It seems almost impossible not to recognise in the story of Peronnik
the Idiot traces of that tradition which has given birth to one of
the epic romances of the Round Table. Disfigured and overlaid with
modern details as is the Breton version, the primitive idea of the
Quest of the Holy Graal may still be found there pure and entire.
Some explanation must be given of this. So early as the sixth century,
the Gallic bards speak of a magic vase which bestows a knowledge of
the future, and universal science, on its owner; in later times a
popular fable tells of a golden vase possessed by Bran the Blessed,
which healed all wounds, and even restored the dead to life. Other
tales are told of a basin in which every desired delicacy instantly
appeared. In time all these fictions become fused, and the several
properties of these different vases are found united in one; the
possession of which is of course naturally sought after by all great
adventurers.
There is still extant a Gallic poem, composed in the beginning of the
twelfth century, of which the whole burden is this quest. The hero,
named Perédur, goes to war with giants, lions, serpents, sea-monsters,
sorcerers, and finally becomes conqueror of the basin and the lance,
which is here added to the primitive tradition.
Now there can be no doubt that this Gallic legend, which found its
way throughout Europe, as is proved by the attempts at imitation
which have been made in every language, must have been known in
Brittany above all, united as it is to Gaul by a common origin and
language. It must have become popular in the very form it wore when
taught by the bards to the Armoricans.
But besides the successive alterations which are the speedy result
of oral transmission, French imitations by degrees incorporated
themselves with all the primitive versions. M. de la Villemarqué
has in fact observed, in his learned work on the Popular Tales of
the Ancient Bretons, that when the Gallic legends were developed by
the French poets, they appeared so beautified in their new costume,
that the Gauls themselves abandoned the originals in favour of the
imitations. Now that which is true of them is equally so of the
Armoricans; and it seems to us beyond a doubt that the tradition of
Perédur, which they had originally received, must have been seriously
modified by the later poem of Christian of Troyes.
In order to elucidate our idea, we will give a hasty analysis of this
poem, which is little known, being only extant in manuscript. [67]
Perceval, the last remaining son of a poor widow, whom the miseries
of war had left destitute, is simple, ignorant, and boorish. His
mother carefully conceals from his sight every thing that might
turn his attention to the idea of war; but one day the lad meets
King Arthur's knights, learns the secret so long hidden from him,
and, his mind filled with nothing now but tournaments and battles,
abandons his maternal roof and sets off for Arthur's court. On the
way he sees a pavilion, which, taking in his simplicity for a church,
he enters. There he eats two roebuck pasties, and drinks a large
flagon of wine; after which he goes once more upon his way, and soon
arrives at Cardeuil, ill-clad, ill-armed, and ill-mounted. He finds
Arthur buried in profound meditation, a treacherous knight having just
carried off his golden cup, defying any warrior to take it from him
again. Perceval accepts the challenge, pursues the thief, kills him,
recovers the cup, and seizes on the slain knight's armour. He is at
length admitted into the order of chivalry.
But the recollection of his mother haunts him every where. What is he
in quest of? He himself knows not; he wanders at random and without
a purpose wherever his wild courser carries him. Thus one day he
reaches a castle, and enters. A sick old man reposes there upon a bed;
a servant appears with a lance from which flows one drop of blood, and
then a damsel bearing a graal, or basin, of pure gold. Perceval longs
to know the meaning of what he sees, but dares not ask. The following
day, on leaving the castle, he is informed that the sick old man is
called the fisher-king, and that he has been wounded in the thigh;
Perceval is at the same time reproached for not having questioned him.
He continues onwards, meeting by chance Arthur, whom he follows to
court; but the day after his arrival a lady clad in black appears to
him, and warmly blames him for being the cause of the fisher-king's
sufferings.
"His wound," said she, "has become incurable, because thou didst not
question him."
The knight, wishing to repair his fault, seeks in vain to find once
more the king's palace; he is repulsed as by an invisible hand,
until the moment when he resolves to go and find a saintly hermit,
to whom he makes his confession. The priest shows him that all his
errors are owing to his ingratitude towards his mother, and that
sin held his tongue in bondage when he ought to have inquired the
meaning of the graal; he imposes a penance on him, gives him advice,
reveals to him a mysterious prayer containing certain terrible words,
which he forbids him from making known; and then Perceval, absolved
from his sins, fasts, adores the Cross, hears Mass, receives Holy
Communion, and returns to a new life.
