, save the memory of his good deeds, and went on\nfoot to the capital of Cornouaille, where he was consecrated Bishop.\n\nHere began for St. Galonnek a new life of courage and self-denial. He\nhad to fight for the poor against the rich, for the weak against\nthe mighty. When his friends and disciples beheld him engage, all\nunprotected, in these dangerous struggles, even the most courageous\nwere at times dismayed; but Galonnek would say with a smile, \"Fear not,\nmy friends, their weapons cannot touch me. God Himself has forged\nfor me a breastplate with the tears of the sorrowful, the miseries\nof the poor, and the despair of the oppressed. Behind this armour I\ncan feel no hurt. Blows can only do us mischief by glancing across us\nat any of those who have taken up our cause; for from our very heart\ndistils a balsam that can heal as they come all the wounds inflicted\nfrom without.\"\n\nMoved by the sight of so much virtue, many powerful noblemen, who had\nhitherto persisted in idolatry, came to ask of Galonnek instruction and\nthe grace of baptism; but he would only grant this favour in reward for\nsome good work. If any one had sinned, and came to seek for absolution,\nGalonnek would give him for a penance some virtuous action to perform,\nsome charitable service to his fellow-men. He taught them to regard\nGod as the surety for recompenses merited but not received, to invest\ntheir lives in Paradise, to break every tie which holds the soul in\nbondage, that it may spring forward with unfettered flight in the\nlove of God and man.\n\nAbout this time the Count of Cornouaille died, and was succeeded by\nhis son Tugduval. He was a conceited, vain-glorious youth, who could\nnot endure the least contradiction, and had not yet lived long enough\nto find that life is an instrument on which the first chords we strike\nare invariably false.\n\nSo unjust had he shown himself in many instances to the townspeople\nand gentry, that they banded together and drove him from the city. But\nTugduval asked assistance from the Count of Vannes, and soon returned\nwith an army to which the rebels could offer no resistance. Multitudes\nwere slain in battle, and the survivors taking refuge in the city,\nwere besieged there by the count.\n\nHe rode round the city-walls, like a hungry wolf parading a sheepfold,\nswearing never to forgive one of the rebels, or those who had given\nthem shelter.\n\nSo battering-rams were brought, and raised against the walls; and\nwhen once a passage was forced, he mounted his war-horse, and ordering\nevery soldier to take a naked sword in one hand, and a lighted torch\nin the other, he rushed at their head into the affrighted city.\n\nBut Galonnek had seen the terror of the conquered people, who only\nlooked for fire and sword; and coming out of the cathedral, with\nall his priests in procession, bearing crosses and all their sacred\nrelics, he came the first to meet Tugduval, his bald head uncovered,\nand his chalice in his hand.\n\nThe young count, astonished, checked his horse; but Galonnek went\nstraight up to his saddle-bow, there paused, and said in a gentle\nvoice, \"If any will devour the flock, he must begin by slaying the\nshepherd. I am here at your mercy, and am ready to purchase with my\nblood forgiveness for the rest.\"\n\nAt the sight of this holy old man, whom he had early been taught\nto reverence, and at that voice which had always sounded like a\nbenediction, Tugduval felt his rage dissolve away; and letting fall\nhis sword, he bent over his horse's neck, and kissed devoutly the\nchalice carried by St. Galonnek. At that instant all the soldiers,\nas if touched by the same emotion, put out their torches, and turned\ntheir sword-points to the ground, crying as with one voice, \"Quarter,\nquarter for all!\"\n\nThe young count waited not a repetition of this prayer; but dismounting\nhastily, he followed the Bishop to the cathedral, where the conquerors\nand the conquered joined in songs of thanksgiving to God.\n\nThis was the last great act of St. Galonnek's life. A very few months\nafter, he felt his strength decay, and knew that his end was near. He\ndid not, however, on that account relax in his good works. Returning\none day from a visit to a poor widow bereaved of her last son, he\nsuddenly found himself unable to proceed, and sat down to rest upon\na stone by the wayside. There a pedlar from the mountains found him,\nsome time after, sitting motionless; and thinking that he slept,\nthe man approached him, when he saw that he was dead. Judging from\nthe poverty of his apparel, the pedlar took him for a hermit of the\nneighbourhood, and out of Christian charity wrapped the body in his\nmantle for a funeral shroud. A shoemaker's wife, who lived a few\nsteps off, contributed an old chest to serve as a coffin, so that\nBishop Galonnek came to his grave like a beggar.\n\nBut the truth was soon discovered by the miracles which were wrought\nat his tomb; and the body being taken from the earth, was carried with\ngreat state to the city, and buried at the foot of the high altar in\nthe cathedral. St. Pol was requested to write an epitaph upon him;\nbut the apostle of L\u00e9on replied that none but an archangel could\ncompose one; so they merely covered the grave with a plain granite\nslab, on which was carved the name of Galonnek.\n\nAges have passed away, and yet this stone still remains, and thither\nthe Breton mothers come to lay their new-born babes one instant on\nits consecrated bosom, whilst they repeat the usual form of prayer:\n\n\"Saint Galonnek, bestow upon my child two hearts. Give him the heart\nof a lion, that he may be strong in well-doing; and give him the\nheart of a turtle-dove, that he may be full of brotherly love.\"\n\nThe feast of St. Galonnek is celebrated on the 1st of April, when\nthe buds of the hedgerows are bursting into leaf, and \"the time of\nthe singing of birds is come.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE KORILS OF PLAUDEN.\n\n\nThere dwelt formerly in the land of White-Wheat, as well as in\nCornouaille, a race of dwarfs, or Korigans, who, being divided into\nfour nations or tribes, inhabited the woods, the commons, the valleys,\nand the farms. Those dwelling in the woods were called Kornikaneds,\nbecause they played on little horns, which hung suspended from\ntheir girdles; the inhabitants of the commons were called Korils,\nfrom their spending all their nights in dancing by moonlight; the\ndwellers in the valleys were Poulpikans, from their homes lying so\nlow; and the Teuz were wild black men, living near the meadows and\nthe wheat-fields; but as the other Korigans accused them of being too\nfriendly with Christians, they were forced to take flight into L\u00e9on,\nwhere probably there may still be some of them remaining.\n\nAt the time of which I speak, there were only then hereabouts the\nKornikaneds, the Poulpikans, and the Korils; but they abounded in\nsuch numbers, that after dark few people cared to venture near their\nstony palaces.\n\nAbove all, there lay in Plauden, near the little market-town of\nLoqueltas, a common known as Motenn-Dervenn, or place of oaks, whereon\nthere stood an extensive Koril village, that may be seen there to this\nvery day. The mischievous dwarfs came out to dance there every night;\nand any one adventurous enough to cross the common at that time was\nsure to be entrapped into their mazy chain, and forced to wheel about\nwith them till earliest cockcrow; so that the place was universally\navoided after nightfall.\n\nOne evening, however, Benead Guilcher, returning with his wife from\na field, where he had been doing a day's work in ploughing for a\nfarmer of Cadougal, took his way across the haunted heath because it\nwas so much the shortest road. It was still early, and he hoped that\nthe Korigans might not have yet begun their dance; but when he came\nhalf-way over the Motenn-Dervenn, he perceived them scattered round\nabout the blocks of stone, like birds on a field of corn. He would\nfain have turned him back; but the horns of the wood-dwarfs, and the\ncall-cries of the valley-imps, already rose behind him. Benead felt\nhis legs tremble, and said to his wife,\n\n\"Saint Anne, we are done for! Here come the Kornikaneds and the\nPoulpikans to join the Korils for their midnight ball. They will make\nus dance with them till daybreak; and it is more than my poor heart\ncan endure.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, the troops of Korigans assembling from all parts,\ncame round about poor Guilcher and his wife like flies in August to\na drop of honey, but started back on seeing in his hand the little\nfork Benead had been using to clear the ploughshare, and began to\nsing with one accord,\n\n\n   \"Let him be, let her be,\n    The plough-fork has he!\n    Let them go on their way,\n    The fork carry they!\"\n\n\nGuilcher instantly perceived that the instrument he held in his hand\nacted as a charm against the power of the Korigans; and he and his\nwife passed unmolested through the very midst of them.\n\nThis was a hint to every body. From that day forward it became a\nuniversal custom to take out the little fork of an evening; and\nthus armed, any one might cross the heaths and valleys without fear\nof hindrance.\n\nBut Benead was not satisfied with having rendered this service to\nthe Bretons; he was an inquisitive as well as an intelligent man,\nand as merry a hunchback as any in the four Breton bishoprics. For\nI have omitted to tell you that Benead carried from his birth a hump\nbetwixt his shoulders, with which he would thankfully have parted at\ncost-price. He was looked on also as an honest workman, who laboured\nconscientiously for daily bread, and moreover well deserved the\ncharacter of a good Christian.\n\nOne evening, unable to resist the wish, he took his little fork,\ncommended himself devoutly to St. Anne, and set off towards the\nMotenn-Dervenn.\n\nThe Korils saw him from a distance, and ran to him, crying,\n\n\"It is Benead Guilcher!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is I, my little men,\" replied the jovial hunchback; \"I have\ncome to pay you a friendly visit.\"\n\n\"You are welcome,\" replied the Korils. \"Will you have a dance with us?\"\n\n\"Excuse me, my good folks,\" replied Guilcher, \"but your breath is\ntoo long for a poor invalid.\"\n\n\"We will stop whenever you like,\" cried the Korils.\n\n\"Will you promise that?\" said Benead, who was not unwilling to try\na round with them, as much for the novelty of the thing as that he\nmight have it to talk about.\n\n\"We will promise thee,\" said the dwarfs.\n\n\"By the Saviour's cross?\"\n\n\"By the Saviour's cross.\"\n\nThe hunchback, satisfied that such an oath secured him from all\ndangers, took his place in their chain; and the Korils began their\nround, singing their accustomed song:\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday;\n    Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.\" [4]\n\n\nIn a few minutes Guilcher stopped.\n\n\"With all due deference to you, good gentlefolks,\" said he to the\ndwarfs, \"your song and dance seem to me very monotonous. You stop\ntoo early in the week; and without having much claim to be a skilful\nstringer of rhymes, I fancy I can lengthen the chorus.\"\n\n\"Let us see, let us see!\" cried the dwarfs.\n\nThen the hunchback replied,\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n    Thursday, Friday, Saturday.\"\n\n\nA great tumult arose amongst the Korils.\n\n\"Stard! stard!\" [5] cried they, surrounding Guilcher; \"you are a bold\nsinger and a fine dancer. Repeat it once more.\"\n\nThe hunchback repeated,\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n    Thursday, Friday, Saturday,\"\n\n\nwhilst the Korils wheeled about in mad delight. At last they stopped,\nand pressing round about Guilcher, they cried with one voice,\n\n\"What will you have? what do you want? riches or beauty? Speak a wish,\nand we will fulfil it for you.\"\n\n\"Are you in earnest?\" asked the labourer.\n\n\"May we be doomed to pick up grain by grain all the millet in the\ndiocese, if we deceive thee,\" they replied.\n\n\"Well,\" said Guilcher, \"if you want to make me a present, and leave me\nto choose what it shall be, I have one thing only to desire from you,\nand that is, that you take away what I have got here set betwixt my\nshoulders, and make me as straight as the flagstaff of Loqueltas.\"\n\n\"Good, good!\" replied the Korils. \"Be easy, come here.\" And seizing\nGuilcher, they threw him in the air, tossing him from one to another\nlike a worsted ball, until he had made the round of the entire\ncircle. Then he fell upon his feet, giddy, breathless, but--without\nhis hump! Benead had grown younger, fatter, beautiful! Except his\nmother, no one could have recognised him.\n\nYou may guess the surprise his appearance created on his return to\nLoqueltas. No one could believe it was Guilcher; his wife herself\nwas doubtful about receiving him. Before she could recognise in him\nher old humpback, he was compelled to tell her exactly how many\nheaddresses she had in her press, and what was the colour of her\nstockings. At last, when every body knew for certain that it was\nhe, they became wonderfully anxious to find out what had effected\nso strange a transformation; but Benead thought that if he told\nthe truth, he should be looked on as an accomplice of the Korigans;\nand that every time an ox strayed, or a goat was lost, he should be\napplied to for its restoration. So he told all those who asked him\nquestions, that it happened unknown to him whilst sleeping on the\nheath. Thenceforth went all the crooked folk who were silly enough\nto believe him, and spent their nights upon the open heath, hoping to\nrise like arrows in the morning; but many people suspected that there\nwas a secret in the matter, which Guilcher was unwilling to disclose.\n\nAmongst these latter was a tailor with red hair and squinting eyes,\ncalled, from his stammering speech, Perr Balibouzik. He was not, as\nis usual with his craft, a rhymester, lively on his board as a robin\non its twig, and one who scented pancakes from afar as dogs do game;\nBalibouzik never laughed, never sung, and fed upon such coarse black\nbarley bread that one could count the straws in it. He was a miser,\nand, worse than that, a bad Christian; lending out his money at such\nheavy interest, that he ruined all the poor day-labourers of the\ncountry. Guilcher had long owed him five crowns, and had no means of\npaying them. Perr went in quest of him, and demanded them once more.\n\nThe ci-devant hunchback excused himself, promising to pay after\nfair-time; but Balibouzik declared that the only condition upon which\nhe would agree to any further delay was that of being at once put\nin possession of the secret how to grow young and handsome. Thus\ndriven to extremities, Guilcher related his visit to the Korils,\nwhat words he had added to their song, and how the choice had been\ngiven him between two wishes.\n\nPerr made him repeat every detail many times over, and then went away,\nwarning his debtor that he would give him eight days longer to lay\nhands on the five crowns.\n\nBut what he had heard awakened within him all the rage of avarice. He\nresolved that very night to visit the Motenn-Dervenn, to mix in\nthe dance of Korigans, and to gain the choice between two wishes,\nas proposed to Guilcher,--namely, riches and beauty.\n\nSo soon, therefore, as the moon arose, behold Balibouzik the\nSquinter on his way towards the common, carrying a little fork in\nhis hand. The Korils saw him, ran to meet him, and demanded whether\nhe would dance. Perr consented, after making the same conditions as\nBenead, and joined the dancing company of little black men, who were\nall engaged in chanting the refrain which Guilcher had increased:\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n    Thursday, Friday, Saturday.\"\n\n\n\"Wait!\" cried the tailor, seized with sudden inspiration; \"I also\nwill add something to your song.\"\n\n\"Add, add!\" replied the Korils.\n\nAnd all once more exclaimed,\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n    Thursday, Friday, Saturday.\"\n\n\nThey stopped, and Balibouzik stammered out alone,\n\n\n   \"And the Sun--Sun--Sunday too.\"\n\n\nThe dwarfs uttered a prolonged murmur.\n\n\"Well?\" they cried all at once.\n\n\n   \"Sun--Sunday too,\"\n\n\nrepeated the tailor.\n\n\"But go on, go on.\"\n\n\n   \"Sun--Sunday.\"\n\n\n\"Well, well, well?\"\n\n\n   \"Sun--Sunday too!\"\n\n\nThe Koril chain was broken up; they ran about as if furious at not\nbeing understood.\n\nThe poor stammerer, terrified, stood speechless, with his mouth\nwide open. At length the waves of little black heads grew calmer;\nthey surrounded Balibouzik, and a thousand voices cried at once,\n\n\"Wish a wish! wish a wish!\"\n\nPerr took heart.\n\n\"A wi-wi-sh,\" said he. \"Guilcher cho-o-ose between riches and beauty.\"\n\n\"Yes, Guilcher chose beauty, and left riches.\"\n\n\"Well, for my part, I choose what Guilcher left.\"\n\n\"Well done!\" cried the Korils. \"Come here, tailor.\"\n\nPerr drew near in transport. They took him up as they had done Benead;\nthrew him from hand to hand all round their circle; and when he\nfell upon his feet, he had between his shoulders what Guilcher had\nleft--that is to say, a hump.\n\nThe tailor was no more Balibouzik simply, he was now Tortik-Balibouzik.\n\nThe poor deformed creature came back to Loqueltas shamefaced as a dog\nwho has had his tail cut off. As soon as what had happened to him was\nknown, there was not a creature but longed to get sight of him. And\nevery one beholding his back, grown round as that of a well-digger,\nuttered an exclamation of astonishment. Perr raged beneath his hump,\nand swore to himself that he would be revenged upon Guilcher; for that\nhe alone was the cause of this misfortune, being a favourite of the\nKorigans, and having doubtless begged them thus to insult his creditor.\n\nSo the eight days once expired, Tortik-Balibouzik said to Benead,\nthat if he could not pay him his five crowns, he would go and send\nthe officers of justice to sell all he had. Benead entreated in vain;\nthe new hunchback would listen to nothing, and announced that the very\nnext day he should send to the fair [6] all his furniture, his tools,\nand his pig.\n\nGuilcher's wife uttered loud cries, reiterating that they were\ndisgraced before the parish, that nothing now was left for them but to\ntake up the wallet and white staff of mendicants, and go begging from\ndoor to door; that it was well worth Benead's while to have become\nstraight and noble in appearance only to take up the straw girdle;\n[7] and thousands of other unreasonable sayings, after the fashion\nof women when they are in tribulation,--and when they are not.\n\nTo all these complaints Guilcher replied nothing, unless it were that\nsubmission to the will of God and His Blessed Mother was above all\nthings necessary; but his heart was humbled to the core. He reproached\nhimself now with not preferring wealth to beauty, when he had the\nchoice; and he would only too willingly have taken back his hump,\nwell garnished with gold, or even silver, crowns. After seeking in\nvain for a way out of his trouble, he made up his mind to revisit\nMotenn-Dervenn.\n\nThe Korils welcomed him with shouts of joy, as before, and made\nhim join them in their dance. Benead had no heart for merriment;\nbut he would not damp their mirth, and began to jump with all his\nmight. The delighted dwarfs skipped about like dead leaves driven by\nthe winter's wind.\n\nAs they ran they repeated the first line of their song, their companion\ntook up the second; they went on to the third, and, that being the\nlast, Guilcher was compelled to finish the tune without words, which\nin a short time grew tiresome to him.\n\n\"If I might venture to give you my opinion, my little lords,\" said he,\n\"your song has the same effect upon me as the butcher's dog, it goes\nupon three legs.\"\n\n\"Right, right!\" cried all the voices.\n\n\"I think,\" said Benead, \"it would be much the best way to add another\nfoot.\"\n\n\"Add, add!\" replied the dwarfs.\n\nAnd all sung out with one accord, and in a piercing utterance,\n\n\n   \"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,\n    Thursday, Friday, Saturday,\n    And the Sunday too!\"\n\n\nThere was a short silence; the dwarfs waited to see what Guilcher\nwould say.\n\n\n   \"All the week have you!\"\n\n\nfinished he gaily.\n\nThousands of cries which made but one cry rose up from all corners\nof the common. The whole heath was instantly covered with jumping\nKorigans. They sprung out from tufts of grass, from bushes of broom,\nfrom rocky clefts,--one would have said it was a very hive of little\nblack men; whilst all gambolling amongst the heather, they exclaimed,\n\n\n   \"Guilcherik, our saviour! he\n    Has fulfill'd the Lord's decree!\"\n\n\n\"By my soul! what does all this mean?\" cried Benead in astonishment.\n\n\"It means,\" replied the Korigans, \"that God had sentenced us to dwell\nhere amongst men, and every night to dance upon the common, until\nsome good Christian should finish our refrain. You first lengthened\nit, and we hoped that the tailor you sent would have completed it;\nbut he stopped short on the very point of doing so, and for that we\npunished him. You fortunately have done what he could not; our time\nof trial now is over, and we shall go back to our kingdom, which\nspreads under ground, beneath the very sea and rivers,\"\n\n\"If this is so,\" said Guilcher, \"and you really are so far indebted\nto me, do not go away and leave a friend in trouble.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"The means of paying Balibouzik to-day, and the baker for ever.\"\n\n\"Take our bags, take our bags!\" exclaimed the Korigans.\n\nAnd they threw at Benead's feet the little bags of rusty cloth which\nthey wore strapped on their shoulders.\n\nHe gathered up as many as he possibly could carry, and ran all\njoyous home.\n\n\"Light the resin,\" cried he to his wife, on entering, \"and close the\nscreen, that nobody may see us; for I bring home wealth enough to\nbuy up three whole parishes, their judges, rectors, and all.\"\n\nAt the same time he spread out upon the table the multitude of little\nbags, and set himself to open them. But, alas, he had been reckoning\nthe price of his butter before he had bought the cow. [8] The bags\nenclosed nothing more than sand, dead leaves, horsehair, and a pair\nof scissors.\n\nOn seeing this he uttered such a dreadful cry that his wife, who\nhad gone to shut the door, came back to ask him what could be the\nmatter. Then Benead told her of his visit to the Motenn-Dervenn,\nand all that had occurred there.\n\n\"St. Anne have pity on us!\" cried the frightened woman; \"the Korigans\nhave been making sport of you.\"\n\n\"Alas, I see it but too well,\" replied Guilcher.\n\n\"And you have dared, unhappy man, to touch these bags, the property\nof the accursed.\"\n\n\"I thought I should find something better in them,\" exclaimed Benead\npiteously.\n\n\"Nothing good can come from good-for-nothings,\" replied the old\nwoman. \"What you have got there will bring an evil spell upon our\nhouse. Heavens! if only I have a drop of holy water left.\"\n\nShe ran to her bed, and taking from the wall a little earthen holy\nwater-stoup, she steeped in it a branch of box; but scarcely had the\ndew of God been sprinkled on the bags, when the horsehair changed at\nonce to necklaces of pearls, the dead leaves into gold, and the sand\nto diamonds. The enchantment was destroyed, and the wealth that the\nKorigans would fain have hidden from a Christian eye was forced to\nreassume its proper form.\n\nGuilcher repaid Balibouzik his five crowns. He gave to every poor\nperson in the parish a bushel of wheat, with six ells of cloth; and\nhe paid the rector handsomely for fifty Masses; then he set out with\nhis wife for Josselin, where they bought a mansion, and where they\nreared a family who now are gentlefolks.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLESSED MAO.\n\n\nThose Christians who stand in need of heavenly aid cannot do better\nthan apply themselves to our Lady of All-Help near Faou. In that place\nhas been built, expressly in her honour, the very richest chapel ever\nyet raised for her by human hands. The whole inside is ornamented\nwith golden images, and the belfry-tower, which is made exactly like\nthe one at Kreisker, is perforated like a Quimper fritter. There\nstands also near the church a stone fountain, famed for healing the\ninfirmities both of body and soul.\n\nIt was at this chapel that Mao stopped on his road to pray. Mao came\nfrom Loperek, which is a pleasant little parish between Kimerc'h and\nLogoma. His friends and relations were all dead, and his guardian had\nsent him off to seek his living where he liked, with a good club-stick\nin his hand and three silver crowns in his purse.\n\nAfter saying devoutly at the foot of the high-altar all the prayers\nhe had ever learned from the cur\u00e9, or the old woman who had nursed\nhim, Mao went out of church to go on his way. But as he passed the\npalisades, he saw a crowd of people gathered around a corpse upon\nthe grass, and learnt upon inquiry that it was the body of a poor\nbeggar-man, who had yielded up his soul the morning before, and who\ncould not be buried for want of the money-payment.\n\n\"Was he, then, a heathen, or a wretched reprobate who had been\nunfaithful to his Christian duties, that no one will do him this\ncharitable service?\" asked Mao.\n\n\"He was a sheep of the true fold,\" replied one who stood by; \"and\nhowever hardly he might be pressed by hunger, he would not pluck the\nthree apples, or even ears of corn, which are permitted by old usage\nto be gathered by the passing stranger. But poor Stevan has not left\nthe means of paying for his funeral, and so here he is allowed to\nlie. If I were not as poor myself, I would not have allowed him to\nlie here so long.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" cried Mao, \"are the people so cruel in this part of the world,\nthat they suffer the poor to enter the church-doors whilst living,\nbut not after death? If money is all that is wanted, here are three\ncrowns; they are all I have, but I will gladly give them to unlock\nholy ground to one of the faithful departed.\"\n\nThe sexton and the priest were now sent for, and the body of the poor\nbeggar was solemnly committed to the grave. As for Mao, he made a\nsimple cross of two yew-branches, set it on the grave of the poor\nbeggar; and after having devoutly repeated a De profundis, he set\noff once more upon his journey towards Camfront.\n\nAfter a time, however, Mao grew both hungry and thirsty, and\nremembering that he had nothing left of what his guardian had\nbestowed, he set himself to gather blackberries, wild-sorrel, and\nsloes from the hedges. And whilst thus employed, he watched the birds\nthat picked their living from the bushes, and said within himself,\n\"After all, these birds are better off than baptised creatures. They\nhave no need of inns, of butchers, bakers, or gardeners; God's open\nsky belongs to them, and His earth is stretched before them like\na table always spread; the little insects are to them as game, the\ngrass in seed their fields of corn, the fruit of the wild-rose or\nhawthorn their dessert; they are at liberty to gather all without\npayment or permission asked. No wonder that the birds are joyous,\nand sing from morning till night.\"\n\nTurning these thoughts in his mind, Mao slackened his pace, and at\nlast sat himself down under the shade of an old oak-tree, where he\nfell asleep. But behold, in his sleep, a holy man appeared suddenly\nbefore him, clad in shining raiment, who thus spoke:\n\n\"I am the poor beggar Stevan, for whom you purchased a consecrated\ngrave. The Blessed Virgin Mary, whom I endeavoured to serve while\non earth, now reckons me amongst her court, and has vouchsafed to me\nthe privilege of bringing you good news. Think not the birds of the\nair can possibly be happier than baptised creatures; for the Son of\nGod has shed His blood for these, and they are the favourites of the\nHoly Trinity. And now hear what the Three Divine Persons will do to\nrecompense your piety. There stands hereabouts, beyond the meadows,\nan old manor house: you will know it by its weather-vane, which\nis painted red and green. A man of rank dwells there; his name is\nTrehouar; and he has a granddaughter, lovely as the day, and gentle\nas a new-born child. Go you, and knock this evening at his door,\nsaying that 'you are come, he knows for what.' He will receive you,\nand you will of your own self make out the rest. Only remember,\nthat if you are in want of help, you must say,\n\n\n   'Dead beggar, make haste, make haste to me;\n    For I am sorely in need of thee.'\"\n\n\nWith these words the holy man vanished, and Mao awoke. His first\nimpulse was to thank God for vouchsafing such protection over him; and\nthis done, he set off across the meadows to find the manor-house. As\nnight was coming on, he had some doubts of being able to do so; but at\nlast he observed a flight of pigeons, which he set himself to follow,\nfeeling certain they could only lead him to the house of a noble. And,\nin fact, he soon perceived the red-and-green weather-vane overtopping\na little orchard of black-cherry trees laden with fruit; for this\nwas a part of the country famous for black cherries. It is from the\nmountain parishes that all those cherries are brought which may be\nseen spread out on straw at the L\u00e9on festivals, and with which the\nyoung men fill their great beaver hats for the damsels of their choice.