I have entitled this chapter 'World-Tales' to indicate that the
stories it contains are in plot or _motif_ if not in substance common
to the whole world--that, in short, although they are found in
Brittany, they are no more Breton than Italian, Russian, American, or
Australian. But although the story which tells of the search for the
golden-haired princess on the magic horse is the possession of no one
particular race, the tales recounted here have the Breton colouring
and the Breton spirit, and in perusing them we encounter numerous
little allusions to Breton customs or manners and obtain not a few
sidelights upon the Breton character, its shrewdness and its goodwill,
while we may note as well the narrowness of view and meanness so
characteristic of peoples who have been isolated for a long period
from contact with other races.
The first two of these tales are striking ones built upon two
world-_motifs_--those of the magic horse and the search for the
golden-haired princess, who is, of course, the sun, two themes which
have been amalgamated in not a few deathless stories.
_The Youth who did not Know_
One day the Marquis of Coat-Squiriou was returning from Morlaix, when
he beheld lying on the road a little fellow of four or five years of
age. He leapt from his horse, picked the child up, and asked him what
he did there.
"I do not know," replied the little boy.
"Who is your father?" asked the Marquis.
"I do not know," said the child for the second time.
"And your mother?" asked the kindly nobleman.
"I do not know."
"Where are you now, my child?"
"I do not know."
"Then what is your name?"
"I do not know."
The Marquis told his serving-man to place the child on the crupper of
his horse, as he had taken a fancy to him and would adopt him. He
called him N'Oun Doare, which signifies in Breton, 'I do not know.' He
educated him, and when his schooling was finished took him to Morlaix,
where they put up at the best inn in the town. The Marquis could not
help admiring his adopted son, who had now grown into a tall, handsome
youth, and so pleased was he with him that he desired to signify his
approval by making him a little present, which he resolved should take
the form of a sword. So they went out into the town and visited the
armourers' shops in search of a suitable weapon. They saw swords of
all kinds, but N'Oun Doare would have none of them, until at last they
passed the booth of a seller of scrap-metal, where hung a rusty old
rapier which seemed fit for nothing.
"Ha!" cried N'Oun Doare, "that is the sword for me. Please buy it, I
beg of you."
"Why, don't you see what a condition it is in?" said the Marquis. "It
is not a fit weapon for a gentleman."
"Nevertheless it is the only sword I wish for," said N'Oun Doare.
"Well, well, you are a strange fellow," said the Marquis, but he
bought the sword nevertheless, and they returned to Coat-Squiriou. The
next day N'Oun Doare examined his sword and discovered that the blade
had the words "I am invincible" engraved upon it.
Some time afterward the Marquis said to him: "It is time that you had
a horse. Come with me to Morlaix and we will purchase one." They
accordingly set out for Morlaix. In the market-place they saw many
fine animals, but with none of them was N'Oun Doare content. On
returning to the inn, however, he espied what looked like a
broken-down mare standing by the roadside, and to this sorry beast he
immediately drew the attention of the Marquis.
"That is the horse for me!" he cried. "I beg of you, purchase it for
me."
"What!" cried the Marquis, "that broken-down beast? Why, only look at
it, my son." But N'Oun Doare persisted, and at last, despite his own
better judgment, the Marquis bought the animal. The man who sold it
was a cunning-looking fellow from Cornouaille, who, as he put the
bridle into N'Oun Doare's hand, whispered:
"You see the knots on the halter of this animal?"
"Yes," replied N'Oun Doare; "what of them?"
"Only this, that each time you loosen one the mare will immediately
carry you five hundred leagues from where you are."
The Marquis and his ward returned once more to the château, N'Oun
Doare riding his new purchase, when it entered into his head to untie
one of the knots on the halter. He did so, and immediately descended
in the middle of Paris--which we must take the story-teller's word for
it is five hundred leagues from Brittany!
Several months afterward the Marquis had occasion to go to Paris, and
one of the first people he met there was N'Oun Doare, who told him of
his adventure. The Marquis was going to visit the King, and took his
_protégé_ along with him to the palace, where he was well received.
Some nights afterward the youth was walking with his old mare outside
the walls of Paris, and noticed something which glittered very
brightly at the foot of an ancient stone cross which stood where four
roads met. He approached it and beheld a crown of gold, set with the
most brilliant precious stones. He at once picked it up, when the old
mare, turning its head, said to him: "Take care; you will repent
this."
Greatly surprised, N'Oun Doare thought that he had better replace the
crown, but a longing to possess it overcame him, and although the mare
warned him once more he finally resolved to take it, and, putting it
under his mantle, rode away.
Now the King had confided to his care part of the royal stables, and
when N'Oun Doare entered them their darkness was immediately lit up by
the radiance of the crown which he carried. So well had the Breton lad
attended to the horses under his charge that the other squires had
become jealous, and, observing the strange light in N'Oun Doare's part
of the stable, they mentioned it to the King, who in turn spoke of it
to the Marquis of Coat-Squiriou. The Marquis asked N'Oun Doare the
meaning of the light, and the youth replied that it came from the
ancient sword they had bought at Morlaix, which was an enchanted
weapon and shone at intervals with strange brilliance. But one night
his enemies resolved to examine into the matter more closely, and,
looking through the keyhole of the stable, they saw that the wondrous
light which had so puzzled them shone from a magnificent crown of
gold. They ran at once to tell the King, and next night N'Oun Doare's
stable was opened with a master-key and the crown removed to the
King's quarters. It was then seen that an inscription was engraved
upon the diadem, but in such strange characters that no one could read
it. The magicians of the capital were called into consultation, but
none of them could decipher the writing. At last a little boy of seven
years of age was found who said that it was the crown of the Princess
Golden Bell. The King then called upon N'Oun Doare to approach, and
said to him:
"You should not have hidden this thing from me, but as you are guilty
of having done so I doom you to find the Princess Golden Bell, whom I
desire shall become my wife. If you fail I shall put you to death."
N'Oun Doare left the royal presence in a very perturbed state of mind.
He went to seek his old mare with tears in his eyes.
"I know," said the mare, "the cause of your sorrow. You should have
left the golden crown alone, as I told you. But do not repine; go to
the King and ask him for money for your journey."
The lad received the money from the King, and set out on his journey.
Arriving at the seashore, one of the first objects he beheld was a
little fish cast up by the waves on the beach and almost at its last
gasp.
"Throw that fish back into the water," said the mare. N'Oun Doare did
so, and the fish, lifting its head from the water, said:
"You have saved my life, N'Oun Doare. I am the King of the Fishes, and
if ever you require my help call my name by the seashore and I will
come." With these words the Fish-King vanished beneath the water.
A little later they came upon a bird struggling vainly to escape from
a net in which it was caught.
"Cut the net and set that poor bird free," said the wise mare.
Upon N'Oun Doare doing so the bird paused before it flew away and
said:
"I am the King of the Birds, N'Oun Doare. I will never forget the
service you have rendered me, and if ever you are in trouble and need
my aid you have only to call me and I shall fly swiftly to help you."
As they went on their way N'Oun Doare's wonderful mare crossed
mountains, forests, vast seas, and streams with a swiftness and ease
that was amazing. Soon they beheld the walls of the Château of the
Golden Bell rising before them, and as they drew near they could hear
a most confused and terrible noise coming from it, which shook N'Oun
Doare's courage and made him rather fearful of entering it. Near the
door a being of the most curious aspect was hung to a tree by a chain,
and this peculiar individual had as many horns on his body as there
are days in the year.
"Cut that unfortunate man down," said the mare. "Will you not give him
his freedom?"
"I am too much afraid to approach him," said N'Oun Doare, alarmed at
the man's appearance.
"Do not fear," said the sagacious animal; "he will not harm you in any
manner."
N'Oun Doare did so, and the stranger thanked him most gratefully,
bidding him, as the others whom he had rescued had done, if he ever
required help to call upon Grifescorne, King of the Demons, for that
was his name, and he would be with him immediately.
"Enter the château boldly and without fear," said the mare, "and I
will await you in the wood yonder. After the Princess Golden Bell has
welcomed you she will show you all the curiosities and marvels of her
dwelling. Tell her you have a horse without an equal, which can dance
most beautifully the dances of every land. Say that your steed will
perform them for her diversion if she will come and behold it in the
forest."
