_THE FOUR GIFTS_
IN the old land of Brittany, once called Cornwall, there lived a woman
named Barbaïk Bourhis, who spent all her days in looking after her farm
with the help of her niece Téphany. Early and late the two might be seen
in the fields or in the dairy, milking cows, making butter, feeding
fowls; working hard themselves and taking care that others worked too.
Perhaps it might have been better for Barbaïk if she had left herself a
little time to rest and to think about other things, for soon she grew
to love money for its own sake, and only gave herself and Téphany the
food and clothes they absolutely needed. And as for poor people, she
positively hated them, and declared that such lazy creatures had no
business in the world.
Well, this being the sort of person Barbaïk was, it is easy to guess at
her anger when one day she found Téphany talking outside the cow-house
to young Denis, who was nothing more than a day labourer from the
village of Plover. Seizing her niece by the arm, she pulled her sharply
away, exclaiming:
'Are you not ashamed, girl, to waste your time over a man who is as poor
as a rat, when there are a dozen more who would be only too happy to buy
you rings of silver, if you would let them?'
'Denis is a good workman, as you know very well,' answered Téphany, red
with anger, 'and he puts by money too, and soon he will be able to take
a farm for himself.'
'Nonsense,' cried Barbaïk, 'he will never save enough for a farm till he
is a hundred. I would sooner see you in your grave than the wife of a
man who carries his whole fortune on his back.'
'What does fortune matter when one is young and strong?' asked Téphany,
but her aunt, amazed at such words, would hardly let her finish.
'What does fortune matter?' repeated Barbaïk, in a shocked voice. 'Is it
possible that you are really so foolish as to despise money? If this is
what you learn from Denis, I forbid you to speak to him, and I will have
him turned out of the farm if he dares to show his face here again. Now
go and wash the clothes and spread them out to dry.'
* * * * *
Téphany did not dare to disobey, but with a heavy heart went down the
path to the river.
'She is harder than these rocks,' said the girl to herself, 'yes, a
thousand times harder. For the rain at least can at last wear away the
stone, but you might cry for ever, and she would never care. Talking to
Denis is the only pleasure I have, and if I am not to see him I may as
well enter a convent.'
Thinking these thoughts she reached the bank, and began to unfold the
large packet of linen that had to be washed. The tap of a stick made her
look up, and standing before her she saw a little old woman, whose face
was strange to her.
'You would like to sit down and rest, granny?' asked Téphany, pushing
aside her bundle.
'When the sky is all the roof you have, you rest where you will,'
replied the old woman in trembling tones.
'Are you so lonely, then?' inquired Téphany, full of pity. 'Have you no
friends who would welcome you into their houses?'
The old woman shook her head.
'They all died long, long ago,' she answered, 'and the only friends I
have are strangers with kind hearts.'
The girl did not speak for a moment, then held out the small loaf and
some bacon intended for her dinner.
'Take this,' she said; 'to-day at any rate you shall dine well,' and the
old woman took it, gazing at Téphany the while.
'Those who help others deserve to be helped,' she answered; 'your eyes
are still red because that miser Barbaïk has forbidden you to speak to
the young man from Plover. But cheer up, you are a good girl, and I will
give you something that will enable you to see him once every day.'
'You?' cried Téphany, stupefied at discovering that the beggar knew all
about her affairs, but the old woman did not hear her.
'Take this long copper pin,' she went on, 'and every time you stick it
in your dress Mother Bourhis will be obliged to leave the house in order
to go and count her cabbages. As long as the pin is in your dress you
will be free, and your aunt will not come back until you have put it in
its case again.' Then, rising, she nodded to Téphany and vanished.
The girl stood where she was, as still as a stone. If it had not been
for the pin in her hands she would have thought she was dreaming. But by
that token she knew it was no common old woman who had given it to her,
but a fairy, wise in telling what would happen in the days to come. Then
suddenly Téphany's eyes fell on the clothes, and to make up for lost
time she began to wash them with great vigour.
* * * * *
Next evening, at the moment when Denis was accustomed to wait for her in
the shadow of the cow-house, Téphany stuck the pin in her dress, and at
the very same instant Barbaïk took up her _sabots_ or wooden shoes and
went through the orchard and past to the fields, to the plot where the
cabbages grew. With a heart as light as her footsteps, the girl ran from
the house, and spent her evening happily with Denis. And so it was for
many days after that. Then, at last, Téphany began to notice something,
and the something made her very sad.
At first Denis seemed to find the hours that they were together fly as
quickly as she did, but when he had taught her all the songs he knew,
and told her all the plans he had made for growing rich and a great man,
he had nothing more to say to her, for he, like a great many other
people, was fond of talking himself, but not of listening to any one
else. Sometimes, indeed, he never came at all, and the next evening he
would tell Téphany that he had been forced to go into the town on
business, but though she never reproached him she was not deceived and
saw plainly that he no longer cared for her as he used to do.
Day by day her heart grew heavier and her cheeks paler, and one evening,
when she had waited for him in vain, she put her water-pot on her
shoulder and went slowly down to the spring. On the path in front of her
stood the fairy who had given her the pin, and as she glanced at Téphany
she gave a little mischievous laugh and said:
'Why, my pretty maiden hardly looks happier than she did before, in
spite of meeting her lover whenever she pleases.'
'He has grown tired of me,' answered Téphany in a trembling voice, 'and
he makes excuses to stay away. Ah! granny dear, it is not enough to be
able to see him, I must be able to amuse him and to keep him with me. He
is so clever, you know. Help _me_ to be clever too.'