\n\nMao crossed the lawn, shaded with walnut-trees, and then knocked at\nthe most insignificant door he could find, saying, according to the\ndirections, that \"he was come for--they knew what.\" The master of the\nhouse was soon fetched. He came, his head shaking, for he was old and\nfeeble, and leaning on the arm of his fresh young granddaughter. To\nhave seen them together, you would have thought of an old tottering\nwall supported by a blooming honeysuckle.\n\nThe old gentleman and his granddaughter welcomed the young man with\nthe greatest politeness; a worked ottoman was drawn for him close\nbeside the grandfather's arm-chair, and he was treated with sweet\ncider whilst they waited for supper.\n\nMao was much surprised to see the way in which he was received, and\nfound great delight in watching the young girl, who prepared every\nthing with tripping step, singing the while like a very lark.\n\nAt last, when supper was over, and Li\u00e7zenn,--for so the old man called\nhis grandchild,--had cleared all away, he said to Mao,\n\n\"We have treated you to the best of our ability, and according to\nour means, young man, though not according to our wishes; for the\nmansion of the Trehouars has been long afflicted by a most grievous\nplague. Formerly you might have counted twenty horses, and full forty\ncows, here; but the evil spirit has taken possession of the stalls\nand stables; cows and horses have disappeared one after another,\nand that as often as they have been replaced, until the whole of my\nsavings have been thus consumed. All religious services to rid us of\nthis destructive demon have hitherto failed. There has been nothing\nfor us but to submit; and for want of cattle my whole domain now\nlies uncultivated. I had put some confidence in my nephew Matelinn,\nwho is gone to the war in France; but as he does not return, I have\ngiven notice throughout the country, both from the altar and elsewhere,\nthat the man who can deliver the manor from this curse shall both marry\nLi\u00e7zenn, and inherit my property after me. All those who have hitherto\nmade the attempt, by lying in wait in the stables, have disappeared\nlike the cows and horses. I pray God that you may be more fortunate.\"\n\nMao, whom the remembrance of his vision secured against all fear,\nreplied that, by the aid of the Blessed Virgin, he hoped to triumph\nover the hidden foe. So, begging that he might have a fire to keep\nhim warm, he took his club-stick, and went forth.\n\nThe place to which he was conducted was a very large shed, divided\nin two parts for the use both of the cows and horses; but now all\nwas empty from one end to the other, and the cobwebs hung in thick\nfestoons from the racks.\n\nMao kindled a fire of broom upon the broad paving-stones, and began\nto pray.\n\nThe first quarter of an hour he heard nothing but the crackling of\nthe flame; the second quarter of an hour he heard nothing but the\nwind that whistled mournfully through the broken door; the third\nquarter of an hour he heard nothing but the little death-watch\ntapping in the rafters overhead; but the fourth quarter of an hour,\na dull sound rumbled beneath the pavement; and at the further end of\nthe building, in the darkest corner, he saw the largest stone rise\nslowly up, and the head of a dragon coming from below. It was huge\nas a baker's kneading-trough, flattened like a viper's, and all round\nthe forehead shone a row of eyes of different colours.\n\nThe beast raised his two great fore-feet armed with scarlet claws\nupon the edge of the pavement, glared upon Mao, and then crept hissing\nfrom his hole. As he came on, his scaly body could be seen unrolling\nfrom beneath the stone like a mighty cable from a ship's hold.\n\nCourageous as was the youth, at this spectacle his blood ran cold;\nand just as he began to feel the dragon's breath, he cried aloud,\n\n\n   \"Dead beggar, make haste, make haste to me;\n    For I am sorely in need of thee.\"\n\n\nIn an instant the shining form he had invoked was at his side.\n\n\"Fear nothing,\" said the saint; \"those who are protected by the Mother\nof God are always victorious over the monsters of the earth. Raise\nyour club and lay the dragon dead at your feet;\" and with these words\nhe raised his hand, pronouncing some words that can only be heard in\nheaven. Mao aimed a fearful blow at the dragon's head, and that very\nmoment the huge monster sank dead upon its side.\n\nThe next morning, when the sun rose, Mao went to awaken all the people\nat the manor, and led them to the stables; but at sight of the dead\nmonster even the most courageous started back at least ten paces.\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" said the young man; \"the Blessed Mother came to\nmy assistance, and the beast that fed on cattle and their guardians\nis nothing now but lifeless clay. Only fetch some ropes, and let us\ndrag it from this place to some lonely waste.\"\n\nSo they did as he desired; and when the dragon was drawn forth from\nhis den, the whole length of his body was so great that it extended\ntwice round the black-wheat barn-floor. [9]\n\nThe old man, happy in his deliverance from so dangerous an enemy,\nfulfilled the promise he had made to Mao, and gave to him Li\u00e7zenn in\nmarriage. She was led to church at Camfront, her left arm circled,\nafter the custom of the country, by as many rows of silver-lace as\nthere were thousands of francs in her dowry; and the story goes that\nshe had eighteen.\n\nAs soon as he was married, Mao bought cattle, hired servants, and soon\nbrought the land about the manor to a more flourishing condition than\nit had ever known before.\n\nThen went the grandfather to seek his recompense from God, and left\nall that he possessed to the young couple.\n\nSo happy were they in each other and themselves, that no baptised\ncreature ever felt the like,--so happy, that when they knelt in prayer,\nthey could think of nothing to request from God that He had not already\nblest them with; so they had nothing to do but to thank Him. But\none day, as they were sitting down to supper with their servants,\none of their attendants introduced a soldier, so tall that his head\nreached the rafters; and Li\u00e7zenn knew him for her cousin Matelinn. He\nhad come back from the French war to marry his cousin; and learning\nwhat had come to pass during his absence, he had felt the bitterest\nrage. Nevertheless, he betrayed nothing of his thoughts to Mao and\nhis wife; for his was a deceitful heart.\n\nMao, who suspected nothing, received him with affectionate kindness;\nset before him the best of every thing in the house; had the handsomest\nroom prepared for his reception; and went out to show him all the\nfields, now ripe for harvest.\n\nBut the higher Matelinn saw the flax, and the heavier the ears of corn,\nthe more he was enraged at not being the possessor of all this; to\nsay nothing of his cousin Li\u00e7zenn, who had grown more charming than\never. So one day he proposed to Mao that they should hunt together\non the downs of Logoma, and thus contrived to lead him towards a\ndistant heath, where he had an old deserted windmill, against which\nbundles of furze for the baker's oven at Daoulas had been heaped\nup in great piles. When they reached this place, he turned his face\ntowards Camfront, and said suddenly to his young companion,\n\n\"Ah! I can see the manor all this way off, with its great courtyard.\"\n\n\"Which way?\" asked Mao.\n\n\"Behind that little beech-wood. Don't you see the great hall-windows?\"\n\n\"I am too short,\" said Mao.\n\n\"Ah, you are right, so you are; and it is a pity too, for I can see\nmy cousin Li\u00e7zenn in the little yard beside the garden.\"\n\n\"Is she alone?\"\n\n\"No; there are some gentlemen with her whispering in her ear.\"\n\n\"And what is Li\u00e7zenn doing?\"\n\n\"Li\u00e7zenn is listening to them, whilst she twists her apron-string.\"\n\nMao raised himself upon the tips of his toes. \"Ah, I wish I could see,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Oh, it is easy enough,\" replied Matelinn \"you have only to climb up\nto the top of the mill, and you will be higher than I am.\"\n\nMao approved of this advice, and climbed up the old ladder. When he\nreached the top, his cousin asked him what he saw?\n\n\"I see nothing but the trees, which seem as near the ground as wheat\nof two months' growth,\" said Mao, \"and houses looking in the distance\nsmall as the sea-shells stranded on the shore.\"\n\n\"Look nearer,\" returned Matelinn.\n\n\"Nearer, I can only see the ocean, with its boats skimming the water\nlike seagulls.\"\n\n\"Look nearer yet,\" said the soldier.\n\n\"Still nearer is the common, bright with rose-blossoms and the\npurple heath.\"\n\n\"Look down beneath you.\"\n\n\"Beneath me!\" cried Mao, in terror. \"Instead of the ladder to descend\nby, I see flames rushing upwards to devour me.\"\n\nAnd he saw rightly; for Matelinn had drawn away the ladder, and set\nfire to the surrounding fagots, so that the old mill stood as in\na furnace.\n\nMao in vain besought the giant not to leave him there to perish in\nso horrible a manner. He only turned his back, and went off whistling\ndown the moor.\n\nThen the young man, feeling himself nearly suffocated, invoked the\nsaint once more:\n\n\n   \"Dead beggar, make haste, make haste to me;\n    For I am sorely in need of thee.\"\n\n\nInstantly the saint appeared, holding in his right hand a glittering\nrainbow, one end of which was resting on the sea, and in his left\nJacob's mysterious ladder, that once led from heaven to earth. With\nthe rainbow he put out the fire, and by the ladder's aid poor Mao\nreached the ground, and went safely home.\n\nOn beholding him, Matelinn was seized with surprise and consternation,\nsure that his cousin would hasten to denounce him before the\nmagistrates; and rushing to fetch his arms and war-horse, was hurrying\nfrom the courtyard, when Mao came to him, and said,\n\n\"Fear nothing, cousin; for no man saw what passed upon Daoulas\ncommon. Your heart was hurt that God had given me more good things\nthan yourself; I wish to heal its wounds. From this day forward, so\nlong as I live, you shall share with me half of all that I possess,\nsave and except my darling Li\u00e7zenn. So come, my cousin, harbour no\nmore evil thoughts against me.\"\n\nThe deed of this convention was drawn up by the notary in the usual\nform; and Matelinn received henceforward, every month, the half of\nall the produce of the fields, the courtyard, and the stables.\n\nBut this noble generosity of Mao served only to increase the spite\nand venom of his heart; for undeserved benefits are like wine drank\nwhen one is not thirsty,--they bring us neither joy nor profit. He\ndid not wish Mao dead, because then he would have lost his share in\nMao's wealth; but he hated him, even as a caged wolf hates the hand\nthat feeds him.\n\nWhat made him still more angry was, to see how every thing prospered\nwith his cousin. To crown his felicity, he had a son born to him, both\nstrong and beautiful, and one that wept not at his birth, the nurses\nsaid. Mao sent the news out to the first people of the neighbourhood,\nentreating them to come to the baptismal feast. And they came from more\nthan six leagues round,--from Braspars, Kimerc'h, Loperek, Logoma,\nFaou, Irvillac, and Saint Eloi,--all mounted on handsomely-equipped\nhorses, with their wives or daughters behind them. The baptism of a\nprince of Cornouaille himself could not have brought together a more\ngoodly assembly.\n\nWhen all were drawn up ready in the front of the manor-house, and Mao\ncame to Li\u00e7zenn's chamber for the new-born babe, with those who were\nto hold it at the font, and his nearest friends, Matelinn presented\nhimself also, with a traitor's joy depicted on his countenance. On\nseeing him, the mother uttered a cry; but he, approaching, bent over\nher with specious words, and thanked her for the present she had\nmade him.\n\n\"What present?\" asked the poor woman, in surprise.\n\n\"Have you not added a new-born infant to my cousin's wealth?\" said\nthe soldier.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Li\u00e7zenn.\n\n\"A parchment deed confirms to me,\" said Matelinn, \"half of every thing\nMao possesses, save and except yourself; and I am consequently come\nto claim my share of the child.\"\n\nAll who were present uttered a great cry; but Matelinn repeated calmly\nthat he would have his half of the child; adding that if they refused\nit to him, he would take it himself, showing as he spoke a huge knife,\nwhich he had brought with him for the purpose.\n\nMao and Li\u00e7zenn in vain, with bended knees and folded hands, besought\nhim to renounce his rights; the giant only answered by the whetting of\nhis knife against the steel which dangled at his waist; and at last\nhe was about to snatch the infant from its poor young mother's arms,\nwhen Mao all at once recalled the invocation to the dead beggar, and\nrepeated it aloud. Scarcely had he finished, when the room was lighted\nwith a heavenly radiance, and the saint appeared upon a shining cloud,\nthe Virgin Mary at his side.\n\n\"Behold me here, my friends,\" said the Mother of God, \"called by my\nfaithful servant from celestial glory to come and decide between you.\"\n\n\"If you are the Mother of God, save the child,\" cried Li\u00e7zenn.\n\n\"If you are the Queen of Heaven, make them render me my dues,\" said\nMatelinn audaciously.\n\n\"Listen to me,\" said Mary. \"You first, Mao, and you, Li\u00e7zenn, come\nnear me with your new-born child. Till now I have given you the joys\nof life; I will do more, and give you for the future the delights of\ndeath. You shall follow me into the Paradise of my Son, where neither\ngriefs, nor treachery, nor sicknesses can enter. As for you, Goliath,\nyou have a right to share the new benefit conferred on them; and you,\nlike them, shall die, but only to go down twelve hundred and fifty\nleagues below the surface of the earth, [10] into the kingdom of the\nwicked one, whose servant you are.\"\n\nSaying these words, the Holy Mary raised her hand on high, and the\ngiant was buried in a gulf of fire; whilst the young husband, with his\nwife and child, sank gently towards each other as in peaceful sleep,\nand disappeared, borne upwards on a cloud.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nKERIS.\n\n\nIn the olden times a king named Grallon reigned over the land of\nCornouaille. He was as good a man as any son of Adam, and gave a\ncordial welcome at his court to all who had in any way distinguished\nthemselves, were they plebeian or noble in their birth. Unfortunately\nhis daughter was an ill-conducted princess, who, in order to evade\nhis parental rule, had taken herself off to live at Keris, some few\nleagues from Quimper.\n\nOne day, whilst King Grallon was out hunting in a forest at the foot\nof Men\u00e9hom, he and all his followers lost their way, and came at last\nbefore the cell of the holy hermit Corentin. Grallon had often heard\ntell of this saintly man, and was delighted to find he had discovered\nhis retreat; but as for the attendants, who were dying with hunger,\nthey looked with any thing but satisfaction upon the humble cell,\nand whispered discontentedly amongst themselves that they should\ncertainly have to sup on pious prayers.\n\nCorentin, enlightened by God's grace, perceived their thoughts, and\nasked the king whether he would accept a little refreshment. Now\nGrallon, who had eaten nothing since cockcrow that morning, was\nextremely willing; so the saint, calling the king's cupbearer and\ncook, desired them to prepare his majesty a good repast after his\nlong abstinence.\n\nThen, leading them both to a fountain which bubbled near his cell,\nhe filled with water the golden pitcher carried by the first, and cut\na morsel from a little fish swimming in the basin, which he gave to\nthe second, desiring them both to spread the board for the king and\nall his train. But the cupbearer and the cook began to laugh, and\nasked the holy man if he could possibly mistake the king's courtiers\nfor miserable beggars, that he presumed to offer them his scraps of\nfish-bone and his frog-wine. Corentin quietly besought them not to\nbe disturbed, for that God would provide for all.\n\nConsequently they resolved to follow out the saint's directions,\nand found, to their astonishment, his words come true. For while the\nwater he had poured into the golden pitcher came out a wine as sweet\nas honey and as hot as fire, the morsel of fish became an ample meal\nfor twice as many guests as the king's suite contained.\n\nGrallon was told by his two servants of this miracle; and they moreover\nshowed him, as a greater wonder, the very same little fish from which\nCorentin had cut a portion, swimming safe and sound in the fountain,\nas whole as if the saint's knife had never come near him.\n\nAt this sight the King of Cornouaille was struck with admiration, and\nexclaimed to the hermit, \"Man of God, this place is not for you; for\nHe who is my Master as well as yours has forbidden us to hide a light\nbeneath a bushel. You must leave this hermitage, and come with me. You\nshall be Bishop of Quimper, my palace shall be your dwelling-place,\nand the whole city your possession. I will build a monastery for your\ndisciples at Landevenec, and the abbot shall be chosen by yourself.\"\n\nThe good king kept his promise; and giving up his capital to the new\nBishop, he went to dwell himself in the town of Is.\n\nThis town then stood upon the very spot now covered by the Bay of\nDouarn\u00e9n\u00e8z. It was so large and so beautiful, that when the people of\nold times were seeking for a title worthy of the capital of France,\nthey could find nothing better than to call it Par-is, that is to say,\nThe like of Is. It was lower than the sea itself, and was defended from\nall fear of inundation by huge dikes, with doors to open occasionally\nand let the tide in or out. Grallon's daughter, the Princess Dahut,\ncarried the silver keys which locked these doors suspended round her\nneck, from which fact the people generally called her Alc'hu\u00e8z, or\nmore shortly Ah\u00e8z. [11] Now she was a great magician, and had adorned\nthe town with numberless works of art far surpassing the skill of any\nhuman hand. All the Korigans [12] throughout Cornouaille and Vannes\nhad assembled at her call to make the dikes and forge the iron doors;\nthey had plated the palace all over with a metal resembling gold\n(Korigans being clever workers in metal), and had fenced in the royal\ngardens with balustrades glittering like polished steel.\n\nThey it was that kept Dahut's beautiful stables in such perfect\norder,--those stables that were paved with black, red, or white marble,\naccording to the different colours of the horses in the stalls. And\nto the Korigans also was intrusted the care of the harbour, where\nthe sea-dragons were kept; for by her powerful art had Dahut gained\na wonderful ascendency over the monsters of the deep, so that she\nhad placed one at the disposal of each inhabitant of Keris, that it\nshould serve him like a horse, on which he might safely go across\nthe waves to fetch rich treasure from another shore, or to attack\nthe ships of foreign enemies. So these citizens were rich to that\ndegree they actually measured out their corn in silver vessels. But\nwealth had hardened and perverted their hearts; beggars were hunted\nlike wild-beasts from the city, for they could not endure the sight\nof any in their streets but merry prosperous folks dressed out in\nsmart apparel. Our Lord Himself, had He appeared amongst them clad in\nsackcloth, would have been driven away. The only church remaining in\nthe city was so forsaken, that the very beadle had lost the key of\nit; nettles grew upon its steps, and against the door-posts of the\nprincipal entrance birds had built their nests. The people of the\nplace spent their days and nights in public-houses, dancing-rooms,\nor theatres; the one only object of their lives being apparently to\nruin their immortal souls.\n\nAs for Dahut, she set them the example; day and night it was a gala in\nthe palace. Gentlemen, nobles, and princes came from the remotest lands\nto visit this far-famed court. Grallon received them with courtesy,\nand Dahut with something more. If they were good-looking, she bestowed\non them a magic mask, by means of which they were enabled to keep\nprivate appointments with her in a tower standing near the floodgates.\n\nThere they might remain talking with her until the hour when the\nsea-swallows, beginning their flight, passed before the tower-windows;\nwhen Dahut hastily bade them farewell, and, in order that they might\ngo out, as they came, unseen, she once more brought forth her magic\nmask; but, alas, this time it closed upon them of its own accord with\na strangling embrace. Then a black man took up the dead body, threw\nit across his horse like a sack of wheat, and went to fling it down\nthe precipice between Huelgoat and Poulaou\u00ebn. This is indeed only too\ntrue; for even to this day can be heard from the depths of the ravine\nthe melancholy wailing of these wretched souls at evening hour. May\nall good Christians bear them in remembrance at their prayers! [13]\n\nCorentin, who heard of all the goings-on at Keris, had many a time\nwarned Grallon that the forbearance of God was drawing to a close;\n[14] but the king had lost all his power, and dwelt quite solitary\nin one wing of his palace, like a grandfather who has made over all\nhis property to his heirs; and as for Dahut, she cared nothing for\nthe threats or warnings of the saint.\n\nWell, one evening, when she was keeping festival as usual, she was\ninformed that a powerful prince from the very ends of the earth had\narrived to see her, and he was instantly announced.\n\nHe was a man of vast stature, clad from head to foot in scarlet,\nand so bearded that even his two eyes, glittering as stars, could\nscarcely be seen. He began by paying compliments in rhyme to the\nprincess--no poet or minstrel could have conceived the like; and then\nhe went on talking with such brilliant wit, that the entire assembly\nwere struck dumb with astonishment. But what moved the friends of\nDahut with the greatest wonder was to find how far more skilful than\nthemselves this stranger was in sin. He was familiar, not only with\nall that human malice has invented since the creation of the world,\nin every region where mankind has dwelt, but with all that it ever\nshall invent until the moment when the dead shall rise again from\ntheir cold graves to stand before the judgment-seat of God. Ah\u00e8z and\nher court perceived that they had found their master, and one and all\nresolved to put themselves under the teaching of the bearded prince.\n\nBy way of beginning, he proposed to them a new dance, danced in hell\nby the Seven Deadly Sins. So he called in for the purpose a musician\nhe had brought with him. This was a little dwarf, clad in goat-skin,\nand carrying a sort of bagpipe under his arm.\n\nScarcely had he begun to play before Dahut and her courtiers were\nseized with a sort of frenzy, and began to whirl about like the waves\nof the sea in a furious storm. The stranger instantly took advantage\nof the confusion to snatch the silver keys of the floodgates from\nthe princess's neck, and to vanish from the saloon.\n\nMeanwhile Grallon sat all solitary in the great gloomy hall of his own\nlonely palace. He was near the hearth; but the fire was almost out. His\nheart grew every moment more and more heavy with sad thoughts, when all\nat once the great folding-doors flew open, and St. Corentin appeared\nupon the threshold, with a halo of glory round his brow, his pastoral\nstaff in his hand, and a cloud of incense floating all about him.\n\n\"Rise, great king,\" said he to Grallon; \"take whatever precious things\nmay still be left you, and flee away; for God has given over to the\npower of the demon this accursed city.\"\n\nGrallon, terrified, started up; and calling to some faithful old\nservants, took what treasure he possessed; and mounting his black\nhorse, followed after the saint, who shot like an arrow through\nthe air.\n\nAs they passed before the dikes, they heard a wild roar of waters, and\nbeheld the bearded stranger, now restored to his own demoniac form,\nopening the floodgates with the silver keys he had taken from the\nPrincess Dahut. The sea already streamed like a torrent on towards\nthe devoted city; and the white waves, rearing their foamy crests\nabove the lofty roofs, seemed rushing to its overthrow. The dragons\nchained within the harbour roared with terror, for even the beasts\ncould feel their end at hand.\n\nGrallon would fain have uttered a cry of warning, but St. Corentin\nonce more entreated him to fly, and he plunged onwards at full gallop\ntowards the shore; on, on through streets and squares and high roads,\never followed by the raging ocean, with the horse's hind hoofs always\nin the surge. So passed he by the palace of Dahut herself, who darted\ndown the marble steps, her wild locks floating on the breeze, and\nsprang behind her father on the saddle. The horse stood still suddenly,\nstaggered, and already the water mounted to the old king's knees.\n\n\"Help, help, St. Corentin!\" he cried in terror.\n\n\"Shake off the iniquity you carry at your back,\" replied the saint,\n\"and, by the help of God, you shall be saved.\"\n\nBut Grallon, who was, after all, a father, hesitated what to do. Then\nSt. Corentin touched the princess on the shoulders with his pastoral\nstaff, and she sank downwards to the sea, disappearing in the depths\nof the gulf, called after her the Gulf of Ah\u00e8z.\n\nThe horse, thus lightened of his load, made a spring forwards, and so\ngained Garrec Rock, where to this very day may be seen the print-marks\nof his iron shoes. [15]\n\nThe first act of the king was to fall upon his knees, and pour forth\nthanks to God; then turning towards Keris, [16] he tried to judge how\ngreat was the danger from which he had been so miraculously rescued,\nbut in vain he sought the ancient Queen of Ocean.\n\nThere, where had stood but a few moments before a harbour, palaces,\ntreasures of wealth, and thousands of people, was to be seen nothing\nnow but a smooth bay, on whose unruffled surface the stars of heaven\nlooked calmly down; but beyond, in the horizon, just over the last\nruins of the submerged dikes, there appeared the great red man,\nholding up with a triumphant air the silver keys.\n\nMany are the forests of oak that have sprung up and withered since\nthis awful warning; but through every generation fathers have told\nit to their children until this day. Up to the time of the great\nRevolution, the clergy of the different river-side parishes were wont\nto embark every year in fisher-boats, and go to say Mass over the\ndrowned city. Since that time this custom has been lost, with many\nanother one; but when the sea is calm, the remains of the great town\nmay clearly be seen at the bottom of the bay, and the neighbouring\ndowns are full of relics which bear witness to its wealth.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE STONES OF PLOUHINEC.\n\n\nPlouhinec is a poor little market-town beyond Hennebon, towards the\nsea. Bare commons or little fir-woods stretch all round it, and enough\ngrass to fit an ox for the butcher's knife, or so much bran as would\nfatten one descendant of the Rohans, [17] has never yet been yielded\nby the entire parish.\n\nBut if the people of those parts have reason to complain for want of\ncorn and cattle, they abound in flints to that degree that they could\nfurnish materials for the rebuilding of Lorient; and out beyond the\ntown there lies a great wide common, whereon are set by Korigans two\nrows of tall stones that might be taken for an avenue, did they but\nlead to any thing.\n\nNear this place, hard by the banks of the River Intel, there lived\nin former days a man named Marzinne. He was wealthy for those parts,\nthat is to say, he could salt down a little pig once a year, eat as\nmuch black bread as he cared for, and buy himself a pair of wooden\nshoes when Laurel Sunday came round. [18]\n\nAnd he was looked upon as proud by his neighbours, and had taken upon\nhim to refuse the hand of his sister Rozenn to many a young fellow\nwho laboured for his daily bread.\n\nAmongst others to Bern\u00e8z, a diligent labourer and a worthy Christian;\nbut one whose only treasure, coming into life, had been that of a good\nwill. Bern\u00e8z had known Rozenn as a little girl, when he first came\nto work in the parish from Ponscorff-Bidr\u00e9; and by degrees, as Rozenn\ngrew up, the attachment of Bern\u00e8z had grown stronger and stronger.\n\nIt may be easily believed that Marzinne's refusal was a terrible\nheartsore for him; nevertheless he kept up his courage, for Rozenn\nalways received him kindly.\n\nWell, Christmas-eve came round; and as a raging storm kept every\none at the farm from going to the midnight Mass, they all sat round\nthe fire together, with many young men from the neighbourhood, and\namongst them Bern\u00e8z. The master of the house, willing to show off,\nhad caused a supper of black-puddings, and hasty puddings made with\nwheat flour and honey, to be prepared; so that they all sat gazing\ntowards the hearth, except Bern\u00e8z, whose eyes were fixed upon Rozenn.