Everything fell out as the mare had said, and the Princess was
delighted and amused by the mare's dancing.
"If you were to mount her," said N'Oun Doare, "I vow she would dance
even more wonderfully than before!"
The Princess after a moment's hesitation did so. In an instant the
adventurous youth was by her side, and the horse sped through the air,
so that in a short space they found themselves flying over the sea.
"You have tricked me!" cried the infuriated damsel. "But do not
imagine that you are at the end of your troubles; and," she added
viciously, "you will have cause to lament more than once ere I wed the
old King of France."
They arrived promptly at Paris, where N'Oun Doare presented the lovely
Princess to the monarch, saying:
"Sire, I have brought to you the Princess Golden Bell, whom you desire
to make your wife."
[Illustration: N'OUN DOARE AND THE PRINCESS GOLDEN BELL]
The King was dazed by the wondrous beauty of the Princess, and was
eager for the marriage to take place immediately, but this the royal
maiden would not hear of, and declared petulantly that she would not
be wed until she had a ring which she had left behind her at her
château, in a cabinet of which she had lost the key.
Summoning N'Oun Doare, the King charged him with the task of finding
the ring. The unfortunate youth returned to his wise mare, feeling
much cast down.
"Why," said the mare, "foolish one! do you not remember the King of
the Birds whom you rescued? Call upon him, and mayhap he will aid you
as he promised to do."
With a return of hope N'Oun Doare did as he was bid, and immediately
the royal bird was with him, and asked him in what way he could help
him. Upon N'Oun Doare explaining his difficulty, the Bird-King
summoned all his subjects, calling each one by name. They came, but
none of them appeared to be small enough to enter the cabinet by way
of the keyhole, which was the only means of entrance. The wren was
decided to be the only bird with any chance of success, and he set out
for the château.
Eventually, with much difficulty and the loss of the greater part of
his feathers, the bird procured the ring, and flew back with it to
Paris. N'Oun Doare hastened to present the ring to the Princess.
"Now, fair one," said the impatient King, "why delay our wedding
longer?"
"Nay," said she, pouting discontentedly, "there is one thing that I
wish, and without it I will do nothing."
"What do you desire? You have only to speak and it shall be brought."
"Well, transport my château with all it contains opposite to yours."
"What!" cried the King, aghast. "Impossible!"
"Well, then, it is just as impossible that I should marry you, for
without my château I shall not consent."
For a second time the King gave N'Oun Doare what seemed an insurmountable
task.
"Now indeed I am as good as lost!" lamented the youth as they came to
the château and he saw its massive walls towering above him.
"Call Grifescorne, King of the Demons, to your assistance," suggested
the wise mare.
With the aid of the Demon-King and his subjects N'Oun Doare's task was
again accomplished, and he and his mare followed the demon army to
Paris, where they arrived as soon as it did.
In the morning the people of Paris were struck dumb to see a wonderful
palace, its golden towers flashing in the sun, rising opposite to the
royal residence.
"We shall be married at last, shall we not?" asked the King.
"Yes," replied the Princess, "but how shall I enter my château and
show you its wonders without a key, for I dropped it in the sea when
N'Oun Doare and his horse carried me over it."
Once more was the youth charged with the task, and through the aid of
the Fish-King was able to procure the key, which was cut from a single
diamond. None of the fishes had seen it, but at last the oldest fish,
who had not appeared when his name was pronounced, came forward and
produced it from his mouth.
With a glad heart the successful N'Oun Doare returned to Paris, and as
the Princess had now no more excuses to make the day of the wedding
was fixed and the ceremony was celebrated with much splendour. To the
astonishment of all, when the King and his betrothed entered the
church N'Oun Doare followed behind with his mare. At the conclusion of
the ceremony the mare's skin suddenly fell to the ground, disclosing a
maiden of the most wonderful beauty.
Smiling upon the bewildered N'Oun Doare, the damsel gave him her hand
and said: "Come with me to Tartary, for the king of that land is my
father, and there we shall be wed amid great rejoicing."
Leaving the amazed King and wedding guests, the pair quitted the
church together. More might have been told of them, but Tartary is a
far land and no news of them has of late years reached Brittany.
_The Princess of Tronkolaine_
There was once an old charcoal-burner who had twenty-six grandchildren.
For twenty-five of them he had no great difficulty in procuring
godparents, but for the twenty-sixth--that, alas! was a different
story. Godmothers, indeed, were to be found in plenty, but he could
not find anyone to act as godfather.
As he wandered disconsolately along the high road, dwelling on his bad
luck, he saw a fine carriage coming toward him, its occupant no less a
personage than the King himself. The old man made an obeisance so low
that the King was amused, and threw him a handful of silver.
"My good man," he said, "here are alms for you."
"Your Majesty," replied the charcoal-burner, "I do not desire alms. I
am unhappy because I cannot find a godfather for my twenty-sixth
grandchild."
The King considered the matter.
"I myself will be godfather to the child," he said at length. "Tell me
when it is to be baptized and I will meet you at the church."
The old man was delighted beyond measure, and in due time he and his
relatives brought the child to be baptized. When they reached the
church, sure enough, there was the King waiting to take part in the
ceremony, and in his honour the child was named Charles. Before taking
leave the King gave to the charcoal-burner the half of a coin which he
had broken in two. This Charles on reaching his eighteenth birthday
was to convey to the Court at Paris, as a token whereby his godfather
should know him. His Majesty also left a thousand crowns, which were
to be utilized in the education and general upbringing of the child.
Time passed and Charles attained his eighteenth birthday. Taking the
King's token, he set out for the royal abode. As he went he
encountered an old man, who warned him on no account to drink from a
certain well which he would pass on his way. The lad promised to
regard the warning, but ere he reached the well he had forgotten it.
A man sat by the side of the well.
"You are hot and tired," he said, feigning courtesy, "will you not
stop to drink?"
The water was cool and inviting. Charles bent his head and drank
thirstily. And while he drank the stranger robbed him of his token;
but this he did not know till afterward.
Gaily Charles resumed his way, while the thief went to Paris by a
quicker route and got there before him.
Boldly the thief demanded audience of the King, and produced the token
so wickedly come by. The sovereign ordered the other half of the coin
to be brought out, and lo! they fitted exactly. And because the thief
had a plausible face the good King did not doubt that he was indeed
his godson. He therefore had him treated with all honour and respect,
and bestowed gifts upon him lavishly.
Meanwhile Charles had arrived in Paris, and, finding that he had been
deprived of his only means of proving his identity to the King, he
accepted the situation philosophically and set about earning his
living. He succeeded in obtaining a post as herdsman on the royal
estates.
One day the robber was greatly disconcerted to find the real Charles
at the very gates of the palace. He determined to be rid of him once
for all, so he straightway approached the King.
"Your Majesty, there is a man among your retainers who has said that
he will demand of the sun why it is so red at sunrise."
"He is indeed a foolish fellow," said the King. "Our decree is that he
shall carry out his rash boast to-morrow ere sunset, or, if it be but
idle folly, lose his head on the following morning."
The thief was delighted with the success of his plot. Poor Charles was
summoned before the King and bidden to ask the sun why he was so red
at sunrise. In vain he denied having uttered the speech. Had not the
King the word of his godson?
Next morning Charles set out on his journey. Ere he had gone very far
he met an old man who asked him his errand, and afterward gave him a
wooden horse on which to ride to the sun. Charles thought this but a
sorry joke. However, no sooner had he mounted his wooden steed than it
rose into the air and flew with him to where the sun's castle towered
on the peak of a lofty mountain.
To the sun, a resplendent warrior, Charles addressed his query.
"In the morning," said the sun, "I pass the castle of the Princess of
Tronkolaine, and she is so lovely that I must needs look my best."
Charles, mounted on his wooden horse, flew with this answer to Paris.
The King was satisfied, but the thief gnashed his teeth in secret
rage, and plotted yet further against the youth.
"Your Majesty," he said, "this herdsman who tends your herds has said
that he will lead hither the Princess of Tronkolaine to be your
bride."
"If he has said so," replied the King, "he shall lead her hither or
forfeit his life."