'Is that what you want?' cried the old woman. 'Well, take this feather
and stick it in your hair, and you will be as wise as Solomon himself.'
Blushing with pleasure Téphany went home and stuck the feather into the
blue ribbon which girls always wear in that part of the country. In a
moment she heard Denis whistling gaily, and as her aunt was safely
counting her cabbages, she hurried out to meet him. The young man was
struck dumb by her talk. There was nothing that she did not seem to
know, and as for songs she not only could sing those from every part of
Britanny, but could compose them herself. Was this _really_ the quiet
girl who had been so anxious to learn all he could teach her, or was it
somebody else? Perhaps she had gone suddenly mad, and there was an evil
spirit inside her. But in any case, night after night he came back, only
to find her growing wiser and wiser. Soon the neighbours whispered their
surprise among themselves, for Téphany had not been able to resist the
pleasure of putting the feather in her hair for some of the people who
despised her for her poor clothes, and many were the jokes she made
about them. Of course they heard of her jests, and shook their heads
saying:
'She is an ill-natured little cat, and the man that marries her will
find that it is she who will hold the reins and drive the horse.'
It was not long before Denis began to agree with them, and as he always
liked to be master wherever he went, he became afraid of Téphany's sharp
tongue, and instead of laughing as before when she made fun of other
people he grew red and uncomfortable, thinking that his turn would come
next.
* * * * *
So matters went on till one evening Denis told Téphany that he really
could not stay a moment, as he had promised to go to a dance that was to
be held in the next village.
Téphany's face fell; she had worked hard all day, and had been counting
on a quiet hour with Denis. She did her best to persuade him to remain
with her, but he would not listen, and at last she grew angry.
'Oh, I know why you are so anxious not to miss the dance,' she said;
'it is because Azilicz of Penenru will be there.'
Now Azilicz was the loveliest girl for miles round, and she and Denis
had known each other from childhood.
'Oh yes, Azilicz will be there,' answered Denis, who was quite pleased
to see her jealous, 'and naturally one would go a long way to watch her
dance.'
'Go then!' cried Téphany, and entering the house she slammed the door
behind her.
Lonely and miserable she sat down by the fire and stared into the red
embers. Then, flinging the feather from her hair, she put her head on
her hands, and sobbed passionately.
'What is the use of being clever when it is beauty that men want? That
is what I ought to have asked for. But it is too late, Denis will never
come back.'
'Since you wish it so much you shall have beauty,' said a voice at her
side, and looking round she beheld the old woman leaning on her stick.
'Fasten this necklace round your neck, and as long as you wear it you
will be the most beautiful woman in the world,' continued the fairy.
With a little shriek of joy Téphany took the necklace, and snapping the
clasp ran to the mirror which hung in the corner. Ah, _this_ time she
was not afraid of Azilicz or of any other girl, for surely none could be
as fair and white as she. And with the sight of her face a thought came
to her, and putting on hastily her best dress and her buckled shoes she
hurried off to the dance.
On the way she met a beautiful carriage with a young man seated in it.
'What a lovely maiden!' he exclaimed, as Téphany approached. 'Why, there
is not a girl in my own country that can be compared to her. She, and no
other, shall be my bride.'
The carriage was large and barred the narrow road, so Téphany was
forced, much against her will, to remain where she was. But she looked
the young man full in the face as she answered:
'Go your way, noble lord, and let me go mine. I am only a poor peasant
girl, accustomed to milk and make hay and spin.'
'Peasant you may be, but I will make you a great lady,' said he, taking
her hand and trying to lead her to the carriage.
'I don't want to be a great lady, I only want to be the wife of Denis,'
she replied, throwing off his hand and running to the ditch which
divided the road from the cornfield, where she hoped to hide. Unluckily
the young man guessed what she was doing, and signed to his attendants,
who seized her and put her in the coach. The door was banged, and the
horses whipped up into a gallop.
At the end of an hour they arrived at a splendid castle, and Téphany,
who would not move, was lifted out and carried into the hall, while a
priest was sent for to perform the marriage ceremony. The young man
tried to win a smile from her by telling of all the beautiful things she
should have as his wife, but Téphany did not listen to him, and looked
about to see if there was any means by which she could escape. It did
not seem easy. The three great doors were closely barred, and the one
through which she had entered shut with a spring, but her feather was
still in her hair, and by its aid she detected a crack in the wooden
panelling, through which a streak of light could be dimly seen. Touching
the copper pin which fastened her dress, the girl sent every one in the
hall to count the cabbages, while she herself passed through the little
door, not knowing whither she was going.
By this time night had fallen, and Téphany was very tired. Thankfully
she found herself at the gate of a convent, and asked if she might stay
there till morning. But the portress answered roughly that it was no
place for beggars, and bade her begone, so the poor girl dragged herself
slowly along the road, till a light and the bark of a dog told her that
she was near a farm.
In front of the house was a group of people; two or three women and the
sons of the farmer. When their mother heard Téphany's request to be
given a bed the good wife's heart softened, and she was just going to
invite her inside, when the young men, whose heads were turned by the
girl's beauty, began to quarrel as to which should do most for her. From
words they came to blows, and the women, frightened at the disturbance,
pelted Téphany with insulting names. She quickly ran down the nearest
path, hoping to escape them in the darkness of the trees, but in an
instant she heard their footsteps behind her. Wild with fear her legs
trembled under her, when suddenly she bethought herself of her necklace.