\n\nBut just as all the benches were drawn round the table, and every\nwooden saucer ready to be dipped into the steaming bowl, an old man\nsuddenly pushed open the door, and wished the assembled company a good\nappetite. He was a beggar from Pluvigner, one who never set his foot\non the church-floor, and of whom all good folks stood in dread. It was\nsaid that he bewitched cattle, turned standing corn black, and sold\nto wrestlers magic herbs. He was even suspected of becoming a goblin\n[19] at his pleasure.\n\nHowever, wearing as he did the garb of a mendicant, he was welcomed\nby the farmer to the fireside; a three-legged stood was placed at\nhis disposal, and he received a portion with the guests.\n\nWhen the beggar had done eating and drinking, he asked for a night's\nlodging, and Bern\u00e8z showed him his way into the stable, where a bald\nold ass and sorry ox were already established. The beggar stretched\nhimself down between the two to share their warmth, and rested his\nhead upon a pillow of turf.\n\nBut just as he was dropping off to sleep the clock struck twelve. Then\nthe old ass shook his long ears, and turned towards the ox.\n\n\"Well, my cousin,\" said he, in friendly tones, \"and how has it gone\nwith you since last Christmas, when we talked together?\"\n\nInstead of answering, the horned beast looked sideways at the beggar,\nand muttered,\n\n\"It was hardly worth while for the Almighty to vouchsafe us speech\ntogether on a Christmas-eve, and thus to acknowledge the assistance\nrendered by the presence of our ancestors at the birth of the Saviour,\nif we are compelled to put up with this fellow as our auditor.\"\n\n\"You are very proud, my friend,\" answered the ass gaily. \"It is I\nrather who have reason to complain, I, whose noble ancestor once\ncarried the Saviour to Jerusalem, proved by the cross imprinted ever\nsince upon the shoulders of our family. But I can be well satisfied\nwith whatever Providence has seen fit to grant me. Besides which,\nyou see well enough that the sorcerer is asleep.\"\n\n\"All his witchcrafts have been powerless to enrich him,\" said the ox;\n\"and he has thrown his soul away for little enough. The devil has\nnot even hinted to him of the lucky chance he might have hereabouts\nin the course of a few days.\"\n\n\"What lucky chance?\" asked the ass.\n\n\"How!\" cried the ox; \"don't you know, then, that each hundred years\nthe stones on Plouhinec Common go down to drink at the river Intel,\nand that whilst away the treasures they conceal are left exposed?\"\n\n\"Ah, I remember now,\" interrupted the ass, \"but then the stones\nreturn so quickly to their places, that it is impossible to avoid\nbeing crushed to pieces by them if you have not as your safeguard a\ntwig of cross-wort surrounded by the five-leaved clover.\"\n\n\"And besides,\" continued the ox, \"the treasures you may carry off all\nfade to dust unless you offer in return a baptised soul. A Christian\nmust suffer death before the devil will permit you to enjoy in peace\nthe wealth of Plouhinec.\"\n\nThe beggar was not asleep, but had listened breathless to this\nconversation.\n\n\"Ah, my good friends,\" thought he to himself, \"you have made me richer\nthan the wealthiest in all Vannes or Lorient. Be easy; the sorcerer\nof Pluvigner shall not lose Paradise for nothing.\"\n\nHe slept at last; and rising at the break of day, he wandered through\nthe country seeking for the cross-wort and the five-leafed clover.\"\n\nHe was forced to look long and wander far, where skies are milder\nand plants always green, before he was successful. But on the eve of\nNew-Year's Day he came again to Plouhinec, with the countenance of\na weasel that has just found out the entrance to a dovecote.\n\nIn crossing the common, he came upon Bern\u00e8z busy striking with a\npointed hammer on the tallest of the stones.\n\n\"Heaven preserve me!\" cried the sorcerer, laughing, \"are you anxious\nto dig yourself a dwelling in this rocky mass?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Bern\u00e8z quietly; \"but as I am just now out of work, I\nthought that perhaps if I carved a cross upon one of these accursed\nstones, I should perform an act agreeable in the sight of God, and\none that may stand me in good stead some other day.\"\n\n\"Then you have something to ask of Him?\" said the old man.\n\n\"All Christians need to beg from Him salvation for their souls,\"\nreplied the youth.\n\n\"And have you nothing too to say to Him about Rozenn?\" pursued the\nbeggar, in a lower voice.\n\nBern\u00e8z looked full at him.\n\n\"Ah, you know that?\" said he. \"Well, after all, there is no shame\nor sin in it. If I seek for the maiden, it is that I may lead her\nto the presence of the priest. Unhappily Marzinne is waiting for a\nbrother-in-law who can count more reals than I have silver coins.\"\n\n\"And if I could put you in the way of having more louis-d'or than\nMarzinne has reals?\" said the sorcerer in an under-tone.\n\n\"You!\" cried Bern\u00e8z.\n\n\"I!\"\n\n\"And how much do you ask for this?\"\n\n\"Only to be remembered in your prayers.\"\n\n\"Then there will be nothing that can compromise my soul?\"\n\n\"Only courage is required.\"\n\n\"Tell me, then, what must be done,\" cried Bern\u00e8z, letting fall his\nhammer. \"If needs be, I am ready to encounter any difficulty.\"\n\nThe beggar, seeing him thus disposed, related how that on that very\nnight the treasures of the common would be all exposed; but he said\nnothing at the same time of the way by which the stones were to be\navoided as they came trooping back. The young fellow thought nothing\nwas wanting but boldness and a swift step; so he said,\n\n\"As sure as I am a living man I will profit by this opportunity,\nold man; and I shall always be at your service for the notice you\nhave given me of this great chance. Only let me finish the cross I\nhave begun engraving on this stone; when the time comes, I will join\nyou near the little pine-wood.\"\n\nBern\u00e8z kept his word, and arrived at the appointed place an hour\nbefore midnight. He found the beggar carrying a wallet in each hand,\nand one suspended round his neck.\n\n\"Come,\" said he to the young man, \"sit down there, and think of\nall that you will do when you have silver, gold, and jewels to your\nheart's content.\"\n\nThe young man sat down on the ground and answered, \"If I have silver\nto my heart's content, I will give my gentle Rozennik [20] all that\nshe wishes for, and all that she can wish for, from linen to silk,\nfrom bread to oranges.\"\n\n\"And if you have gold?\" added the sorcerer.\n\n\"If I have gold at will,\" replied the youth, \"I will make wealthy\nall my Rozennik's relations, and all the friends of her relations,\nto the utmost limits of the parish.\"\n\n\"And if at last you should have jewels in plenty?\" continued the\nold man.\n\n\"Then,\" cried out Bern\u00e8z, \"I would make all the people in the world\nhappy, and I would tell them it was my Rozennik's desire.\"\n\nWhilst talking thus, the hour slipped away, and midnight came.\n\nAt the same instant a great sound arose upon the heath, and by the\nlight of the stars all the huge stones might be seen leaving their\nplaces, and hurrying towards the river Intel. They rushed down the\nslope, grazing the earth as they went, and jostling each other like\na troop of drunken giants. So they swept pell-mell past the two men,\nand were lost in darkness.\n\nThen the beggar flew towards the common, followed by Bern\u00e8z; and there,\nin the very spots where just before huge stones had reared themselves,\nthey now saw large holes piled to the brim with gold, with silver,\nand with precious stones.\n\nBern\u00e8z uttered a cry of admiration, and made the sign of the cross;\nbut the sorcerer made haste to cram all his wallets, turning meanwhile\nan attentive ear towards the river's bank.\n\nHe had just finished lading the third bag, whilst the young man\nstuffed the pockets of his linen vest, when a dull sound like that\nof an approaching storm was audible in the distance.\n\nThe stones had finished drinking, and were coming back once more.\n\nThey rushed, stooping forwards like runners in a race, and bore down\nall before them.\n\nWhen the youth perceived them, he started upright, and exclaimed,\n\n\"Ah, Blessed Virgin, we are lost!\"\n\n\"I am not,\" said the sorcerer, taking in his hand the cross-wort and\nthe five-leaved clover, \"for I have that here which will secure my\nsafety; but a Christian must be sacrificed to make good all these\ntreasures, and the bad angel put thee in my way. So give up Rozenn,\nand prepare to die.\"\n\nWhile yet he spoke the stony army was at hand; but holding forth\nhis magic nosegay, they turned aside to right and left to fall upon\nBern\u00e8z. He, feeling sure that all was over for him, sank down upon\nhis knees and closed his eyes; when the great stone that led the\ntroop stopped all at once, and barring the way, set itself before\nhim as a protecting rampart.\n\nBern\u00e8z, astonished, raised his head, and recognised the stone on which\nhis hand had traced a cross. Being thenceforward a baptised stone,\nit could have no power to harm a Christian.\n\nRemaining motionless before the young man until all its fellows had\nregained their places, it then rushed forwards like a sea-bird to\nretake its own, and met upon its way the beggar hampered with his\nthree ponderous bags of gold.\n\nSeeing it advance, he would have defied it with his magic plants; but\nthe stone, become Christian, was no longer subject to the witchery of\nthe demon, and hurrying onwards, crushed the sorcerer like an insect.\n\nBern\u00e8z had not only all his own collection, but the three full wallets\nof the mendicant, and became thus rich enough to wed his Rozenn, to\nbring up a numerous family, and to succour his relations, as well as\nthe poor of the whole country around, to the end of his long life.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTEUZ-A-POULIET; [21] OR, THE DWARF.\n\n\nThe vale of Pinard is a pleasant slope which lies behind the city of\nMorlaix. There are plenty of gardens, houses, shops, and bakers to\nbe found there, besides many farms that boast their ample cowsheds\nand full barns.\n\nNow, in olden times, when there was neither conscription nor general\ntaxation, there dwelt in the largest of these farms an honest man,\ncalled Jalm Riou, who had a comely daughter, Barbaik. Not only was she\nfair and well-fashioned, but she was the best dancer, and also the\nbest drest, in all those parts. When she set off on Sunday to hear\nMass at St. Mathieu's church, she used to wear an embroidered coif,\na gay neckerchief, five petticoats one over the other, [22] and silver\nbuckles in her shoes; so that the very butchers' wives were jealous,\nand tossing their heads as she went by, they asked her whether she\nhad been selling the devil her black hen. [23] But Barbaik troubled\nherself  not at all for all they said, so long as she continued to\nbe the best-dressed damsel, and the most attractive at the fair of\nthe patron saint.\n\nBarbaik had many suitors, and among them was one who really loved\nher more than all the rest; and this was the lad who worked upon her\nfather's farm, a good labourer and a worthy Christian, but rough and\nungainly in appearance. So Barbaik would have nothing to say to him,\nin spite of his good qualities, and always declared, when speaking\nof him, that he was a colt of Pontrieux. [24]\n\nJ\u00e9gu, who loved her with all his heart, was deeply wounded, and fretted\nsorely at being so ill-used by the only creature that could give him\neither joy or trouble.\n\nOne morning, when bringing home the horses from the field, he stopped\nto let them drink at the pond; and as he stood holding the smallest\none, with his head sunk upon his breast, and uttering every now and\nthen the heaviest sighs, for he was thinking of Barbaik, he heard\nsuddenly a voice proceeding from the reeds, which said to him,\n\n\"Why are you so miserable, J\u00e9gu? things are not yet quite so\ndesperate.\"\n\nThe farmer's boy raised his head astonished, and asked who was there.\n\n\"It is I, the Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet,\" said the same voice.\n\n\"I do not see you,\" replied J\u00e9gu.\n\n\"Look closely, and you will see me in the midst of the reeds, under\nthe form of a beautiful green frog. I take successively whatever form\nI like, unless I prefer making myself invisible.\"\n\n\"But can you not show yourself under the usual appearance of your\nkind?\"\n\n\"No doubt, if that will please you.\"\n\nWith these words the frog leaped on one of the horses' backs, and\nchanged himself suddenly into a little dwarf, with bright green dress\nand smart polished gaiters, like a leather-merchant of Landivisiau.\n\nJ\u00e9gu, a little scared, drew back a step or two; but the Teuz told him\nnot to be afraid, for that, far from wishing him harm, he was ready\nto do him good.\n\n\"And what makes you take this interest in me?\" inquired the peasant,\nwith a suspicious air.\n\n\"A service which you rendered to me the last winter,\" said the\nTeuz-\u00e0-pouliet. \"You doubtless are aware that the Korigans of the\nWhite-Wheat country and of Cornouaille declared war against our race,\nbecause they say we are too favourably disposed to man. [25] We were\nobliged to flee into the bishopric of L\u00e9on, where at first we concealed\nourselves under divers animal forms. Since then, from habit or fancy,\nwe have continued to assume them, and I became acquainted with you\nthrough one of these transformations.\"\n\n\"And how was that?\"\n\n\"Do you remember, three months ago, whilst working in the alder-park,\nfinding a robin caught in a snare?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" interrupted J\u00e9gu; \"and I remember also that I let it fly,\nsaying, 'As for thee, thou dost not eat the bread of Christians:\ntake thy flight, thou bird of the good God.'\"\n\n\"Ah, well, that robin was myself. Ever since then I vowed to be your\nfaithful friend, and I will prove it too by causing you to marry\nBarbaik, since you love her so well.\"\n\n\"Ah, Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet, could you but succeed in that,\" cried J\u00e9gu,\n\"there is nothing in this world, except my soul, that I would not\nbestow upon you.\"\n\n\"Let me alone,\" replied the dwarf; \"yet a few months from this time,\nand I will see you are the master of that farm and of the maiden too.\"\n\n\"And how can you undertake that?\" asked the youth.\n\n\"You shall know all in time; all you have to do just now is to smoke\nyour pipe, eat, drink, and take no trouble about any thing.\"\n\nJ\u00e9gu declared that nothing could be easier than that, and he would\nconform exactly to the Teuz's orders; then, thanking him, and taking\noff his hat as he would have done to the cur\u00e9 or the magistrate,\nhe went homewards to the farm.\n\nThe following day happened to be Sunday. Barbaik rose earlier than\nusual, and went to the stables, which were under her sole charge;\nbut to her great surprise she found them already freshly littered,\nthe racks garnished, the cows milked, and the cream churned. Now,\nas she recollected having said before J\u00e9gu, on the preceding night,\nthat she wanted to be ready in good time to go to the feast of\nSt. Nicholas, she very naturally concluded that it was he who had\ndone all this for her, and she told him she was much obliged. J\u00e9gu,\nhowever, replied in a peevish tone, that he did not know what she\nmeant; but this only confirmed Barbaik in her belief.\n\nThe same good service was rendered to her now every day. Never had\nthe stable been so cleanly, nor the cows so fat. Barbaik found her\nearthen pans full of milk at morning and at evening, and a pound of\nfresh-churned butter decked with blackberry-leaves. So in a few weeks'\ntime she got into the habit of never rising till broad daylight,\nto prepare breakfast and set about her household duties.\n\nBut even this labour was soon spared her; for one morning, on getting\nout of bed, she found the house already swept, the furniture polished,\nthe soup on the fire, and the bread cut into the bowls; so that she\nhad nothing to do but go to the courtyard, and call the labourers\nfrom the fields. She still thought it was an attention shown to her\nby J\u00e9gu, and she could not help considering what a very convenient\nhusband he would be for a woman who liked to have her time to herself.\n\nAnd it was a fact that Barbaik never uttered a wish before him that\nwas not immediately fulfilled. If the wind was cold, or if the sun\nshone hot, and she was afraid of injuring her complexion by going to\nthe spring, she had only to say low, \"I should like to see my buckets\nfilled, and my tub full of washed linen.\" Then she would go and gossip\nwith a neighbour, and on her return she would find tub and buckets just\nas she had desired them to be, standing on the stone. If she found\nthe rye-dough too hard to bake, or the oven too long in heating,\nshe had only to say, \"I should like to see my six fifteen-pound\nloaves all ranged upon the board above the kneading-trough,\" and\ntwo hours later the six loaves were there. If she found the market\ntoo far off, and the road too bad, she had only to say over-night,\n\"Why am I not already come back from Morlaix, with my milk-can empty,\nmy tub of butter sold out, a pound of black cherries in my wooden\nplatter, and six reals [26] at the bottom of my apron-pocket?\" and\nthe next morning, when she rose, she would discover at the foot of\nher bed the empty milk-can and butter-tub, the pound of cherries in\nher wooden plate, and six reals in her apron-pocket.\n\nBut the good offices that were rendered to her did not stop here. Did\nshe wish to make an appointment with another damsel at some fair,\nto buy a ribbon in the town, or to find out the hour at which the\nprocession at the church was to begin, J\u00e9gu was always at hand; all she\nhad to do was to mention her wish before him, and the thing was done.\n\nWhen things were thus advanced, the Teuz advised the youth to ask\nBarbaik now in marriage; and this time she listened to all he had to\nsay. She thought J\u00e9gu very plain and unmannerly; but yet, as a husband,\nhe was just what she wanted. J\u00e9gu would wake for her, work for her,\nsave for her. J\u00e9gu would be the shaft-horse, forced to draw the whole\nweight of the wagon; and she, the farmer's wife, seated on a heap of\nclover, and driving him with the whip.\n\nAfter having well considered all this, she answered the young man,\nas a well-conducted damsel should, that she would refer the matter\nto her father.\n\nBut she knew beforehand that Jalm Riou would consent; for he had\noften said that only J\u00e9gu would be fit to manage the farm when he\nshould be no more.\n\nSo the marriage took place the very next month; and it seemed as if\nthe aged father had but waited until then to go and take his rest\nin Paradise; for a very few days after the marriage he died, leaving\nthe house and land to the young folks.\n\nIt was a great responsibility for J\u00e9gu; but the Teuz came to his\nassistance. He became the ploughboy at the farm, and did more work\nalone than four hired labourers. He it was who kept the tools and\nharness in good order, who repaired omissions, who pointed out the\nproper time for sowing or for mowing. If by chance J\u00e9gu had occasion\nto expedite some work, the Teuz would go and tell his friends, and\nall the dwarfs would come with hoe, fork, or reaping-hook upon their\nshoulders; if teams were wanted, he would send the farmer to a town\ninhabited by some of his tribe, who would be out upon the common; and\nJ\u00e9gu had only to say, \"Little men, my good friends, lend me a pair of\noxen, or a couple of horses, with all that is needed for their work,\"\nand the team would appear that very instant.\n\nNow all the Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet asked in payment of these services was a\nchild's portion of broth, served up in a milk-measure, every day. So\nJ\u00e9gu loved him like his own son. Barbaik, on the contrary, hated\nhim, and not without reason; for the very next day after marriage\nshe saw with astonishment she was no longer assisted as before; and\nas she was making her complaint to J\u00e9gu, who seemed as if he did not\nunderstand her, the dwarf, bursting out in laughter, confessed that\nhe had been the author of all these good offices, in order that the\ndamsel might consent to marry J\u00e9gu; but that now he had other things\nto do, and she must once more undertake the household management.\n\nDeceived thus in her expectations, the daughter of Jalm Riou treasured\nin her heart a furious rage against the dwarf. Every morning, when\nshe had to rise before the break of day and milk the cows or go to\nmarket, and every evening, when she had to sit up till near midnight\nchurning cream, she cursed the Teuz who had encouraged her to look\nforward to a life of ease and pleasure.\n\nHowever, one day, being invited to a wedding at Plouezorc'h, and not\nbeing able to take the farm-mare, as it was near foaling, she asked\nthe Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet for a steed; and he sent her to the dwarf village,\ntelling her to explain exactly what she wanted.\n\nSo Barbaik went; and thinking she was doing for the best, she said,\n\n\"Teuz, my friends, lend me a black horse, with eyes, mouth, ears,\nsaddle, and bridle.\"\n\nThe horse that she had asked for instantly appeared, and she set out\non him towards Plouezorc'h.\n\nBut soon she saw that every one was laughing as she went along.\n\n\"See, see!\" they cried, \"the farmer's wife has sold her horse's tail.\"\n\nBarbaik turned quickly round, and saw indeed that her horse had no\ntail. She had forgotten to ask for one; and the malicious dwarf had\nserved her to the letter.\n\nDisconcerted, she would have hastened on, but the horse refused to mend\nhis pace; and so she was compelled to endure the jests of passers-by.\n\nThe young wife came home at night more furious than ever against the\nTeuz-\u00e0-pouliet, accusing him of having played her this ill turn on\npurpose, and fully resolved to be revenged upon him at the earliest\nopportunity.\n\nWell, spring drew near, and as this was the time the dwarfs held\nfestival, the Teuz asked leave of J\u00e9gu to extend an invitation to all\nhis friends to come and spend the night on the barn-floor, where he\nmight give them a supper and a dance. J\u00e9gu was far too much indebted\nto the dwarf to think of saying no; and ordered Barbaik to spread over\nthe barn-floor her finest fringed table-cloths, and to serve up a batch\nof little butter-cakes, all the morning and the evening milk, and as\nmany wheaten pancakes as could be turned out in a good day's work.\n\nBarbaik made no reply, to her husband's great surprise.\n\nShe made the pancakes, prepared the milk, cooked the buttered cakes,\nand at evening-tide she took them all out to the barn; but at the\nsame time she spread down, all round about the extended table-cloths,\njust where the dwarfs were going to place themselves, the ashes she\nhad drawn smoking from the oven; so that when the Teuz-\u00e0-pouliet and\nhis guests came in to seat themselves, they were every one severely\nburned, and fled away, uttering loud cries. They soon came back,\nhowever, carrying jugs of water, and so put out the fire; and then\ndanced round the farm, all singing in an angry tone,\n\n\n   \"Barbe Riou, with dire deceit,\n    Has roasted our poor little feet:\n    Adieu! far hence away we go;\n    On this house be grief and woe!\"\n\n\nAnd, in fact, they left the country that very morning. J\u00e9gu, having\nlost their help, soon fell into distress and died; whilst the beautiful\nBarbaik became a basket-woman at Morlaix market.\n\nSince then the Teuz have never been seen in these parts. However,\nthere are some who say that all good work-people have to this very day\nten dwarfs who toil for them, and not invisibly; and these are--their\nten fingers.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPECTRE LAUNDRESSES.\n\n\nThe Bretons are born in sin, even as other men, but never have they\nbeen wanting in care for the souls of their faithful departed. They\ntake tender pity upon those who burn in purgatory, and earnestly\nstrive to redeem them from their fiery trial. Every Sunday, after\nMass, they kneel and plead for their suffering souls upon the very\nearth in which their poor bodies are mouldering away.\n\nIt is in the Black Month, [27] as they call November, that they\nespecially attach themselves to this pious duty. When the Messenger of\nWinter [28] arrives, each one bethinks himself of those who are gone to\nthe judgment-seat of God. Masses are said for them at the altar of the\nDead; in their behalf are tapers kindled, and vows made to saints in\nhighest veneration; little children are taken to offer their innocent\nprayers upon the grave-stones; and after Vespers the priest comes out\nof church to bless the earth to which their dust has been committed.\n\nOn this night also is it that our Lord vouchsafes some respite to their\nsufferings, and permits them to return once more and pay a visit to the\nhearth-stones of their former homes. Then are the dead as numerous in\nthe homesteads of the living as the yellow leaves that rustle in the\ndeep dry lanes; and therefore it is that all good Christians leave\nthe board spread and the fire blazing, that the unwonted guests may,\nif they will, refresh themselves.\n\nBut if it is so with all who are truly devoted to the service of the\nBlessed Mother and her divine Son, there are also children of the Black\nAngel (\"l'ange noir\"), who forget those that were once nearest to their\nhearts. Wilherm Postik was one of these. His father had died without\ndesiring to receive the last Sacraments; and, as the proverb has it,\nKadiou is his father's own son. Wilherm gave himself up, body and soul,\nto forbidden pleasures, dancing during Mass-time, whenever he could\nfind an opportunity, and drinking with rascally horse-dealers when he\nshould have been in church. Nevertheless, God had not left him without\nenough of warnings. Within the same year had his mother, his sisters,\nand his wife been carried off by a contagious disease. Many a time,\ntoo, had the good cur\u00e9 exposed to him his evil deeds, showing him that\nhe was a scandal to the whole parish, and urging him to repentance;\nbut all was in vain.\n\nMeanwhile the fine weather went by. The feast of All Souls arrived,\nand all good Christians, clad in decent mourning, repaired to church\nto pray for the faithful departed. But for Wilherm, he dressed himself\nout in his best, and set out for the neighbouring town, where he was\nsure to find plenty of reprobate sailors and reckless women.\n\nAll the time devoted by others to the solace of the suffering souls\nhe spent there in drinking, gambling, and singing vile songs; nor\ndid he think of returning till close upon midnight, when every body\nelse had gone home wearied with iniquity. For him, he had a frame of\niron for sinful pleasures; and he quitted the drinking-house as well\ndisposed for a fresh bout as when he entered it.\n\nHeated with drink, he went along, singing at the top of his voice,\nthough his songs were such as the boldest are apt to give out in\nan undertone. He passed the wayside crosses without dropping his\nvoice or uncovering his head, and struck out right and left with his\nwalking-stick amongst the tufts of broom, regardless of the holy dead\nwho thronged every path.\n\nAt last the road divided, giving him his choice of two ways homeward;\nthe one longer about, but safer, under the blessing of God, the other\nmore direct, but haunted by spirits. Many a one in passing by that\nway had heard noises and seen sights that could be only told of in a\ncheerful assembly, and within arm's-length of the holy-water stoup. But\nWilherm feared nothing; so he struck at once into the shorter path,\nat a pace that made his heavy shoes ring against the stones.\n\nNeither moon nor stars cheered the night, the leaves trooped before\nthe driving wind, the brooks trickled dismally adown the hill-sides,\nthe bushes shivered like a man afraid, and through the midnight\nstillness the steps of Wilherm echoed like a giant's tread. Yet\nnothing daunted him, and on he went.\n\nBut as he passed the ruins of the old manor-house, he plainly heard\nthe weather-vane call to him as it creaked,\n\n\"Go back, go back, go back!\"\n\nStill Wilherm went on. He came up to the waterfall, and the water\nmurmured,\n\n\"Cross me not, cross me not, cross me not!\"\n\nWilherm set his foot upon the well-worn stepping stones, and crossed\nthe stream. He came to an old hollow oak-tree, and the wind that\nwhistled in its branches cried,\n\n\"Stay here, stay here, stay here!\"\n\nBut he struck his staff against the dead tree in passing, and hurried\nonwards.\n\nAt last he came into the haunted vale, and midnight struck from the\nthree parish-church towers. Wilherm began to whistle a jovial air;\nbut just as he came to the fourth verse, he heard the sound of tireless\nwheels, and saw a cart approaching covered with a funeral pall.