Fairy Origins

Hollowed his back and shaped it as a selle.[33]

The fisherman at once

Seized the strange sea-steed by his bristling finAnd vaulted on his shoulders; the fleet fishSwift sought the shallows and the friendly shore.[34]

Seized the strange sea-steed by his bristling fin

And vaulted on his shoulders; the fleet fish

Swift sought the shallows and the friendly shore.[34]

Before dismissing the fisherman, however, the Fish King presented him with an inexhaustible purse—probably as a hint that it would be unnecessary for him on a future visit to disturb his paving arrangements.

Two questions which early obtrude themselves in the consideration of Breton fairy-lore are: Are all the fays of Brittany malevolent? And, if so, whence proceeds this belief that fairy-folk are necessarily malign? Example treads upon example to prove that the Breton fairy is seldom beneficent, that he or she is prone to ill-nature and spitefulness, not to say fiendish malice on occasion. There appears to be a deep-rooted conviction that the elfish race devotes itself to the annoyance of mankind, practising a species of peculiarly irritating trickery, wanton and destructive. Only very rarely is a spirit of friendliness evinced, and then a motive is usually obvious. The ‘friendly’ fairy invariably has an axe to grind.

Two reasons may be advanced to account for this condition of things. First, the fairy-folk—in which are included house and field spirits—may be the traditional remnant of a race of real people, perhaps a prehistoric race, driven into the remote parts of the country by strange immigrant conquerors. Perhaps these primitive folk were elfish, dwarfish, or otherwise peculiar in86appearance to the superior new-comers, who would in pride of race scorn the small, swarthy aborigines, and refuse all communion with them. We may be sure that the aborigines, on their part, would feel for their tall, handsome conquerors all the hatred of which a subject race is capable, never approaching them unless under compulsion or necessity, and revenging themselves upon them by every means of annoyance in their power. We may feel certain, too, that the magic of these conquered and discredited folk would be made full use of to plague the usurpers of the soil, and trickery, as irritating as any elf-pranks, would be brought to increase the discomfort of the new-comers.

There are, however, several good objections to this view of the origin of the fairy idea. First and foremost, the smaller prehistoric aboriginal peoples of Europe themselves possessed tales of little people, of spirits of field and forest, flood and fell. It is unlikely that man was ever without these.

Yea, I sang, as now I sing, when the Prehistoric SpringMade the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove,And the troll, and gnome, and dwerg, and the gods of cliff and bergWere about me and beneath me and above.[35]

Yea, I sang, as now I sing, when the Prehistoric Spring

Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove,

And the troll, and gnome, and dwerg, and the gods of cliff and berg

Were about me and beneath me and above.[35]

The idea of animism, the belief that everything had a personality of its own, certainly belonged to the later prehistoric period, for among the articles which fill the graves of aboriginal peoples, for use on the last journey, we find weapons to enable the deceased to drive off the evil spirits which would surround his own after death. Spirits, to early man, are always relatively smaller than himself. He beholds the “picture87of a little man” in his comrade’s eyes, and concludes it to be his ‘soul.’ Some primitive peoples, indeed, believe that several parts of the body have each their own resident soul. Again, the spirit of the corn or the spirit of the flower, the savage would argue, must in the nature of things be small. We can thus see how the belief in ‘the little folk’ may have arisen, and how they remained little until a later day.

A much more scientific theory of the origin of the belief in fairies is that which sees in them the deities of a discredited religion, the gods of an aboriginal people, rather than the people themselves. Such were the IrishDaoine Sidhe, and the Welshy Mamau(‘the Mothers’)—undoubtedly gods of the Celts. Again, although in many countries, especially in England, the fairies are regarded as small of stature, in Celtic countries the fay proper, as distinct from the brownie and such goblins, is of average mortal height, and this would seem to be the case in Brittany. Whether the gorics and courils of Brittany, who seem sufficiently small, are fairies or otherwise is a moot point. They seem to be more of the field spirit type, and are perhaps classed more correctly with the gnome race; we thus deal with them in our chapter on sprites and demons. It would seem, too, as if there might be ground for the belief that the normal-sized fairy race of Celtic countries had become confounded with the Teutonic idea of elves (Teut.Elfen) in Germany and England, from which, perhaps, they borrowed their diminutive size.