"Alas!" thought Charles, when he learned of the plot, "I must bid
farewell to my life--there is no hope for me!"
All the same he set out boldly enough, and by and by encountered the
old man who had helped him on his previous mission. To him Charles
confided his troubles, begging for advice and assistance.
The old man pondered.
"Return to the Court," he said, "and ask the King to give you three
ships, one laden with oatmeal, another with bacon, and the third with
salt meat. Then sail on till you come to an island covered with ants.
To their monarch, the Ant-King, make a present of the cargo of
oatmeal. He will direct you to a second island, whereon dwell fierce
lions. Fear them not. Present your cargo of bacon to their King and he
will become your friend. Yet a third island you will touch, inhabited
only by sparrow-hawks. Give to their King your cargo of salt meat and
he will show you the abode of the Princess."
Charles thanked the sage for his advice, which he promptly proceeded
to follow. The King granted him the three ships, and he sailed away
in search of the Princess.
When he came to the first island, which was swarming with ants, he
gave up his cargo of grain, and so won the friendship of the little
creatures. At the second island he unloaded the bacon, which he
presented to the King of the Lions; while at the third he gave up the
salt beef to the King of the Sparrow-hawks, who directed him how to
come at the object of his quest. Each monarch bade Charles summon him
instantly if he had need of assistance.
Setting sail from the island of the sparrow-hawks, the youth arrived
at length at the abode of the Princess.
She was seated under an orange-tree, and as Charles gazed upon her he
thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, as indeed she was.
The Princess, looking up, beheld a comely youth, beneath whose ardent
gaze her eyes fell. Smiling graciously, she invited him into her
castle, and he, nothing loath, followed her into the great hall, where
tempting viands were spread before him.
When he had supped he made known his errand to the Princess, and
begged her to accompany him to Paris. She agreed only on condition
that he would perform three tasks set him, and when Charles was
curious to know what was required of him she led him into another room
where was a large heap of every kind of seed--corn, barley, clover,
flax--all mixed up anyhow.
"This is the first task," said the Princess: "you must put each kind
of seed into a different heap, so that no single seed shall be out of
its place. This you must accomplish ere to-morrow at sunrise." With
that she left the room.
Charles was in despair, until he bethought him of his friend the King
of the Ants, whom he begged to help him. Scarcely had he uttered the
words when ants began to fill the room, coming from he knew not where.
In less time than it takes to tell they had arranged the seeds into
separate heaps, so that no single seed was out of its place.
When the Princess arrived in the morning she was astonished to find
the hero fast asleep and the work accomplished. All day she
entertained him hospitably in her castle, and at nightfall she showed
him the second task. An avenue of great oaks led down from the castle.
Giving him a wooden axe and a wooden saw, the Princess bade him cut
down all the trees ere morning.
When she had left him Charles called upon the King of the Lions.
Instantly a number of lions bounded upon the scene, and with teeth and
claws soon performed the task.
In the morning the Princess, finding Charles asleep and all the trees
cut down, was more astonished than ever.
The third task was the most difficult of all. A high mountain had to
be levelled to the plain in a single night. Without the help of the
sparrow-hawks, Charles would certainly have failed, but these faithful
creatures worked with a will, and soon had the great mountain carried
away piece by piece and dropped into the sea.
When the Princess came for the third time and found the hero asleep by
the finished task she fell in love with him straightway, and kissed
him softly on the brow.
There was now nothing further to hinder his return, and he begged the
Princess to accompany him to Paris. In due time they arrived in that
city, to be welcomed with great warmth by the people. The beauty of
the lady won all hearts. But great was the general astonishment when
she declared that she would marry, not the King, but the youth who had
brought her to Paris! Charles thereupon declared himself the true
godson of the King, and the monarch, far from being angry, gave the
couple his blessing and great estates; and when in course of time he
died they reigned in his stead.
As for the thief, he was ordered to execution forthwith, and was
roasted to death in a large oven.
_The Princess Starbright_
This is another tale which introduces the search for the sun-princess
in a peculiar setting.
In the long ago there lived near the Lake of Léguer a jolly miller who
found recreation after his work in shooting the wild swans and ducks
which frequented that stretch of water. One December day, when it was
freezing hard and the earth was covered with snow, he observed a
solitary duck near the edge of the lake. He shot at it, and went
forward to pick it up, when he saw to his amazement that it had
changed into a beautiful princess. He was ready to drop into the snow
with fright, but the lady came graciously forward to him, saying:
"Fear not, my brave fellow, for know that I have been enchanted these
many years under the form of a wild duck, because of the enmity of
three malicious demons. You can restore me permanently to my human
shape if you choose to show only a little perseverance and courage."
"Why, what do you desire me to do, madam?" stammered the miller,
abashed by the lady's beauty and condescension.
"What only a brave man could accomplish, my friend," she replied; "all
that you have to do is to pass three consecutive nights in the old
manor which you can see over there."
The miller shuddered, for he had heard the most terrible stories in
connexion with the ruined manor, which had an evil name in the
district.
"Alas! madam," he said, "whom might I not encounter there! Even the
devil himself----"
"My good friend," said the Princess, sadly, "if you do as I ask you
will have to encounter not one but a dozen devils, who will torment
you in every possible way. But fear nothing, for I can provide you
with a magic ointment which will preserve you entirely from all the
injuries they would attempt to inflict upon you. Even if you were dead
I could resuscitate you. I assure you that if you will do as I ask you
will never regret it. Beneath the hearthstone in the hall of the manor
are three casks of gold and three of silver, and all these will belong
to you and to me if you assist me; so put your courage to the proof, I
pray you."
The miller squared his shoulders. "Lady," he said, "I will obey you,
even if I have to face a hundred devils instead of twelve."
The Princess smiled encouragingly and disappeared. On the following
night the miller set out for the old manor, carrying a bundle of
faggots to make a fire, and some cider and tobacco to refresh him
during his vigil. When he arrived in the dismal old place he sat
himself down by the hearth, where he had built a good fire, and lit
his pipe. But he had scarcely done so when he heard a most tremendous
commotion in the chimney. Somewhat scared, he hid himself under an old
bed which stood opposite the hearth, and, gazing anxiously from his
place of concealment, beheld eleven grisly fiends descend from the
flue. They seemed astonished to find a fire on the hearth, and did not
appear to be in the best of tempers.
"Where is Boiteux?" cried one. "Oh," growled another, who appeared to
be the chief of the band, "he is always late."
"Ah, behold him," said a third, as Boiteux arrived by the same road as
his companions.
"Well, comrades," cried Boiteux, "have you heard the news?" The others
shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads sulkily.
"Well," said Boiteux, "I am convinced that the miller of Léguer is
here, and that he is trying to free the Princess from the enchantment
which we have placed upon her."
A hurried search at once took place, the demons scrambling from one
part of the room to the other, tearing down the curtains and making
every effort to discover the hiding-place of the intruder. At last
Boiteux, peering under the bed, saw the miller crouching there, and
cried out: "Here is the rogue beneath the bed."
The unlucky miller was then seized by the foot and dragged into the
shrieking and leaping circle. With a gesture of command the chief
demon subdued the antics of his followers.
"So, my jolly miller," said he, "our friend the Princess has found a
champion in you, has she? Well, we are going to have some sport with
you, which I fear will not be quite to your taste, but I can assure
you that you will not again have the opportunity of assisting a
princess in distress."
With this he seized the miller and thrust him from him with great
force. As he flew like a stone from a sling, another of the fiends
seized him, and the unhappy man was thrown violently about from one to
the other. At last they threw him out of the window into the
courtyard, and as he did not move they thought that he was dead. But
in the midst of their laughter and rejoicing at the easy manner in
which they had got rid of him, cockcrow sounded, and the diabolic
company swiftly disappeared. They had scarcely taken their departure
when the Princess arrived. She tenderly anointed the miller's hurts
from the little pot of magic ointment she had brought with her, and,
nothing daunted, now that he was thoroughly revived, the bold fellow
announced his intention of seeing the matter through and remaining in
the manor for the two following nights.
He had scarcely ensconced himself in his seat by the chimney-side on
the second night when the twelve fiends came tumbling down the chimney
as before. At one end of the room was a large heap of wood, behind
which the miller quickly took refuge.
