Lewis Spence

“ 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. ”

“ The château of Clisson, once the property of the great Constable Oliver de Clisson, whom the Viscount of 205 Coêtman and the Bretons of Penthièvre had championed, is now only a grand old ruin, a touching monument of the architectural splendours of former days. By moonlight it makes a scene not easily forgotten, gaunt and still and ruggedly imposing, the silent reminder of events and people tales of whom will not readily die, the treasurer of secrets it will probably never yield. ”

“ Fearful of such disgrace, he spurs his jaded charger on through the haunted forest, and with anxious eye watches the sun sink and the gay white moon sail high above the tree-tops, pouring light through their branches upon the mossy ways below.
A high vow has Roland taken ere setting out upon the crusade—a vow that he will eschew the company of fair ladies, in which none had delighted more than he. No more must he mingle in the dance, no more must he press a maiden’s lips with his. ”

“ Disguised as a young student, Merlin was wandering one bright May morning through the leafy glades of Broceliande, when, like the Seigneur of Nann, he came to a beautiful fountain in the heart of the forest which tempted him to rest. As he sat there in reverie, Vivien, daughter of the lord of the manor of Broceliande, came to the water’s edge. Her father had gained the affection of a fay of the valley, who had promised on behalf of their daughter that she should be loved by the wisest man in the world, who should grant all her wishes, but would never be able to compel her to consent to his. ”

“ The hounds, unleashed, came upon the scent of a wolf, and pressed the animal hard. For many hours they pursued him, and when about to seize him, Bisclaveret—for it was he—turned with such a human gesture of despair to the King, who had ridden hard upon his track, that the royal huntsman was moved to pity. To the King’s surprise the were-wolf placed its paws together as if in supplication, and its great jaws moved as if in speech.
“Call off the hounds,” cried the monarch to his attendants. “This quarry we will take alive to our palace. It is too marvellous a thing to be killed.” ”

“ The coast-line is ragged, indented, and inhospitable, lined with deep reefs and broken by the estuaries of brawling rivers. In the southern portion the district known as ‘the Emerald Coast’ presents an almost subtropical appearance; the air is mild and the whole region pleasant and fruitful. But with this exception Brittany is a country of bleak shores and grey seas, barren moorland and dreary horizons, such a land as legend loves, such a region, cut off and isolated from the highways of humanity, as the discarded genii of ancient faiths might seek as a last stronghold. ”

“ What would you with Nomenoë?”
“I come for justice, Lord Nomenoë,” replies the aged man. “Is there a God in heaven and a chief in Brittany? There is a God above us, I know, and I believe there is a just Duke in the Breton land. Mighty ruler, make war upon the Frank, defend our country, and give us vengeance—vengeance for Karo my son, Karo, slain, decapitated by the Frankish barbarians, his beauteous head made into a balance-weight for their brutal sport.” ”

“ Now the king of this realm was an aged man who was wedded to a young, fair lady, of whom he was, after the manner of old men, intensely jealous. The castle of this monarch frowned upon a fair garden enclosed from the sea by a high wall of green marble, so that if one desired to come to the castle he must do so from the water. The place was straitly watched by vigilant 295 warders, and within the wall so carefully defended lay the Queen’s bower, a fairer chamber than any beneath the sun, and decorated with the most marvellous paintings. ”

“ The Frankish King in high excitement called out:
“Ho! black crow of the sea, pierce me now this merle.”
At these words the giant assailed Morvan most furiously, as a great tempest assails a ship. The lances crossed, but that of the Moor broke like matchwood. Both leaped to earth, sword in hand, and rushed at each other like lions. Many lusty strokes were given and taken, and from their armour flew sparks like those from a smith’s anvil. ”