But these are only considerations, not conclusions. Strange as it may seem, folk-lore has by no means solved the fairy problem, and much remains to be accomplished ere we can write ‘Finis’ to the study of fairy origins.

Another Breton name for the fairies isles Margots la fée, a title which is chiefly employed in several districts of the Côtes-du-Nord, principally in thearrondissementsof Saint-Brieuc and Loudéac, to describe those fairies who have their abode in large rocks and on the wild and extensive moorlands which are so typical of the country. These, unlike thefées houles, are able to render themselves invisible at pleasure. Like human beings, they are subject to maladies, and are occasionally glad to accept mortal succour. They return kindness for kindness, but are vindictive enemies to those who attempt to harm them.

But fairy vindictiveness is not lavished upon those unwitting mortals who do them harm alone. If one chances to succeed in a task set by the immortals of the forest, one is in danger of death, as the following story shows.

A poor little fellow was one day gathering faggots in the forest when a gay, handsomely dressed gentleman passed him, and, noticing the lad’s ragged and forlorn condition, said to him: “What are you doing there, my boy?”

“I am looking for wood, sir,” replied the boy. “If I did not do so we should have no fire at home.”

“You are very poor at home, then?” asked the gentleman.

“So poor,” said the lad, “that sometimes we only eat once a day, and often go supperless to bed.”

THE POOR BOY AND THE THREE FAIRY DAMSELS

“That is a sad tale,” said the gentleman. “If you89will promise to meet me here within a month I will give you some money, which will help your parents and feed and clothe your small brothers and sisters.”

Prompt to the day and the hour, the boy kept the tryst in the forest glade, at the very spot where he had met the gentleman. But though he looked anxiously on every side he could see no signs of his friend. In his anxiety he pushed farther into the forest, and came to the borders of a pond, where three damsels were preparing to bathe. One was dressed in white, another in grey, and the third in blue. The boy pulled off his cap, gave them good-day, and asked politely if they had not seen a gentleman in the neighbourhood. The maiden who was dressed in white told him where the gentleman was to be found, and pointed out a road by which he might arrive at his castle.

“He will ask you,” said she, “to become his servant, and if you accept he will wish you to eat. The first time that he presents the food to you, say: ‘It is I who should serve you.’ If he asks you a second time make the same reply; but if he should press you a third time refuse brusquely and thrust away the plate which he offers you.”

The boy was not long in finding the castle, and was at once shown into the gentleman’s presence. As the maiden dressed in white had foretold, he requested the youth to enter his service, and when his offer was accepted placed before him a plate of viands. The lad bowed politely, but refused the food. A second time it was offered, but he persisted in his refusal, and when it was proffered to him a third time he thrust it away from him so roughly that it fell to the ground and the plate was broken.

“Ah,” said the gentleman, “you are just the kind of servant I require. You are now my lackey, and if you are able to do three things that I command you I will give you one of my daughters for your wife and you shall be my son-in-law.”

The next day he gave the boy a hatchet of lead, a saw of paper, and a wheelbarrow made of oak-leaves, bidding him fell, bind up, and measure all the wood in the forest within a radius of seven leagues. The new servant at once commenced his task, but the hatchet of lead broke at the first blow, the saw of paper buckled at the first stroke, and the wheelbarrow of oak-leaves was broken by the weight of the first little branch he placed on it. The lad in despair sat down, and could do nothing but gaze at the useless implements. At midday the damsel dressed in white whom he had seen at the pond came to bring him something to eat.