"I smell the smell of a Christian!" cried Boiteux. A search followed,
and once more the adventurous miller was dragged forth.
"Oho!" cried the leader, "so you are not dead after all! Well, I can
assure you that we shall not botch our work on this occasion."
One of the grisly company placed a large cauldron of oil upon the
fire, and when this was boiling they seized their victim and thrust
him into it. The most dreadful agony seized the miller as the liquid
seethed around his body, and he was just about to faint under the
intensity of the torture when once again the cock crew and the
fiendish band took themselves off. The Princess quickly appeared, and,
drawing the miller from the cauldron, smeared him from head to foot
with the ointment.
On the third night the devils once more found the miller in the
apartment. In dismay Boiteux suggested that he should be roasted on a
spit and eaten, but unluckily for them they took a long time to come
to this conclusion, and when they were about to impale their victim on
the spit, the cock crew and they were forced to withdraw, howling in
baffled rage. The Princess arrived as before, and was delighted to see
that this time her champion did not require any assistance.
"All is well now," she said. "You have freed me from my enchantment
and the treasure is ours."
They raised the hearthstone from its place, and, as she had said, the
three casks of gold and the three casks of silver were found resting
beneath it.
"Take what you wish for yourself," said the Princess. "As for me, I
cannot stay here; I must at once make a journey which will last a year
and a day, after which we shall never part again."
With these words she disappeared. The miller was grieved at her
departure, but, consoling himself with the treasure, made over his
mill to his apprentice and, apprising one of his companions of his
good luck, resolved to go upon a journey with him, until such time as
the Princess should return. He visited the neighbouring countries,
and, with plenty of money at his disposal, found existence very
pleasant indeed. After some eight months of this kind of life, he and
his friend resolved to return to Brittany, and set out on their
journey. One day they encountered on the road an old woman selling
apples. She asked them to buy, but the miller was advised by his
friend not to pay any heed to her. Ignoring the well-meant advice, the
miller laughed and bought three apples. He had scarcely eaten one when
he became unwell. Recalling how the fruit had disagreed with him, he
did not touch the other apples until the day on which the Princess had
declared she would return. When on the way to the manor to meet her,
he ate the second apple. He began to feel sleepy, and, lying down at
the foot of a tree, fell into a deep slumber.
Soon after the Princess arrived in a beautiful star-coloured chariot
drawn by ten horses. When she saw the miller lying sleeping she
inquired of his friend what had chanced to him. The man acquainted her
with the adventure of the apples, and the Princess told him that the
old woman from whom he had purchased them was a sorceress.
"Alas!" she said, "I am unable to take him with me in this condition,
but I will come to this place to-morrow and again on the following
day, and if he be awake I will transport him hence in my chariot. Here
are a golden pear and a handkerchief; give him these and tell him that
I will come again."
She disappeared in her star-coloured equipage. Shortly afterward the
miller wakened, and his friend told him what had occurred and gave him
the pear and the kerchief. The next day the friends once more repaired
to the spot where the Princess had vanished, but in thoughtlessness
the miller had eaten of the third apple, and once more the Princess
found him asleep. In sorrow she promised to return next day for the
last time, once more leaving a golden pear and a handkerchief with his
friend, to whom she said:
"If he is not awake when I come to-morrow he will have to cross three
powers and three seas in order to find me."
Unluckily, however, the miller was still asleep when the Princess
appeared on the following day. She repeated what she had said to his
friend concerning the ordeal that the unfortunate miller would have to
face before he might see her again, and ere she took her departure
left a third pear and a third handkerchief behind her. When the miller
awoke and found that she had gone he went nearly crazy with grief, but
nevertheless he declared his unalterable intention of regaining the
Princess, even if he should have to travel to the ends of the earth in
search of her. Accordingly he set out to find her abode. He walked and
walked innumerable miles, until at last he came to a great forest. As
he arrived at its gloomy borders night fell, and he considered it
safest to climb a tree, from which, to his great satisfaction, he
beheld a light shining in the distance. Descending, he walked in the
direction of the light, and found a tiny hut made of the branches of
trees, in which sat a little old man with a long white beard.
"Good evening, grandfather," said the miller.
"Good evening, my child," replied the old man. "I behold you with
pleasure, for it is eighty years since I have seen any human being."
The miller entered the hut and sat down beside the old man, and after
some conversation told him the object of his journey.
"I will help you, my son," said the ancient. "Do you see these
enchanted gaiters? Well, I wore them at your age. When you buckle them
over your legs you will be able to travel seven leagues at a single
step, and you will arrive without any difficulty at the castle of the
Princess you desire so much to see again."
The miller passed the night in the hut with the old hermit, and on the
following morning, with the rising of the sun, buckled on the magic
gaiters and stepped out briskly. All went well to begin with, nothing
arrested his progress, and he sped over rivers, forests, and
mountains. As the sun was setting he came to the borders of a second
forest, where he observed a second hut, precisely similar to that in
which he had passed the previous night. Going toward it, he found it
occupied by an aged woman, of whom he demanded supper and lodging.
"Alas! my son," said the old woman, "you do ill to come here, for I
have three sons, terrible fellows, who will be here presently, and I
am certain that if you remain they will devour you."
The miller asked the names of the sons, and was informed by the old
woman that they were January, February, and March. From this he
concluded that the crone he was addressing was none other than the
mother of the winds, and on asking her if this was so she admitted
that he had judged correctly. While they were talking there was a
terrible commotion in the chimney, from which descended an enormous
giant with white hair and beard, breathing out clouds of frost.
"Aha!" he cried, "I see, mother, that you have not neglected to
provide for my supper!"
"Softly, softly, good son," said the old dame; "this is little Yves,
my nephew and your cousin; you must not eat him." The giant, who
seemed greatly annoyed, retired into a corner, growling. Shortly
afterward his brothers, February and March, arrived, and were told the
same tale regarding the miller's relationship to them.
Our hero, resolved to profit by the acquaintanceship, asked the
gigantic February if he would carry him to the palace of the Princess,
whom he described.
"Ah," said February, "without doubt you speak of the Princess
Starbright. If you wish I will give you a lift on my back part of the
way."
The miller gratefully accepted the offer, and in the morning mounted
on the back of the mighty wind-giant, who carried him over a great
sea. Then, after traversing much land and a second ocean, and while
crossing a third spacious water, February expressed himself as quite
fatigued and said that he could not carry his new cousin any farther.
The miller glanced beneath him at the great waste of waters and begged
him to make an effort to reach the land on the other side. Giving vent
to a deep-throated grumble, February obeyed, and at last set him down
outside the walls of the town where the castle of the Princess
Starbright was situated. The miller entered the town and came to an
inn, and, having dined, entered into conversation with the hostess,
asking her the news of the place.
"Why," said the woman, amazed, "where do you come from that you don't
know that the Princess Starbright is to be married to-day, and to a
husband that she does not love? The wedding procession will pass the
door in a few moments on its way to the church."
The miller was greatly downcast at these words, but plucking up
courage he placed on a little table before the inn the first of the
pears and handkerchiefs that the Princess had left with his friend.
Shortly afterward the wedding procession passed, and the Princess
immediately remarked the pear and the kerchief, and also recognized
the miller standing close by. She halted, and, feigning illness,
begged that the ceremony might be postponed until the morrow. Having
returned to the palace, she sent one of her women to purchase the
fruit and the handkerchief, and these the miller gave the maiden
without question. On the following day the same thing happened, and on
the third occasion of the Princess's passing the same series of events
occurred. This time the Princess sent for the miller, and the pair
embraced tenderly and wept with joy at having recovered each other.
Now the Princess was as clever as she was beautiful, and she had a
stratagem by which she hoped to marry the miller without undue
opposition on the part of her friends. So she procured the marriage
garments of the prince, her _fiancé_, and attiring the miller in them,
took him to the marriage feast, which had been prepared for the fourth
time at a late hour; but she hid her lover in a secluded corner from
the public gaze. After a while she pretended to be looking for
something, and upon being asked what she had lost, replied:
"I have a beautiful coffer, but, alas! I have lost the key of it. I
have found a new key, but it does not fit the casket; should I not
search until I have recovered the old one?"