With a violent effort she burst the clasp and flung it round the neck of
a pig which was grunting in a ditch, and as she did so she heard the
footsteps cease from pursuing her and run after the pig, for her charm
had vanished.
On she went, scarcely knowing where she was going, till she found
herself, to her surprise and joy, close to her aunt's house. For several
days she felt so tired and unhappy that she could hardly get through her
work, and to make matters worse Denis scarcely ever came near her.
'He was too busy,' he said, 'and really it was only rich people who
could afford to waste time in talking.'
As the days went on Téphany grew paler and paler, till everybody noticed
it except her aunt. The water-pot was almost too heavy for her now, but
morning and evening she carried it to the spring, though the effort to
lift it to her shoulder was often too much for her.
'How could I have been so foolish,' she whispered to herself, when she
went down as usual at sunset. 'It was not freedom to see Denis that I
should have asked for, for he was soon weary of me, nor a quick tongue,
for he was afraid of it, nor beauty, for that brought me nothing but
trouble, but riches which make life easy both for oneself and others.
Ah! if I only dared to beg this gift from the fairy, I should be wiser
than before and know how to choose better.'
'Be satisfied,' said the voice of the old woman, who seemed to be
standing unseen at Téphany's elbow. 'If you look in your right-hand
pocket when you go home you will find a small box. Rub your eyes with
the ointment it contains, and you will see that you yourself contain a
priceless treasure.'
Téphany did not in the least understand what she meant, but ran back to
the farm as fast as she could, and began to fumble joyfully in her
right-hand pocket. Sure enough, there was the little box with the
precious ointment. She was in the act of rubbing her eyes with it when
Barbaïk Bourhis entered the room. Ever since she had been obliged to
leave her work and pass her time, she did not know why, in counting
cabbages, everything had gone wrong, and she could not get a labourer to
stay with her because of her bad temper. When, therefore, she saw her
niece standing quietly before her mirror, Barbaïk broke out:
'So this is what you do when I am out in the fields! Ah! it is no wonder
if the farm is ruined. Are you not ashamed, girl, to behave so?'
Téphany tried to stammer some excuse, but her aunt was half mad with
rage, and a box on the ears was her only answer. At this Téphany, hurt,
bewildered and excited, could control herself no longer, and turning
away burst into tears. But what was her surprise when she saw that each
tear-drop was a round and shining pearl. Barbaïk, who also beheld this
marvel, uttered a cry of astonishment, and threw herself on her knees to
pick them up from the floor.
She was still gathering them when the door opened and in came Denis.
'Pearls! Are they really pearls?' he asked, falling on his knees also,
and looking up at Téphany he perceived others still more beautiful
rolling down the girl's cheeks.
'Take care not to let any of the neighbours hear of it, Denis,' said
Barbaïk. 'Of course you shall have your share, but nobody else shall get
a single one. Cry on, my dear, cry on,' she continued to Téphany. It is
for your good as well as ours,' and she held out her apron to catch
them, and Denis his hat.
But Téphany could hardly bear any more. She felt half choked at the
sight of their greediness, and wanted to rush from the hall, and though
Barbaïk caught her arm to prevent this, and said all sorts of tender
words which she thought would make the girl weep the more, Téphany with
a violent effort forced back her tears, and wiped her eyes.
'Is she finished already?' cried Barbaïk, in a tone of disappointment.
'Oh, try again, my dear. Do you think it would do any good to beat her a
little?' she added to Denis, who shook his head.
'That is enough for the first time. I will go into the town and find out
the value of each pearl.'
'Then I will go with you,' said Barbaïk, who never trusted any one and
was afraid of being cheated. So the two went out, leaving Téphany behind
them.
She sat quite still on her chair, her hands clasped tightly together, as
if she was forcing something back. At last she raised her eyes, which
had been fixed on the ground, and beheld the fairy standing in a dark
corner by the hearth, observing her with a mocking look. The girl
trembled and jumped up, then, taking the feather, the pin, and the box,
she held them out to the old woman.
'Here they are, all of them,' she cried; 'they belong to you. Let me
never see them again, but I have learned the lesson that they taught
me. Others may have riches, beauty and wit, but as for me I desire
nothing but to be the poor peasant girl I always was, working hard for
those she loves.'
'Yes, you have learned your lesson,' answered the fairy, 'and now you
shall lead a peaceful life and marry the man you love. For after all it
was not yourself you thought of but him.'
Never again did Téphany see the old woman, but she forgave Denis for
selling her tears, and in time he grew to be a good husband, who did his
own share of work.
From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.
_THE GROAC'H OF THE ISLE OF LOK_
IN old times, when all kinds of wonderful things happened in Brittany,
there lived in the village of Lanillis a young man named Houarn Pogamm
and a girl called Bellah Postik. They were cousins, and as their mothers
were great friends, and constantly in and out of each other's houses,
they had often been laid in the same cradle, and had played and fought
over their games.
'When they are grown up they will marry,' said the mothers; but just as
every one was beginning to think of wedding bells, the two mothers died,
and the cousins, who had no money, went as servants in the same house.
This was better than being parted, of course, but not so good as having
a little cottage of their own, where they could do as they liked, and
soon they might have been heard bewailing to each other the hardness of
their lots.
'If we could only manage to buy a cow and get a pig to fatten,' grumbled
Houarn, 'I would rent a bit of ground from the master, and then we could
be married.'