“Alas!” she cried, “why do you sit thus idle? If my father should come and find that you have done nothing he would kill you.”

“I can do nothing with such wretched tools,” grumbled the lad.

“Do you see this wand?” said the damsel, producing a little rod. “Take it in your hand and walk round the forest, and the work will take care of itself. At the same time say these words: ‘Let the wood fall, tie itself into bundles, and be measured.’”

The boy did as the damsel advised him, and matters proceeded so satisfactorily that by a little after midday the work was completed. In the evening the gentleman said to him:

“Have you accomplished your task?”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish to see it? The wood is cut and tied into bundles of the proper weight and measurement.”

“It is well,” said the gentleman. “To-morrow I will set you the second task.”

On the following morning he took the lad to a knoll some distance from the castle, and said to him:

“You see this rising ground? By this evening you must have made it a garden well planted with fruit-trees and having a fish-pond in the middle, where ducks and other water-fowl may swim. Here are your tools.”

The tools were a pick of glass and a spade of earthenware. The boy commenced the work, but at the first stroke his fragile pick and spade broke into a thousand fragments. For the second time he sat down helplessly. Time passed slowly, and as before at midday the damsel in white brought him his dinner.

“So I find you once more with your arms folded,” she said.

“I cannot work with a pick of glass and an earthenware spade,” complained the youth.

“Here is another wand,” said the damsel. “Take it and walk round this knoll, saying: ‘Let the place be planted and become a beautiful garden with fruit-trees, in the middle of which is a fish-pond with ducks swimming upon it.’”

The boy took the wand, did as he was bid, and the work was speedily accomplished. A beautiful garden arose as if by enchantment, well furnished with fruit-trees of all descriptions and ornamented with a small sheet of water.

Once more his master was quite satisfied with the result,92and on the third morning set him his third task. He took him beneath one of the towers of the castle.

“Behold this tower,” he said. “It is of polished marble. You must climb it, and at the top you will find a turtle-dove, which you must bring to me.”

The gentleman, who was of opinion that the damsel in white had helped his servant in the first two tasks, sent her to the town to buy provisions. When she received this order the maiden retired to her chamber and burst into tears. Her sisters asked her what was the matter, and she told them that she wished to remain at the castle, so they promised to go to the town in her stead. At midday she found the lad sitting at the foot of the tower bewailing the fact that he could not climb its smooth and glassy sides.

“I have come to help you once more,” said the damsel. “You must get a cauldron, then cut me into morsels and throw in all my bones, without missing a single one. It is the only way to succeed.”

“Never!” exclaimed the youth. “I would sooner die than harm such a beautiful lady as you.”

“Yet you must do as I say,” she replied.

For a long time the youth refused, but at last he gave way to the maiden’s entreaties, cut her into little pieces, and placed the bones in a large cauldron, forgetting, however, the little toe of her left foot. Then he rose as if by magic to the top of the tower, found the turtle-dove, and came down again.[36]Having completed his task, he took a wand which lay beside the cauldron, and when he touched the bones they came together again and the93damsel stepped out of the great pot none the worse for her experience.

When the young fellow carried the dove to his master the gentleman said:

“It is well. I shall carry out my promise and give you one of my daughters for your wife, but all three shall be veiled and you must pick the one you desire without seeing her face.”

The three damsels were then brought into his presence, but the lad easily recognized the one who had assisted him, because she lacked the small toe of the left foot. So he chose her without hesitation, and they were married.

But the gentleman was not content with the marriage. On the day of the bridal he placed the bed of the young folks over a vault, and hung it from the roof by four cords. When they had gone to bed he came to the door of the chamber and said:

“Son-in-law, are you asleep?”

“No, not yet,” replied the youth.

Some time afterward he repeated his question, and met with a similar answer.

“The next time he comes,” said the bride, “pretend that you are sleeping.”

Shortly after that his father-in-law asked once more if he were asleep, and receiving no answer retired, evidently well satisfied.