\n\nWilherm knew it for a hearse. It was drawn by six black horses,\nand driven by Ankou [29] himself, with an iron whip in his hand,\nand ever crying as he went,\n\n\"Turn aside, or I turn thee back!\"\n\nWilherm gave him way without being disconcerted.\n\n\"What are you doing here, Squire White?\" [30] he questioned boldly.\n\n\"I make prize, and by surprise,\" replied Ankou.\n\n\"That is to say, you're thievish and treacherous,\" continued Wilherm.\n\n\"I am he that strikes without distinction and without regret.\"\n\n\"That is to say, a fool and a brute. Then I wonder no more, my fine\nfellow, that you're a regular inhabitant of the four bishoprics,\nfor to you the whole proverb belongs. [31] But what are you in such\nhaste about to-day?\"\n\n\"I am going to fetch Wilherm Postik,\" replied the phantom as he\npassed on.\n\nThe profligate laughed aloud, and went on his way. As he came up to\nthe little sloe-hedge leading to the washing-ground, he saw two white\nfemales hanging linen on the bushes.\n\n\"On my life,\" said he, \"here are some damsels not much afraid of the\nnight-dews! What are you about here at this time, my little doves?\"\n\n\"We wash, we dry, we sew!\" replied the two women both at once.\n\n\"But what?\" asked the young man.\n\n\"The winding-sheet of one that yet walks and speaks.\"\n\n\"A corpse! Pardieu! Tell me his name.\"\n\n\"Wilherm Postik.\"\n\nLouder than before laughed Wilherm, and went down the little rugged\npath.\n\nBut as he went on he heard more and more distinctly the beetle of\nthe spectre laundresses striking on the douez [32] stones, and ere\nlong they themselves were to be seen, beating at their death-shrouds,\nand chanting the sorrowful refrain:\n\n\n   \"If no good soul our hands will stay,\n    We must toil till judgment-day;\n    In stormy wind, or clear moonlight,\n    We must wash the death-shroud white.\"\n\n\nAs soon as they perceived this boon companion, they all rushed forward\nwith loud cries, offering each her winding-sheet, that he might help\nthem to wring out the water.\n\n\"Amongst friends we must not scruple to do a good turn,\" replied\nWilherm gaily; \"but one at a time, my pretty laundresses, a man has\nbut two hands.\"\n\nSo laying down his walking-stick, he took the end of the shroud offered\nby one of the ghosts, taking care to wring the same way that she did;\nfor he had heard of old that this was the only way to escape being\nshivered to atoms.\n\nBut whilst they thus wrung the winding-sheet, behold, the other\nspectres surrounded Wilherm, who recognised amongst them his aunt,\nhis wife, his mother, and his sisters, who cried aloud,\n\n\"A thousand curses upon him who leaves his own flesh and blood to\nsuffer torments! A thousand curses!\"\n\nAnd they shook their streaming locks, and whirled aloft their\nsnow-white beetles; while from all the douez of the valley, along\nthe hedgerows, and floating over the commons far and wide, there came\nthe sound of ghostly voices echoing the same cry,\n\n\"A thousand curses! a thousand curses!\"\n\nWilherm, beside himself with terror, felt his hair stand up on end,\nand, forgetting in his confusion the precaution hitherto observed, he\nbegan to wring the contrary way. In the same instant the winding-sheet\ngrasped his hands as in a vice, and he fell, brayed by the iron arms\nof the spectre laundress.\n\nA young girl of Henvik, named Fantik-ar-Fur, passing at daybreak near\nthe douez, saw Wilherm stretched upon the blue stones. Thinking that\nhe had lain down there to sleep whilst tipsy, the child drew near to\nwake him with a sprig of broom; but finding he remained motionless,\nshe took fright and ran to the village to tell the news.\n\nA number of the inhabitants came with the cur\u00e9, the sexton, and the\nnotary, who was mayor of the place. The body was taken up, placed on\na wagon, and drawn home by oxen; but the blessed candles that were\nlighted continually went out, a token of the fearful fate that had\novertaken Wilherm Postik.\n\nSo his body was deposited outside the church-yard walls, in the\nresting-place of dogs and reprobates.\n\n\n\n\nThe belief in spectre laundresses is universal in Brittany.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nROBIN REDBREAST.\n\n\nLong, long ago, ere the acorns were sown which have since furnished\ntimber for the oldest vessels of the port of Brest, there lived in\nthe parish of Guirek a poor widow called Ninorc'h Madek. Her father,\nwho was very wealthy and of noble race, had left at his death a\nmanor-house, with a farm, a mill, and a forge, twelve horses and\ntwice as many oxen, twelve cows and ten times as many sheep, to say\nnothing of corn and flax.\n\nBut Ninorc'h was a helpless widow, and her brothers took the whole\nfor themselves. Perrik, the eldest, kept the house, the farm, and\nthe horses; Fanche, the second, took the mill and the cows; whilst\nthe third, whose name was Riwal, had the oxen, the forge, and the\nsheep. Nothing was left for Ninorc'h but a doorless shed on the open\nheath, which had served to shelter the sick cattle.\n\nHowever, as she was getting together her little matter of furniture,\nin order to take possession of her new abode, Fanche pretended to\ntake pity upon her, and said,\n\n\"Come, I will deal with you like a brother and a Christian. Here is a\nblack cow; she has never come to much good, and, indeed, gives scarce\nmilk enough to feed a new-born babe; but you may take her with you,\nif you will, and May-flower can look after her upon the common.\"\n\nMay-flower [33] was the widow's daughter, now in her eleventh year,\nand had been called after the colourless blossom of the thickets from\nher unusually pale complexion.\n\nSo Ninorc'h went away with her pallid little girl, who led the\npoor lean cow by an old cord, and she sent them out upon the common\ntogether.\n\nThere May-flower stayed all day, watching her black cow, which with\nmuch ado contrived to pick a little grass between the stones. She\nspent her time in making little crosses with blossoms of the broom,\n[34] or in repeating aloud her Rosary and her favourite hymns.\n\nOne day, as she was singing the \"Ave Maris Stella,\" as she had heard\nit at Vespers in the church of Guirek, all at once she noticed a\nlittle bird perched upon one of the flower-crosses she had set in the\nearth. He was warbling sweetly, and turned his head from side to side,\nlooking at her as if he longed to speak. Not a little surprised, she\ngently drew near and listened, but without being able to distinguish\nany meaning in his song. In vain he sang louder, flapped his wings,\nand fluttered about before May-flower. Not a whit the wiser was she\nfor all this; and yet such pleasure did she take in watching and\nlistening to him, that night came on without her being able to think\nof any thing else. At last the bird flew away; and when she looked up\nto see what had become of him, she saw the stars twinkling in the sky.\n\nWith all speed she started off to look for her cow, but to her dismay\nit was nowhere to be found upon the common. In vain she called aloud,\nin vain she beat the bushes, in vain she went down into each hollow\nwhere the rainwater had formed a pool. At last she heard her mother's\nvoice, calling her, as if some great misfortune had happened. All in\na fright, she ran up to her, and there, at the edge of the heath,\non the way homeward, she found the widow beside all that remained\nof the poor cow,--her horns, that is, and her bones, the latter well\npicked by the wolves, which had sallied forth from the neighbouring\nwoods and made a meal of her.\n\nAt this sight May-flower felt her blood run cold. She burst into tears,\nfor she loved the black cow she had tended so long, and falling on\nher knees exclaimed,\n\n\"Blessed Virgin, why did you not let me see the wolf? I would have\nscared him away with the sign of the cross; I would have repeated\nthe charm that is taught to shepherd-boys who keep their flocks upon\nthe mountains,--\n\n\n   'Art thou wolf, St. Herv\u00e9 shend [35] thee!\n    Art thou Satan, God defend me!'\" [36]\n\n\nThe widow, who was a very saint for piety and resignation, seeing\nthe sorrow of the little girl, sought to comfort her, saying,\n\n\"It is not well to weep for the cow as for a fellow-creature, my poor\nchild; if the wolves and wicked men conspire against us, the Lord God\nwill be on our side. Come, then, help me up with my bundle of heath,\nand let us go home.\"\n\nMay-flower did as she said, but sighed at every step, and the big\ntears trickled down her cheeks.\n\n\"My poor cow!\" said she to herself, \"my poor, good, gentle cow! and\njust, too, as she was beginning to fatten a little.\"\n\nThe little girl had no heart for supper, and many times awakened in the\nnight, fancying that she heard the black cow lowing at the door. With\nvery restlessness she rose before the dawn, and ran out upon the\ncommon, barefooted and but half-dressed. There, at the selfsame spot,\nappeared the little bird again, perched as before on her broom-flower\ncross. Again he sang, and seemed to call her. But, alas, she was as\nlittle able as on the preceding evening to understand him, and was\nturning away in vexation, when she thought she saw a piece of gold\nglittering on the ground. To try what it really was, she moved it with\nher foot; but, lo, it was the gold-herb; and no sooner had she touched\nit than she distinctly understood the language of the little bird,\n[37] saying in his warbling,\n\n\"May-flower, I wish thee well. May-flower, listen to me.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" said May-flower, wondering within herself that she\ncould understand the language of an unbaptised creature.\n\n\"I am Robin Redbreast,\" returned the bird. \"It was I that followed\nthe Saviour on His way to Calvary, and broke a thorn from the crown\nthat was tearing His brow. [38] To recompense this act, it was granted\nto me by God the Father that I should live until the day of judgment,\nand that every year I might bestow a fortune upon one poor girl. This\nyear I have chosen you.\"\n\n\"Can this be true, Robin Redbreast?\" cried May-flower, in a transport\nof delight. \"And shall I have a silver cross for my neck, and be able\nto wear wooden shoes?\"\n\n\"A cross of gold shall you have, and silken slippers shall you wear,\nlike a noble damsel,\" replied Robin Redbreast.\n\n\"But what must I do, dear kind Robin?\" said the little maid.\n\n\"Only follow me.\"\n\nIt may well be supposed that May-flower had no objection to make;\nso Robin Redbreast flew before, and she ran after him.\n\nOn they went; across the heath, through the copses, and over the\nfields of rye, till at last they came to the open downs over against\nthe Seven Isles. There Robin stopped, and said to the little girl,\n\n\"Seest thou aught on the sands down there?\"\n\n\"I see,\" replied May-flower, \"a great pair of beechen shoes that the\nfire has never scorched, and a holly-staff that has not been hacked\nby the sickle.\"\n\n\"Put on the shoes, and take up the staff.\"\n\nIt was done.\n\n\"Now walk upon the sea to the first island, and go round it till thou\nshalt come to a rock on which grow sea-green rushes.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"Gather some of the rushes, and twist them into a cord.\"\n\n\"Well, and then?\"\n\n\"Then strike the rock with the holly-staff, and there will come forth\nfrom it a cow. Make a halter of the rushen cord, and lead her home\nto console thy mother for the one just lost.\"\n\nAll that Robin Redbreast had told her, May-flower did. She walked upon\nthe sea; she made the cord of rushes; she struck the rock, and there\ncame out from it a cow, with eyes as soft as a stag-hound's, and a\nskin sleek as that of the mole that burrows in the meadows. May-flower\nled her home to her poor mother, whose joy now was almost greater\nthan her former sorrow.\n\nBut what were her sensations when she began to milk Mor Vyoc'h! [39]\n(for so had Robin Redbreast named the creature). Behold, the milk\nflowed on and on beneath her fingers like water from a spring!\n\nNinorc'h had soon filled all the earthen vessels in the house, and\nthen all those of wood, but still the milk flowed on.\n\n\"Now, holy Mother save us!\" cried the widow, \"certainly this beast\nhas drunk of the waters of Languengar.\" [40]\n\nIn fact, the milk of Mor Vyoc'h was inexhaustible; she had already\nyielded enough to satisfy every babe in Cornouaille.\n\nIn a little time nothing was talked of throughout the country but\nthe widow's cow, and people crowded from all parts to see it. The\nrector of Peros-Guirek came among the rest, to see whether it were\nnot a snare of the evil one; but after he had laid his stole upon\nMor Vyoc'h's head, he pronounced her clear of all suspicion.\n\nBefore long all the richest farmers were persuading Ninorc'h to sell\nher cow, each one bidding against the other for so invaluable a beast;\nher brother Perrik among the rest.\n\n\"Come,\" said he, \"I am your brother; as a good Christian you must\ngive me the preference. Let me have Mor Vyoc'h, and I will give you\nin exchange as many cows as it takes tailors to make a man.\" [41]\n\n\"Is that your Christian dealing?\" answered the widow. \"Nine cows\nfor Mor Vyoc'h! She is worth all the cows in the country, far and\nnear. With her milk I could supply all the markets in the bishoprics\nof Tr\u00e9guier and Cornouaille, from Dinan to Carhaix.\"\n\n\"Well, sister, only let me have her,\" replied Perrik, \"and I will\ngive up to you our father's farm, on which you were born, with all\nthe fields, ploughs, and horses.\"\n\nThis proposal Ninorc'h accepted, and was forthwith put in possession,\nturning up a sod in the meadows, taking a draught of water from the\nwell, and kindling a fire on the hearth; besides cutting a tuft of\nhair from the horses' tails in token of ownership. [42] She then\ndelivered Mor Vyoc'h to Perrik, who led her away to a house which he\nhad at some distance, towards Menez-Br\u00e9e.\n\nA day of tears and sadness was that for May-flower; and as at night\nshe went the round of the stalls to see that all was right, she could\nnot help again and again murmuring, as she filled the mangers,\n\n\"Alas, Mor Vyoc'h is gone! I shall never see Mor Vyoc'h again.\"\n\nWith this lament still on her lips, she suddenly heard a lowing behind\nher, in which, as by virtue of the gold-herb her ears were now open\nto the language of all animals, she distinctly made out these words,\n\n\"Here I am again, my little mistress,\"\n\nMay-flower turned round in astonishment, and there indeed was Mor\nVyoc'h.\n\n\"Oh, can this indeed be you?\" cried the little girl. \"And what, then,\nhas brought you back?\"\n\n\"I cannot belong to your uncle Perrik,\" said Mor Vyoc'h, \"for my\nnature forbids me to remain with such as are not in a state of grace;\nso I am come back to be with you again as before.\"\n\n\"But then my mother must give back the farm, the fields, and all that\nshe has received for you.\"\n\n\"Not so; for it was already hers by right, and had been unjustly\ntaken from her by your uncle.\"\n\n\"But he will come to see if you are here, and will know you again.\"\n\n\"Go and gather three leaves of the cross-wort, [43] and I will tell\nyou what to do.\"\n\nMay-flower went, and soon returned with the three leaves.\n\n\"Now,\" said Mor Vyoc'h, \"pass those leaves over me, from my horns to\nmy tail, and say 'St. Ronan of Ireland!' three times.\"\n\nMay-flower did so; and as she called on the saint for the third\ntime, lo, the cow became a beautiful horse. The little girl was lost\nin wonder.\n\n\"Now,\" said the creature to her, \"your uncle Perrik cannot possibly\nknow me again; for I am no longer Mor Vyoc'h, but Marc'h-Mor.\" [44]\n\nOn hearing what had come to pass, the widow was greatly rejoiced; and\nearly on the morrow proceeded to make trial of her horse with a load of\ncorn for Tr\u00e9guier. But guess her astonishment when she found that the\nmore sacks were laid on Marc'h-Mor's back the longer it grew; so that\nhe alone could carry as much wheat as all the horses in the parish.\n\nThe tale of the widow's wonderful horse was soon noised about the\nneighbourhood, and among the rest her brother Fanche heard of it. He\ntherefore lost no time in proceeding to the farm; and when he had seen\nMarc'h-Mor, begged his sister to part with him, which, however, she\nwould by no means consent to do till Fanche had offered her in exchange\nhis cows and his mill, with all the pigs that he was fattening there.\n\nThe bargain concluded, Ninorc'h took possession of her new property,\nas she had done at the farm; and Fanche led away Marc'h-Mor.\n\nBut in the evening there he was again; and again May-flower gathered\nthree leaves of cross-wort, stroked him over with them three times from\nhis ears to his tail, repeating each time St. Ronan of Ireland! as she\nhad done before to Mor Vyoc'h. And, lo, in a moment the horse changed\ninto a sheep covered with wool as long as hemp, as red as scarlet,\nand as fine as dressed flax.\n\nFull of admiration at this new miracle, the widow came to behold it;\nand no sooner was she within sight than she called to May-flower,\n\n\"Run and fetch a pair of shears; for the poor creature cannot bear\nthis weight of wool.\"\n\nBut when she began to shear Mor-Vawd, she found the wool grow as fast\nas she cut it off; so that he alone far out-valued all the flocks\nof Arh\u00e8z.\n\nRiwal, who chanced to come by at that moment, was witness of the\nwonder; and then and there parted with his forge, his sheep-walks,\nand all his sheep, to obtain possession of the wonderful sheep.\n\nBut see! As he was leading his new purchase home along the sea-shore,\nthe sheep suddenly plunged in the water, swam to the smallest of the\nseven isles, and passed into a chasm of the rocks, which opened to\nreceive it, and straight-way closed again.\n\nThis time May-flower expected him back at the usual hour in\nvain. Neither that night nor on the morrow did he revisit the farm.\n\nThe little girl ran to the common. There she found Robin Redbreast,\nwho thus spoke, before he flew away for ever:\n\n\"I have been waiting for you, my little lady. The sheep is gone,\nand will return no more. Your uncles have been punished after their\ndeserts. For you, you are now a rich heiress, and may wear a cross of\ngold and silken slippers, as I promised you. My work here is done,\nand I am about to fly away far hence. Only, do you remember always,\nthat you have been poor, and that it was one of God's little birds\nthat made you rich.\"\n\nTo prove her gratitude, May-flower built a chapel on the heath, on\nthat very spot where Robin Redbreast first addressed her. And the old\nmen, from whom our fathers heard this tale, could remember lighting\nthe altar-candles there when they were little boys.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOMORRE.\n\n\nIn the old times, it is said that the city of Vannes was far larger\nand finer than it is in our days, and that instead of a prefect,\nit was ruled by a king, whose will was law. I do not know what his\nname was; but from all I have heard, it seems that he was a man who\nlived in the fear of God, and of whom no one had ever found occasion\nto speak an evil word.\n\nHe had been early left a widower; and he lived happily with his\nonly daughter, said to be the most beautiful creature in the whole\nworld. She was called Tryphyna, and those who knew her have asserted\nthat she came of age unsullied by a single mortal sin. So that the\nking her father would have willingly sacrificed his horses, castles,\nand farms, rather than see Tryphyna made unhappy.\n\nHowever, it came to pass, that one day ambassadors from Cornouaille\nwere announced. They came on the part of Comorre, a powerful prince\nof those times, who ruled over the land of Black-Wheat as Tryphyna's\nfather ruled that of the White. [45]\n\nAfter offering presents of honey, flax, and a dozen of little pigs,\nto the king, they informed him that their master had visited the last\nfair at Vannes disguised as a soldier, and there beholding the beauty\nand modesty of the young princess, he had determined at all hazards\nto have her in marriage.\n\nThis proposal filled both the king and Tryphyna with great grief;\nfor the Count Comorre was a giant, and said to be the wickedest man\nthat had ever been on the earth since the days of Cain.\n\nFrom his earliest youth he had been used to find his only pleasure in\nworking mischief; and so malicious was he, that his mother herself had\nbeen accustomed to run and ring the alarm-bell whenever he left the\ncastle, to warn the country people to take care of themselves. When\nolder, and his own master, his cruelty was greater still. It was\nsaid that one morning, on his way out, he tried his gun upon a lad\ntending a colt at pasture, and killed him. And at other times, when\nreturning unsuccessful from the chase, he would let loose his dogs\nupon the poor peasants in the fields, and suffer them to be pulled\ndown like beasts of prey. But, most horrible of all, he had married\nfour wives in succession, each of whom had died off suddenly without\nreceiving the last Sacraments; and it was even said that he had made\naway with them by the knife, fire, water, or poison.\n\nSo the King of Vannes replied to the ambassadors that his daughter was\ntoo young and too weak in health to think of marrying. But Comorre's\npeople answered roughly, after their manner, that the Count Comorre\nwould listen to no such excuses, and that they had received orders,\nif the young princess was not sent back with them, to declare war\nagainst the King of Vannes. The king replied, that they must do as\nthey liked about that. Then the most aged among the envoys lighted a\nhandful of straw, which he flung to the winds, declaring that thus\nshould the anger of Comorre pass over the country of White-Wheat;\nand so they departed. [46]\n\nTryphyna's father, being a courageous man, did not allow himself to\nbe disheartened by this threat, and called together all the soldiers\nhe could muster to defend his territories.\n\nBut in a few days he heard that the Count of Cornouaille was advancing\nupon Vannes with a powerful army; and it was not long before he came\nin sight with trumpets and cannons. Then the king put himself at the\nhead of his people, and the battle was on the point of beginning; when\nSt. Veltas [47] came to find Tryphyna, who was praying in her oratory.\n\nThe saint wore the cloak which had served him as a vessel for crossing\nthe sea, and carried the walking-staff which he had fastened to\nit as a mast to catch the wind. A halo of glory hovered round his\nbrow. He announced to the young princess that the men of Vannes and\nCornouaille were on the point of shedding each other's blood, and\nasked her whether she would not stay the death of so many Christians\nby consenting to become the wife of Count Comorre.\n\n\"Alas, then, God demands from me the death of all my peace and\nhappiness,\" cried the young girl, weeping. \"Why am I not a beggar? I\ncould then at least be wedded to the beggar of my choice. Ah, if it\nis indeed the will of God that I espouse this giant, whom I dread so\nmuch, say for me, holy man, the Office for the Dead; for the count\nwill kill me, as he has his other wives.\"\n\nBut St. Veltas replied,\n\n\"Fear nothing, Tryphyna. See here this ring of silver, white as milk;\nit shall serve you as a warning; for so surely as Comorre is plotting\nany thing against you, it will become as black as the crow's wing. Take\ncourage, then, and save the Bretons from death.\"\n\nThe young princess, reassured by this present of the ring, consented\nto St. Veltas's request.\n\nThen the saint hurried without loss of time towards the opposed armies,\nthat he might announce the good tidings to their chiefs. The King of\nVannes, notwithstanding his daughter's resolution, was very unwilling\nto consent to the marriage; but Comorre promised so fairly, that at\nlast he accepted him as son-in-law.\n\nThe nuptials were celebrated with such festivities as have never\nbeen seen since within the two dioceses. The first day six thousand\nnoble guests sat down to table; and on the second they received as\nmany poor, whom the bride and bridegroom, forgetful of their rank,\nwaited on at table, with napkins on their arms. [48] Then there was\ndancing, at which all the musicians of Lower Brittany were engaged;\nand wrestling-matches, in which the men of Br\u00e9velay contended with\nthose of Cornouaille.\n\nAt last, when all was over, every one went home to his own country;\nand Comorre carried off with him his young bride, as a sparrow-hawk\nthat has pounced upon a poor little yellow-hammer.\n\nHowever, during the first few months his affection for Tryphyna\nsoftened him more than might have been expected. The castle-dungeons\nremained empty, and the gibbets held no pasture for foul birds of\nprey. The count's people whispered low,\n\n\"What ails our lord, then, that he thirsts no more for tears and\nblood?\" But those who knew him better waited and said nothing. Tryphyna\nherself, notwithstanding the count's kindness towards her, could\nnever feel easy or happy in her mind. Every day she went down to the\ncastle-chapel, and there, praying on the tombs of Comorre's four dead\nwives, she besought God to preserve her from a violent death.\n\nAbout this time a grand assembly of Breton princes took place at\nRennes, and Comorre was obliged to join it. He gave into Tryphyna's\nkeeping all the castle keys, even those of the cellars; told her to\namuse herself as she liked best, and set out with a great retinue.\n\nIt was five months before he returned, full of anxiety to see Tryphyna,\nof whom he had thought often during his absence. And in his haste,\nunwilling to lose time by announcing his arrival, he rushed up into\nher room, where she was at that moment engaged in making an infant's\ncap, trimmed with silver-lace.\n\nOn seeing the cap, Comorre turned pale, and asked for what it was\ndesigned. The countess, thinking to rejoice his heart, assured him\nthat they would shortly have a child; but at this news the Prince of\nCornouaille drew back in horror, and after looking at Tryphyna with\na dreadful countenance, went suddenly out, not speaking a word.\n\nThe princess might have taken this for one of the count's frequent\ncaprices, had she not perceived, on casting down her eyes, that the\nsilver ring had turned black. She uttered a cry of terror; for she\nremembered the words of St. Veltas, and knew that she must be in\nimminent peril. But she knew not wherefore, neither could she tell\nhow to escape it. Poor woman! all day long, and during part of the\nnight, she employed herself in pondering what could be the reason\nof the count's displeasure; and at last, her heart growing heavier,\nshe went down into the chapel to pray.\n\nBut scarcely had she finished her rosary, and risen to depart,\nwhen the hour of midnight struck. At that instant she beheld the\nfour grave-stones of Comorre's four wives rise slowly up, and they\nthemselves come out swathed in their funeral shrouds.\n\nTryphyna, more dead than alive, would have escaped; but the phantoms\ncalled to her:\n\n\"Take care, poor lost one; Comorre waits to kill thee.\"\n\n\"Me!\" cried the countess; \"and how have I offended, that he seeks\nmy death?\"\n\n\"You have told him you will shortly be a mother; and he knows, thanks\nto the evil one, that his first child will be his destroyer. Therefore\nit was that he took our lives also.\"\n\n\"My God! and have I fallen into hands so cruel?\" cried Tryphyna,\nweeping. \"If it is so, what hope remains for me? what can I do?\"\n\n\"Go back to your father in the land of White-Wheat,\" said the phantoms.\n\n\"How can I fly?\" returned the countess; \"the giant dog of Comorre\nguards the gate.\"\n\n\"Give to him this poison, which killed me,\" said the first.\n\n\"How can I get down the high wall?\" asked the young wife.\n\n\"Let yourself down by this cord, which strangled me,\" replied the\nsecond.\n\n\"But who will direct me through the darkness?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"This fire, which consumed me,\" replied the third.\n\n\"How can I take so long a journey?\" once more asked Tryphyna.\n\n\"Make use of this staff, which crushed my temples,\" said the last.\n\nComorre's wife took the staff, the torch, the cord, and the poison. She\nsilenced the dog, she scaled the lofty wall, she penetrated the\ndarkness, and took the road to Vannes, where her father dwelt.\n\nComorre, not being able to find her the next morning when he rose,\nsent his page to search for her in every chamber; but the page returned\nwith the tidings that Tryphyna was no longer in the castle.\n\nThen the count went up the donjon-tower, and looked out to the\nfour winds.\n\nTo the north he saw a raven that croaked; to the sunrise a swallow on\nthe wing; to the south a wailing sea-mew; and to the west a turtle-dove\nthat sped away.\n\nHe instantly exclaimed that Tryphyna was in that direction; and having\nhis horse saddled, set out in pursuit.\n\nHis unfortunate wife was still upon the border of the wood which\nsurrounded the count's castle; but she was warned of his approach by\nseeing the ring grow black. Then she turned aside over the common,\nand came to the cabin of a poor shepherd, whose sole possession was\nan old magpie hanging in a cage.