'Yes,' answered Bellah, with a deep sigh; 'but we live in such hard
times, and at the last fair the price of pigs had risen again.'
'We shall have long to wait, that is quite clear,' replied Houarn,
turning away to his work.
Whenever they met they repeated their grievances, and at length Houarn's
patience was exhausted, and one morning he came to Bellah and told her
that he was going away to seek his fortune.
The girl was very unhappy as she listened to this, and felt sorry that
she had not tried to make the best of things. She implored Houarn not to
leave her, but he would listen to nothing.
'The birds,' he said, 'continue flying until they reach a field of corn,
and the bees do not stop unless they find the honey-giving flowers, and
why should a man have less sense than they? Like them, I shall seek till
I get what I want--that is, money to buy a cow and a pig to fatten. And
if you love me, Bellah, you won't attempt to hinder a plan which will
hasten our marriage.'
The girl saw it was useless to say more, so she answered sadly:
'Well, go then, since you must. But first I will divide with you all
that my parents left me,' and going to her room, she opened a small
chest, and took from it a bell, a knife, and a little stick.
'This bell,' she said, 'can be heard at any distance, however far, but
it only rings to warn us that our friends are in great danger. The knife
frees all it touches from the spells that have been laid on them; while
the stick will carry you wherever you want to go. I will give you the
knife to guard you against the enchantments of wizards, and the bell to
tell me of your perils. The stick I shall keep for myself, so that I can
fly to you if ever you have need of me.'
Then they cried for a little on each other's necks, and Houarn started
for the mountains.
But in those days, as in these, beggars abounded, and through every
village he passed they followed Houarn in crowds, mistaking him for a
gentleman, because there were no holes in his clothes.
'There is no fortune to be made _here_,' he thought to himself; 'it is a
place for spending, and not earning. I see I must go further,' and he
walked on to Pont-aven, a pretty little town built on the bank of a
river.
He was sitting on a bench outside an inn, when he heard two men who were
loading their mules talking about the Groac'h of the island of Lok.
'What is a Groac'h?' asked he. 'I have never come across one.' And the
men answered that it was the name given to the fairy that dwelt in the
lake, and that she was rich--oh! richer than all the kings in the world
put together. Many had gone to the island to try and get possession of
her treasures, but no one had ever come back.
As he listened Houarn's mind was made up.
'I will go, and return too,' he said to the muleteers. They stared at
him in astonishment, and besought him not to be so mad and to throw away
his life in such a foolish manner; but he only laughed, and answered
that if they could tell him of any other way in which to procure a cow
and a pig to fatten, he would think no more about it. But the men did
not know how this was to be done, and, shaking their heads over his
obstinacy, left him to his fate.
So Houarn went down to the sea, and found a boatman who engaged to take
him to the isle of Lok.
The island was large, and lying almost across it was a lake, with a
narrow opening to the sea. Houarn paid the boatman and sent him away,
and then proceeded to walk round the lake. At one end he perceived a
small skiff, painted blue and shaped like a swan, lying under a clump of
yellow broom. As far as he could see, the swan's head was tucked under
its wing, and Houarn, who had never beheld a boat of the sort, went
quickly towards it and stepped in, so as to examine it the better. But
no sooner was he on board than the swan woke suddenly up; his head
emerged from under his wing, his feet began to move in the water, and in
another moment they were in the middle of the lake.
As soon as the young man had recovered from his surprise, he prepared to
jump into the lake and swim to shore. But the bird had guessed his
intentions, and plunged beneath the water, carrying Houarn with him to
the palace of the Groac'h.
* * * * *
Now, unless you have been under the sea and beheld all the wonders that
lie there, you can never have an idea what the Groac'h's palace was
like. It was all made of shells, blue and green and pink and lilac and
white, shading into each other till you could not tell where one colour
ended and the other began. The staircases were of crystal, and every
separate stair sang like a woodland bird as you put your foot on it.
Round the palace were great gardens full of all the plants that grow in
the sea, with diamonds for flowers.
In a large hall the Groac'h was lying on a couch of gold. The pink and
white of her face reminded you of the shells of her palace, while her
long black hair was intertwined with strings of coral, and her dress of
green silk seemed formed out of the sea. At the sight of her Houarn
stopped, dazzled by her beauty.
'Come in,' said the Groac'h, rising to her feet. 'Strangers and handsome
youths are always welcome here. Do not be shy, but tell me how you found
your way, and what you want.'
'My name is Houarn,' he answered, 'Lanillis is my home, and I am trying
to earn enough money to buy a little cow and a pig to fatten.'
'Well, you can easily get that,' replied she; 'it is nothing to worry
about. Come in and enjoy yourself.' And she beckoned him to follow her
into a second hall whose floors and walls were formed of pearls, while
down the sides there were tables laden with fruit and wines of all
kinds; and as he ate and drank, the Groac'h talked to him and told him
how the treasures he saw came from shipwrecked vessels, and were brought
to her palace by a magic current of water.
'I do not wonder,' exclaimed Houarn, who now felt quite at home--'I do
not wonder that the people on the earth have so much to say about you.'
'The rich are always envied.'
[Illustration: COME LAWYER, COME TAILOR, COME MILLER, COME SINGER]
'For myself,' he added, with a laugh, 'I only ask for the half of your
wealth.'
'You can have it, if you will, Houarn,' answered the fairy.
'What do you mean?' cried he.
'My husband, Korandon, is dead,' she replied, 'and if you wish it, I
will marry you.'