When he had gone the bride made her husband rise at once. “Go instantly to the stables,” said she, “and take there the horse which is called Little Wind, mount him, and fly.”

The young fellow hastened to comply with her request, and he had scarcely left the chamber when the master94of the castle returned and asked if his daughter were asleep. She answered “No,” and, bidding her arise and come with him, he cut the cords, so that the bed fell into the vault beneath. The bride now heard the trampling of hoofs in the garden outside, and rushed out to find her husband in the act of mounting.

“Stay!” she cried. “You have taken Great Wind instead of Little Wind, as I advised you, but there is no help for it,” and she mounted behind him. Great Wind did not belie his name, and dashed into the night like a tempest.

“Do you see anything?” asked the girl.

“No, nothing,” said her husband.

“Look again,” she said. “Do you see anything now?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I see a great flame of fire.”

The bride took her wand, struck it three times, and said: “I change thee, Great Wind, into a garden, myself into a pear-tree, and my husband into a gardener.”

The transformation had hardly been effected when the master of the castle and his wife came up with them.

“Ha, my good man,” cried he to the seeming gardener, “has any one on horseback passed this way?”

“Three pears for a sou,” said the gardener.

“That is not an answer to my question,” fumed the old wizard, for such he was. “I asked if you had seen any one on horseback in this direction.”

“Four for a sou, then, if you will,” said the gardener.

“Idiot!” foamed the enchanter, and dashed on in pursuit. The young wife then changed herself, her horse, and her husband into their natural forms, and, mounting once more, they rode onward.

“Do you see anything now?” asked she.

“Yes, I see a great flame of fire,” he replied.

Once more she took her wand. “I change this steed into a church,” she said, “myself into an altar, and my husband into a priest.”

Very soon the wizard and his wife came to the doors of the church and asked the priest if a youth and a lady had passed that way on horseback.

“Dominus vobiscum,” said the priest, and nothing more could the wizard get from him.

Pursued once more, the young wife changed the horse into a river, herself into a boat, and her husband into a boatman. When the wizard came up with them he asked to be ferried across the river. The boatman at once made room for them, but in the middle of the stream the boat capsized and the enchanter and his wife were drowned.

The young lady and her husband returned to the castle, seized the treasure of its fairy lord, and, says tradition, lived happily ever afterward, as all young spouses do in fairy-tale.

96CHAPTER IV: SPRITES AND DEMONS OF BRITTANY

Theidea of the evil spirit, malicious and revengeful, is common to all primitive peoples, and Brittany has its full share of demonology. Wherever, in fact, a primitive and illiterate peasantry is found the demon is its inevitable accompaniment. But we shall not find these Breton devils so very different from the fiends of other lands.

The nain is a figure fearsomely Celtic in its hideousness, resembling the gargoyles which peer down upon the traveller from the carven ‘top-hamper’ of so many Breton churches. Black and menacing of countenance, these demon-folk are armed with feline claws, and their feet end in hoofs like those of a satyr. Their dark elf-locks, small, gleaming eyes, red as carbuncles, and harsh, cracked voices are all dilated upon with fear by those who have met them upon lonely heaths or unfrequented roads. They haunt the ancient dolmens built by a vanished race, and at night, by the pale starlight, they dance around these ruined tombs to the music of a primitive refrain:

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,Thursday and Friday.”

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,

Thursday and Friday.”

Saturday and Sunday they dare not mention as being days sacred from fairy influence. We all remember that in the old tale of Tom Thumb the elves among whom the hero fell sang such a refrain. But wherefore? It would indeed be difficult to say. Deities, credited and97discredited, have often a connexion with the calendar, and we may have here some calendric reference, or again the chant may be merely a nonsense rhyme. Bad luck attached itself to the human who chanced to behold the midnight revels of the nains, and if he entered the charmed circle and danced along with them his death was certain to ensue before the year was out. Wednesday was the nains’ high-day, or rather night, and their greatnuit festalewas the first Wednesday in May. That they should have possessed a fixed festival at such a period, full of religious significance for most primitive peoples, would seem to show that they must at one time have been held in considerable esteem.