"Without doubt!" cried every one. Then the Princess, going to the
place where the miller was concealed, led him forth by the hand.
"My lords and gentles," she said, "the coffer I spoke of is my heart;
here is the one key that can fit it, the key that I had lost and have
found again."
The Princess and the miller were married amid universal rejoicings;
and some time after the ceremony they did not fail to revisit the Lake
of Léguer, the scene of their first meeting, the legend of which still
clings like the mists of evening to its shores.
This quaint and curious tale, in which the native folk-lore and French
elements are so strangely mingled, deals, like its predecessor, with
the theme of the search for the fairy princess. We turn now to another
tale of quest with somewhat similar incidents, where the solar nature
of one of the characters is perhaps more obvious--the quest for the
mortal maiden who has been carried off by the sun-hero. We refrain in
this place from indicating the mythological basis which underlies such
a tale as this, as such a phenomenon is already amply illustrated in
other works in this series.
_The Castle of the Sun_
There once lived a peasant who had seven children, six of them boys
and the seventh a girl. They were very poor and all had to work hard
for a living, but the drudges of the family were the youngest son,
Yvon, and his sister, Yvonne. Because they were gentler and more
delicate than the others, they were looked upon as poor, witless
creatures, and all the hardest work was given them to do. But the
children comforted each other, and became but the better favoured as
they grew up.
One day when Yvonne was taking the cattle to pasture she encountered a
handsome youth, so splendidly garbed that her simple heart was filled
with awe and admiration. To her astonishment he addressed her and
courteously begged her hand in marriage. "To-morrow," he said, "I
shall meet you here at this hour, and you shall give me an answer."
Troubled, yet secretly happy, Yvonne made her way home, and told her
parents all that had chanced. At first they laughed her to scorn, and
refused to believe her story of the handsome prince, but when at
length they were convinced they told her she was free to marry whom
she would.
On the following day Yvonne betook herself to the trysting-place,
where her lover awaited her, even more gloriously resplendent than on
the occasion of his first coming. The very trappings of his horse were
of gleaming gold. At Yvonne's request he accompanied her to her home,
and made arrangements with her kindred for the marriage. To all
inquiries regarding his name and place of abode he returned that these
should be made known on the wedding morning.
Time passed, and on the day appointed the glittering stranger came to
claim his wife. The ceremony over, he swept her into a carriage and
was about to drive away, when her brothers reminded him of his promise
to reveal his identity.
"Where must we go to visit our sister?" they asked.
"Eastward," he replied, "to a palace built of crystal, beyond the Sea
of Darkness."
And with that the pair were gone.
A year elapsed, and the brothers neither saw nor heard anything of
their sister, so that at length they decided to go in search of her.
Yvon would have accompanied them, but they bade him stay at home.
"You are so stupid," they said, "you would be of no use to us."
Eastward they rode, and ever eastward, till at length they found
themselves in the heart of a great forest. Then night came on and they
lost the path. Twice a great noise, like the riot of a tempest, swept
over their heads, leaving them trembling and stricken with panic.
By and by they came upon an old woman tending a great fire, and of her
they inquired how they might reach the abode of their brother-in-law.
"I cannot tell," said the old woman, "but my son may be able to direct
you."
For the third time they heard the noise as of a great wind racing over
the tree-tops.
"Hush!" said the old woman, "it is my son approaching."
He was a huge giant, this son of hers, and when he drew near the fire
he said loudly:
"Oh ho! I smell the blood of a Christian!"
"What!" cried his mother sharply. "Would you eat your pretty cousins,
who have come so far to visit us?"
At that the giant became quite friendly toward his 'cousins,' and when
he learned of their mission even offered to conduct them part of the
way.
Notwithstanding his amiability, however, the brothers spent an anxious
night, and were up betimes on the following morning.
The giant made ready for departure. First of all he bade the old woman
pile fresh fuel on the fire. Then he spread a great black cloth, on
which he made the brothers stand. Finally he strode into the fire, and
when his clothes were consumed the black cloth rose into the air,
bearing the brothers with it. Its going was marked by the sound of
rushing wind which had terrified them on the preceding day. At length
they alighted on a vast plain, half of which was rich and fertile,
while the other half was bleak and arid as a desert. The plain was
dotted with horses, and, curiously enough, those on the arid side were
in splendid condition, whereas those on the fertile part were thin and
miserable.
The brothers had not the faintest idea of which direction they ought
to take, and after a vain attempt to mount the horses on the plain
they decided to return home. After many wanderings they arrived at
their native place once more.
When Yvon learned of the ill-success which had attended their mission
he decided to go himself in search of his sister, and though his
brothers laughed at him they gave him an old horse and bade him go.
Eastward and eastward he rode, till at length he reached the forest
where the old woman still tended the fire. Seeing that he was strong
and fearless, she directed him by a difficult and dangerous road,
which, however, he must pursue if he wished to see his sister.
It was indeed a place of terrors. Poisonous serpents lay across his
track; ugly thorns and briers sprang underfoot; at one point a lake
barred his way.
Finally a subterranean passage led him into his sister's country,
where everything was of crystal, shining with the splendour of the sun
itself. At the end of a gleaming pathway rose a castle built entirely
of crystal, its innumerable domes and turrets reflecting the light in
a thousand prismatic hues.
Having gained access to the castle through a cave, Yvon wandered
through its many beautiful chambers, till in one of these he came
upon his sister asleep on a silken couch.
Entranced with her beauty, and not daring to wake her, he slipped
behind a curtain and watched her in silence; but as time went on he
marvelled that she did not wake.
At eventide a handsome youth--Yvon's brother-in-law--entered the
chamber, struck Yvonne sharply three times, then flung himself down by
her side and went to sleep. All night Yvon waited in his place of
concealment. In the morning the young man rose from his couch, gave
his wife three resounding blows, and went away. Only then did Yvon
emerge and wake his sister.
Brother and sister exchanged a tender greeting, and found much to talk
of after their long separation. Yvon learned that the country to which
he had come was a peculiar place, where meat and drink could be
entirely dispensed with, while even sleep was not a necessity.
"Tell me, Yvonne," he said, remembering what he had seen of his
brother-in-law, "does your husband treat you well?"
Yvonne assured him that her husband was all she could wish--that she
was perfectly happy.
"Is he always absent during the day?" he asked anxiously.
"Always."
"Do you know where he goes?"
"I do not, my brother."
"I have a mind," said Yvon, "to ask him to let me accompany him on his
journey. What say you, sister?"
"It is a very good plan," said Yvonne.
At sundown her husband returned home. He and Yvon became very good
friends, and the latter begged to be allowed to accompany him on his
journey the following day.
"You may do so," was the response, "but only on one condition: if you
touch or address anyone save me you must return home."
Yvon readily agreed to accept the condition, and early next morning
the two set off. Ere long they came to a wide plain, one half of which
was green and fruitful, while the other half was barren and dry. On
this plain cattle were feeding, and those on the arid part were fat
and well-conditioned, while the others were mean and shrivelled to a
degree. Yvon learned from his companion that the fat cattle
represented those who were contented with their meagre lot, while the
lean animals were those who, with a plentiful supply of worldly goods,
were yet miserable and discontented.
Many other strange things they saw as they went, but that which seemed
strangest of all to Yvon was the sight of two trees lashing each other
angrily with their branches, as though each would beat the other to
the ground.
Laying his hands on them, he forbade them to fight, and lo! in a
moment they became two human beings, a man and wife, who thanked Yvon
for releasing them from an enchantment under which they had been laid
as a punishment for their perpetual bickering.
Anon they reached a great cavern from which weird noises proceeded,
and Yvon would fain have advanced farther; but his companion forbade
him, reminding him that in disenchanting the trees he had failed to
observe the one essential condition, and must return to the palace
where his sister dwelt.
There Yvon remained for a few days longer, after which his
brother-in-law directed him by a speedy route to his home.
"Go," said the prince, "but ere long you will return, and then it will
be to remain with us for ever."
On reaching his native village Yvon found all trace of his dwelling
gone. Greatly bewildered, he inquired for his father by name. An old
greybeard replied.
"I have heard of him," he said. "He lived in the days when my
grandfather's grandfather was but a boy, and now he sleeps in the
churchyard yonder."