He now sets forth in quest of the graal, and meets with a thousand
obstacles. A woman, whom he has loved, White-Flower, appears, and
endeavours to detain him; but he escapes from her. He fastens his
horse to the golden ring of a pillar rising on a mountain called the
Mount of Misery, arrives at length at the castle for which he sought,
and this time fails not to inquire into the history of the lance
and the graal. He is told that the lance is that with which Longus
pierced the side of Christ, and that the graal is the basin in which
Joseph of Arimathea received His divine blood. This has come down
by inheritance to the fisher-king, who is descended from Joseph, and
is Perceval's uncle. It procures all good things, both spiritual and
temporal, heals all wounds, and even restores life to the dead, besides
becoming filled with the most delicious dainties at its owner's desire.
After the lance and the graal, they bring out a broken sword;
the fisher-king presents it to his nephew, begging him to reunite
the fragments; in which he succeeds. The king then tells him that,
according to prophecies, the bravest and most pious knight in the
whole world was to perform this act; that he himself had attempted
to weld the pieces together, but had been chastised for his rashness
by receiving a wound in the thigh. "I shall be healed," he added, "on
the same day that sees the knight Pertiniax perish,--that treacherous
knight who broke this wonderful sword in slaying my brother."
Perceval kills Pertiniax, thanks to the aid of the holy graal, cuts
off his head, and brings it to the fisher-king, who gets well, and
abdicates in favour of his nephew.
The points of accordance between this poem and the Breton story are
not very difficult to trace. In the two recitals we hear of the
conquest of a basin and a lance, the possession of which ensures
corresponding advantages; the heroes both of the French and Armorican
version are subjected to dangers and temptations, and success assures
to them alike--a crown. Some points of resemblance may even perhaps
be discovered between the idiot Peronnik, going ever onwards he knows
not whither, and extracting from the farmer's wife his rye-bread,
his fresh-churned butter, and his Sunday dripping; and this Perceval,
simple, ignorant, boorish, who begins by eating two roebuck pasties,
and drinking a great flagon of wine.
Certainly the different details, and the trials imposed on Peronnik,
are not in general much like the probation to which Perceval was
subjected; but, on the other hand, they closely resemble those to which
Perédur, the hero of the Gallic tradition, was exposed. It would seem,
therefore, that this Armorican story has drunk successively from the
two fountains of French and Breton legendary lore. Born of the Gallic
tradition, modified by the French version, and finally accommodated
to the popular genius of our province, it has become such as we have
it at this day.
Peronnik the idiot seems, moreover, to us worthy of being studied
by those who seek, above all else in tradition, for traces of the
popular genius. Idiotism, amongst all tribes of Celtic race, was never
looked on as a degradation, but rather as a peculiar condition wherein
individuals could attain to certain perceptions unknown to the vulgar;
and the Celts were led to imagine that they had an acquaintance with
the invisible world not permitted to other men. Thus the words of the
idiot were looked on as prophetic; a hidden meaning was sought for in
his acts; he was, in fact, considered, in the energetic language of an
old poet, as having his feet in this world, and his eyes in the other.
Brittany has preserved in part this ancient reverence for persons of
weak mind. It is by no means unusual in the farms of Léon to see some
of these unfortunates, clad, whatever may be their age, in a long dress
with bone buttons, and holding a white wand in their hands. They are
tenderly cared for, and only spoken of under the endearing title of
dear innocents, unless in their absence, when they are called diskyant,
that is to say, without knowledge. They stay at home with the women
and little children; they are never called upon to perform any labour;
and when they die, they are wept over by their relations.
I remember meeting with one of these idiots one day, in the
neighbourhood of Morlaix; he was seated before a farm-house door,
and his sister, a young girl, was feeding him. Her caressing kindness
struck me.
"Then you are very fond of this poor innocent?" I asked, in Breton.
"It is God who gave him to us," she replied.
Words full of meaning, which hold the key to all this pious tenderness
for creatures useless in themselves, but precious for His sake by
whom they were confided to our care.