But although the nains while away their time in such simple fashion as dancing to the repetition of the names of the days of the week, they have a less innocent side to their characters, for they are forgers of false money, which they fabricate in the recesses of caverns. We all recall stories of fairy gold and its perishable nature. A simple youth sells something on market day to a fairy, and later on turning over in his pocket the money he has received he finds that it has been transformed into beans. The housewife receives gold from a fairy for services rendered, and carefully places it in a drawer. A day when she requires it arrives, but, alas! when she opens the cabinet to take it out she finds nothing but a small heap of withered leaves. It is such money that the nains manufacture in their subterranean mints—coin which bears the fairy impress of glamourie for a space, but on later examination proves to be merely dross.

The nains are also regarded as the originators of a cabalistic alphabet, the letters of which are engraved98on several of the megalithic monuments of Morbihan, and especially those of Gavr’inis. He who is able to decipher this magic script, says tradition, will be able to tell where hidden treasure is to be found in any part of the country. Lest any needy folk be of a mind to fare to Brittany to try their luck in this respect it is only right to warn them that in all probability they will find the treasure formula in ogham characters or serpentine markings, and that as the first has long ago been deciphered and the second is pure symbolism they will waste their time and money in any event.

Sorcery hangs about the nain like a garment. Here he is a prophet and a diviner as well as an enchanter, and as much of his magic power is employed for ill, small wonder that the Breton peasant shudders and frowns when the name of the fearsome tribe is spoken and gives the dolmens they are supposed to haunt the widest of wide berthsau clair de la lune.

Brittany has a species of dwarfs or gnomes peculiar to itself which in various parts of the country are known as crions, courils, or gorics. It will at once be seen how greatly the last word resembles Korrigan, and as all of them perhaps proceed from a root meaning ‘spirit’ the nominal resemblance is not surprising. Like the nains, these smaller beings inhabit abandoned Druidical monuments or dwell beneath the foundations of ancient castles. Carnac is sometimes alluded to in Breton as ‘Ty C’harriquet,’ ‘the House of the Gorics,’ the country-folk in this district holding the belief that its megalithic monuments were reared by these manikins, whom they describe as between two and three feet high, but99exceedingly strong, just as the Scottish peasantry speak of the Picts of folk-lore—‘wee fouk but unco’ strang.’ Every night the gorics dance in circles round the stones of Carnac, and should a mortal interrupt their frolic he is forced to join in the dance, until, breathless and exhausted, he falls prone to the earth amid peals of mocking laughter. Like the nains, the gorics are the guardians of hidden treasure, for the tale goes that beneath one of the menhirs of Carnac lies a golden hoard, and that all the other stones have been set up the better to conceal it, and so mystify those who would discover its resting-place. A calculation, the key to which is to be found in the Tower of London, will alone indicate the spot where the treasure lies. And here it may be of interest to state that the ancient national fortalice of England occurs frequently in Breton and in Celtic romance.[37]Some of the immigrant Britons into Armorica probably came from the settlement which was later to grow into London, and may have carried tales of its ancient British fortress into their new home.

The courils are peculiar to the ruins of Tresmalouen. Like the gorics, they are fond of dancing, and they are quite as malignantly inclined toward the unhappy stranger who may stumble into their ring. The castle of Morlaix, too, is haunted by gorics not more than a foot high, who dwell beneath it in holes in the ground. They possess treasures as great as those of the gnomes of Norway or Germany, and these they will sometimes bestow on lucky mortals, who are permitted, however, to take but one handful. If a person should attempt to seize more the whole of the money vanishes, and the offender’s ears are soundly boxed by invisible hands.