Only then did Yvon realize that his visit to his sister had been one,
not of days, but of generations!
_The Seigneur with the Horse's Head_
Famous among all peoples is the tale of the husband surrounded by
mystery--bespelled in animal form, like the Prince in the story of
Beauty and the Beast, nameless, as in that of Lohengrin, or unbeheld
of his spouse, as in the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Among uncivilized
peoples it is frequently forbidden to the wife to see her husband's
face until some time after marriage, and the belief that ill-luck will
befall one or both should this law be disregarded runs through
primitive story, being perhaps reminiscent of a time when the man of
an alien or unfriendly tribe crept to his wife's lodge or hut under
cover of darkness and returned ere yet the first glimmer of dawn might
betray him to the men of her people. The story which follows, however,
deals with the theme of the enchanted husband whose wife must not
speak to anyone until her first child receives the sacrament of
baptism, and is, perhaps, unique of its kind.
There lived at one time in the old château of Kerouez, in the commune
of Loguivy-Plougras, a rich and powerful seigneur, whose only sorrow
was the dreadful deformity of his son, who had come into the world
with a horse's head. He was naturally kept out of sight as much as
possible, but when he had attained the age of eighteen years he told
his mother one day that he desired to marry, and requested her to
interview a farmer in the vicinity who had three pretty young
daughters, in order that she might arrange a match with one of them.
The good lady did as she was requested, not without much embarrassment
and many qualms of conscience, and after conversing upon every
imaginable subject, at length gently broke the object of her visit to
the astonished farmer. The poor man was at first horrified, but little
by little the lady worked him into a good humour, so that at last he
consented to ask his daughters if any one of them would agree to marry
the afflicted young lord. The two elder girls indignantly refused the
offer, but when it was made plain to them that she who espoused the
seigneur would one day be châtelaine of the castle and become a fine
lady, the eldest daughter somewhat reluctantly consented and the match
was agreed upon.
Some days afterward the bride-to-be happened to pass the castle and
saw the servants washing the linen, when one cried to her:
"How in the world can a fine girl like you be such a fool as to throw
herself away on a man with a horse's head?"
"Bah!" she replied, "he is rich, and, let me tell you, we won't be
married for long, for on the bridal night I shall cut his throat."
Just at that moment a gay cavalier passed and smiled at the farmer's
daughter.
"You are having a strange conversation, mademoiselle," he said. She
coloured and looked somewhat confused.
"Well, sir," she replied, "it is hateful to be mocked by these wenches
because I have the bad luck to be espoused to a seigneur with a
horse's head, and I assure you I feel so angry that I shall certainly
carry out my threat."
The unknown laughed shortly and went his way. In time the night of the
nuptials arrived. A grand _fête_ was held at the château, and, the
ceremony over, the bridesmaids conducted the young wife to her
chamber. The bridegroom shortly followed, and to the surprise of his
wife, no sooner had the hour of sunset come than his horse's head
disappeared and he became exactly as other men. Approaching the bed
where his bride lay, he suddenly seized her, and before she could cry
out or make the least clamour he killed her in the manner in which she
had threatened to kill him.
In the morning his mother came to the chamber, and was horrified at
the spectacle she saw.
"Gracious heavens! my son, what have you done?" she cried.
"I have done that, my mother," replied her son, "which was about to be
done to me."
Three months afterward the young seigneur asked his mother to repair
once more to the farmer with the request that another of his daughters
might be given him in marriage. The second daughter, ignorant of the
manner of her sister's death, and mindful of the splendid wedding
festivities, embraced the proposal with alacrity. Like her sister, she
chanced to be passing the washing-green of the castle one day, and the
laundresses, knowing of her espousal, taunted her upon it, so that at
last she grew very angry and cried:
"I won't be troubled long with the animal, I can assure you, for on
the very night that I wed him I shall kill him like a pig!"
At that very moment the same unknown gentleman who had overheard the
fatal words of her sister passed, and said:
"How now, young women, that's very strange talk of yours!"
"Well, monseigneur," stammered the betrothed girl, "they are twitting
me upon marrying a man with a horse's head; but I will cut his throat
on the night of our wedding with as little conscience as I would cut
the throat of a pig." The unknown gentleman laughed as he had done
before and passed upon his way.
As on the previous occasion, the wedding was celebrated with all the
pomp and circumstance which usually attends a Breton ceremony of the
kind, and in due time the bride was conducted to her chamber, only to
be found in the morning weltering in her blood.
At the end of another three months the seigneur dispatched his mother
for the third time to the farmer, with the request that his younger
daughter might be given him in marriage, but on this occasion her
parents were by no means enraptured with the proposal. When the great
lady, however, promised them that if they consented to the match they
would be given the farm to have and to hold as their own property,
they found the argument irresistible and reluctantly agreed. Strange
to say, the girl herself was perfectly composed about the matter, and
gave it as her opinion that if her sisters had met with a violent
death they were entirely to blame themselves, for some reason which
she could not explain, and she added that she thought that their loose
and undisciplined way of talking had had much to do with their
untimely fate. Just as her sisters had been, she too was taunted by
the laundresses regarding her choice of a husband, but her answer to
them was very different.
"If they met with their deaths," she said, "it was because of their
wicked utterances. I do not in the least fear that I shall have the
same fate."
As before the unknown seigneur passed, but this time, without saying
anything, he hurried on his way and was soon lost to view.
The wedding of the youngest sister was even more splendid than that of
the two previous brides. On the following morning the young seigneur's
mother hastened with fear and trembling to the marriage chamber, and
to her intense relief found that her daughter-in-law was alive. For
some months the bride lived happily with her husband, who every night
at set of sun regained his natural appearance as a young and handsome
man. In due time a son was born to them, who had not the least sign of
his semi-equine parentage, and when they were about to have the infant
baptized the father said to the young mother:
"Hearken to what I have to say. I was condemned to suffer the horrible
enchantment you know of until such time as a child should be born to
me, and I shall be immediately delivered from the curse whenever this
infant is baptized. But take care that you do not speak a word until
the baptismal bells cease to sound, for if you utter a syllable, even
to your mother, I shall disappear on the instant and you will never
see me more."
Full of the resolve not to utter a single sound, the young mother, who
lay in bed, kept silent, until at last she heard the sound of bells,
when, in her joy, forgetting the warning, she turned to her mother,
who sat near, with words of congratulation on her lips. A few moments
afterward her husband rushed into the room, the horse's head still
upon his shoulders. He was covered with sweat, and panted fiercely.
"Ah, miserable woman," he cried, "what have you done? I must leave
you, and you shall never see me more!" and he made as if to quit the
room. His wife rose from her bed, and strove to detain him, but he
struck at her with his fist. The blood trickled out and made three
spots on his shirt.
"Behold these spots," cried the young wife; "they shall never
disappear until I find you."
"And I swear to you," cried her husband, "that you will never find me
until you have worn out three pairs of iron shoes in doing so."
With these words he ran off at such speed that the poor wife could not
follow him, and, fainting, she sank to the ground.
Some time after her husband had left her the young wife had three
pairs of iron shoes made and went in search of him. After she had
travelled about the world for nearly ten years the last pair of shoes
began to show signs of wear, when she found herself one day at a
castle where the servants were hanging out the clothes to dry, and she
heard one of the laundresses say:
"Do you see this shirt? I declare it is enchanted, for although I have
washed it again and again I cannot rub out these three spots of blood
which you see upon it."
When the wanderer heard this she approached the laundress and said to
her: "Let me try, I pray you. I think I can wash the shirt clean."
They gave her the shirt, she washed it, and the spots disappeared. So
grateful was the laundress that she bade the stranger go to the castle
and ask for a meal and a bed. These were willingly granted her, and at
night she was placed in a small apartment next to that occupied by the
lord of the castle. From what she had seen she was sure that her
husband was the lord himself, so when she heard the master of the
house enter the room next door she knocked upon the boards which
separated it from her own. Her husband, for he it was, replied from
the other side; then, entering her room, he recognized his wife, and
they were happily united after the years of painful separation. To the
wife's great joy her husband was now completely restored to his proper
form, and nothing occurred to mar their happiness for the rest of
their lives.