The young man gazed at her in surprise. Could any one so rich and so
beautiful really wish to be his wife? He looked at her again, and Bellah
was forgotten as he answered:
'A man would be mad indeed to refuse such an offer. I can only accept it
with joy.'
'Then the sooner it is done the better,' said the Groac'h, and gave
orders to her servants. After that was finished, she begged Houarn to
accompany her to a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden.
'Come lawyer, come miller, come tailor, come singer!' cried she, holding
out a net of steel; and at each summons a fish appeared and jumped into
the net. When it was full she went into a large kitchen and threw them
all into a golden pot; but above the bubbling of the water Houarn seemed
to hear the whispering of little voices.
'Who is it whispering in the golden pot, Groac'h?' he inquired at last.
'It is nothing but the noise of the wood sparkling,' she answered; but
it did not sound the least like that to Houarn.
'There it is again,' he said, after a short pause.
'The water is getting hot, and it makes the fish jump,' she replied; but
soon the noise grew louder and like cries.
'What _is_ it?' asked Houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
'Just the crickets on the hearth,' said she, and broke into a song which
drowned the cries from the pot.
* * * * *
But though Houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before.
Something seemed to have gone wrong, and then he suddenly remembered
Bellah.
'Is it possible I can have forgotten her so soon? What a wretch I am!'
he thought to himself; and he remained apart and watched the Groac'h
while she emptied the fish into a plate, and bade him eat his dinner
while she fetched wine from her cellar in a cave.
Houarn sat down and took out the knife which Bellah had given him, but
as soon as the blade touched the fish the enchantment ceased, and four
men stood before him.
'Houarn, save us, we entreat you, and save yourself too!' murmured they,
not daring to raise their voices.
'Why, it must have been _you_ who were crying out in the pot just now!'
exclaimed Houarn.
'Yes, it was us,' they answered. 'Like you, we came to the isle of Lok
to seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the Groac'h,
and no sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, as
she had done to all our forerunners, who are in the fish-pond still,
where you will shortly join them.'
On hearing this Houarn leaped into the air, as if he already felt
himself frizzling in the golden pot. He rushed to the door, hoping to
escape that way; but the Groac'h, who had heard everything, met him on
the threshold. Instantly she threw the steel net over his head, and the
eyes of a little green frog peeped through the meshes.
'You shall go and play with the rest,' she said, carrying him off to the
fish-pond.
* * * * *
It was at this very moment that Bellah, who was skimming the milk in the
farm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.
At the sound she grew pale, for she knew it meant that Houarn was in
danger; and, hastily changing the rough dress she wore for her work, she
left the farm with the magic stick in her hand.
Her knees were trembling under her, but she ran as fast as she could to
the cross roads, where she drove her stick into the ground, murmuring as
she did so a verse her mother had taught her:
Little staff of apple-tree,
Over the earth and over the sea,
Up in the air be guide to me,
Everywhere to wander free,
and immediately the stick became a smart little horse, with a rosette at
each ear and a feather on his forehead. He stood quite still while
Bellah scrambled up, then he started off, his pace growing quicker and
quicker, till at length the girl could hardly see the trees and houses
as they flashed past. But, rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid
enough for Bellah, who stooped and said:
'The swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind is less swift than
the lightning. But you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than
them all, for there is a part of my heart that suffers--the best part of
my heart that is in danger.'
And the horse heard her, and galloped like a straw carried along by a
tempest till they reached the foot of a rock called the Leap of the
Deer. There he stopped, for no horse or mule that ever was born could
climb that rock, and Bellah knew it, so she began to sing again:
Horse of Léon, given to me,
Over the earth and over the sea,
Up in the air be guide to me,
Everywhere to wander free,
and when she had finished, the horse's fore legs grew shorter and spread
into wings, his hind legs became claws, feathers sprouted all over his
body, and she sat on the back of a great bird, which bore her to the
summit of the rock. Here she found a nest made of clay and lined with
dried moss, and in the centre a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a
cry of surprise at the sight of Bellah.
'Ah! you are the pretty girl who was to come and save me!'
'To save you!' repeated Bellah. 'But who are you, my little friend?'
'I am the husband of the Groac'h of the isle of Lok, and it is owing to
her that I am here.'
'But what are you doing in this nest?'
[Illustration: HOW BELLAH FOUND KORANDON]
'I am sitting on six eggs of stone, and I shall not be set free till
they are hatched.'
On hearing this Bellah began to laugh.
'Poor little cock!' she said, 'and how am I to deliver you?'
'By delivering Houarn, who is in the power of the Groac'h.'
'Ah! tell me how I can manage that, and if I have to walk round the
whole of Brittany on my bended knees I will do it!'
'Well, first you must dress yourself as a young man, and then go and
seek the Groac'h. When you have found her you must contrive to get hold
of the net of steel that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it for
ever.'
'But where am I to find a young man's clothes?' asked she.
'I will show you,' he replied, and as he spoke he pulled out three of
his red hairs and blew them away muttering something the while. In the
twinkling of an eye the four hairs changed into four tailors, of whom
the first carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third a
needle, and the fourth an iron. Without waiting for orders, they sat
down in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare
the suit of clothes for Bellah.
With one of the leaves of the cabbage they made her a coat, and another
served for a waistcoat; but it took two for the wide breeches which were
then in fashion. The hat was cut from the heart of the cabbage, and a
pair of shoes from the thick stem. And when Bellah had put them all on
you would have taken her for a gentleman dressed in green velvet, lined
with white satin.
She thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more
instructions, jumped on the back of her great bird and was borne away to
the isle of Lok. Once there, she bade him transform himself back into a
stick, and with it in her hand she stepped into the blue boat, which
conducted her to the palace of shells.
The Groac'h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before
had she beheld such a handsome young man. Very soon she led her visitor
into the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and on
the table lay the magic knife, left there by Houarn. Unseen by the
Groac'h, Bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed
her hostess into the garden, and to the pond which contained the fish,
their sides shining with a thousand different colours.
'Oh! what beautiful, beautiful creatures!' said she. 'I'm sure I should
never be tired of watching them.' And she sat down on the bank, with her
elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the
fishes as they flashed past.
'Would you not like to stay here always?' asked the Groac'h; and Bellah
answered that she desired nothing better.
'Then you have only to marry me,' said the Groac'h. 'Oh! don't say no,
for I have fallen deeply in love with you.'
'Well, I won't say "No,"' replied Bellah, with a laugh, 'but you must
promise first to let me catch one of those lovely fish in your net.'
'It is not so easy as it looks,' rejoined the Groac'h, smiling, 'but
take it, and try your luck.'
Bellah took the net which the Groac'h held out, and, turning rapidly,
flung it over the witch's head.
'Become in body what you are in soul!' cried she, and in an instant the
lovely fairy of the sea was a toad, horrible to look upon. She struggled
hard to tear the net asunder, but it was no use. Bellah only drew it the
tighter, and, flinging the sorceress into a pit, she rolled a great
stone across the mouth, and left her.
As she drew near the pond she saw a great procession of fishes advancing
to meet her, crying in hoarse tones:
'This is our lord and master, who has saved us from the net of steel and
the pot of gold!'
'And who will restore you to your proper shapes,' said Bellah, drawing
the knife from her pocket. But just as she was going to touch the
foremost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her,
his little paws crossed over his little heart. Bellah felt as if
fingers were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry:
'Is this you, my Houarn? Is this you?'
'It is I,' croaked the little frog; and as the knife touched him he was
a man again, and, springing up, he clasped her in his arms.
* * * * *
'But we must not forget the others,' she said at last, and began to
transform the fishes to their proper shapes. There were so many of them
that it took quite a long time. Just as she had finished there arrived
the little dwarf from the Deer's Leap in a car drawn by six cockchafers,
which once had been the six stone eggs.
'Here I am!' he exclaimed. 'You have broken the spell that held me, and
now come and get your reward,' and, dismounting from his chariot, he led
them down into the caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade Bellah
and Houarn take as much as they wanted.
When their pockets were full, Bellah ordered her stick to become a
winged carriage, large enough to bear them and the men they had rescued
back to Lanillis.
There they were married the next day, but instead of setting up
housekeeping with the little cow and pig to fatten that they had so long
wished for, they were able to buy lands for miles round for themselves,
and gave each man who had been delivered from the Groac'h a small farm,
where he lived happily to the end of his days.
From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.
_THE ESCAPE OF THE MOUSE_
MANAWYDDAN the prince and his friend Pryderi were wanderers, for the
brother of Manawyddan had been slain, and his throne taken from him.
Very sorrowful was Manawyddan, but Pryderi was stout of heart, and bade
him be of good cheer, as he knew a way out of his trouble.
'And what may that be?' asked Manawyddan.
'It is that thou marry my mother Rhiannon and become lord of the fair
lands that I will give her for dowry. Never did any lady have more wit
than she, and in her youth none was more lovely; even yet she is good to
look upon.'
'Thou art the best friend that ever a man had,' said Manawyddan. 'Let us
go now to seek Rhiannon, and the lands where she dwells.'
Then they set forth, but the news of their coming ran swifter still, and
Rhiannon and Kicva, wife of Pryderi, made haste to prepare a feast for
them. And Manawyddan found that Pryderi had spoken the truth concerning
his mother, and asked if she would take him for her husband. Right
gladly did she consent, and without delay they were married, and rode
away to the hunt, Rhiannon and Manawyddan, Kicva and Pryderi, and they
would not be parted from each other by night or by day, so great was the
love between them.
One day, when they were returned, they were sitting out in a green
place, and suddenly the crash of thunder struck loudly on their ears,
and a wall of mist fell between them, so that they were hidden one from
the other. Trembling they sat till the darkness fled and the light shone
again upon them, but in the place where they were wont to see cattle,
and herds, and dwellings, they beheld neither house nor beast, nor man
nor smoke; neither was any one remaining in the green place save these
four only.
'Whither have they gone, and my host also?' cried Manawyddan, and they
searched the hall, and there was no man, and the castle, and there was
none, and in the dwellings that were left was nothing save wild beasts.
For a year these four fed on the meat that Manawyddan and Pryderi killed
out hunting, and the honey of the bees that sucked the mountain heather.
For a time they desired nothing more, but when the next year began they
grew weary.
'We cannot spend our lives thus,' said Manawyddan at last, 'let us go
into England and learn some trade by which we may live.' So they left
Wales, and went to Hereford, and there they made saddles, while
Manawyddan fashioned blue enamel ornaments to put on their trappings.
And so greatly did the townsfolk love these saddles, that no others were
bought throughout the whole of Hereford, till the saddlers banded
together and resolved to slay Manawyddan and his companions.