\n\nThe poor lady lay concealed there the whole day, bemoaning herself\nand praying; and when night came on, she once more set forth along\nthe paths which skirt the fields of flax and corn.\n\nComorre, who had kept to the high road, could not find her; and after\ntravelling two days, he returned the same way as far as the common. But\nthere, as ill-luck would have it, he entered the shepherd's hut,\nand heard the magpie trying to recall the melancholy wailings it had\nlistened to, and murmuring, \"Poor Tryphyna! poor Tryphyna!\" Then\nComorre knew the countess had passed by that way, and calling his\nhunting-dog, set him on the track, and began to pursue her.\n\nMeanwhile Tryphyna, pressed by terror, had walked on unresting,\nand was already drawing near to Vannes. But at last she felt herself\nunable to proceed; and turning into a wood, lay down upon the grass,\nwhere she gave birth to a son miraculously lovely, who was afterwards\ncalled St. Trever.\n\nAs she held him in her arms, and wept over him, half sorrowfully\nand half in joy, she perceived a falcon ornamented with a collar of\ngold. He was perched upon a neighbouring tree; and she knew him for\nher father's bird, the king of the land of White-Wheat. Calling him\nquickly by his name, the bird came down upon her knees; and giving him\nthe warning-ring she had received from St. Veltas, she said, \"Fly,\nfalcon, hasten to my father's court, and carry him this ring. When\nhe sees it, he will know I am in urgent danger, and will order his\nsoldiers to horse. It is for you to lead them hither to save me.\"\n\nThe bird understood, and taking the ring, flew like a flash of\nlightning in the direction of Vannes.\n\nBut almost at the same instant Comorre came in sight with his\nstag-hound, who had incessantly tracked Tryphyna; and as she had no\nlonger the ring to forewarn her of approaching danger, she remained\nunconscious of it till she heard the tyrant's voice cheering on\nhis dog.\n\nTerror froze the marrow in her bones, and she had only just time to\nwrap the infant in her mantle and hide it in the hollow of a tree,\nwhen Comorre appeared upon his horse at the entrance of the pathway.\n\nSeeing Tryphyna, he uttered a cry like that of a wild-beast, and\nthrowing himself upon the unhappy victim, who had sunk upon her\nknees, he severed her head from her shoulders by one stroke of his\nhunting-knife.\n\nBelieving himself now at once rid of mother and child, he whistled\nback his dog, and set off on his return to Cornouaille.\n\nNow the falcon arrived at the court of the King of Vannes, who was\nthen dining; and hovering over the table, let fall the silver ring into\nhis master's cup. He had no sooner recognised it, than he exclaimed:\n\n\"Woe is me, some misfortune must have befallen my daughter, since\nthe falcon brings me back her ring. Let the horses be made ready,\nand let St. Veltas be our companion; for I fear we shall but too soon\nstand in need of his assistance.\"\n\nThe servants obeyed promptly; and the king set forth with the saint,\nwho had come at his prayer, and a numerous retinue. They put their\nhorses to their full speed, and followed the course of the flying\nfalcon, who led them to the glade where lay the dead Tryphyna and\nher living child.\n\nThe king then threw himself from his horse, and uttered cries that\nmight have made the very oaks to weep; but St. Veltas silenced him.\n\n\"Hush!\" said he, \"and join with me in prayer to God; He can even yet\nrepair all.\"\n\nWith these words, he knelt down with all those who were present, and\nafter addressing a fervent prayer to Heaven, he said to the dead body,\n\"Arise!\"\n\nTryphyna obeyed.\n\n\"Take thine head and thy child,\" added the saint, \"and follow us to\nthe castle of Comorre.\"\n\nIt was done as he commanded.\n\nThen the terrified escort took horse once more, and spurred onwards\ntowards Cornouaille. But however rapidly they rode, Tryphyna was\never in advance; holding her son upon her left arm, and her head on\nher right.\n\nAnd thus they came before the castle of the murderer. Comorre, who\nsaw them coming, caused the drawbridge to be raised. St. Veltas drew\nnear the moat, and exclaimed, with a loud voice,\n\n\"Count of Cornouaille, I bring thee back thy wife, such as thy\nwickedness has made her; and thy son, as God has bestowed him on\nthee. Wilt thou receive them beneath thy roof?\"\n\nComorre was silent. St. Veltas repeated the same words a second,\nthen a third time; but still no voice replied. Taking, therefore,\nthe infant from his mother's arms, he placed him on the ground.\n\nThen was beheld a miracle which proved the Omnipotence of God; for\nthe child walked alone, and boldly, to the edge of the moat, whence\ngathering a handful of the sand, he flung it towards the castle,\ncrying out,\n\n\"God is just!\"\n\nAt that instant the towers shook with a great tumult, the walls gaped\nopen, and the whole castle sank down in ruins, burying the Count of\nCornouaille, and all those who had abetted him in sin.\n\nSt. Veltas then replaced the head of Tryphyna on her shoulders, and\nlaying his hands upon her, the holy woman came back to life; to the\ngreat content of the King of Vannes, and of all who were there present.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE.\n\nAccording to the legend of Albert de Morlaix, Comorre was not buried\nin the castle ruins, but succeeded in making his escape; but, at the\ninstance of Guerok, the Breton Bishops met in council \"to cut off\nthis rotten branch from the body of the Church. They assembled at\nthe mountain called Menez-Br\u00e9e, near Louargat, between Belle Isle\nand Guingamp, not daring to meet in any town, through the terror\ninspired by this tyrant; who, having killed King Johava, and his son\nJugduval, did what he pleased throughout the whole of the Low Country\"\n(Basse Bretagne).\n\nThe Bishops thundered from their place of meeting a deadly\nexcommunication against Comorre; who shortly after, according to the\nhistorian Le Bault, suffered the punishment of Arius; or, as others\nsay, \"vomited forth at the same instant his blood and his soul.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GROAC'H OF THE ISLE OF LOK. [49]\n\n\nEvery one who knows the land of the Church (Lanillis), knows also that\nit is one of the loveliest parishes in the diocese of L\u00e9on. To say\nnothing of green crops and corn, its orchards are famed from all time\nfor apples sweeter than the honey of Sizun, and plum-trees of which\nevery blossom ripens into fruit. As for the marriageable maidens,\nthey are all models of discretion and housewifery; at least so say\ntheir nearest relations, who of course know them best.\n\nIn olden times, when miracles were as common in these parts as\nchristenings and burials now, there dwelt in Lanillis a young man\ncalled Houarn Pogamm, and a damsel whose name was Bellah Postik.\n\nThey grew up together in love, as in age and stature; but every one\nthat they had to care for them being dead, one after the other, and\nthey left portionless, the two poor orphans were at last obliged to\ngo into service. They ought, indeed, to have been happy, for they\nserved the same master; but lovers are like the sea, that murmurs ever.\n\n\"If we had only enough to buy a little cow and a lean pig,\" said\nHouarn, \"I would take a bit of land of our master; and then the good\nfather should marry us, and we would go and live together.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Bellah, with a deep sigh; \"but the times are so\nhard. The cows and pigs were dearer than ever at Ploudalmazeau the\nlast fair. Providence must surely have given up caring for the world.\"\n\n\"I am afraid we shall have to wait a long time,\" said the young man;\n\"for I never get the last glass of the bottle when I drink with the\nrest of them.\"\n\n\"Very long,\" replied the maiden; \"for I never can hear the cuckoo.\"\n\nDay after day it was the same story; till at last Houarn was quite out\nof patience. So one morning he came to Bellah, as she was winnowing\nsome corn in the threshing-floor, and told her how he had made up\nhis mind that he would set out on his travels to seek his fortune.\n\nSadly troubled was the poor girl at this resolve, and she said all\nshe could to dissuade him from it; but Houarn, who was a determined\nyoung fellow, would not be withheld.\n\n\"The birds,\" said he, \"fly hither and thither till they have found\na field of corn, and the bees till they meet with flowers that\nmay yield them honey; is it for man to be less reasonable than the\nwinged creatures? I also will go forth on my quest; what I want is\nbut the price of a little cow and a lean pig. If you love me, Bellah,\nyou will no longer oppose a project which is to hasten our marriage.\"\n\nBellah could not but acknowledge that there was reason in his words;\nso with a sigh and a yearning heart she said,\n\n\"Go then, Houarn, with God's blessing, if it must be so; but first\nlet me share with you my family relics.\"\n\nShe led him to her cupboard, and took out a little bell, a knife,\nand a staff.\n\n\"There,\" said she, \"these are immemorial heirlooms of our family. This\nis the bell of St. Kol\u00e9dok. Its sound can be heard at any distance,\nhowever great, and will give immediate notice to the possessor's\nfriends should he be in any danger. The knife once belonged to\nSt. Corentin, and its touch dissolves all spells, were they of the\narch-fiend himself. Lastly, here is the staff of St. Vouga, which\nwill lead its possessor whithersoever he may desire to go. I will\ngive you the knife to defend you from enchantments, and the little\nbell to let me know if you are in peril; the staff I will keep,\nthat I may be able to join you, should you need my presence.\"\n\nHouarn accepted with thanks his Bellah's gifts, wept awhile with her,\nas belongs to a parting, and set out towards the mountains.\n\nBut it was then just as it is now, and in all the villages through\nwhich he passed, the traveller was beset by beggars, to whom any one\nwith whole garments was a man of rank and fortune.\n\n\"By my faith,\" thought he, \"this part of the country seems fitter\nfor spending a fortune than for making one: I must go farther.\"\n\nHe went onwards therefore towards the west, till at last he arrived\nat Pontaven, a pretty town, built upon a river bordered with poplars.\n\nThere, as he sat at the inn-door, he overheard two carriers, who,\nas they loaded their mules, were talking together of the Groac'h of\nthe Isle of Lok.\n\nHouarn inquired who or what that might be; and was told that it was the\nname of a fairy who inhabited the lake in the largest of the Gl\u00e9nans,\n[50] and who was said to be as rich as all the kings of the earth\ntogether. Many had been the treasure-seekers that had visited her\nisland, but not one of them had ever returned.\n\nThe thought came suddenly into Houarn's mind that he too would try\nthe adventure. The muleteers did all they could to dissuade him. They\nwere so loud in their remonstrances, that they collected quite a\ncrowd about him, crying out that it was downright unchristian to\nlet him run into destruction in that way; and the people would even\nhave kept him back by force. Houarn thanked them for the interest\nthey manifested in his welfare, and declared himself ready to give\nup his design, if only they would make a collection amongst them\nwhich would enable him to buy a little cow and a lean pig; but at\nthis proposition the muleteers and all the others drew back, simply\nrepeating that he was an obstinate fellow, and that it was of no use\ntalking to him. So Houarn repaired to the sea-shore, where he took\na boat, and was carried to the Isle of Lok.\n\nHe had no difficulty in finding the pond, which was in the centre\nof the island, its banks fringed by sea-plants with rose-coloured\nflowers. As he walked round, he saw lying at one end of it, shaded by\na tuft of broom, a sea-green canoe, which floated on the unruffled\nwaters. It was fashioned like a swan asleep, with its head under\nits wing.\n\nHouarn, who had never seen any thing like it before, drew nearer with\ncuriosity, and stepped into the boat that he might examine it the\nbetter; but scarcely had he set foot within it when the swan seemed\nto awake, its head started from amongst the feathers, its wide feet\nspread themselves to the waters, and it swam rapidly from the bank.\n\nThe young man gave a cry of alarm, but the swan only made the more\nswiftly for the middle of the lake; and just as Houarn had decided on\nthrowing himself from his strange bark, and swimming for the shore,\nthe bird plunged downward head foremost, drawing him under the water\nalong with it.\n\nThe unfortunate L\u00e9onard, who could not cry out without gulping down\nthe unsavoury water of the pool, was silent by necessity, and soon\narrived at the Groac'h's dwelling.\n\nIt was a palace of shells, far surpassing in beauty all that can be\nimagined. It was entered by a flight of crystal steps, each stair of\nwhich, as the foot pressed it, gave forth a concert of sweet sounds,\nlike the song of many birds. All around stretched gardens of immense\nextent, with forests of marine plants, and plots of green seaweed,\nspangled with diamonds in the place of flowers.\n\nThe Groac'h was reclining in the entrance-hall upon a couch of\ngold. Her dress was of sea-green silk, exquisitely fine, and floating\nround her like the waves that wrapped her grotto. Her black locks,\nintertwined with coral, descended to her feet; and the white and red\nof her brilliant complexion blended as in the polished lining of some\nIndian shell.\n\nDazzled with a sight at once so fair and unexpected, Houarn stood\nstill; but with a winning smile the Groac'h rose, and came forward\nto meet him. So easy and flowing were her movements, that she seemed\nlike a snowy billow heaving along the sea, as she advanced to greet\nthe young L\u00e9onard.\n\n\"You are welcome,\" said she, beckoning him with her hand to enter;\n\"there is always room here for all comers, especially for handsome\nyoung men.\"\n\nAt this gracious reception Houarn somewhat recovered himself, and\nentered the hall.\n\n\"Who are you? Whence come you? What seek you?\" continued the Groac'h.\n\n\"My name is Houarn,\" replied the L\u00e9onard; \"I come from Lanillis; and\nI am in quest of the wherewithal to buy a little cow and a lean pig.\"\n\n\"Well, come in, Houarn,\" said the fairy; \"and dismiss all anxiety\nfrom your mind; you shall have every thing to make you happy.\"\n\nWhile this was passing she had led him into a second hall, the walls\nof which were covered with pearls; where she set before him eight\ndifferent kinds of wine, in eight goblets of chased silver. Houarn made\ntrial of each, and found all so much to his taste, that he repeated\nhis draught of each eight times; while ever as the cup left his lips,\nthe Groac'h seemed still fairer than before.\n\nShe meanwhile encouraged him to drink, telling him he need be in no\nfear of robbing her, for that the lake in the Isle of Lok communicated\nwith the sea, and that all the treasures swallowed up by shipwrecks\nwere conveyed thither by a magic current.\n\n\"I do not wonder,\" cried Houarn, emboldened at once by the wine and\nthe manner of his hostess, \"that the people on shore speak so badly\nof you; in fact, it just comes to this, that you are rich, and they\nare envious. For my part, I should be very well content with the half\nof your fortune.\"\n\n\"It shall be yours if you will, Houarn,\" said the fairy.\n\n\"How can that be?\" he asked.\n\n\"My husband, the Korandon, is dead,\" she answered, \"so that I am now\na widow; if you like me well enough, I will become your wife.\"\n\nHouarn quite lost his breath for very wonderment. For him to marry\nthat beautiful creature! to dwell in that splendid palace! and to\ndrink to his heart's content of the eight sorts of wine! True, he\nwas engaged to Bellah; but men easily forget such promises,--indeed,\nfor that they are just like women. So he gallantly assured the fairy\nthat one so lovely must be irresistible, and that it would be his\npride and joy to become her husband.\n\nThereupon the Groac'h exclaimed that she would forthwith make ready\nthe wedding-feast. She spread a table, which she covered with all\nthe delicacies that the L\u00e9onard had ever heard of, besides a great\nmany unknown to him even by name; and then proceeding to a little\nfish-pond at the bottom of the garden, she began to call, and at\neach call up swam a fish, which she successively caught in a steel\nnet. When the net was full, she carried it into the next room, and\nthrew all the fish into a golden frying-pan.\n\nBut it seemed to Houarn as though there was a whispering of little\nvoices amidst the hissing of the pan.\n\n\"What is that whispering in the frying-pan, Groac'h?\" he asked.\n\n\"It is the crackling of the wood,\" said she, stirring the fire.\n\nAn instant after the little voices again began to murmur.\n\n\"What is that murmuring, Groac'h?\" asked the bridegroom.\n\n\"It is the butter in the frying-pan,\" she answered, giving the fish\na toss.\n\nBut soon the little voices cried yet louder.\n\n\"What is that cry, Groac'h?\" said Houarn.\n\n\"It is the cricket in the hearth,\" replied the fairy; and she began to\nsing, so that the L\u00e9onard could no longer hear any thing but her voice.\n\nBut he could not help thinking on what he had noticed: and thought\nbrought fear, and fear, of course, repentance.\n\n\"Alas!\" he cried, \"can it then be possible that I have so soon\nforgotten Bellah for this Groac'h, who is no doubt a child of\nSatan? With her for my wife, I shall not even dare to say my prayers\nat night, and shall be as sure to go to hell as an exciseman.\"\n\nWhile he thus communed with himself, the fairy brought in the fried\nfish, and pressed him to eat, while she went to fetch him twelve new\nsorts of wine.\n\nHouarn sighed, took out his knife, and prepared to begin; but scarcely\nhad the spell-destroying blade touched the golden dish, when all the\nfish rose up in the form of little men, each one clad in the proper\ncostume of his rank and occupation. There was a lawyer with his bands,\na tailor in blue stockings, a miller all white with flour, and so on;\nall crying out at once, as they swam in the melted butter,--\n\n\"Houarn, save us, if thou wouldst thyself be saved.\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin! what are these little men singing out from amongst the\nmelted butter?\" cried the L\u00e9onard, in bewilderment.\n\n\"We are Christians like thyself,\" they answered. \"We too came to seek\nour fortunes in the Isle of Lok; we too consented to marry the Groac'h;\nand the day after the wedding she did with us as she had done with\nall our predecessors, of whom the fish-pond in the garden is full.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Houarn, \"a creature so young and fair, and yet so\nwicked?\"\n\n\"And thou wilt soon be in the same condition, subject thyself to be\nfried and eaten by some new-comer.\"\n\nHouarn gave a jump, as though he felt himself already in the golden\nfrying-pan, and ran towards the door, thinking only how he might\nescape before the Groac'h should return. But she was already there,\nand had heard all; her net of steel was soon thrown over the L\u00e9onard,\nwho found himself instantly transformed into a frog, in which guise\nthe fairy carried him to the fish-pond, and threw him in, to keep\nher former husbands company.\n\nAt this moment the little bell, which Houarn wore round his neck,\ntinkled of its own accord; and Bellah heard it at Lanillis, where\nshe was busy skimming the last night's milk.\n\nThe sound struck upon her heart like a funeral knell; and she cried\naloud, \"Houarn is in danger!\" And without a moment's delay, without\nasking counsel of any as to what she should do, she ran and put on\nher Sunday clothes, her shoes and silver cross, and set out from the\nfarm with her magic staff. Arrived where four roads met, she set the\nstick upright in the ground, murmuring in a low voice,--\n\n\n   \"List, thou crab-tree staff of mine!\n      By good St. Vouga, hear me!\n    O'er earth and water, through air, 'tis thine\n      Whither I will to bear me!\"\n\n\nAnd lo, the stick became a bay nag, dressed, saddled, and bridled,\nwith a rosette behind each ear, and a blue feather in front.\n\nBellah mounted, and the horse set forward; first at a walking\npace, then he trotted, and at last galloped, and that so swiftly,\nthat ditches, trees, houses, and steeples passed before the young\ngirl's eyes like the arms of a spindle. But she complained not,\nfeeling that each step brought her nearer to her dear Houarn; nay,\nshe rather urged on her beast, saying,\n\n\"Less swift than the swallow is the horse, less swift the swallow\nthan the wind, the wind than the lightning; but thou, my good steed,\nif thou lovest me, outstrip them all in speed: for a part of my heart\nis suffering; the better half of my own life is in danger.\"\n\nThe horse understood her, and flew like a straw driven by the whirlwind\ntill he arrived in the country of Arh\u00e9s, at the foot of the rock\ncalled the Stag's Leap. But there he stood still, for never had horse\nscaled that precipice. Bellah, perceiving the cause of his stopping,\nrenewed her prayer:\n\n\n   \"Once again, thou courser mine,\n      By good St. Vouga, hear me!\n    O'er earth and water, through air, 'tis thine\n      Whither I will to bear me!\"\n\n\nShe had hardly finished, when a pair of wings sprang from the sides\nof her horse, which now became a great bird, and in this shape flew\naway with her to the top of the rock.\n\nStrange indeed was the sight that here met her eyes. Upon a nest\nmade of potter's clay and dry moss squatted a little korandon, [51]\nall swarthy and wrinkled, who, on beholding Bellah, began to cry aloud,\n\n\"Hurrah! here is the pretty maiden come to save me!\"\n\n\"Save thee!\" said Bellah. \"Who art thou, then, my little man?\"\n\n\"I am Jeannik, the husband of the Groac'h of the Isle of Lok. She it\nwas that sent me here.\"\n\n\"But what art thou doing in this nest?\"\n\n\"I am sitting on six stone eggs, and I cannot be free till they\nare hatched.\"\n\nBellah could not keep herself from laughing.\n\n\"Poor thing!\" said she; \"and how can I deliver thee?\"\n\n\"By first saving Houarn, who is in the Groac'h's power.\"\n\n\"Ah, tell me how I may do that!\" cried the orphan girl, \"and not a\nmoment will I lose in setting about my part in the matter, though I\nshould have to make the circuit of the four dioceses upon my bare\nknees.\"\n\n\"Well, then, there are two things to be done,\" said the korandon. \"The\nfirst, to present thyself before the Groac'h as a young man; and the\nnext, to take from her the steel net which she carries at her girdle,\nand shut her up in it till the day of judgment.\"\n\n\"And where shall I get a suit of clothes to fit me, korandon?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt see.\"\n\nAnd with these words the little dwarf pulled out four hairs from\nhis foxy poll, and blew them to the winds, muttering something in an\nunder-tone, and lo, the four hairs became four tailors, of whom the\nfirst held in his hand a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the\nthird a needle, and the last a smoothing goose. All the four seated\nthemselves cross-legged round the nest, and began to prepare a suit\nof clothes for Bellah.\n\nOut of one cabbage-leaf they made a beautiful coat, laced at every\nseam; of another they made a waistcoat; but it took two leaves for\nthe trunk-breeches, such as are worn in the country of L\u00e9on; lastly,\nthe heart of the cabbage was shaped into a hat, and the stalk was\nconverted into shoes.\n\nThus equipped, Bellah would have passed any where for a handsome\nyoung gentleman in green velvet lined with white satin.\n\nShe thanked the korandon, who added some further instructions;\nand then her great bird flew away with her straight to the Isle of\nLok. There she commanded him to resume the form of a crab-stick; and\nentering the swan-shaped boat, arrived safely at the Groac'h's palace.\n\nThe fairy was quite taken at first sight with the velvet-clad young\nL\u00e9onard.\n\n\"Well,\" quoth she to herself, \"you are the best-looking young fellow\nthat has ever come to see me; and I do think I shall love you for\nthree times three days.\"\n\nAnd she began to make much of her guest, calling her her darling,\nand heart of hearts. She treated her with a collation; and Bellah\nfound upon the table St. Corentin's knife, which had been left there\nby Houarn. She took it up against the time of need, and followed the\nGroac'h into the garden. There the fairy showed her the grass-plots\nflowered with diamonds, the fountains of perfumed waters, and, above\nall, the fish-pond, wherein swam fishes of a thousand colours.\n\nWith these last Bellah pretended to be especially taken, so that she\nmust needs sit down upon the edge of the pond, the better to enjoy\nthe sight of them.\n\nThe Groac'h took advantage of her delight to ask her if she would not\nlike to spend all her days in this lovely place. Bellah replied that\nshe should like it of all things.\n\n\"Well, then, so you may, and from this very hour, if you are only\nready at once to marry me,\" proceeded the fairy.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Bellah; \"but you must let me fetch up one of\nthese beautiful fishes with the steel net that hangs at your girdle.\"\n\nThe Groac'h, nothing suspecting, and taking this request for a mere\nboyish freak, gave her the net, saying with a smile, \"Let us see,\nfair fisherman, what you will catch.\"\n\n\"Thee, fiend!\" cried Bellah, throwing the net over the Groac'h's\nhead. \"In the name of the Saviour of men, accursed sorceress, become\nin body even as thou art in soul!\"\n\nThe cry uttered by the Groac'h died away in a stifled murmur, for\nthe exorcism had already taken effect; the beautiful water fay was\nnow nothing more than the hideous queen of toadstools.\n\nIn an instant Bellah drew the net, and with all speed threw it into a\nwell, upon which she laid a stone sealed with the sign of the cross,\nthat it might remain closed till the tombs shall be opened at the\nlast day.\n\nShe then hastened back to the pond; but all the fish were already out\nof it, coming forth to meet her, like a procession of many-coloured\nmonks, crying in their little hoarse voices, \"Behold our lord and\nmaster! who has delivered us from the net of steel and the golden\nfrying-pan.\"\n\n\"And who will also restore you to your shape of Christians,\" said\nBellah, drawing forth the knife of St. Corentin. But as she was\nabout to touch the first fish, she perceived close to her a frog,\nwith the magic bell hung about his neck, and sobbing bitterly as he\nknelt before her. Bellah felt her bosom swell, and she exclaimed,\n\"Is it thou, is it thou, my Houarn, thou lord of my sorrow and my joy?\"\n\n\"It is I,\" answered the youth.\n\nAt a touch with the potent blade he recovered his proper form, and\nBellah and he fell into each other's arms, the one eye weeping for\nthe past, the other glistening with the present joy.\n\nShe then did the like to all the fishes, who were restored each of\nthem to his pristine shape and condition.\n\nThe work of disenchantment was hardly at an end, when up came the\nlittle korandon from the Stag's-Leap rock.\n\n\"Here I am, my pretty maiden,\" cried he to Bellah: \"the spell which\nheld me where you saw me is broken, and I am come to thank you for\nmy deliverance.\"\n\nHe then conducted the lovers to the Groac'h's coffers, which were\nfilled with precious stones, of which he told them to take as many\nas they pleased.\n\nThey both loaded their pockets, their girdles, and their hats; and\nwhen they had as much as they could carry, they departed, with all\nwhom she had delivered from the enchantment.\n\nThe banns were soon published, and Houarn and Bellah were married. But\ninstead of a little cow and a lean pig, he bought all the land in the\nparish, and put in as farmers the people he had brought with him from\nthe Isle of Lok.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOUR GIFTS.\n\n\nIf I had an income of three hundred crowns, I would go and dwell\nat Quimper; the finest church in Cornouaille is to be found there,\nand all the houses have weather-vanes upon their roofs. If I had two\nhundred crowns a year, I would live at Carhaix, for the sake of its\nheath-fed sheep and its game. But if I had only one hundred, I would\nset up housekeeping at Pontaven, for there is the greatest abundance\nof every thing. At Pontaven they sell butter at the price of milk,\nchickens for that of eggs, and linen at the same rate as you can buy\ngreen flax. So that there are plenty of good farms there, where they\ndish up salt pork at least three times a week, and where the very\nshepherds eat as much rye-bread as they desire.\n\nIn such a farm lived Barbaik Bourhis, a spirited woman, who had\nmaintained her household like a man, and who had fields and stacks\nenough to have kept two sons at college.\n\nBut Barbaik had only a niece, whose earnings far outweighed her keep,\nso that every day she laid by as much as she could save.\n\nBut savings too easily acquired have always their bad side. If you\nhoard up wheat, you attract rats into your barns; and if you lay by\ncrowns, you will engender avarice in your heart.