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The night-washers (eur tunnerez noz) are evil spirits who appear at night on the banks of streams and call on the passers-by to assist them to wash the linen of the dead. If they are refused, they seize upon the person who denies them, drag him into the water, and break his arms. These beings are obviously the same as the Bean Nighe, ‘the Washing Woman’ of the Scottish Highlands, who is seen in lonely places beside a pool or stream, washing the linen of those who will shortly die. In Skye she is said to be short of stature. If any one catches her she tells all that will befall him in after life. In Perthshire she is represented as “small and round and dressed in pretty green.”

In the district of Morlaix the peasants are terribly afraid of beings they call teursts. These are large, black, and fearsome, like the Highland ourisk, who haunted desert moors and glens. Theteursta poulictappears in the likeness of some domestic animal. In the district of Vannes is encountered a colossal spirit called Teus or Bugelnoz, who appears clothed in white between midnight and two in the morning. His office is to rescue victims from the devil, and should he spread his mouth over them they are secure from the Father of Evil. The Dusii of Gaul are mentioned by St Augustine, who regarded them asincubi, and by Isidore of Seville, and in the name we may perhaps discover the origin of our expression ‘the deuce!’

The Nicole is a spirit of modern creation who torments the honest fishermen of the Bay of Saint-Brieuc and101Saint-Malo. Just as they are about to draw in their nets this mischievous spirit leaps around them, freeing the fish, or he will loosen a boat’s anchor so that it will drift on to a sand-bank. He may divide the cable which holds the anchor to the vessel and cause endless trouble. This spirit received its name from an officer who commanded a battalion of fishermen conscripts, and who from his intense severity and general reputation as a martinet obtained a bad reputation among the seafaring population.

The Mourioche is a malicious demon of bestial nature, able, it would seem, to transform himself into any animal shape he chooses. In general appearance he is like a year-old foal. He is especially dangerous to children, and Breton babies are often chided when noisy or mischievous with the words: “Be good, now, the Mourioche is coming!” Of one who appears to have received a shock, also, it is said: “He has seen the Mourioche.” Unlucky is the person who gets in his way; but doubly so the unfortunate who attempts to mount him in the belief that he is an ordinary steed, for after a fiery gallop he will be precipitated into an abyss and break his neck.

Perhaps there is no spirit of evil which is so much dreaded by the Breton peasantry as the Ankou, who travels the duchy in a cart, picking up souls. In the dead of night a creaking axle-tree can be heard passing down the silent lanes. It halts at a door; the summons has been given, a soul quits the doomed house, and the102wagon of the Ankou passes on. The Ankou herself—for the dread death-spirit of Brittany is probably female—is usually represented as a skeleton. M. Anatole le Braz has elaborated a study of the whole question in his book on the legend of death in Brittany,[38]and it is probable that the Ankou is a survival of the death-goddess of the prehistoric dolmen-builders of Brittany. MacCulloch[39]considers the Ankou to be a reminiscence of the Celtic god of death, who watches over all things beyond the grave and carries off the dead to his kingdom, but greatly influenced by medieval ideas of ‘Death the skeleton.’ In some Breton churches a little model or statuette of the Ankou is to be seen, and this is nothing more nor less than a cleverly fashioned skeleton. The peasant origin of the belief can be found in the substitution of a cart or wagon for the more ambitious coach and four of other lands.

Dark and gloomy are many of the Breton legends, of evil things, gloomy as the depths of the forests in which doubtless many of them were conceived. Most folk-tales are tinged with melancholy, and it is rarely in Breton story that we discover a vein of the joyous.