“ His gentle nature was unable to contend against the coarse and unruly Breton monks. As he writes in his well-known letter to Héloïse, setting forth his griefs: “I inhabit a barbarous country where the language is unknown to me. I have no dealings with the ferocious inhabitants. I walk the inaccessible borders of the stormy sea, and my monks have no other rule than their own. I wish that you could see my dwelling. You would not believe it an abbey. The doors are ornamented only with the feet of deer, of wolves and bears, boars, and the hideous skins of owls. I find each day new perils. ”

“ Morvan, chief of Léon, so celebrated in the history of the ninth century as one of the upholders of Breton independence, and known to tradition as ‘the Prop of Brittany,’ is the subject of a remarkable series of ballads or hero-tales in the Barzaz-Breiz which together constitute what is almost an epic. These tell of his life, death, adventures, travels, and the marvellous feats of derring-do he accomplished. In some measure he is to Breton legend what Arthur is to British or Holger to that of Denmark. ”

“ Of all the many localities celebrated in the fairy lore of Brittany none is so famous as Broceliande. Broceliande! “The sound is like a bell,” a far, faëry chime in a twilit forest. In the name Broceliande there seems to be gathered all the tender charm, the rich and haunting mystery, the remote magic of Brittany and Breton lore. It is, indeed, the title to the rarest book in the library of poetic and traditional romance. ”

“ So she made up her mind to go to a fairy grotto she knew of and ask for bread. “Surely,” she thought, “what the good people give to others who do not require it they will give to me, whose need is so great.” When she had come to the entrance of the grotto she knocked on the side of it as one knocks on a door, and there at once appeared a little old dame with a great bunch of keys hanging at her side. She appeared to be covered with limpets, and mould and moss clung to her as to a rock. To the widow she seemed at least a thousand years old. ”

“ With straining eyes the fisherman watches the mist-wrapped islet, and, peering through the evening haze, cheats himself into the belief that giant forms are moving upon its shores and that spectral shapes flit across its sands—that the dark hours bring back the activities of the attendant knights and enchantresses of the mighty hero of Celtdom, who, refreshed by his long repose, will one day return to the world of men and right the great wrongs which afflict humanity. ”

“ Never shall leech nor herb nor balm cure the wound which fate hath so justly inflicted upon thee. Only canst thou be healed by a woman who loves thee, and who for that love shall have to suffer such woe and sorrow as never woman had to endure before. Thou too shalt suffer equally with her, and the sorrows of ye twain shall be the wonder of lovers for all time. Leave me now to die in peace.”
Gugemar was in sore dismay at hearing these words, for never had he sought lady’s love nor had he cared for the converse of women. ”

“ The living stars faint and fail, and the music of awakening life which accompanies the rising of the young sun falls upon the ear. Slowly the château undergoes transformation. The glittering roof merges into the blue vault of heaven, the tapestried walls become the ivied screens of great forest trees, the princely furnishings are transformed into mossy banks and mounds, and the rugs and carpets beneath Roland’s mailed feet are now merged in the forest ways. ”

“ An old greybeard replied.
“I have heard of him,” he said. “He lived in the days when my grandfather’s grandfather was but a boy, and now he sleeps in the churchyard yonder.”
Only then did Yvon realize that his visit to his sister had been one, not of days, but of generations!
The Seigneur with the Horse’s Head
Famous among all peoples is the tale of the husband surrounded by mystery—bespelled in animal form, like the Prince in the story of Beauty and the Beast, nameless, as in that of Lohengrin, or unbeheld of his spouse, as in the myth of Cupid and Psyche. ”

“ The general appearance of such a building as the Breton château admirably lends itself to sombre tradition. The massy walls seem thick enough to retain all secrets, and the cry for vengeance for blood spilt within them cannot pass to the outer world through the narrow meurtrières or arrow-slits of the avant-corps. The broad yet lofty towers which flank the front rise into a toiture or coiffe like an enchanter’s conical cap. ”