\n\nOld Mother Bourhis had come at last to care for nothing but the\nincrease of her hoards, and think nothing of any one who did not\nhappen to pay heavy sums each month to the tax-gatherers. So she\nwas angry when she saw D\u00e9n\u00e8s, the labourer of Plover, chatting with\nher niece behind the gable. One morning, after thus surprising them,\nshe cried to Tephany in step-mother tones,\n\n\"Are not you ashamed to be always chattering thus with a young man\nwho has nothing, when there are so many others who would gladly buy\nfor you the silver ring?\"\n\n\"D\u00e9n\u00e8s is a good workman and a thorough Christian,\" replied the\ndamsel. \"Some day he will be able to rent a farm where he may rear\na family.\"\n\n\"And so you would like to marry him?\" interrupted the old woman. \"God\nsave us! I would sooner see you drowned in the well than married to\nthat vagabond. No, no, it shall never be said that I brought up my\nown sister's child to be the wife of a man who can carry his whole\nfortune in his tobacco-pouch.\"\n\n\"What matters fortune when we have good health, and can ask the\nBlessed Virgin to look down on our intentions?\" replied Tephany gently.\n\n\"What matters fortune!\" replied the fermi\u00e8re, scandalised. \"What! have\nyou come to such a length as to despise the wealth that God has given\nus? May all the saints take pity on us! Since this is the case, you\nbold-faced thing, I forbid you ever to speak again to D\u00e9n\u00e8s; and if\nI catch him at this farm again, it will be the worse for you both;\nand meanwhile go you down to the washing-place, and wash the linen,\nand spread it out to dry upon the hawthorn; for since you've had one\near turned towards the wind from Plover, every thing stands still at\nhome, and your two arms are worth no more than the five fingers of\na one-armed man.\"\n\nTephany would have answered, but in vain. Mother Bourhis imperiously\npointed out to her the bucket, the soap, and the beetle, and ordered\nher to set off that very instant.\n\nThe girl obeyed, but her heart swelled with grief and resentment.\n\n\"Old age is harder than the farm-door steps,\" thought she to herself;\n\"yes, one hundred times harder, for the rain by frequent falling\nwears away the stones; but tears have no power to soften the will of\nold people. God knows that talking with D\u00e9n\u00e8s was the only pleasure I\nhad. If I am to see him no more, I might as well leave the world at\nonce; and our good angel was always with us. D\u00e9n\u00e8s has done nothing\nbut teach me pretty songs, and talk about what we shall do when we\nare married, in a farm, he looking after the fields, and I managing\nthe cattle.\"\n\nThus talking to herself, Tephany had reached the douez. Whilst setting\ndown her tub of linen upon one of the white lavatory stones, she\nbecame aware of an old woman, a stranger, sitting there, leaning her\nhead upon a little scorched thorn-stick. Notwithstanding her vexation,\nTephany saluted her.\n\n\"Is my aunt [52] taking the air under the alders?\" said she, moving\nher load farther off.\n\n\"One must rest where one can, when one has the roof of heaven for a\nshelter,\" answered the old woman, in a trembling voice.\n\n\"Are you, then, so desolate?\" asked Tephany compassionately; \"is\nthere no relation left who can offer you a refuge at his fireside?\"\n\n\"Every one is long since dead,\" replied the stranger; \"and I have no\nother family than all kind hearts.\"\n\nThe maiden took the piece of rye-bread rubbed with dripping which\nBarbaik had given her in a bit of linen with her beetle.\n\n\"Take this, poor aunt,\" said she, offering it to the beggar. \"To-day,\nat least, you shall dine like a Christian on our good God's bread;\nonly remember in your prayers my parents, who are dead.\"\n\nThe old woman took the bread, then looked at Tephany.\n\n\"Those who help others deserve help themselves,\" said she. \"Your\neyes are red, because Barbaik has forbidden you to speak to the lad\nfrom Plover; but he is a worthy youth, whose intentions are good,\nand I will give you the means of seeing him once every day.\"\n\n\"You!\" cried the girl, astonished that the beggar was so well informed.\n\n\"Take this long copper-pin,\" replied the crone; \"and every time you\nstick it in your dress, Mother Bourhis will be forced to leave the\nfarm, and go to count her cabbages. All the time this pin remains\nwhere you stick it, you will be at liberty; and your aunt will not\nreturn until the pin is put back into this \u00e9tui.\"\n\nWith these words the beggar rose, nodded a farewell, and disappeared.\n\nTephany was lost in astonishment. Evidently the old woman was no\nbeggar, but a saint, or a singer of truth. [53]\n\nAt any rate, the young girl treasured the pin carefully, well\ndetermined to try its power the next day. Towards the time, then,\nat which D\u00e9n\u00e8s was accustomed to make his appearance, she set it in\nher collar. Barbaik instantly put on her wooden shoes, and walked\noff into the garden, where she set herself to count her cabbages;\nfrom the garden she went to the orchard, and from the orchard to the\nfield, so that Tephany could talk with D\u00e9n\u00e8s at her ease.\n\nIt was the same the next day, and the next, through many weeks. As\nsoon as the pin made its appearance from the \u00e9tui, the good woman\nwas off amongst her cabbages, always beginning to count once more\nhow many little or big, embossed or curly cabbages [54] she had.\n\nD\u00e9n\u00e8s at first appeared enchanted at this freedom, but by degrees he\ngrew less eager to avail himself of it. He had taught Tephany all his\nsongs; he had told her all his plans; now he was forced to consider\nwhat he could talk to her about, and make it up beforehand, like a\npreacher preparing his sermon. And more than that, he came later,\nand went earlier away; sometimes even, pretending cartage, weeding,\nor errands to the town detained him, he came not to the farm at all;\nand Tephany had to console herself with her pin.\n\nShe understood that the love of her betrothed was cooling, and became\nmore sorrowful than before.\n\nOne day, after vainly waiting for the youth, she took her pitcher, and\nwent all solitary to the fountain, her heart swelling with displeasure.\n\nWhen she reached it, she perceived the same old woman who had given\nher the magic pin. There she sat, near the spring; and watching\nTephany as she advanced, she began with a little chuckling laugh,\n\n\"Ah, ah! then the pretty girl is no longer satisfied to chatter with\nher humble servant any hour of the day.\"\n\n\"Alas, to chat, I must be with him,\" replied Tephany mournfully;\n\"and custom has made my company less agreeable to him. Oh, aunt,\nsince you have given me the means of seeing him every day, you might\ngive me at the same time wit enough to keep my hold upon him.\"\n\n\"Is that what my daughter wants?\" said the old woman. \"In that case,\nhere is a feather; let her but put it in her hair, and no one can\nresist her, for she will be as clever and as cunning as Master John\n[55] himself.\"\n\nTephany, reddening with delight, carried off the feather; and just\nbefore D\u00e9n\u00e8s' visit on the following day, she stuck it under her\nblue rozar\u00e8s. [56] That very instant it appeared to her as if the\nsun rose in her mind; she found herself acquainted with what students\nspend ten years in learning, and much that even the very wisest know\nnothing of; for with the science of a man, she still preserved the\nmalice of a woman. D\u00e9n\u00e8s was of course astonished at her words; she\ntalked in rhyme like the bazvalanes [57] of Cornouaille, she knew\nmore songs than the mendicants from Sca\u00ebr, and could tell all the\nstories current at the forges and the mills throughout the country.\n\nThe young man came day after day, and Tephany found always something\nnew to tell him. D\u00e9n\u00e8s had never met man or woman with so much wit;\nbut after enjoying it for a time, he began to be scared by it. Tephany\nhad not been able to resist putting in her feather for others than him;\nher songs, her sayings, were repeated every where, and people said,\n\n\"She is a mischievous creature; he who marries her is sure to be led\nlike a bridled horse.\"\n\nThe Plover lad repeated in his own mind the same predictions; and as\nhe had always thought that he would rather hold than wear the bridle,\nhe began to laugh with more constraint at Tephany's jests.\n\nOne day, when he wanted to be off to a dance in a new threshing-floor,\nthe maiden used her utmost efforts to retain him; but D\u00e9n\u00e8s, who did\nnot choose to be led, would not listen to her reasons, and repulsed\nher entreaties.\n\n\"Ah, I see why you are so anxious to go to the new barn,\" said Tephany,\nwith irritation; \"you are going to see Azili\u00e7z of Penenru there.\"\n\nAzili\u00e7z was the handsomest girl in the whole canton; and, if her good\nfriends told truth, she was the greatest flirt.\n\n\"To tell the truth, Azili\u00e7z will be there,\" said D\u00e9n\u00e8s, who delighted\nin piquing the jealousy of his dearly-beloved; \"and to see her any\none would go a long round.\"\n\n\"Go, then, where your heart draws you,\" said the wounded damsel.\n\nAnd she returned to the farm without hearing a word more he had to say.\n\nBut seating herself, overwhelmed with sadness, on the broad\nhearth-stone, she gave herself up to earnest thought; and then flinging\nthe wondrous feather from her, she exclaimed,\n\n\"Of what use is wit and cleverness for maidens, since men rush towards\nbeauty as the flies to sunshine! Ah, what I want, old aunt, is not\nto be the wisest, but the fairest on the earth.\"\n\n\"Be thou also, then, the fairest,\" uttered an unexpected voice.\n\nTephany turned round astonished, and saw at the door the old woman\nwith her thorn-stick, who thus spoke:\n\n\"Take this necklace, and so long as you shall wear it round your neck,\nyou shall appear amongst all other women as the queen of the meadow\namidst wild flowers.\"\n\nTephany could not repress a cry of joy. She hastened to put on the\nnecklace, rushed to her little mirror, and there stood dumb with\nadmiration. Never had any girl been at once so fair and so rosy,\nso lovely to look upon.\n\nAnxious to judge instantly of the effect which her appearance would\nproduce on D\u00e9n\u00e8s, she decked herself out in her finest dress, her\nworsted stockings, and her buckled shoes, and took her way towards\nthe new barn.\n\nBut just as she reached the cross-road, she met a young lord in his\ncoach, who, the instant he caught sight of her, desired the coachman\nto stop.\n\n\"By my life,\" cried he, in admiration, \"I had no idea there was such\na beautiful creature as this in the country; and if it were to cost\nme my life, she must bear my name.\"\n\nBut Tephany replied, \"Go on, good sir, go on your way; I am but a\npoor peasant-girl, accustomed to winnow, milk, and mow.\"\n\n\"But I will make a noble lady of you,\" cried the young lord; and\ntaking her hand, he tried to lead her to his coach.\n\nThe maiden drew back.\n\n\"I will only be the bride of D\u00e9n\u00e8s, the Plover labourer,\" said she,\nwith resolution.\n\nThe lord still insisted; but when he found that she went towards\nthe ditch to fly away across the meadows, he desired his footmen to\nseize her, and put her by force into the coach, which then set off\nat full gallop.\n\nIn about an hour's time they reached the castle, which was built of\ncarved stone, and was covered with slate, like all noble mansions. The\nyoung lord ordered them to go and fetch a priest to perform the\nmarriage ceremony; and as meanwhile Tephany would not hear a word he\nhad to say, and kept trying to run away, he made them shut her up\nin a great hall closed by three doors well bolted, and desired his\nservants to guard her well. But by means of her pin Tephany sent them\nall into the garden to count cabbages; by her feather she discovered\na fourth door concealed in the panneling, whereby she escaped; and\nthen fervently committing herself to Providence, she scampered away\nthrough the woods like a hare who hears the dogs behind her.\n\nAs long as she had any strength left, on she went, until the night\nbegan to close around her. Then, perceiving the turret of a convent,\nshe went up to the little grated door, and ringing the bell, begged\nfor a night's shelter; but on seeing her the portress shook her head.\n\n\"Go away, go away,\" said she; \"there is no place here for young girls\nso beautiful as you, who wander all alone at this hour of night along\nthe roads.\"\n\nAnd closing the wicket, she went away without listening to another\nword.\n\nForced to go further on, Tephany stopped at a farm-door, where there\nwere several young men and women talking together, and made the same\nrequest as at the convent.\n\nThe mistress of the house hesitated what answer to make; but all the\nyoung men, dazzled by Tephany's beauty, cried out each one that he\nwould take her to his father's house, and every one endeavoured to\noutbid his neighbour in their offers. One said that he would take her\nin a wagon and three horses, lest she should be tired; another promised\nher the best bed; and a third declared that she should sit down at\ntable with the family. At last, from promises they came to quarrelling,\nand from quarrelling to blows; until the women, frightened, began to\nabuse Tephany, telling her it was an infamous shame to come with her\ncharms to put dissensions amongst men in that way. The poor girl,\nquite beside herself, tried to run away; but all the young men set\noff after her. Just then she all at once remembered her necklace,\nand taking it from her neck slipped it round that of a sow who was\ncropping the buttercups. In an instant the charm that drew the youths\ntowards her died away, and they began to pursue the beast instead,\nwhich fled away in terror.\n\nTephany still went on in spite of her fatigue, and came at last to her\naunt's farm, worn out with weariness, but still more with grief. Her\nwishes had brought her so little satisfaction, that she passed many\ndays without making another. However, D\u00e9n\u00e8s' visits grew more and\nmore uncertain; he had undertaken to clear a warren, and there he\ntoiled from morning until night.\n\nWhen the young girl regretted seeing so little of him, he had always\nto reply that his labour was their sole resource; and that if people\nwant to spend their time in talking together, they must needs have\nlegacies or dowries.\n\nThen Tephany began to complain and to desire.\n\n\"God pardon me,\" said she, in a low voice; \"but what I ought to ask\nfor is not liberty to see D\u00e9n\u00e8s every day, for he soon gets tired\nof it; nor wit, for it scares him; nor beauty, for it brings upon me\ntrouble and mistrust; but rather wealth, for then one can be master\nof oneself and others. Ah, if I dared to make yet one petition more\nof the old aunt, I would be wiser than I was before.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied,\" said the voice of the old beggar, though Tephany\nperceived her not. \"Feel in your right pocket, and you will find a\nlittle box; rub your eyes with the ointment it contains, and you will\nhave a treasure in yourself.\"\n\nThe young girl hastily felt in her pocket, found the box, opened\nit, and began to rub her eyes as she had been desired, when Barbaik\nBourhis entered.\n\nShe who, in spite of herself, had now for some time past consumed\nwhole days in cabbage-counting, and who saw all the farm-work fallen\ninto arrears, was only waiting an occasion for visiting her wrath upon\nsomebody. Seeing her niece sitting down doing nothing, she clasped\nher hands and cried,\n\n\"That's the way, then, that the work goes on whilst I am in the\nfields. Ah, I am surprised no longer that we are all going to ruin. Are\nyou not ashamed, you wretch, to plunder food in this way from your\nkith and kin?\"\n\nTephany would have excused herself; but Barbaik's rage was like\nmilk heating on a turf-fire--let but the first bubble rise, and all\nmounts upwards and boils over; from reproaches she came to threats,\nand from threats to a box on the ear.\n\nTephany, who had borne every thing patiently till then, could no\nlonger restrain her tears; but guess her astonishment when she\nperceived that every tear was a beautiful and shining fair round pearl.\n\nMother Bourhis, who made the same discovery, uttered loud cries of\nadmiration, and set herself to pick them up.\n\nD\u00e9n\u00e8s, who came in at that instant, was no less surprised.\n\n\"Pearls! real pearls!\" he exclaimed, catching them.\n\n\"It will make our fortune,\" said Barbaik, continuing to pick them\nup. \"Ah, what fairy has bestowed this gift upon her? We must take\ngood care lest it gets noised abroad, D\u00e9n\u00e8s; I will give you a share,\nbut only you. Go on, my girl, go on; you also shall be benefited by\nthis opportunity.\"\n\nShe held her apron, and D\u00e9n\u00e8s his hat; the pearls were all he thought\nof, forgetful they were tears.\n\nTephany, choking with emotion, would have escaped; but the old\nwoman stopped her, reproaching her with wishing to defraud them,\nand saying all she could to make her cry the more. The young girl\ncompelled herself with violent effort to control her sorrow, and to\nwipe her eyes.\n\n\"It's all over already,\" cried Barbaik. \"Ah, Blessed Virgin, can\none be so weak-minded! If I had such a gift as that, I would no more\nthink of stopping than the great fountain on the Green Road. Hadn't\nwe better beat her a little, and try again?\"\n\n\"No,\" interrupted D\u00e9n\u00e8s, \"for fear we should exhaust her the first\ntime. I will set forth this moment for the town, and there find out\nhow much each pearl is worth.\"\n\nBarbaik and he went out together, reckoning the value as nearly\nas they could, and deciding beforehand how they should divide it,\nforgetting Tephany completely in the matter.\n\nAs for her, she clasped her two hands upon her heart, and raised her\neyes towards heaven; but her look was intercepted by the aged beggar,\nwho, leaning on her staff in the duskiest corner of the hearth, was\nwatching her with mocking eye. The maiden trembled; and seizing the\npin, the feather, and the box of ointment given her by the crone,\n\n\"Take back, take back,\" she cried, \"your fatal gifts. Woe to all\nthose who cannot be content with what they have received from God! He\nhad gifted me according to His own wise appointment, and I madly\nwas dissatisfied with my portion. Give others liberty, wit, beauty,\nand wealth. For me, I neither am, nor will be, other than the simple\ngirl of former days, loving and serving her neighbours to the utmost\nof her power.\"\n\n\"Well said, Tephany,\" cried the old woman. \"Thou hast come out from\nthe trial; but let it do thee good. The Almighty has sent me to\nbestow this lesson on thee; I am thy guardian angel. Now that thou\nhast learned this truth, thou wilt live more happily; for God has\npromised peace to hearts of good will.\"\n\nWith these words the beggar changed into an angel glittering with\nlight; and shedding through the farm a scent of violets and of incense,\nvanished like a flash of lightning.\n\nTephany forgave D\u00e9n\u00e8s his willingness to make merchandise of her\ntears. Become now more reasonable, she accepted happiness as we find\nit on this earth; and she was married to the lad of Plover, who proved\nthrough all his life a good husband and a first-rate workman.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PALACE OF THE PROUD KING.\n\n\nThe children slumber sweetly in their curtained beds; the brown dog\nsnores upon the broad hearth-stone; the cows chew the cud behind their\nscreen of broom; and the fading fire-light quivers on the grandsire's\nold arm-chair.\n\nThis is the time, dear friends, when we should make the sign of\nthe cross, and murmur a prayer in secret for the souls of those\nthat we have loved. Hark! midnight is striking from St. Michael's\nchurch,--midnight of Holy Pentecost.\n\nThis is the hour when all true Christians lay down their heads upon\ntheir quiet pillows, content with that which God has given them,\nand sleep, lulled by the gentle breathing of their slumbering children.\n\nBut as for Perik Skoarn, no little children had he. He was a daring\nyoung fellow, but as yet quite solitary. When he saw the gentry from\nthe neighbourhood coming to Mass on Sundays, he envied them their\nhandsome horses with the silver-plated bridles, their velvet mantles,\nand their embroidered silken hose. He longed to be as rich as they\nwere, that he also might have a seat covered with red leather in the\nchurch, and be able to carry the fair farmers' daughters to the fair\nseated on his horse's crupper.\n\nThis is the reason Perik walked upon Lew-Dr\u00e9z, at the foot of\nSt. Efflam's down, whilst all good Christians slept upon their beds,\nwatched over by the Holy Virgin. Perik is a man hungering after\ngreatness and luxury. The longings of his heart are countless, like\nthe nests of the sea-swallows in the sandy cliffs.\n\nThe waves sighed sadly in the dark horizon; the crabs fed silently\nupon the bodies of the drowned; the wind that whistled in the rocks\nof Roch-Ellas mimicked the call-cry of the smugglers of Lew-Dr\u00e9z;\nbut Skoarn still paced the shore.\n\nHe looked upon the mountain, and recalled the words of the old beggar\nat Yar Cross. That old man knew all that had happened in these parts,\nwhen these our ancient oaks hung yet as acorns on their parent trees,\nand our oldest ravens still slumbered in the egg.\n\nNow the old beggar of Yar had told him, that here, where now stretch\nthe downs of St. Efflam, a famous city formerly extended; its ships\ncovered the wide ocean, and it was governed by a king, whose sceptre\nwas a hazel-wand that fashioned every thing according to his wish.\n\nBut the king and all his people were punished for their pride and\niniquity; for one day, by God's command, the strand rose upwards\nlike the bubbling of a boiling flood, and so engulfed the guilty\ncity. But every year, upon the night of Pentecost, a passage opens\nthrough the mountain with the first stroke of twelve o'clock, and\nshows an entrance to the monarch's palace.\n\nThe all-powerful hazel-wand may be discovered hanging in the furthest\nhall of this magnificent abode; but those who seek it must make haste,\nfor as the final stroke of midnight sounds upon the ear, the passage\ncloses once again, to open no more until the following Pentecost.\n\nSkoarn had well remembered all the tale of the old beggar at the\nCross of Yar, and for this reason he treads at such unwonted hour\nthe sands of the Lew-Dr\u00e9z.\n\nAt length a sharp stroke came dashing from the belfrey of\nSt. Michael. Skoarn trembled; he looked eagerly, by the pale starlight,\nat the granite mass which heads the mountain, and beheld it slowly\nopen, like the jaws of an awakening dragon.\n\nSkoarn rushed into the passage, which at first seemed dark, but\ngradually gleamed with a blue light, like that which hovers nightly\nover church-yard graves; and thus he found his way into a mighty\npalace, the marble front of which was sculptured like the church of\nFolgoat or of Quimper-on-the-Odet.\n\nThe first hall he entered was all full of chests heaped, like the\ncorn-bins after harvest, with the purest silver; but Perik Skoarn\nwanted more than silver, and he passed it through. The clock sounded\nthe sixth stroke of midnight.\n\nHe found a second hall, set round with coffers crammed with gold, as\nstable-racks are crammed with blossoming grass in the sweet month of\nJune. But Skoarn wanted something better still, and he went on. The\nseventh stroke sounded.\n\nThe third hall to which he came had baskets flowing over with white\npearls, like milk in the broad dairy-pans of Cornouaille in the early\nspring. Skoarn would gladly have had some of these; but he heard the\neighth stroke sounding, and he hurried on.\n\nThe fourth hall was all glittering with diamond caskets, shedding\nbrighter light than all the furzy piles upon the hillocks of Douron\non St. John's eve. Skoarn was dazzled, and hesitated for a moment;\nthen rushed into the last hall as he heard the church-clock for the\nninth time.\n\nBut there he stood still suddenly with wondering admiration. In\nfront of the hazel-wand, which hung in full sight at the further end,\nwere ranged a hundred maidens most fair to look upon; they held in\none hand wreaths of the green oak, and in the other cups of glowing\nwine. Skoarn had resisted silver, gold, pearls, and diamonds; but he\nwas overpowered by the vision of these beauteous maidens, and he stood\nstill to gaze at them, and at the sparkling cups they presented to him.\n\nThe tenth stroke sounded, and he heard it not; the eleventh, and he\nstill stood motionless. At last, just as he was about to hold out\nhis hand to receive the cup from the maiden next to him, the twelfth\nwas heard, as mournful as the great gun of a ship at wreck among\nthe breakers.\n\nThen Perik, terrified, would fain have turned, but time for him was\nover. The doors all closed, the hundred fair young girls were now so\nmany granite statues, and all was once more folded up in darkness.\n\nThis is the way our fathers tell the tale of Skoarn. You see now what\nwill happen to a youth who suffers his heart too readily to open at\nseduction's voice. May all the young take warning by his fate. It\nis well to walk sometimes with eyes cast downwards to the earth,\nfor fear we should be led into the paths of evil and sin.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PIPER.\n\n\nThe sea-breeze blew from the shore of the Black Water, and the stars\nwere rising. The young maidens had gone homewards to the little farms,\ncarrying on their fingers the metal rings their friends had bought\nthem at the fair. The youths went across the common, singing their\nsongs. At last their sonorous voices could no more be heard; the\nlight dresses of the damsels were no longer to be seen; it was night.\n\nNevertheless, here was Lao, with a merry company, at the entrance of\nthe lonely heath,--Lao, the celebrated piper, come expressly from the\nmountains to lead the dance at the fair of Armor. His face was as red\nas a March moon, his black locks floated as they would upon the wind,\nand he held under his arm the pipe whose magic sounds had even set\nin motion a number of old women in their sabots. When they came to\nthe cross-road of the Warning, where there rises the granite cross\nall overgrown with moss, the women stopped, and said,\n\n\"Let us take the pathway leading towards the sea.\"\n\nMaster Lao pointed out the belfry-tower of Plougean over the hill,\nand said,\n\n\"That is the point we are making for; why not go across the heath?\"\n\nThe women answered,\n\n\"Because there rises a city of Korigans, Lao, in the middle of that\nheath; and one must be pure from sin to pass it without danger.\"\n\nBut Lao laughed aloud.\n\n\"By heaven!\" said he, \"I have travelled by night-time all these roads,\nyet I have never seen your little black men counting their money by\nmoonlight, as they tell us at the chimney-corner. Show me the road\nleading to the Korigan city, and I will go and sing to them the days\nof the week.\" [58]\n\nBut the women all exclaimed,\n\n\"Don't tempt God, Lao. God has put some things in this world of which\nit is better to be ignorant, and others which we ought to fear. Leave\nthe Korigans alone to dance about their granite dwellings.\"\n\n\"To dance!\" cried Lao. \"Then the Korigans have pipers too?\"\n\n\"They have the whistling of the wind across the heath, and the singing\nof the night-bird.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the mountaineer, \"I am determined that to-day at\nleast they shall have Christian music. I will go across the common\nplaying some of my best Cornouaille airs.\"\n\nSo saying, he put his pipe to his lips, and striking up a cheerful\nstrain, he set off boldly on the little footway that stretched like\na white line across the gloomy heath.\n\nThe women, terrified, made the sign of the cross, and hurried down\nthe hill.\n\nBut Lao walked straight on without fear, and played meanwhile upon\nhis pipes. As he advanced, his heart grew bolder, his breath more\npowerful, and the music louder. Already had he crossed just half the\ncommon, when he saw the Menhir rising like a phantom in the night,\nand further on, the dwellings of the Korigans.\n\nThen he seemed to hear an ever-rising murmur. At first it was like\nthe trickling of a rill, then like the rushing of a river, and then\nthe roaring of the sea; and different sounds were mingled in this\nroar,--sometimes like stifled laughs, then furious hissing, the\nmutterings of low voices, and the rush of steps upon the withered\ngrass.\n\nLao began to breathe less freely, and his restless eyes glanced right\nand left over the common. It was as if the tufts of heath were moving,\nall seemed alive and whirling in the gloom, all took the form of\nhideous dwarfs, and voices were distinctly heard. Suddenly the moon\nrose, and Lao cried aloud.\n\nTo left, to right, behind, before, every where, far as the eye could\nreach, the common was alive with running Korigans. Lao, bewildered,\ndrew back to the Menhir, against which he leant; but the Korigans\nsaw him, and came round with cries like those of grasshoppers.\n\n\"It is the famous piper of Cornouaille come hither to play for the\nKorigans.\"\n\nLao made the sign of the cross; but all the little men surrounded him,\nand shrieked,\n\n\"Thou belongest to us, Lao. Pipe then, thou famous piper, and lead\nthe dance of the Korigans.