* * * * *
When Pryderi heard of it, he was very wroth, and wished to stay and
fight. But the counsels of Manawyddan prevailed, and they moved by night
to another city.
'What craft shall we follow?' asked Pryderi.
'We will make shields,' answered Manawyddan.
'But do we know anything of that craft?' answered Pryderi.
'We will try it,' said Manawyddan, and they began to make shields, and
fashioned them after the shape of the shields they had seen; and these
likewise they enamelled. And so greatly did they prosper that no man in
the town bought a shield except they had made it, till at length the
shield-makers banded together as the saddlers had done, and resolved to
slay them. But of this they had warning, and by night betook themselves
to another town.
'Let us take to making shoes,' said Manawyddan, 'for there are not any
among the shoemakers bold enough to fight us.'
'I know nothing of making shoes,' answered Pryderi, who in truth
despised so peaceful a craft.
'But I know,' replied Manawyddan, 'and I will teach thee to stitch. We
will buy the leather ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.'
Then straightway he sought the town for the best leather, and for a
goldsmith to fashion the clasps, and he himself watched till it was
done, so that he might learn for himself. Soon he became known as 'The
Maker of Gold Shoes,' and prospered so greatly, that as long as one
could be bought from him not a shoe was purchased from the shoemakers of
the town. And the craftsmen were wroth, and banded together to slay
them.
'Pryderi,' said Manawyddan, when he had received news of it, 'we will
not remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved.'
So they journeyed until they came to their lands at Narberth. There they
gathered their dogs round them, and hunted for a year as before.
After that a strange thing happened. One morning Pryderi and Manawyddan
rose up to hunt, and loosened their dogs, which ran before them, till
they came to a small bush. At the bush, the dogs shrank away as if
frightened, and returned to their masters, their hair bristling on their
backs.
'We must see what is in that bush,' said Pryderi, and what was in it was
a boar, with a skin as white as the snow on the mountains. And he came
out, and made a stand as the dogs rushed on him, driven on by the men.
Long he stood at bay; then at last he betook himself to flight, and fled
to a castle which was newly built, in a place where no building had ever
been known. Into the castle he ran, and the dogs after him, and long
though their masters looked and listened, they neither saw nor heard
aught concerning dogs or boar.
'I will go into the castle and get tidings of the dogs,' said Pryderi at
last.
'Truly,' answered Manawyddan, 'thou wouldst do unwisely, for whosoever
has cast a spell over this land has set this castle here.'
'I cannot give up my dogs,' replied Pryderi, and to the castle he went.
But within was neither man nor beast; neither boar nor dogs, but only a
fountain with marble round it, and on the edge a golden bowl, richly
wrought, which pleased Pryderi greatly. In a moment he forgot about his
dogs, and went up to the bowl and took hold of it, and his hands stuck
to the bowl, and his feet to the marble slab, and despair took
possession of him.
Till the close of day Manawyddan waited for him, and when the sun was
fast sinking, he went home, thinking that he had strayed far.
'Where are thy friend and thy dogs?' said Rhiannon, and he told her what
had befallen Pryderi.
'A good friend hast thou lost,' answered Rhiannon, and she went up to
the castle and through the gate, which was open. There, in the centre of
the courtyard, she beheld Pryderi standing, and hastened towards him.
'What dost thou here?' she asked, laying her hand on the bowl, and as
she spoke she too stuck fast, and was not able to utter a word. Then
thunder was heard and a veil of darkness descended upon them, and the
castle vanished and they with it.
When Kicva, the wife of Pryderi, found that neither her husband nor his
mother returned to her, she was in such sorrow that she cared not
whether she lived or died. Manawyddan was grieved also in his heart, and
said to her:
'It is not fitting that we should stay here, for we have lost our dogs
and cannot get food. Let us go into England--it is easier for us to live
there.' So they set forth.
'What craft wilt thou follow?' asked Kicva as they went along.
'I shall make shoes as once I did,' replied he; and he got all the
finest leather in the town and caused gilded clasps to be made for the
shoes, till everyone flocked to buy, and all the shoemakers in the town
were idle and banded together in anger to kill him. But luckily
Manawyddan got word of it, and he and Kicva left the town one night and
proceeded to Narberth, taking with him a sheaf of wheat, which he sowed
in three plots of ground. And while the wheat was growing up, he hunted
and fished, and they had food enough and to spare. Thus the months
passed until the harvest; and one evening Manawyddan visited the
furthest of his fields of wheat; and saw that it was ripe.
'To-morrow I will reap this,' said he; but on the morrow when he went to
reap the wheat he found nothing but the bare straw.
Filled with dismay he hastened to the second field, and there the corn
was ripe and golden.
'To-morrow I will reap this,' he said, but on the morrow the ears had
gone, and there was nothing but the bare straw.
'Well, there is still one field left,' he said, and when he looked at
it, it was still fairer than the other two. 'To-night I will watch
here,' thought he, 'for whosoever carried off the other corn will in
like manner take this, and I will know who it is.' So he hid himself and
waited.
The hours slid by, and all was still, so still that Manawyddan well-nigh
dropped asleep. But at midnight there arose the loudest tumult in the
world, and peeping out he beheld a mighty host of mice, which could
neither be numbered nor measured. Each mouse climbed up a straw till it
bent down with its weight, and then it bit off one of the ears, and
carried it away, and there was not one of the straws that had not got a
mouse to it.
Full of wrath he rushed at the mice, but he could no more come up with
them than if they had been gnats, or birds of the air, save one only
which lingered behind the rest, and this mouse Manawyddan came up with.