_The Bride of Satan_
Weird and terrible as are many of the darksome legends of Brittany, it
may be doubted if any are more awe-inspiring than that which we are
now about to relate. "Those who are affianced three times without
marrying shall burn in hell," says an old Breton proverb, and it is
probably this aphorism which has given the Bretons such a strong
belief in the sacred nature of a betrothal. The fantastic ballad from
which this story is taken is written in the dialect of Léon, and the
words are put into the mouth of a maiden of that country. Twice had
she been betrothed. On the last occasion she had worn a robe of the
finest stuff, embroidered with twelve brilliant stars and having the
figures of the sun and moon painted upon it, like the lady in Madame
d'Aulnoy's story of _Finette Cendron_ (_Cinderella_). On the occasion
when she went to meet her third _fiancé_ in church she almost fainted
as she turned with her maidens into the little road leading up to the
building, for there before her was a great lord clad in steel
_cap-à-pie_, wearing on his head a casque of gold, his shoulders
covered by a blood-coloured mantle. Strange lights flashed from his
eyes, which glittered under his casque like meteors. By his side stood
a huge black steed, which ever and again struck the ground impatiently
with his hoofs, throwing up sparks of fire.
The priest was waiting in the church, the bridegroom arrived, but the
bride did not come. Where had she gone? She had stepped on board a
barque with the dark steel-clad lord, and the ship passed silently
over the waters until it vanished among the shadows of night. Then the
lady turned to her husband.
"What gloomy waters are these through which we sail, my lord?" she
asked.
"This is the Lake of Anguish," he replied in hollow tones. "We sail to
the Place of Skulls, at the mouth of Hell."
At this the wretched bride wept bitterly. "Take back your wedding-ring!"
she cried. "Take back your dowry and your bridal gifts!"
But he answered not. Down they descended into horrid darkness, and as
the unhappy maiden fell there rang in her ears the cries of the
damned.
[Illustration: THE BRIDE OF SATAN]
This tale is common to many countries. The fickle maiden is everywhere
regarded among primitive peoples with dislike and distrust. But
perhaps the folk-ballad which most nearly resembles that just related
is the Scottish ballad of _The Demon Lover_, which inspired the late
Hamish MacCunn, the gifted Scottish composer, in the composition of
his weird and striking orchestral piece, _The Ship o' the Fiend_.
_The Baron of Jauioz_
Another tradition which tells of the fate of an unhappy maiden is
enshrined in the ballad of _The Baron of Jauioz_. Louis, Baron of
Jauioz, in Languedoc, was a French warrior of considerable renown who
flourished in the fourteenth century, and who took part in many of the
principal events of that stirring epoch, fighting against the English
in France and Flanders under the Duke of Berry, his overlord. Some
years later he embarked for the Holy Land, but, if we may believe
Breton tradition, he returned, and while passing through the duchy
fell in love with and actually bought for a sum of money a young
Breton girl, whom he carried away with him to France. The unfortunate
maiden, so far from being attracted by the more splendid environment
of his castle, languished and died.
"I hear the note of the death-bird," the ballad begins sadly; "is it
true, my mother, that I am sold to the Baron of Jauioz?"
"Ask your father, little Tina, ask your father," is the callous reply,
and the question is then put to her father, who requests the
unfortunate damsel to ask her brother, a harsh rustic who does not
scruple to tell her the brutal truth, and adds that she must depart
immediately. The girl asks what dress she must wear, her red gown, or
her gown of white delaine.
"It matters little, my daughter," says the heartless mother. "Your
lover waits at the door mounted on a great black horse. Go to him on
the instant."
As she leaves her native village the clocks are striking, and she
weeps bitterly.
"Adieu, Saint Anne!" she says. "Adieu, bells of my native land!"
Passing the Lake of Anguish she sees a band of the dead, white and
shadowy, crossing the watery expanse in their little boats. As she
passes them she can hear their teeth chatter. At the Valley of Blood
she espies other unfortunates. Their hearts are sunken in them and all
memory has left them.
After this terrible ride the Baron and Tina reach the castle of
Jauioz. The old man seats himself near the fire. He is black and
ill-favoured as a carrion crow. His beard and his hair are white, and
his eyes are like firebrands.
"Come hither to me, my child," says he, "come with me from chamber to
chamber that I may show you my treasures."
"Ah, seigneur," she replies, the tears falling fast, "I had rather be
at home with my mother counting the chips which fall from the fire."
"Let us descend, then, to the cellar, where I will show you the rich
wines in the great bins."
"Ah, sir, I would rather quaff the water of the fields that my
father's horses drink."
"Come with me, then, to the shops, and I will buy you a sumptuous
gown."
"Better that I were wearing the working dress that my mother made
me."
The seigneur turns from her in anger. She lingers at the window and
watches the birds, begging them to take a message from her to her
friends.
At night a gentle voice whispers: "My father, my mother, for the love
of God, pray for me!" Then all is silence.
In this striking ballad we find strong traces of the Breton love of
country and other national traits. The death-bird alluded to is a grey
bird which sings during the winter in the Landes country in a voice
soft and sad. It is probably a bird of the osprey species. It is
thought that the girl who hears it sing is doomed to misfortune. The
strange and ghostly journey of the unhappy Tina recalls the _mise en
scène_ of such ballads as _The Bride of Satan_, and it would seem that
she passes through the Celtic Tartarus. It is plain that the Seigneur
of Jauioz by his purchase of their countrywoman became so unpopular
among the freedom-loving Bretons that at length they magnified him
into a species of demon--a traditionary fate which he thoroughly
deserved, if the heartrending tale concerning his victim has any
foundation in fact.
_The Man of Honour_
The tale of the man who is helped by the grateful dead is by no means
confined to Brittany. Indeed, in folk-tale the dead are often jealous
of the living and act toward them with fiendish malice. But in the
following we have a story in which a dead man shows his gratitude to
the living for receiving the boon of Christian burial at his hands.
There was once a merchant-prince who had gained a great fortune by
trading on land and sea. Many ships were his, and with these he traded
to far countries, reaping a rich harvest. He had a son named Iouenn,
and he was desirous that he too should embrace the career of a
merchant and become rich. When, therefore, Iouenn declared his
willingness to trade in distant lands his father was delighted and
gave him a ship full of Breton merchandise, with instructions to sell
it to the best advantage in a foreign country and return home with the
gold thus gained.
After a successful voyage the vessel arrived at a foreign port, and
Iouenn presented his father's letters to the merchants there, and
disposed of his cargo so well that he found himself in possession of a
large sum of money. One day as he was walking on the outskirts of the
city he saw a large number of dogs gathered round some object, barking
at it and worrying it. Approaching them, he discovered that that which
they were worrying was nothing less than the corpse of a man. Making
inquiries, he found that the unfortunate wretch had died deeply in
debt, and that his body had been thrown into the roadway to be eaten
by the dogs. Iouenn was shocked to see such an indignity offered to
the dead, and out of the kindness of his heart chased the dogs away,
paid the debts of the deceased, and granted his body the last rites of
sepulture.
A few days afterward he left the port where these things had happened
and set out on his homeward voyage. He had not sailed far when one of
the mariners drew his attention to a strange ship a little distance
away, which appeared to be draped entirely in black.
"That is indeed a curious vessel," said Iouenn. "Wherefore is it
draped in black? and for what reason do those on board bewail so
loudly?"
While he spoke the ship drew nearer, and Iouenn called to the people
who thronged its decks, asking why they made such loud laments.
"Alas! good sir," replied the captain of the strange ship, "not far
from here is an island inhabited by an enormous serpent, which for
seven years has demanded an annual tribute of a royal princess, and we
are now bearing another victim to her doom."
Iouenn laughed. "Where is the Princess?" he asked. At that moment the
Princess came on deck, weeping and wringing her hands. Iouenn was so
struck by her beauty that he there and then declared in the most
emphatic manner that she should never become the prey of the serpent.
On learning from the captain that he would hand over the maiden if a
sufficient bribe were forthcoming, he paid over to him the last of the
money he had gained from his trading, and taking the Princess on his
own vessel sailed homeward.