THE DEMON-DOG

Among the peaks of the Montagnes d’Arrée lies a vast and dismal peat bog known as the Yeun, which has long been regarded by the Breton folk as the portal to the infernal regions. This Stygian locality has brought forth many legends. It is, indeed, a remarkable territory. In summer it seems a vast moor carpeted by glowing purple heather, which one can traverse up to a103certain point, but woe betide him who would advance farther, for, surrounded by what seems solid ground, lies a treacherous quagmire declared by the people of the neighbourhood to be unfathomable. This part of the bog, whose victims have been many, is known as the Youdic. As one leans over it its waters may sometimes be seen to simmer and boil, and the peasants of the country-side devoutly believe that when this occurs infernal forces are working beneath, madly revelling, and that it is only the near presence of St Michael, whose mount is hard by, which restrains them from doing active harm to those who may have to cross the Yeun.

Countless stories are afloat concerning this weird maelstrom of mud and bubbling water. At one time it was the custom to hurl animals suspected of being evil spirits into its black depths. Malevolent fiends, it was thought, were wont to materialize in the form of great black dogs, and unfortunate animals of this type, if they evinced such peculiarities as were likely to place them under suspicion, were taken forthwith to the Youdic by a member of the enlightened priesthood of the district, and were cast into its seething depths with all the ceremonies suitable to such an occasion.

A story typical of those told about the place is that of one Job Ann Drez, who seems to have acted as sexton and assisted the parish priest in his dealings with the supernatural. Along with the priest, Job repaired one evening after sunset to the gloomy waters of the Youdic, dragging behind him a large black dog of the species most likely to excite distrust in the priestly mind. The priest showed considerable anxiety lest the animal should break loose.

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“If he should get away,” he said nervously, “both of us are lost.”

“I will wager he does not,” replied Job, tying the cord by which the brute was led securely to his wrist.

“Forward, then,” said the priest, and he walked boldly in front, until they came to the foot of the mountain on the summit of which lies the Youdic.

The priest turned warningly to Job. “You must be circumspect in this place,” he said very gravely. “Whatever you may hear, be sure not to turn your head. Your life in this world and your salvation in the next depend absolutely on this. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

A vast desolation surrounded them. So dark was the night that it seemed to envelop them like a velvet curtain. Beneath their feet they heard the hissing and moaning of the bog, awaiting its prey like a restless and voracious wild beast. Through the dense blackness they could see the iridescent waters writhing and gleaming below.

“Surely,” said Job half to himself, “this must be the gateway to hell!”

At that word the dog uttered a frightful howl—such a howl as froze Job’s blood in his veins. It tugged and strained at the cord which held it with the strength of a demon, striving to turn on Job and rend him.

“Hold on!” cried the priest in mortal terror, keeping at a safe distance, however. “Hold on, I entreat you, or else we are undone!”

Job held on to the demon-dog with all his strength. Indeed, it was necessary to exert every thew and sinew if the animal were to be prevented from tearing him to pieces. Its howls were sufficient to strike terror to the105stoutest heart. “Iou! Iou!” it yelled again and again.

But Job held on desperately, although the cord cut his hands and blood ran from the scarified palms. Inch by inch he dragged the brute toward the Youdic. The creature in a last desperate effort turned and was about to spring on him open-mouthed, when all at once the priest, darting forward, threw his cloak over its head. It uttered a shriek which sounded through the night like the cry of a lost soul.

“Quick!” cried the priest. “Lie flat on the earth and put your face on the ground!”

Scarcely had the two men done so than a frightful tumult ensued. First there was the sound of a body leaping into the morass, then such an uproar as could only proceed from the mouth of the infernal regions. Shrieks, cries, hissings, explosions followed in quick succession for upward of half an hour; then gradually they died away and a horrible stillness took their place. The two men rose trembling and unnerved, and slowly took their way through the darkness, groping and stumbling until they had left the awful vicinity of the Yeun behind them.

106CHAPTER V: WORLD-TALES IN BRITTANY

I haveentitled this chapter ‘World-Tales’ to indicate that the stories it contains are in plot ormotifif 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.

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.

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“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 examined108his 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.109The Marquis was going to visit the King, and took hisprotégéalong 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 to110tell 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.

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