Stooping down he seized it by the tail, and put it in his glove, and
tied a piece of string across the opening of the glove, so that the
mouse could not escape. When he entered the hall where Kicva was
sitting, he lighted a fire, and hung the glove up on a peg.
'What hast thou there?' asked she.
'A thief,' he answered, 'that I caught robbing me.'
'What kind of a thief may it be which thou couldst put in thy glove?'
said Kicva.
'That I will tell thee,' he replied, and then he showed her how his
fields of corn had been wasted, and how he had watched for the mice.
'And one was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove.
To-morrow I will hang it, and I only wish I had them all.'
'It is a marvel, truly,' said she, 'yet it would be unseemly for a man
of thy dignity to hang a reptile such as this. Do not meddle with it,
but let it go.'
'Woe betide me,' he cried, 'if I would not hang them all if I could
catch them, and such as I have I will hang.'
'Verily,' said she, 'there is no reason that I should succour this
reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee.'
'If I knew any cause that I should succour it, I would take thy
counsel,' answered Manawyddan, 'but as I know of none, I am minded to
destroy it.'
'Do so then,' said Kicva.
So he went up a hill and set up two forks on the top, and while he was
doing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, whose clothes were
tattered. Now it was seven years since Manawyddan had seen man or beast
in that place, and the sight amazed him.
'Good day to thee, my lord,' said the scholar.
'Good greeting to thee, scholar. Whence dost thou come?'
'From singing in England; but wherefore dost thou ask?'
'Because for seven years no man hath visited this place.'
'I wander where I will,' answered the scholar. 'And what work art _thou_
upon?'
'I am about to hang a thief that I caught robbing me!'
'What manner of thief is that?' inquired the scholar. 'I see a creature
in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of thy rank
to touch a reptile like this. Let it go free.'
'I will not let it go free,' cried Manawyddan. 'I caught it robbing me,
and it shall suffer the doom of a thief.'
'Lord!' said the scholar, 'sooner than see a man like thee at such a
work, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms to let it
go free.'
'I will not let it go free, neither will I sell it.'
'As thou wilt, lord,' answered the scholar, and he went his way.
* * * * *
Manawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forked sticks, where
the mouse was to hang, when a priest rode past.
'Good-day to thee, lord; and what art thou doing?'
'I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'
'What manner of thief, lord?'
'A creature in the form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and it shall
suffer the doom of a thief.'
'Lord,' said the priest, 'sooner than see thee touch this reptile, I
would purchase its freedom.'
'I will neither sell it nor set it free.'
'It is true that a mouse is worth nothing, but rather than see thee
defile thyself with touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee
three pounds for it.'
'I will not take any price for it. It shall be hanged as it deserves.'
'Willingly, my lord, if it is thy pleasure.' And the priest went his
way.
Then Manawyddan noosed the string about the mouse's neck, and was about
to draw it tight when a bishop, with a great following and horses
bearing huge packs, came by.
'What work art thou upon?' asked the bishop, drawing rein.
'Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'
'But is not that a _mouse_ that I see in thine hand?' asked the bishop.
'Yes; that is the thief,' answered Manawyddan.
'Well, since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will ransom it
of thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it.
Loose it, and let it go!'
'I will not let it loose.'
'I will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free,' said the
bishop.
'I will not set it free for as much again.'
'If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses
thou seest and the seven loads of baggage.'
'I will not set it free.'
'Then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and I will give it.'
'The spell must be taken off Rhiannon and Pryderi,' said Manawyddan.
'That shall be done.'
'But not yet will I loose the mouse. The charm that has been cast over
all my lands must be taken off likewise.'
'This shall be done also.'
'But not yet will I loose the mouse till I know who she is.'
'She is my wife,' answered the bishop.
'And wherefore came she to me?' asked Manawyddan.
'To despoil thee,' replied the bishop, 'for it is I who cast the charm
over thy lands, to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud my friend. And it was I
who threw the spell upon Pryderi to avenge Gwawl for the trick that had
been played on him in the game of Badger in the Bag. And not only was I
wroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come
to dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice,
that they might eat thy corn. The first and the second nights it was the
men of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third
night my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them
also into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging
Gwawl. Therefore I changed them. Yet had she not been ill and slow of
foot, thou couldst not have overtaken her. Still, since she was caught,
I will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and will take the charm from
off thy lands. I have told thee who she is; so now set her free.'
'I will not set her free,' answered Manawyddan, 'till thou swear that no
vengeance shall be taken for this, either upon Pryderi, or upon
Rhiannon, or on me.'
'I grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for on thy
head would have lit all the trouble. Set now my wife free.'
'I will not set her free till Pryderi and Rhiannon are with me.'
'Behold, here they come,' said the bishop.
* * * * *
Then Manawyddan held out his hands and greeted Pryderi and Rhiannon, and
they seated themselves joyfully on the grass.
'Ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?' said the bishop.
'Set now my wife free!'
'That I will gladly,' answered Manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her
neck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she
turned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.
'Look around upon thy land,' said he, 'and thou wilt see it all tilled
and peopled, as it was long ago.' And Manawyddan looked, and saw corn
growing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and
huts for the people to dwell in. And he was satisfied in his soul, but
one more question he put to the bishop.
'What spell didst thou lay upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?'
'Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him,
and Rhiannon has carried the collars of my asses around her neck,' said
the bishop with a smile.