\"\n\nLao in vain resisted, some magic power mastered him; he felt the pipe\napproach his lips; he played, he danced, in spite of himself. The\nKorigans surrounded him with circling bands, and every time he would\nhave paused they cried in chorus,\n\n\"Pipe, famous piper, pipe, and lead the dance of the Korigans.\"\n\nLao went on thus the whole night; but as the stars grew paler in\nthe sky, the music of his pipes waxed fainter, his feet had greater\ndifficulty in moving from the ground. At last the dawn of day spread\npalely in the east, the cocks were heard crowing in the distant farms,\nand the Korigans disappeared.\n\nThen the mountain piper sunk down breathless at the foot of the\nMenhir. The mouth-piece of his pipes fell from his shrivelled lips,\nhis arms dropped upon his knees, his head upon his breast, to rise\nno more; and voices murmured in the air,\n\n\"Sleep, famous piper! thou hast led the dance of the Korigans; thou\nshalt never lead the dance for Christians more.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE INN.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was an inn at Ponthou, known, from its\nappearance, as the White Inn. The people who kept it were both good and\nhonest. They were known to be punctual at their Easter duties, and no\none ever thought of counting money after them. It was at the White Inn\nthat travellers would stop to sleep; and horses knew the place so well,\nthat they would draw up of their own accord before the stable-door.\n\nThe headsman of the harvest [59] had brought in short gloomy days;\nand one evening, as Floc'h the landlord was standing at the White-Inn\ndoor, a traveller, evidently of importance, and mounted on a splendid\nforeign steed, reined up his horse, and lifting his hand to his hat,\nsaid courteously,\n\n\"I want a supper and a bed-chamber.\"\n\nFloc'h drew first his pipe from his mouth, and then his hat from his\nhead, and answered,\n\n\"God bless you, sir, a supper you shall have; but as to a room, we\ncannot give it you; for we have now above, six muleteers on their\nway home to Redon, who have taken all the beds of the White Inn.\"\n\nThe traveller then said,\n\n\"For God's sake, my good man, contrive for me to sleep somewhere. The\nvery dogs have a kennel, and it is not fitting that Christians be\nwithout a bed in such weather as this.\"\n\n\"Sir stranger,\" said the host remorsefully, \"I can only tell you that\nthe inn is full, and we have no place for you but the red room.\"\n\n\"Well, give me that,\" replied the stranger.\n\nBut the landlord rubbed his forehead and looked grieved; for he could\nnot let the traveller sleep in the red chamber.\n\n\"Since I have been at the White Inn,\" said he at last, \"only two men\nhave ever occupied that room; and on the morrow, black as had been\ntheir hair the night before, they rose with it snow-white.\"\n\nThe traveller looked full at the landlord.\n\n\"Then your house is haunted by the spirits from another world?\" asked\nhe.\n\n\"It is,\" faltered the landlord.\n\n\"Then God and the Blessed Virgin be merciful to me. I will sleep there;\nbut make me a fire, and warm my bed; for I am cold.\"\n\nThe landlord did as he was ordered.\n\nWhen the traveller had finished supper, he bade good night to all\nat table, and went up to the red chamber. The landlord and his wife\ntrembled, and began to pray.\n\nThe stranger having reached his room began to look about him.\n\nIt was a large flame-coloured chamber, with great shining stains\nupon the walls, that might well have been taken for the marks of\nfresh-spilt blood. At the further end there stood a four-post bed,\nsurrounded by heavy curtains. The rest of the room was empty; and the\nmournful whistling of the wind came down the chimney and the corridors,\nand sounded like the cries of souls beseeching prayers.\n\nThe traveller, kneeling down, prayed silently to God, then fearlessly\ngot into bed, and soon slept soundly.\n\nBut, lo, at the very moment when the hour of midnight sounded from\na distant church-tower, he suddenly awoke, heard the curtain-rings\nsliding on their iron poles, and beheld them open at his right hand.\n\nHe was going to get out of bed; but his feet striking against something\ncold, he recoiled in terror.\n\nThere stood before him a coffin, with four lighted candles at the\ncorners, and covered with a great black pall that glittered as\nwith tears.\n\nThe stranger turned to try the other side of his bed; but the coffin\ninstantly changed places, and barred his way out as before.\n\nFive times he made an effort to escape, and every time the bier was\nthere beneath his feet, with the candles and the funeral pall.\n\nThe traveller then knew it was a ghost, who had some boon to ask;\nand kneeling up in bed, he made the holy sign, and spoke:\n\n\"Who art thou, departed one? Speak. A Christian listens to thee.\"\n\nA voice answered from the coffin,\n\n\"I am a traveller murdered here by those who kept this inn before\nits present owner. I died unprepared, and now I suffer in Purgatory.\"\n\n\"What needs there, suffering soul, to give thee rest?\"\n\n\"I want six Masses said at the church of our Lady of Folgoat, and\nalso a pilgrimage made for my intention by some Christian to our Lady\nof Rumengol.\"\n\nNo sooner had these words been uttered than the lights went out,\nthe curtains closed, and all was silence.\n\nThe stranger spent the night in prayer.\n\nThe next morning he told the landlord every thing, and said,\n\n\"My good friend, I am M. de Rohan, of family as noble as the noblest\nnow in Brittany. I will go and make the pilgrimage to Rumengol, and I\nwill see that the six Masses shall be said. Trouble yourself no more;\nfor this suffering soul shall rest in peace.\"\n\nWithin the short space of one month the red room had lost its crimson\nhue, and become white and cheerful as the others. No sound was heard\nthere but the swallows twittering in the chimney, and nothing could\nbe seen but a fair white bed, a crucifix, and a vessel of holy water.\n\nThe traveller had kept his word.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPERONNIK THE IDIOT. [60]\n\n\nYou cannot surely have failed, some time or other, to meet by chance\nsome of those poor idiots, or innocents, whose utmost wisdom scarcely\nserves to lead them as beggars from door to door in quest of daily\nbread. One might almost fancy they were straying calves who have lost\ntheir way home. They stare all round with open eyes and mouth, as if in\nsearch of somewhat; but, alas, that they seek is not plentiful enough\nin these parts to be found upon the highways--for it is common sense.\n\nPeronnik was one of these poor idiots, to whom the charity of strangers\nhad been in place of father or of mother. He wandered ever onwards\nunconscious whither; when he was thirsty, he drank from wayside\nsprings; when hungry, he begged stale crusts from the women he saw\nstanding at their doors; and when in need of sleep, he looked out for\na heap of straw, and hollowed himself out a nest in it like a lizard.\n\nAs to any knowledge of a trade, Peronnik had, indeed, never learnt one;\nbut for all that he was skilful enough in many matters: he could go\non eating as long as you desired him to do so; he could outsleep any\none for any length of time; and he could imitate with his tongue the\nsong of larks. There is many a one now in these parts who cannot do\nso much as this.\n\nAt the time of which I am telling you (that is, many a hundred years\nago and more), the land of White-Wheat was not altogether what you see\nit nowadays. Since then many a gentleman has devoured his inheritance,\nand cut up his forests into wooden shoes. Thus the forest of Paimpont\nextended over more than twenty parishes; some say it even crossed the\nriver, and went as far as Elven. However that may be, Peronnik came one\nday to a farm built upon the border of the wood; and as the Benedicite\nbell had long since rung in his stomach, he drew near to ask for food.\n\nThe farmer's wife happened at that moment to be kneeling down on\nthe door-sill to scrape the soup-bowl with her flint-stone; [61] but\nwhen she heard the idiot's voice asking for food in the name of God,\nshe stopped and held the kettle towards him.\n\n\"Here,\" she cried, \"poor fellow, eat these scrapings, and say an\n'Our Father' for our pigs, that nothing on earth will fatten.\"\n\nPeronnik seated himself on the ground, put the kettle between his\nknees, and began to scrape it with his nails; but it was little\nenough he could succeed in finding, for all the spoons in the house\nhad already done their duty upon it. However, he licked his fingers,\nand made an audible grunt of satisfaction, as if he had never tasted\nany thing better.\n\n\"It is millet-flour,\" said he, in a low voice,--\"millet-flour moistened\nwith the black cow's milk, [62] and by the best cook in the whole\nLow Country.\"\n\nThe farmer's wife, who was going by, turned round delighted.\n\n\"Poor innocent,\" said she, \"there is little enough of it left; but\nI will add a scrap of rye-bread.\"\n\nAnd she brought the lad the first cutting of a round loaf just out\nof the oven. Peronnik bit into it like a wolf into a lamb's leg, and\ndeclared that it must have been kneaded by the baker to his lordship\nthe Bishop of Vannes.\n\nThe flattered peasant replied, that was nothing to the taste of\nit when spread with fresh-churned butter; and to prove her words,\nshe brought him some in a little covered saucer. After taking this,\nthe idiot declared that this was living butter, not to be excelled by\nbutter of the White Week itself; [63] and to give greater force to his\nwords, he poured over his crust all that the saucer contained. But the\nsatisfaction of the farmer's wife prevented her from noticing this;\nand she added to what she had already given him a lump of dripping\nleft from the Sunday soup.\n\nPeronnik praised every mouthful more and more, and swallowed every\nthing as if it had been water from a spring; for it was very long\nsince he had made so good a meal.\n\nThe farmer's wife went and came, watching him as he ate, and adding\nfrom time to time sundry scraps, which he took, making each time the\nsign of the cross.\n\nWhilst thus employed in recruiting himself, behold a knight appeared\nat the house-door, and addressing himself to the woman, asked her\nwhich was the road to Kerglas castle.\n\n\"Heavens! good gentleman,\" exclaimed the farmer's wife, \"are you\ngoing there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the warrior; \"and I have come from a land so distant\nfor this purpose, that I have been travelling night and day these\nthree months to get so far on my way.\"\n\n\"And what are you come to seek at Kerglas?\" asked the Breton woman.\n\n\"I am come in quest of the golden basin and the diamond lance.\"\n\n\"These two are, then, very valuable things?\" asked Peronnik.\n\n\"They are of more value than all the crowns on earth,\" replied the\nstranger; \"for not only will the golden basin produce instantaneously\nall the dainties and the wealth one can desire, but it suffices to\ndrink therefrom to be healed of every malady; and the dead themselves\nare raised to life by touching it with their lips. As to the diamond\nlance, it kills and overthrows all that it touches.\"\n\n\"And to whom do this diamond lance and golden basin belong?\" asked\nPeronnik, bewildered.\n\n\"To a magician called Rog\u00e9ar, who lives in the castle of Kerglas,\"\nanswered the farmer's wife. \"He is to be seen any day near the forest\npathway, riding along upon his black mare followed by a colt of three\nmonths' old; but no one dares to attack him, for he holds the fearful\nlance in his hand.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the stranger; \"but the command of God forbids him to\nmake use of it within the castle of Kerglas. So soon as he arrives\nthere, the lance and the basin are deposited at the bottom of a dark\ncave, which no key will open; therefore, it is in that place I propose\nto attack the magician.\"\n\n\"Alas, you will never succeed, my good sir,\" replied the peasant\nwoman. \"More than a hundred gentlemen have already attempted it;\nbut not one amongst them has returned.\"\n\n\"I know that, my good woman,\" answered the knight; \"but they had not\nbeen instructed as I have by the Hermit of Blavet.\"\n\n\"And what did the Hermit tell you?\" asked Peronnik.\n\n\"He warned me of all that I shall have to do,\" replied the\nstranger. \"First of all, I shall have to cross an enchanted wood,\nwherein every kind of magic will be put in force to terrify and\nbewilder me from my way. The greater number of my predecessors have\nlost themselves, and there died of cold, hunger, or fatigue.\"\n\n\"And if you succeed in crossing it?\" said the idiot.\n\n\"If I get safely through it,\" continued the gentleman, \"I shall\nmeet a Korigan armed with a fiery sword, which lays all it touches\nin ashes. This Korigan keeps watch beside an apple-tree, from which\nit is necessary that I should gather one apple.\"\n\n\"And then?\" said Peronnik.\n\n\"Then I shall discover the laughing flower, and this is guarded by\na lion whose mane is made of vipers. This flower I must also gather;\nafter which I must cross the lake of dragons to fight the black man,\nwho flings an iron bowl that ever hits its mark and returns to its\nmaster of its own accord. Then I shall enter on the valley of delights,\nwhere every thing that can tempt and stay the feet of a Christian\nwill be arrayed before me, and shall reach a river with one single\nford. There I shall meet a lady clad in sable whom I shall take upon\nmy horse's crupper, and she will tell me all that remains to be done.\"\n\nThe farmer's wife did her best to persuade the stranger that it\nwould be impossible for him to go through so many trials; but he\nreplied that women were incapable of judging in so weighty a matter;\nand after ascertaining correctly the forest entrance, he set off at\nfull gallop, and was soon lost among the trees.\n\nThe farmer's wife heaved a deep sigh, declaring that here was another\nsoul going before our Lord for judgment; then giving some more crusts\nto Peronnik, she bade him go on his way.\n\nHe was about to follow her advice, when the farmer came in from the\nfields. He had just been turning off the lad who looked after his\ncows at the wood-side, and was revolving in his mind how his place\nshould be supplied.\n\nThe sight of the idiot was to him as a ray of light; he thought he\nhad happened on the very thing he sought, and after putting a few\nquestions to Peronnik, he asked him bluntly if he would stay at the\nfarm to look after the cattle. Peronnik would have preferred having\nno one but himself to look after, for no one had a greater aptitude\nthan he for doing nothing; but the taste of the lard, the fresh butter,\nthe rye-bread, and the millet-flour hung still sweet upon his lips; so\nhe suffered himself to be tempted, and accepted the farmer's proposal.\n\nThe good man forthwith conducted him to the edge of the forest, counted\naloud all the cows, not forgetting the heifers, cut him a hazel-switch\nto drive them with, and bade him bring them safely home at set of sun.\n\nBehold Peronnik now established as a keeper of cattle, watching over\nthem to see they did no mischief, and running from the black to the\nred, and from the red to the white, to keep them from straying out\nof the appointed boundary.\n\nNow whilst he was thus running from side to side, he heard suddenly the\nsound of horse's hoofs, and saw in one of the forest-paths the giant\nRog\u00e9ar seated on his mare, followed by her three-months' colt. He\ncarried from his neck the golden basin, and in his hand the diamond\nlance, which glittered like flame. Peronnik, terrified, hid himself\nbehind a bush; the giant passed close by him and went on his way. As\nsoon as he was gone by, the idiot came out of his hiding-place, and\nlooked down in the direction he had taken, but without being able to\nsee which path he had followed.\n\nWell, armed knights came on unceasingly in quest of the castle of\nKerglas, and not one was ever seen to return. The giant, on the\ncontrary, took his airing every day as usual. The idiot, who had at\nlength grown bolder, no longer thought of concealing himself when he\npassed, but looked after him as long as he was in sight with envious\neyes; for the desire of possessing the golden basin and the diamond\nlance grew stronger every day within his heart. But these things,\nalas, were more easily desired than obtained.\n\nOne day, when Peronnik was all alone in the pasture-land as usual,\nhe saw a man with a white beard pausing at the entrance of the\nforest-path. The idiot took him for some fresh adventurer, and inquired\nif he did not seek the road to Kerglas.\n\n\"I seek it not, since I already know it,\" replied the stranger.\n\n\"You have been there, and the magician has not killed you?\" exclaimed\nthe idiot.\n\n\"Because he has nothing to fear from me,\" replied the white-bearded\nold man. \"I am called the sorcerer Bryak, and am Rog\u00e9ar's elder\nbrother. When I wish to pay him a visit I come here, and as, in spite\nof all my power, I cannot cross the enchanted wood without losing my\nway, I call the black colt to carry me.\"\n\nWith these words, he traced three circles with his finger in the\ndust, repeated in a low tone such words as demons teach to sorcerers,\nand then cried,\n\n\n   \"Colt, wild, unbroken, and with footstep free,--\n    Colt, I am here; come quick, I wait for thee.\"\n\n\nThe little horse speedily made his appearance. Bryak put him on a\nhalter, shackled his feet, and then mounting on his back, allowed\nhim to return into the forest.\n\nPeronnik said nothing of this adventure to any one; but he now\nunderstood that the first step towards visiting Kerglas was to secure\nthe colt that knew the way. Unfortunately he knew neither how to trace\nthe three circles, nor to pronounce the magic words necessary for the\ncolt to hear the summons. Some other method, therefore, must be hit\nupon for making himself master of it, and, when once it was captured,\nof gathering the apple, plucking the laughing flower, escaping the\nblack man's bowl, and of crossing the valley of delights.\n\nPeronnik thought it all over for a long time, and at last he fancied\nhimself able to succeed. Those who are strong go forth clad in their\nstrength to meet danger, and too often perish in it; but the weak\ncompass their ends sideways. Having no hope of braving the giant,\nthe idiot resolved to try craft and cunning. As to difficulties,\nhe suffered them not to scare him: he knew that medlars are hard as\nflint-stones when first gathered, and that a little straw and much\npatience softens them at length.\n\nSo he made all his preparations against the time when the giant usually\nappeared in the forest-path. First he made a halter and a horse-shackle\nof black hemp; a springe for taking woodcocks, moistening the hairs of\nit in holy water; a cloth-bag full of birdlime and lark's feathers;\na rosary, an elder-whistle, and a bit of crust rubbed with rancid\nlard. This done, he crumbled the bread given him for breakfast along\nthe pathway in which Rog\u00e9ar, his mare, and three months' colt would\nshortly pass.\n\nThey all three appeared at the usual hour, and crossed the pasture\nas on other days; but the colt, which was walking with hanging head,\nsnuffing the ground, smelt out the crumbs of bread, and stopped to eat\nthem, so that it was soon left alone out of the giant's sight. Then\nPeronnik drew gently near, threw his halter over it, fastened the\nshackle on two of its feet, jumped upon its back, and left it free\nto follow its own course, certain that the colt, which knew its way,\nwould carry him to the castle of Kerglas.\n\nAnd so it came to pass; for the young horse took unhesitatingly one of\nthe wildest paths, and went on as rapidly as the shackle would permit.\n\nPeronnik trembled like a leaf; for all the witchery of the forest\nwas at work to scare him. One moment it seemed as if a bottomless pit\nyawned suddenly before his steed; the next all the trees appeared on\nfire, and he found himself surrounded by flames; often whilst in the\nact of crossing a brook, it became as a torrent, and threatened to\ncarry him away; at other times, whilst following a little footway\nbeneath a gentle slope, he saw huge rocks on the point of rolling\ndown and crushing him to pieces.\n\nIn vain he assured himself these were but magical delusions, he felt\nhis very marrow grow cold with dread. At last he resolutely pulled\nhis hat down over his eyes, and let the colt carry him blindly onwards.\n\nThus they both came safely to a plain where all enchantment ceased,\nand Peronnik pushed up his cap and looked about him.\n\nIt was a barren spot, and gloomier than a cemetery. Here and there\nmight be seen the skeletons of gentlemen who had come in quest of\nKerglas Castle. There they lay, stretched beside their horses, and\nthe gray wolves still gnawing at their bones.\n\nAt length the idiot entered a meadow entirely overshadowed by one\nsingle apple-tree; and this was so heavily laden with fruit, that the\nbranches hung to the ground. Before this tree the Korigan kept watch,\ngrasping in his hand the fiery sword which would lay all it touched\nin ashes.\n\nAt sight of Peronnik, he uttered a cry like that of a wild bird,\nand raised his weapon; but, without betraying any emotion, the lad\nsimply touched his hat politely, and said,\n\n\"Don't disturb yourself, my little prince; I am only passing by on\nmy way to Kerglas, according to an appointment the Lord Rog\u00e9ar has\nmade with me.\"\n\n\"With you?\" replied the dwarf; \"and who, then, may you be?\"\n\n\"I am our master's new servant,\" said the idiot; \"you know, the one\nhe is expecting.\"\n\n\"I know nothing of it,\" replied the dwarf; \"and you look to me\nuncommonly like a cheat.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" returned Peronnik, \"such is by no means my profession;\nI am only a catcher and trainer of birds. But, for God's sake, don't\nkeep me now; for his lordship, the magician, is expecting me this\nvery moment; and has even lent me his own colt, as you see, that I\nmay the sooner reach the castle.\"\n\nThe Korigan saw, in fact, that Peronnik rode the magician's young\nhorse, and began to consider whether he might not really be speaking\ntruth. Besides, the idiot had so simple an air, that it was not\npossible to suspect him of inventing such a story. However, he still\nfelt mistrust; and asked what need the magician had of a bird-catcher?\n\n\"The greatest need, it seems,\" said Peronnik; \"for, according to his\naccount, all that ripens, whether seed or fruit, in the garden at\nKerglas, is just now eaten up by birds.\"\n\n\"And what can you do to hinder them?\" asked the dwarf.\n\nPeronnik showed the little snare which he had manufactured, and\ndeclared that no bird would be able to escape it.\n\n\"That is just what I will make sure of,\" said the Korigan. \"My\napple-tree is ravaged just as much by the blackbirds and thrushes. Set\nyour snare; and if you can catch them, I will let you pass.\"\n\nTo this Peronnik agreed; he fastened his colt to a bush, and going up\nto the apple-tree, fixed therein one end of the snare, calling to the\nKorigan to hold the other whilst he got the skewers ready. He did as\nthe idiot requested; and Peronnik hastily drawing the running noose,\nthe dwarf found himself caught like a bird.\n\nHe uttered a cry of rage, and struggled to get free; but the springe,\nhaving been well steeped in holy water, bade defiance to all his\nefforts.\n\nThe idiot had time enough to run to the tree, pluck an apple from it,\nand remount his colt, which continued its onward course.\n\nAnd so they came out of the plain; and behold, there lay a thicket\nbefore them, formed of the very loveliest plants. There were to be seen\nroses of every hue, Spanish brooms, rose-coloured honeysuckles, and,\ntowering above all, the mysterious laughing flower; but round about\nthe thicket stalked a lion, with a mane of vipers, rolling his eyes,\nand with his teeth grinding like a couple of new mill-stones.\n\nPeronnik stopped, and bowed over and over again; for he knew that in\nthe presence of the powerful a hat is more serviceable in the hand\nthan on the head. He wished all sorts of prosperities to the lion and\nhis family; and requested to know if he was without mistake upon the\nroad to Kerglas.\n\n\"And what are you going to do at Kerglas?\" cried the ferocious beast\nwith a terrible air.\n\n\"May it please your worship,\" replied the idiot timidly, \"I am in\nthe service of a lady who is a great friend of Lord Rog\u00e9ar, and she\nhas sent him something as a present to make a lark-pasty of.\"\n\n\"Larks!\" repeated the lion, licking his moustache; \"it is an age\nsince I have tasted them. How many have you got?\"\n\n\"This bagful, your lordship,\" replied Peronnik, showing the cloth-bag\nwhich he had stuffed with feathers and birdlime.\n\nAnd in order to verify his words, he began to counterfeit the warbling\nof larks.\n\nThis song aggravated the lion's appetite.\n\n\"Let me see,\" said he, drawing near; \"show me your birds; I should\nlike to know if they are large enough to be served up at our master's\ntable.\"\n\n\"I desire nothing so much,\" replied the idiot; \"but if I open the bag,\nI am afraid they will fly away.\"\n\n\"Half open it, just to let me peep in,\" said the greedy monster.\n\nThis desire fulfilled Peronnik's highest hopes; he offered the bag to\nthe lion, who poked in his head to seize the larks, and found himself\nsmothered in feathers and birdlime. The idiot hastily drew the strings\nof the bag tight round his neck, making the sign of the cross over\nthe knot, to keep it inviolable; then, rushing to the laughing flower,\nhe gathered it, and set off as fast as the colt could go.\n\nBut it was not long before he came to the dragons' lake, which he\nmust needs cross by swimming; and scarcely had he plunged in, when\nthey came towards him from every side to devour him.\n\nThis time Peronnik troubled not himself to pull off his hat, but\nhe began to throw out to them the beads of his rosary, as one would\nscatter black wheat to ducks; and at every bead swallowed one of the\ndragons turned over on its back and expired; so that he at length\nreached the opposite shore unharmed.\n\nThe valley guarded by the black man had now to be crossed. Peronnik\nsoon perceived him, chained by one foot to the rock, and holding\nin his hand an iron bowl, which ever returned, of its own accord,\nso soon as it had struck the appointed mark. He had six eyes, ranged\nround his head, which generally took turns in keeping watch; but at\nthis moment it so chanced that they were every one open. Peronnik,\nknowing that if seen he should be struck by the iron bowl before he\nhad the opportunity of speaking a word, resolved to creep along the\nbrushwood. And by this means, hiding himself carefully behind the\nbushes, he soon found himself within a few steps of the black man,\nwho had just sat down, and closed two of his eyes in repose. Peronnik,\nguessing that he was sleepy, began to chant in a drowsy voice the\nbeginning of the High Mass. The black man at first, taken by surprise,\nstarted, and raised his head; but, as the murmur took effect upon him,\na third eye closed. Peronnik then went on to intone the Kyrie eleison,\nin the tone of one possessed by the sleepy demon. [64] The black man\nclosed a fourth eye, and half the fifth. Peronnik then began Vespers;\nbut before he had reached the Magnificat, the black man slept soundly.\n\nThen the youth, taking the colt by the bridle, led it softly over\nmossy places; and so, passing close by the slumbering guardian,\nhe came into the valley of delights.\n\nThis was the most-to-be-dreaded place of all; for it was no\nlonger a question of avoiding positive danger, but of fleeing from\ntemptation. Peronnik called all the saints of Brittany to his aid.\n\nThe valley through which he was now passing bore every appearance of\na garden richly filled with fruits, with flowers, and with fountains;\nbut the fountains were of wines and delicious drinks, the flowers\nsang with voices as sweet as those of cherubim in Paradise, and\nthe fruits came of their own accord and offered themselves to the\nhand. Then at every turning of the path Peronnik beheld huge tables,\nspread as for a king, could scent the tempting odour of pastry drawn\nfresh from the oven, and see the valets apparently expecting him;\nwhilst further off were beautiful maidens coming to dance upon the\nturf, who called him by his name to come and lead the ball.\n\nIn vain the idiot made the sign of the cross, insensibly he slackened\nthe pace of his colt, involuntarily he raised his face to snuff up\nthe delicious odour of the smoking dishes, and to gaze more fixedly\nupon the lovely maidens; he would possibly have stopped altogether,\nand there would have been an end of him, if the recollection of the\ngolden basin and the diamond lance had not all at once crossed his\nmind. Then he instantly began to blow his elder-whistle, that he\nmight hear no more those soft appeals; to eat his bread well rubbed\nwith rancid dripping, to deaden the odour of the dainty meats; and\nto stare fixedly on his horse's ears, that the lovely dancers might\nno more attract his eyes.