I
ONCE upon a time there lived in Brittany a noble lord, who was called
the Baron Kerver. His manor house was the most beautiful in the
province. It was a great Gothic castle, with a groined roof and walls,
covered with carving, that looked at a distance like a vine climbing
over an arbor. On the first floor six stained glass balcony windows
looked out on each side toward the rising and the setting sun. In the
morning when the Baron, mounted on his dun mare, went forth into the
forest, followed by his tall greyhounds, he saw at each window one of
his daughters, with prayer book in hand, praying for the house of
Kerver, and who, with their fair curls, blue eyes, and clasped hands,
might have been taken for six madonnas in an azure niche. At evening
when the sun declined and the Baron returned homeward, after riding
round his domains, he perceived from afar, in the windows looking toward
the west, six sons, with dark locks and eagle gaze, the hope and pride
of the family, who might have been taken for six sculptured knights at
the portal of a church. For ten leagues round all who wished to quote a
happy father and a powerful lord named the Baron Kerver.
The castle had but twelve windows, and the Baron had thirteen children.
The last, the one that had no place, was a handsome boy of sixteen by
the name of Yvon. As usual, he was the best beloved. In the morning at
his departure, and at evening on his return, the Baron always found Yvon
waiting on the threshold to embrace him. With his fair hair falling to
his waist, his graceful figure, his willful air, and his bold bearing,
Yvon was beloved by all the Bretons. At twelve years of age he had
bravely attacked and killed a wolf with an ax, which had won him the
name of _Fearless_. He deserved the title, for never was there a bolder
heart.
One day, when the Baron had stayed at home, and was amusing himself by
breaking a lance with his squire, Yvon entered the armory in a traveling
dress, and, bending one knee to the ground:
"My lord and father," said he to the Baron, "I come to ask your
blessing. The house of Kerver is rich in knights, and has no need of a
child; it is time for me to go to seek my fortune. I wish to go to
distant countries to try my strength, and to make myself a name."
"You are right, Fearless," replied the Baron, more moved than he wished
to appear. "I will not keep you back; I have no right to do so; but you
are very young, my child; perhaps it would be better for you to stay
another year with us."
"I am sixteen, my father; at that age you had already fought one of the
proudest lords of the country. I have not forgotten that our arms are a
unicorn ripping up a lion, and our motto, "Onward!" I do not wish the
Kervers to blush for their last child."
Yvon received his father's blessing, shook hands with his brothers,
embraced his sisters, bade adieu to all the weeping vassals, and set out
with a light heart.
Nothing stopped him on his way. A river appeared, he swam it; a
mountain, he climbed it; a forest, he made his way through it with the
sun for a guide. "_On--the Kerver!_" he cried, whenever he met with an
obstacle, and went straight forward in spite of everything.
For three years he had been roaming over the world in search of
adventures, sometimes conquering, sometimes conquered, always bold and
gay, when he received an offer to go to fight the heathen of Norway. To
kill unbelievers and to conquer a kingdom was a double pleasure. Yvon
enlisted twelve brave comrades, freighted a ship, and hoisted from the
mainmast a blue standard, with the unicorn and motto of the Kervers.
The sea was calm, the wind fair, and the night serene. Yvon, stretched
on the deck, watched the stars, and sought the one which cast its
trembling light on his father's castle. All at once the vessel struck
upon a rock; a terrible crash was heard; the sails fell like tinder; and
an enormous wave burst over the deck, and swept away everything upon it.
"_On--the Kerver!_" cried Yvon, as soon as his head appeared above the
water; and he began to swim as tranquilly as if he had been bathing in
the lake of the old castle. Happily the moon was rising. Yvon saw, at a
little distance, a black speck among the silvery waves--it was land. He
approached it, not without difficulty, and finally succeeded in gaining
a foothold. Dripping wet, exhausted with fatigue, and out of breath, he
dragged himself on the sand; then, without more anxiety, said his
prayers, and went to sleep.