This is the legend that for many centuries has been related at
Christmas-time on the shores of the Petite-Mer, which, in the Breton
tongue, is called Armor bihan, the Celtic name of Brittany.
If you ask what moral these good people draw from this strange story, I
will answer that it contains a basketful. Pol and Matheline, condemned
to walk around the Basin of the Pagans until the end of time,--one
without arms, the other without a face,--offer a severe lesson to those
who are too proud of their broad shoulders and brute force, and
gossiping flirts of girls with smiling faces and wicked hearts; the case
of Sylvestre Ker teaches young men not to listen to the demon of money;
the blow of Josserande's axe shows the miraculous power of faith.
Still further, that you may bind together these diverse morals in one,
here is a proverb which is current in the province: "Never stoop to
pick up the pearls of a smile." After this, ask me no more.
As to the authenticity of the story, I have already said that the
chestnut-grove belongs to the mayor's nephew, which is one guarantee;
and I will add that the spot is called Sylvestre-ker, and that the ruins
hung with moss have no other name than "The Wolf Tower."
_An Indian Officer's Idyll._
"An officer and a gentleman--which
is an enviable thing."
_Kipling._