\n\nAnd so he came to the end of the garden quite safely, and caught sight\nat last of Kerglas Castle. But the river of which he had been told\nstill lay between it and him, and he knew that this river could only\nbe forded in one place. Happily the colt was familiar with this ford,\nand prepared to enter at the right spot.\n\nThen Peronnik looked around him in quest of the lady who was to be\nhis guide to the castle; and soon perceived her seated on a rock,\nclad in black satin, and her countenance as yellow as a Moor's.\n\nThe idiot pulled off his hat, and asked if it was her pleasure to\ncross the river.\n\n\"I expected thee for that very purpose,\" replied the lady; \"draw near,\nthat I may seat myself behind thee.\"\n\nPeronnik approached, took her on his horse's crupper, and began to\ncross the ford. He had almost reached the middle of it, when the lady\nsaid to him,\n\n\"Knowest thou who I am, poor innocent?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" replied Peronnik, \"but from your dress I clearly\nsee that you are a noble and powerful lady.\"\n\n\"As to noble, I ought to be,\" replied the lady, \"for I can trace\nback my origin to the first sin; and powerful I certainly am, for\nall nations give way before me.\"\n\n\"Then what is your name, may it please you, madam?\" asked Peronnik.\n\n\"I am called the Plague,\" replied the yellow woman.\n\nThe idiot made a spring as if he would have thrown himself from his\nhorse into the water; but the Plague said to him,\n\n\"Rest easy, poor innocent, thou hast nothing to fear from me; on the\ncontrary, I can be of service to thee.\"\n\n\"Is it possible that you will be so benevolent, Madam Plague?\" said\nPeronnik, taking his hat off, this time for good; \"by the by, I now\nremember that it is you who are to teach me how to rid myself of the\nmagician Rog\u00e9ar.\"\n\n\"The magician must die,\" said the yellow lady.\n\n\"I should like nothing better,\" replied Peronnik; \"but he is immortal.\"\n\n\"Listen, and try to understand,\" said the Plague. \"The apple-tree\nguarded by the Korigan is a slip from the tree of good and evil, set\nin the earthly Paradise by God Himself. Its fruit, like that which was\neaten by Adam and Eve, renders immortals susceptible of death. Try,\nthen, to induce the magician to taste the apple, and from that moment\nhe need only be touched by me to sink in death.\"\n\n\"I will try,\" said Peronnik; \"but even if I succeed, how can I obtain\nthe golden basin and the diamond lance, since they lie hidden in a\ngloomy cave, which cannot be opened by any key yet forged?\"\n\n\"The laughing flower will open every door,\" replied the Plague,\n\"and can illuminate the darkest night.\"\n\nAs she spoke these words they reached the further bank of the river,\nand the idiot went onwards to the castle.\n\nNow there was before the entrance-hall a huge canopy, like that which\nis carried over his lordship the Bishop of Vannes at the processions\nof the F\u00eate Dieu. Beneath this sat the giant, sheltered from the heat\nof the sun, his legs crossed, like a proprietor who has gathered in\nhis harvest, and smoking a tobacco-pipe of virgin gold. On perceiving\nthe colt, on which sat Peronnik and the lady clad in black satin,\nhe lifted up his head, and cried in a voice which roared like thunder,\n\n\"Why this idiot is mounted on my three-months' colt!\"\n\n\"The very same, O greatest of all magicians,\" replied Peronnik.\n\n\"And how did you get possession of him?\" asked Rog\u00e9ar.\n\n\"I repeated what your brother Bryak taught me,\" replied the idiot. \"On\nreaching the forest border I said,\n\n\n   'Colt, wild, unbroken, and with footstep free,--\n    Colt, I am here; come quick, I wait for thee.'\n\n\nand the little horse came at once.\"\n\n\"Then you know my brother?\" said the giant.\n\n\"As one knows his master,\" replied the youth.\n\n\"And what has he sent you here for?\"\n\n\"To bring you a present of two curiosities he has just received from\nthe country of the Moors,--this apple of delight, and the female\nslave whom you see there. If you eat the first, you will always have a\nheart as much at rest as that of a poor man who has found a purse of\na hundred crowns in his wooden shoe; and if you take the second into\nyour service, you will have nothing left you to desire in the world.\"\n\n\"Give me then the apple, and make the Moorish woman dismount,\"\nreplied Rog\u00e9ar.\n\nThe idiot obeyed; but the instant the giant had set his teeth into\nthe fruit, the yellow lady laid her hand upon him, and he fell to\nthe ground like a bullock in the slaughter-house.\n\nThen Peronnik entered the palace, holding the laughing flower in his\nhand. He traversed more than fifty halls, one after the other, and\ncame at length before the cavern with the silver door. This opened of\nits own accord before the flower, which also gave the idiot sufficient\nlight to find the golden basin and the diamond lance.\n\nBut scarcely had he seized them when the earth shook under his feet;\na terrible clap of thunder was heard; the palace disappeared; and\nPeronnik found himself once more in the midst of the forest, holding\nhis two talismans, with which he set forward instantly to the court\nof the King of Brittany.\n\nHe only delayed long enough at Vannes to buy the richest costume\nhe could find there, and the finest horse that was for sale in the\ndiocese of White-Wheat.\n\nNow when he came to Nantes, this town was besieged by the Franks, who\nhad so mercilessly ravaged the surrounding country, that there were\nscarcely more trees left than would serve a single goat for forage;\nand more than that, famine was in the city; and those soldiers died\nof hunger whose wounds had spared their lives. And on the very day\nof Peronnik's arrival, a trumpeter proclaimed aloud in every street\nthat the King of Brittany would adopt that man as his heir who could\ndeliver the city, and drive the enemy out of the country.\n\nHearing this promise, Peronnik said to the trumpeter,\n\n\"Proclaim no more, but lead me to the king; for I am able to do all\nhe asks.\"\n\n\"Thou!\" said the herald, seeing him so young and small; \"go on thy\nway, fine goldfinch; [65] the king has now no time for taking little\nbirds from cottage-roofs.\" [66]\n\nBy way of reply, Peronnik touched the soldier with his lance; and\nthat very instant he fell dead, to the infinite terror of the crowd\nwho looked on, and would have fled away; but the idiot cried,\n\n\"You have just seen what I can do against my enemies; know now what\nis in my power for my friends.\"\n\nAnd having touched with his golden basin the dead man's lips, he rose\nup instantly, restored to life.\n\nThe king being informed of this wonder, gave Peronnik command of all\nthe soldiers he had left; and as with his diamond lance the idiot\nkilled thousands of the Franks, and with his golden basin restored\nto life the Bretons who were slain, a very few days sufficed him\nfor putting an end to the enemy's army, and taking possession of all\ntheir camp contained.\n\nHe then proposed to conquer all the neighbouring countries, such as\nAnjou, Poitou, and Normandy, which cost him but very little trouble;\nand finally, when all were in obedience to the king, he declared his\nintention of setting out to deliver the Holy Land, and embarked from\nNantes in a magnificent fleet, with the first nobility of the land.\n\nOn reaching Palestine, he performed great deeds of valour, compelled\nmany Saracens to be baptised, and married a fair maiden, by whom\nhe had many sons and daughters, to each of whom he gave wealth and\nlands. Some even say that, thanks to the golden basin, he and his\nsons are living still, and reign in this land; but others maintain\nthat Rog\u00e9ar's brother, the magician Bryak, has succeeded in regaining\npossession of the two talismans, and that those who wish for them\nhave only--to seek them out.\n\n\n\nNOTE ON THE TALE OF \"PERONNIK THE IDIOT.\"\n\nIt seems almost impossible not to recognise in the story of Peronnik\nthe Idiot traces of that tradition which has given birth to one of\nthe epic romances of the Round Table. Disfigured and overlaid with\nmodern details as is the Breton version, the primitive idea of the\nQuest of the Holy Graal may still be found there pure and entire.\n\nSome explanation must be given of this. So early as the sixth century,\nthe Gallic bards speak of a magic vase which bestows a knowledge of\nthe future, and universal science, on its owner; in later times a\npopular fable tells of a golden vase possessed by Bran the Blessed,\nwhich healed all wounds, and even restored the dead to life. Other\ntales are told of a basin in which every desired delicacy instantly\nappeared. In time all these fictions become fused, and the several\nproperties of these different vases are found united in one; the\npossession of which is of course naturally sought after by all great\nadventurers.\n\nThere is still extant a Gallic poem, composed in the beginning of the\ntwelfth century, of which the whole burden is this quest. The hero,\nnamed Per\u00e9dur, goes to war with giants, lions, serpents, sea-monsters,\nsorcerers, and finally becomes conqueror of the basin and the lance,\nwhich is here added to the primitive tradition.\n\nNow there can be no doubt that this Gallic legend, which found its\nway throughout Europe, as is proved by the attempts at imitation\nwhich have been made in every language, must have been known in\nBrittany above all, united as it is to Gaul by a common origin and\nlanguage. It must have become popular in the very form it wore when\ntaught by the bards to the Armoricans.\n\nBut besides the successive alterations which are the speedy result\nof oral transmission, French imitations by degrees incorporated\nthemselves with all the primitive versions. M. de la Villemarqu\u00e9\nhas in fact observed, in his learned work on the Popular Tales of\nthe Ancient Bretons, that when the Gallic legends were developed by\nthe French poets, they appeared so beautified in their new costume,\nthat the Gauls themselves abandoned the originals in favour of the\nimitations. Now that which is true of them is equally so of the\nArmoricans; and it seems to us beyond a doubt that the tradition of\nPer\u00e9dur, which they had originally received, must have been seriously\nmodified by the later poem of Christian of Troyes.\n\nIn order to elucidate our idea, we will give a hasty analysis of this\npoem, which is little known, being only extant in manuscript. [67]\n\nPerceval, the last remaining son of a poor widow, whom the miseries\nof war had left destitute, is simple, ignorant, and boorish. His\nmother carefully conceals from his sight every thing that might\nturn his attention to the idea of war; but one day the lad meets\nKing Arthur's knights, learns the secret so long hidden from him,\nand, his mind filled with nothing now but tournaments and battles,\nabandons his maternal roof and sets off for Arthur's court. On the\nway he sees a pavilion, which, taking in his simplicity for a church,\nhe enters. There he eats two roebuck pasties, and drinks a large\nflagon of wine; after which he goes once more upon his way, and soon\narrives at Cardeuil, ill-clad, ill-armed, and ill-mounted. He finds\nArthur buried in profound meditation, a treacherous knight having just\ncarried off his golden cup, defying any warrior to take it from him\nagain. Perceval accepts the challenge, pursues the thief, kills him,\nrecovers the cup, and seizes on the slain knight's armour. He is at\nlength admitted into the order of chivalry.\n\nBut the recollection of his mother haunts him every where. What is he\nin quest of? He himself knows not; he wanders at random and without\na purpose wherever his wild courser carries him. Thus one day he\nreaches a castle, and enters. A sick old man reposes there upon a bed;\na servant appears with a lance from which flows one drop of blood, and\nthen a damsel bearing a graal, or basin, of pure gold. Perceval longs\nto know the meaning of what he sees, but dares not ask. The following\nday, on leaving the castle, he is informed that the sick old man is\ncalled the fisher-king, and that he has been wounded in the thigh;\nPerceval is at the same time reproached for not having questioned him.\n\nHe continues onwards, meeting by chance Arthur, whom he follows to\ncourt; but the day after his arrival a lady clad in black appears to\nhim, and warmly blames him for being the cause of the fisher-king's\nsufferings.\n\n\"His wound,\" said she, \"has become incurable, because thou didst not\nquestion him.\"\n\nThe knight, wishing to repair his fault, seeks in vain to find once\nmore the king's palace; he is repulsed as by an invisible hand,\nuntil the moment when he resolves to go and find a saintly hermit,\nto whom he makes his confession. The priest shows him that all his\nerrors are owing to his ingratitude towards his mother, and that\nsin held his tongue in bondage when he ought to have inquired the\nmeaning of the graal; he imposes a penance on him, gives him advice,\nreveals to him a mysterious prayer containing certain terrible words,\nwhich he forbids him from making known; and then Perceval, absolved\nfrom his sins, fasts, adores the Cross, hears Mass, receives Holy\nCommunion, and returns to a new life.\n\nHe now sets forth in quest of the graal, and meets with a thousand\nobstacles. A woman, whom he has loved, White-Flower, appears, and\nendeavours to detain him; but he escapes from her. He fastens his\nhorse to the golden ring of a pillar rising on a mountain called the\nMount of Misery, arrives at length at the castle for which he sought,\nand this time fails not to inquire into the history of the lance\nand the graal. He is told that the lance is that with which Longus\npierced the side of Christ, and that the graal is the basin in which\nJoseph of Arimathea received His divine blood. This has come down\nby inheritance to the fisher-king, who is descended from Joseph, and\nis Perceval's uncle. It procures all good things, both spiritual and\ntemporal, heals all wounds, and even restores life to the dead, besides\nbecoming filled with the most delicious dainties at its owner's desire.\n\nAfter the lance and the graal, they bring out a broken sword;\nthe fisher-king presents it to his nephew, begging him to reunite\nthe fragments; in which he succeeds. The king then tells him that,\naccording to prophecies, the bravest and most pious knight in the\nwhole world was to perform this act; that he himself had attempted\nto weld the pieces together, but had been chastised for his rashness\nby receiving a wound in the thigh. \"I shall be healed,\" he added, \"on\nthe same day that sees the knight Pertiniax perish,--that treacherous\nknight who broke this wonderful sword in slaying my brother.\"\n\nPerceval kills Pertiniax, thanks to the aid of the holy graal, cuts\noff his head, and brings it to the fisher-king, who gets well, and\nabdicates in favour of his nephew.\n\n\n\nThe points of accordance between this poem and the Breton story are\nnot very difficult to trace. In the two recitals we hear of the\nconquest of a basin and a lance, the possession of which ensures\ncorresponding advantages; the heroes both of the French and Armorican\nversion are subjected to dangers and temptations, and success assures\nto them alike--a crown. Some points of resemblance may even perhaps\nbe discovered between the idiot Peronnik, going ever onwards he knows\nnot whither, and extracting from the farmer's wife his rye-bread,\nhis fresh-churned butter, and his Sunday dripping; and this Perceval,\nsimple, ignorant, boorish, who begins by eating two roebuck pasties,\nand drinking a great flagon of wine.\n\nCertainly the different details, and the trials imposed on Peronnik,\nare not in general much like the probation to which Perceval was\nsubjected; but, on the other hand, they closely resemble those to which\nPer\u00e9dur, the hero of the Gallic tradition, was exposed. It would seem,\ntherefore, that this Armorican story has drunk successively from the\ntwo fountains of French and Breton legendary lore. Born of the Gallic\ntradition, modified by the French version, and finally accommodated\nto the popular genius of our province, it has become such as we have\nit at this day.\n\nPeronnik the idiot seems, moreover, to us worthy of being studied\nby those who seek, above all else in tradition, for traces of the\npopular genius. Idiotism, amongst all tribes of Celtic race, was never\nlooked on as a degradation, but rather as a peculiar condition wherein\nindividuals could attain to certain perceptions unknown to the vulgar;\nand the Celts were led to imagine that they had an acquaintance with\nthe invisible world not permitted to other men. Thus the words of the\nidiot were looked on as prophetic; a hidden meaning was sought for in\nhis acts; he was, in fact, considered, in the energetic language of an\nold poet, as having his feet in this world, and his eyes in the other.\n\nBrittany has preserved in part this ancient reverence for persons of\nweak mind. It is by no means unusual in the farms of L\u00e9on to see some\nof these unfortunates, clad, whatever may be their age, in a long dress\nwith bone buttons, and holding a white wand in their hands. They are\ntenderly cared for, and only spoken of under the endearing title of\ndear innocents, unless in their absence, when they are called diskyant,\nthat is to say, without knowledge. They stay at home with the women\nand little children; they are never called upon to perform any labour;\nand when they die, they are wept over by their relations.\n\nI remember meeting with one of these idiots one day, in the\nneighbourhood of Morlaix; he was seated before a farm-house door,\nand his sister, a young girl, was feeding him. Her caressing kindness\nstruck me.\n\n\"Then you are very fond of this poor innocent?\" I asked, in Breton.\n\n\"It is God who gave him to us,\" she replied.\n\nWords full of meaning, which hold the key to all this pious tenderness\nfor creatures useless in themselves, but precious for His sake by\nwhom they were confided to our care.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] Limestra, mantle of some special material, which is highly valued\nby the Bretons.\n\n[2] Aiguilles ail\u00e9es. The fly commonly called demoiselle in French,\nin Brittany is nadoz-a\u00ebr; literally, \"needle of the air.\"\n\n[3] A proverbial expression in Brittany to designate folly and\nimpertinence.\n\n[4] The song of the Korigans runs thus: Di-lun, di-meurs,\ndi-merc'her. The conclusion of this tale will explain the reason of\ntheir keeping only to these first three days.\n\n[5] Cry of encouragement amongst the Bretons. In the same sense they\nuse also the word hardi! but the Celtic origin of this last word\nseems rather doubtful.\n\n[6] Mettre en foire. Breton expression, signifying a sale at the\nhouse of a debtor.\n\n[7] Breton expression, derived from an old custom of parading all\ninsolvents about the parish with a girdle of straw.\n\n[8] Equivalent to the French proverb, \"One must not sell the bear-skin\ntill the bear is killed.\"\n\n[9] In many farms there is a small threshing-floor reserved especially\nfor black wheat.\n\n[10] This is the exact distance at which the Bretons define Hell\nto lie.\n\n[11] Good or bad, these etymologies of Ah\u00e8z and Par-is are accepted\nby the Bretons. The last word is even treasured in a proverb,\n\n\n   \"Since the town of Is was drowned,\n    The like of Paris is not found.\"\n\n\n[12] See the Korigans of Plauden, p. 31.\n\n[13] This legend still finds credence. The spot is shown, not far\nfrom Carhaix, whence Grallon's daughter caused her lovers' bodies to\nbe thrown; and some antiquaries are also of opinion that Dahut often\nvisited this town, which has received from her its name of Ker-Ah\u00e8z\n(town of Ah\u00e8z); at any rate, the old paved road which leads from the\nBay of Douarn\u00e9n\u00e8z to Carhaix proves beyond a doubt that there was\nfrequent intercourse between Keris and this city.\n\n[14] All that follows is more properly ascribed to St. Corentin's\ndisciple Gwenol\u00e9.\n\n[15] The peasantry still show the marks.\n\n[16] There appears to exist incontestable evidence of a city named\nIs lying buried beneath the Bay of Douarn\u00e9n\u00e8z; and the relics which\nhave been discovered from time to time prove beyond all doubt that\nart had been brought to very high perfection in those early times. It\nwas supposed to date about the fourth century.\n\n[17] The pigs in Brittany are called, no one knows why, mab-rohan,\nsons of Rohan.\n\n[18] Easter Sunday. So called because blessed laurel is distributed\nat church upon this day.\n\n[19] Gobelinn. None other than the loup-garou, or were-wolf.\n\n[20] 'Rozennik' is the diminutive of Rosenn; so 'Guilcherik,'\n\"Korils of Plauden,\" p. 43.\n\n[21] Literally 'will-o'-the-wisp.'\n\n[22] A number of petticoats is considered a mark of great elegance\namongst the Breton peasant-girls around Morlaix.\n\n[23] A proverbial expression, denoting some suspicion that people have\nbeen acquiring wealth somewhat unfairly. There is an old tradition\namong the country people, that if you take a black hen to some\ncross-road, and there use certain incantations, you can summon the\ndevil, who will pay you handsomely for your hen.\n\n[24] Heubeul-Pontr\u00e9au, a Breton form of reproach to young rustics of\nill address.\n\n[25] All European nations have admitted two races of dwarfs, the one\nmischievous and impious, the other benevolent to man. The first is\nrepresented in Brittany by the Korigans, the second by the Teuz. The\nTeuz is just the same as the elf or fairy of the Scotch and Irish,\naiding the labourers in their toil, and resembles the mountain spirit\nof Germany.\n\n[26] In Brittany they reckon by reals; the Breton real is not worth\none franc eight centimes, as in Spain, but only twenty-five centimes.\n\n[27] Miz-du, Breton name of November.\n\n[28] A name given to All Saints.\n\n[29] L'Ankou, literally, \"the agony;\" a name generally given to the\nspectre of death.\n\n[30] M. de Ker-Gwen. A joke on the paleness of death; gwen signifying\nwhite.\n\n[31] The allusion is to a proverbial Breton verse, in which the\ninhabitants of the four dioceses are facetiously characterised as\nthievish, false, stupid, and brutal.\n\n[32] Douez signifies in Breton the moat of a fortified town; but as\nthese moats were formerly full of water, and served the purposes of\nthe washerwomen, the name douez has gradually been appropriated to\nthe washing-places.\n\n[33] Spern-gwenn (\"l'\u00e9pine blanche\"), to this day a family name\nin Brittany.\n\n[34] All the Breton shepherds make these crosses with twigs of furze,\non the thorns of which they stick daisies and broom-blossoms; whole\nrows of these flowery crosses may often be seen along the ditches.\n\n[35] Shend, 'subdue.'\n\n[36] This form of exorcism is supposed to originate in a story related\nof St. Herv\u00e9. A wolf having devoured an ass belonging to his uncle,\nthe saint compelled the savage beast to dwell peaceably thenceforward\nin the same shed with the sheep, and to perform all the duties of the\ndefunct ass. A similar story is told of St. Malo, another Breton saint.\n\n[37] The legend of the gold-herb (which must be gathered, according\nto common credence, barefooted, en chemise, without the aid of any\niron tool, and whilst one is in a state of grace) comes evidently\nfrom the Druids. It is the selage of the ancients, spoken of by Pliny\n(lib. xiv.), and is said by the Bretons to glitter like gold before\nthe eyes of those who at the moment may fulfil the conditions for\nperceiving it, and who, by touching it with the foot, are instantly\nenabled to understand the language of all animals, and to converse\nwith them.\n\n[38] The tradition of the redbreast, who broke a thorn from the crown\nof our Lord, is current throughout Brittany.\n\n[39] Mor Vyoc'h signifies Sea-cow.\n\n[40] The Breton peasants believe that the fountain of Languengar has\nthe property of promoting the flow of milk in those nurses who drink\nof it.\n\n[41] In Brittany, as in England, it takes nine tailors to make a man.\n\n[42] This form of taking possession is extremely ancient. In all the\nlegislative systems of \"the ancient world\" transfer of landed property\nwas effected by symbolical tradition; that is, by the handing over\nto the new owner of some visible and palpable portion or symbol of\nthe land itself. At Rome, the sale of a field takes place standing\non a turf cut from the field itself, which is handed over to the\npurchaser as a symbol of his new possession. In an old deed of 828\noccurs the following: \"I make over the underwritten goods and lands to\nthe Church of St. Mary. And I make legal cession by straw and knife,\nglove and turf, and branch of tree; and so I put myself out, expel,\nand make myself absent.\"--D. Calmet, Histoire de Lorraine, Preuves,\np. 524. And as Brittany is the very chosen home of old customs, it\nhas happened that even quite lately, at a farm near L\u00e9on, all these\nforms of taking possession were gone through, not as having any legal\nefficacy, but in compliance with ancient usage.\n\n[43] The vervain.\n\n[44] Marc'h-Mor, literally, Sea-horse.\n\n[45] The Breton name for Vannes, Gwen-ed, signifies literally White\nWheat.\n\n[46] This form of declaring war, preserved by tradition, is curious,\nand, as far as we know, peculiar to Brittany. Amongst the ancient\nRomans they cast upon the enemy's territory a javelin scorched\nat the fire; in the middle ages the iron gauntlet was thrown, or\nthe finger was gnawed; the savages of North America sent, like the\nScythians, bundles of arrows, the number of which indicated that of\nthe combatants; but burning straw flung upon the enemy's land is a\npeculiar symbol, which we have never noticed elsewhere.\n\n[47] The Breton name of St. Gildas.\n\n[48] This custom still exists in Brittany.\n\n[49] The name Groac'h, or Grac'h, means literally old woman; and\nwas given to the Druidesses, who had established themselves in an\nisland off the south-west coast of Brittany, called thence the isle\nof Groac'h; by corruption Groais, or Groix. But the word gradually\nlost its original meaning of old woman, and came to signify a woman\nendowed with power over the elements, and dwelling amongst the\nwaves, as did the island Druidesses; in fact, a sort of water-fay,\nbut of a malevolent nature, like all the Breton fairies. Such of\nour readers as are not acquainted with La Motte Fouqu\u00e9's beautiful\ntale of Undine, may require to be reminded that the sprites, sylphs,\ngnomes, and fairies of the popular mythologies are not necessarily,\nperhaps not even generally, exempt from mortality.\n\n[50] A cluster of islets off the southern coast of Brittany, near the\nheadland of Penmarc'h. The name signifies literally summer-land. One\nof them is called the isle of Lok, or Lock, and contains a fish-pool,\nfrom which it seems to derive its name.\n\n[51] A dwarfish sprite.\n\n[52] Young Breton girls thus address old women from a motive of\nrespect.\n\n[53] Chanteuse de v\u00e9rit\u00e9 (Dion gan\u00e9rez), literally qui chante droit,\na name given in Brittany to fairies who foretell the future.\n\n[54] These are different kinds of cabbages cultivated in Brittany.\n\n[55] A name given by the Bretons to the tricksy sprite Maistr Yan.\n\n[56] The ribbon covered with lace worn by Breton peasant-girls in\ntheir hair.\n\n[57] Negotiators for a wedding, who improvise disputations in verse,\nlike Virgil's shepherds.\n\n[58] See tale at p. 31.\n\n[59] Dibenn-eost, a name given to autumn in Brittany.\n\n[60] This word idiot must not lead to misconception; the idiot of\npopular tales is the personification of cunning weakness triumphing\nover strength. Idiotism, in the traditions of Christian nations,\nplays the same part as physical ugliness in those of the ancients. The\nlatter take the hunchback \u00c6sop to accomplish extraordinary actions;\nthe former Peronnik, or some other lad of weak mind, in order that\nthe contrast between the hero and the action may be more striking,\nand the result more unexpected.\n\nWe refer the reader to the note which follows this story for the more\nparticular examination which it seems to deserve.\n\n[61] On the sea-coast they scrape away the burnt part left in the\nporridge-kettles with a mussel-shell; in the interior they use for\nthe same purpose a sharp stone, commonly a gun-flint.\n\n[62] The milk of the black cow is considered in Brittany to be at\nonce the daintiest and the most wholesome.\n\n[63] The Bretons attribute to the butter of the White Week and of\nthe Rogation weeks a special delicacy, and even medicinal properties,\non account of the excellence of the pastures at this season.\n\n[64] The Bretons believe in a special demon for sending one to sleep\nin church, and call him ar c'houskezik, from the verb kouska, which\nsignifies to sleep.\n\n[65] Koanta pabaour, a common form of mockery in Brittany.\n\n[66] A proverbial expression, meaning that one has no time to lose.\n\n[67] The Searcher for the Basin,--Myvyrian, t. i. p. 8. The poem\nof Perceval, or the Quest for the Holy Graal, is to be found in the\nRoyal Library of Paris, Mss. No. 7523, et supp. franc. 450. We give\nM. de la Villemarqu\u00e9's analysis, contenting ourselves with abridging\nhis labours.","title":"Breton Legends: Translated from the French","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":47367}