“ Round her are grouped nine maidens only less beautiful than herself.
As the moon moving among attendant stars, so the lady comes toward Roland, accompanied by her maidens. She welcomes him, and would remove his gauntlet, but he tells her of the vow he has made to wear it in lady’s bower, and she is silent. Next she asks him to seat himself beside her on the couch, but he will not. In some confusion she orders a repast to be brought. A table is spread with fragrant viands, but as the knight will partake of none of them, in chagrin the lady takes a lute, which she touches with exquisite skill. ”

“ Despite the clumsiness of much of its machinery, despite its tiresome repetitions and its minor blemishes, this tale of a grand passion must ever remain one of the world’s priceless literary possessions. “Dull must he be of soul” who, even in these days when folk no longer expire from an excess of the tender passion, can fail to be moved by the sad fate of the fair Queen and of her gallant minstrel-knight. ”

“ All the guests, young and old, wept with her, all except her stepmother. She was conducted to the place of honour at supper-time, but she only drank a sip of water and ate a morsel of bread. By and by the dancing commenced, but when it was proposed that the bride should join in the revels she was not to be found; she had, indeed, escaped from the house, her hair flying in disorder, and where she had gone no one knew.
All the lights were out at the manor, every one slept profoundly. The poor young woman alone lay concealed in the garden in the throes of a fever. ”

“ The Queen was quick to notice this seeming discourtesy, and pointed it out to the King, who summoned Graelent to the steps of the throne.
“How now, Sir Knight,” said the King; “wherefore did you sneer when all other men praised the Queen’s beauty?”
“Sire,” replied Graelent, “you do yourself much dishonour by such a deed. You make your wife a show upon a stage and force your nobles to praise her with lies when in truth a fairer dame than she could very easily be found.” ”

“ Those whom she asked smiled meaningly.
“To-morrow is your wedding-day,” said they.
At this Azénor the Pale grew still paler, and was long silent.
“If that be so,” she said, “it will be well that I seek my marriage chamber early, for from my bed I shall not be raised except for burial.”
That night her little page stole through the window.
“Lady,” he said, “a great and brilliant company come hither. The Seigneur Yves is at their head, and behind him ride cavaliers and a long train of gentlemen. He is mounted on a white horse, with trappings of gold.” ”

“ It is remarkable how completely this Celtic leaven—the true history of which is lost in the depths of prehistoric darkness—succeeded in impressing not only its language but its culture and spirit upon the various peoples with whom it came into contact. To impose a special type of civilization upon another race must always prove a task of almost superhuman proportions. To compel the use of an alien tongue by a conquered folk necessitates racial tact as well as 15 strength of purpose. ”

“ The phantom presented itself before him and said:
“Go to the tomb of your wife and strike it with your pick; the earth will turn aside and you will behold her lying in her shroud. Take this little silver box, which contains a rose; open it and pass it before her nostrils three times, when she will awake as if from a deep sleep.”
La Rose hastened to the tomb of his wife, and everything happened as the phantom had predicted. ”

“ When we read of the King of Ys, or Arthur, for example, we are not aware whether they ever existed or not, but they are alluded to by tradition as ancient rulers of Brittany and Britain, just as Cymbeline and Cole are spoken of as British monarchs of the distant past. They linger as personal figures in the folk-memory, but they scarcely seem as the personages of folk-tale. ”

“ The Princess arrived as before, and was delighted to see that this time her champion did not require any assistance.
“All is well now,” she said. “You have freed me from my enchantment and the treasure is ours.”
They raised the hearthstone from its place, and, as she had said, the three casks of gold and the three casks of silver were found resting beneath it.
“Take what you wish for yourself,” said the Princess. “As for me, I cannot stay here; I must at once make a journey which will last a year and a day, after which we shall never part again.” ”

“ La Rose and his Queen lived happily ever afterward—which is rather odd, is it not, when one thinks of the treatment meted out to his resuscitated spouse? But if the lights in folk-tale are bright, the shadows are correspondingly heavy, and rarely does justice go hand in hand with mercy in legend! ”