In due time Iouenn arrived home and was welcomed with delight by his
father; but when the old man learned the story of what had been done
with his money he was furious; nor would he believe for a moment that
the lady his son had rescued was a veritable princess, but chased
Iouenn from his presence with hard and bitter words. Nevertheless
Iouenn married the royal lady he had rescued, and they started
housekeeping in a tiny dwelling. Time went on, and the Princess
presented her husband with a little son, but by this time fortune had
smiled upon Iouenn, for an uncle of his, who was also a merchant, had
entrusted him with a fine vessel to trade in Eastern lands; so, taking
with him the portraits of his wife and child, he set out on his
voyage. With a fresh wind and favourable conditions generally he was
not long in coming to the city where his wife's father reigned. Now,
some mariners of the port, having entered the ship out of curiosity,
observed the portrait of the Princess, and informed the King of the
circumstance. The King himself came to the ship and demanded to know
what had become of his daughter. Iouenn did not, of course, realize
that the monarch was his father-in-law, and assured him that he knew
nothing of his daughter, whereupon the King, growing very angry, had
him cast into prison and ordered his ship to be broken to pieces and
burned. In prison Iouenn made friends with his gaoler, to whom he
related his history, which the gaoler in turn told the King, with the
result that the prisoner was brought before the monarch, who desired
him to set out at once to bring his daughter back, and for this
purpose fitted him out with a new vessel. But the old monarch took the
precaution of sending two of his ministers along with the Breton
sailor in case he should not return. The party soon came to Brittany,
and found the Princess and her infant safe.
Now one of the King's ministers had loved the Princess for a long
time, and consequently did not regard her husband with any great
degree of favour; so when they re-embarked on the return journey to
her father's kingdom her suspicions were aroused, and, fully aware of
the minister's crafty nature, she begged her husband to remain with
her as much as possible. But Iouenn liked to be on the bridge, whence
he could direct the operations of his mariners, and laughed at his
wife's fears. One night as he leaned over the side of the vessel,
gazing upon the calm of the star-strewn sea, his enemy approached very
stealthily and, seizing him by the legs, cast him headlong into the
waters. After this he waited for a few moments, and, hearing no
sound, cried out that the captain had fallen overboard. A search was
made, but with no avail. The Princess was distraught, and in the
belief that her husband had perished remained in her cabin lamenting.
But Iouenn was a capital swimmer and struck out lustily. He swam
around for a long time, without, however, encountering any object upon
which he could lay hold to support himself. Meanwhile the ship sailed
on her course, and in due time arrived at the kingdom of the
Princess's father, by whom she was received with every demonstration
of joy. Great festivities were announced, and so pleased was the old
King at his daughter's return that he willingly consented to her
marriage with the treacherous minister, whom he regarded as the
instrument of her deliverance. But the Princess put off the
wedding-day by every possible artifice, for she felt in her heart that
her husband was not really lost to her.
Let us return now to Iouenn. After swimming for some time he came upon
a barren rock in the middle of the ocean, and here, though beaten upon
by tempests and without any manner of shelter save that afforded by a
cleft in the rock, he succeeded in living for three years upon the
shell-fish which he gathered on the shores of his little domain. In
that time he had grown almost like a savage. His clothes had fallen
off him and he was thickly covered with matted hair. The only mark of
civilization he bore was a chain of gold encircling his neck, the gift
of his wife. One night he was sitting in his small dwelling munching
his wretched supper of shell-fish when an eerie sound broke the
stillness. He started violently. Surely these were human accents that
he heard--yet not altogether human, for their weird cadence held
something of the supernatural, and cold as he was he felt himself
grow still more chilly.
"Cold, cold," cried the voice, and a dreadful chattering of teeth
ended in a long-drawn wail of "Hou, hou, hou!"
The sound died away and once more he was left amid the great silence
of the sea.
The next evening brought the same experience, but although Iouenn was
brave he dared not question his midnight visitor. On the third
occasion, however, he demanded: "Who is there?"
Out of the darkness there crawled a man completely naked, his body
covered with blood and horrible wounds, the eyes fixed and glassy.
Iouenn trembled with horror. "In the name of God, who are you?" he
cried.
"Ha, so you do not remember me, Iouenn?" asked the phantom. "I am that
unfortunate man whose body you gave decent burial, and now I have come
to help you in turn. Without doubt you wish to leave this desert rock
on which you have suffered so long."
"I do, most devoutly," replied Iouenn.
"Well, you will have to make haste," said the dead man, "for
to-morrow your wife is going to be married to the minister of your
father-in-law, the wretch who cast you into the sea. Now if you will
promise to give me a share of all that belongs to yourself and your
wife within a year and a day, I will carry you at once to the palace
of your father-in-law."
Iouenn promised to do as the phantom requested, and the dread being
then asked him to mount upon his back. Iouenn did so, and the corpse
then plunged into the sea, and, swimming swiftly, soon brought him to
the port where his father-in-law reigned. When it had set him safely
on shore it turned and with a wave of its gaunt white arm cried, "In a
year and a day," then plunged back into the sea.
When the door-keeper of the palace opened the gate in the morning he
was astounded to see what appeared to be an animal crouching on the
ground outside and crying for help. It was Iouenn. The palace lackeys
crowded round him and threw him morsels of bread, which he devoured
with avidity. One of the waiting-women told the Princess of the
strange being who crouched outside. She descended in order to view
him, and at once observed the golden chain she had given to her
husband round his neck. Iouenn immediately rushed to embrace her. She
took him to her chamber and clothed him suitably. By this time the
bridal preparations had been completed, and, like the Princess in the
story of the Miller of Léguer, the bride asked the advice of the
company as to whether it were better to search for an old key that
fitted a coffer in her possession or make use of a new key which did
not fit; the coffer, of course, being her heart and the respective
keys her husband and the minister. All the company advised searching
for the old key, when she produced Iouenn and explained what she had
meant. The crafty minister grew pale as death at sight of Iouenn, and
the King stormed furiously.
"Ho, there!" he cried, "build a great fire, varlets, and cast this
slave into it." All the company thought at first that his words were
intended to apply to Iouenn, but when they saw him point at the
minister whose guilt the Princess had made plain, they applauded and
the wretch was hurried away to his doom.
Iouenn and the Princess lived happily at the Court, and in time a
second little son was born to them. Their first child had died, and
they were much rejoiced at its place being filled. Iouenn had entirely
forgotten his indebtedness to the dead man, but one day in the month
of November, when his wife was sitting quietly by the fire nursing her
infant, with her husband opposite her, three loud knocks resounded
upon the door, which flew open and revealed the horrible form of the
corpse to which Iouenn owed his freedom. The Princess shrieked at
sight of the phantom, which said in deep tones: "Iouenn, remember thy
bargain."
Trembling, Iouenn turned to his wife and asked her for the keys of
their treasure-house, that he might give their terrible visitor a
portion of their wealth, but with a disdainful wave of its arm the
apparition bade him cease. "It is not your wealth I require, Iouenn,"
it said in hollow tones. "Behold that which I desire," and it pointed
to the infant slumbering in its mother's arms.
Once more the Princess cried aloud, and clasped her little one to her
bosom.
"My infant!" cried Iouenn in despair. "Never!"
"If you are a man of honour," said the corpse, "think of your promise
made on the barren rock."
"It is true," said Iouenn, wringing his hands, "but oh, remember how I
saved your body from the dogs."
"I only ask what is my due," said the ghost. "Besides, I do not desire
all your infant, but a share of it only."
"Wretch!" cried Iouenn, "are you without a heart? Have then your wish,
for honour with me is above all." The infant was then undressed and
laid between the two upon a table.
"Take your sword," said the phantom, "and cut off a portion for me."
"Ah, I would that I were on that desert rock in the middle of the
ocean!" cried the unhappy father. He raised his weapon and was about
to strike, when the phantom called upon him to hold.
"Harm not your infant, Iouenn," it cried. "I see clearly that you are
a man of honour and that you have not forgotten the service I rendered
you; nor do I fail to remember what you did for me, and how it is
through you that I am able to dwell in Paradise, which I would not
have been permitted to enter had my debts not been paid and my body
given burial. Farewell, until we meet above." And with these words the
apparition vanished.
Iouenn and the Princess lived long, respected by all, and when the old
King died Iouenn, the man of his word, was made King in his place.