Part 4

And he saw rightly; for Matelinn had drawn away the ladder, and set fire to the surrounding fagots, so that the old mill stood as in a furnace.

Mao in vain besought the giant not to leave him there to perish in so horrible a manner. He only turned his back, and went off whistling down the moor.

Then the young man, feeling himself nearly suffocated, invoked the saint once more:

"Dead beggar, make haste, make haste to me; For I am sorely in need of thee."

Instantly the saint appeared, holding in his right hand a glittering rainbow, one end of which was resting on the sea, and in his left Jacob's mysterious ladder, that once led from heaven to earth. With the rainbow he put out the fire, and by the ladder's aid poor Mao reached the ground, and went safely home.

On beholding him, Matelinn was seized with surprise and consternation, sure that his cousin would hasten to denounce him before the magistrates; and rushing to fetch his arms and war-horse, was hurrying from the courtyard, when Mao came to him, and said,

"Fear nothing, cousin; for no man saw what passed upon Daoulas common. Your heart was hurt that God had given me more good things than yourself; I wish to heal its wounds. From this day forward, so long as I live, you shall share with me half of all that I possess, save and except my darling Liçzenn. So come, my cousin, harbour no more evil thoughts against me."

The deed of this convention was drawn up by the notary in the usual form; and Matelinn received henceforward, every month, the half of all the produce of the fields, the courtyard, and the stables.

But this noble generosity of Mao served only to increase the spite and venom of his heart; for undeserved benefits are like wine drank when one is not thirsty,--they bring us neither joy nor profit. He did not wish Mao dead, because then he would have lost his share in Mao's wealth; but he hated him, even as a caged wolf hates the hand that feeds him.

What made him still more angry was, to see how every thing prospered with his cousin. To crown his felicity, he had a son born to him, both strong and beautiful, and one that wept not at his birth, the nurses said. Mao sent the news out to the first people of the neighbourhood, entreating them to come to the baptismal feast. And they came from more than six leagues round,--from Braspars, Kimerc'h, Loperek, Logoma, Faou, Irvillac, and Saint Eloi,--all mounted on handsomely-equipped horses, with their wives or daughters behind them. The baptism of a prince of Cornouaille himself could not have brought together a more goodly assembly.

When all were drawn up ready in the front of the manor-house, and Mao came to Liçzenn's chamber for the new-born babe, with those who were to hold it at the font, and his nearest friends, Matelinn presented himself also, with a traitor's joy depicted on his countenance. On seeing him, the mother uttered a cry; but he, approaching, bent over her with specious words, and thanked her for the present she had made him.

"What present?" asked the poor woman, in surprise.

"Have you not added a new-born infant to my cousin's wealth?" said the soldier.

"Certainly," replied Liçzenn.

"A parchment deed confirms to me," said Matelinn, "half of every thing Mao possesses, save and except yourself; and I am consequently come to claim my share of the child."

All who were present uttered a great cry; but Matelinn repeated calmly that he would have his half of the child; adding that if they refused it to him, he would take it himself, showing as he spoke a huge knife, which he had brought with him for the purpose.

Mao and Liçzenn in vain, with bended knees and folded hands, besought him to renounce his rights; the giant only answered by the whetting of his knife against the steel which dangled at his waist; and at last he was about to snatch the infant from its poor young mother's arms, when Mao all at once recalled the invocation to the dead beggar, and repeated it aloud. Scarcely had he finished, when the room was lighted with a heavenly radiance, and the saint appeared upon a shining cloud, the Virgin Mary at his side.

"Behold me here, my friends," said the Mother of God, "called by my faithful servant from celestial glory to come and decide between you."

"If you are the Mother of God, save the child," cried Liçzenn.

"If you are the Queen of Heaven, make them render me my dues," said Matelinn audaciously.

"Listen to me," said Mary. "You first, Mao, and you, Liçzenn, come near me with your new-born child. Till now I have given you the joys of life; I will do more, and give you for the future the delights of death. You shall follow me into the Paradise of my Son, where neither griefs, nor treachery, nor sicknesses can enter. As for you, Goliath, you have a right to share the new benefit conferred on them; and you, like them, shall die, but only to go down twelve hundred and fifty leagues below the surface of the earth, [10] into the kingdom of the wicked one, whose servant you are."

Saying these words, the Holy Mary raised her hand on high, and the giant was buried in a gulf of fire; whilst the young husband, with his wife and child, sank gently towards each other as in peaceful sleep, and disappeared, borne upwards on a cloud.

KERIS.

In the olden times a king named Grallon reigned over the land of Cornouaille. He was as good a man as any son of Adam, and gave a cordial welcome at his court to all who had in any way distinguished themselves, were they plebeian or noble in their birth. Unfortunately his daughter was an ill-conducted princess, who, in order to evade his parental rule, had taken herself off to live at Keris, some few leagues from Quimper.

One day, whilst King Grallon was out hunting in a forest at the foot of Menéhom, he and all his followers lost their way, and came at last before the cell of the holy hermit Corentin. Grallon had often heard tell of this saintly man, and was delighted to find he had discovered his retreat; but as for the attendants, who were dying with hunger, they looked with any thing but satisfaction upon the humble cell, and whispered discontentedly amongst themselves that they should certainly have to sup on pious prayers.

Corentin, enlightened by God's grace, perceived their thoughts, and asked the king whether he would accept a little refreshment. Now Grallon, who had eaten nothing since cockcrow that morning, was extremely willing; so the saint, calling the king's cupbearer and cook, desired them to prepare his majesty a good repast after his long abstinence.

Then, leading them both to a fountain which bubbled near his cell, he filled with water the golden pitcher carried by the first, and cut a morsel from a little fish swimming in the basin, which he gave to the second, desiring them both to spread the board for the king and all his train. But the cupbearer and the cook began to laugh, and asked the holy man if he could possibly mistake the king's courtiers for miserable beggars, that he presumed to offer them his scraps of fish-bone and his frog-wine. Corentin quietly besought them not to be disturbed, for that God would provide for all.

Consequently they resolved to follow out the saint's directions, and found, to their astonishment, his words come true. For while the water he had poured into the golden pitcher came out a wine as sweet as honey and as hot as fire, the morsel of fish became an ample meal for twice as many guests as the king's suite contained.

Grallon was told by his two servants of this miracle; and they moreover showed him, as a greater wonder, the very same little fish from which Corentin had cut a portion, swimming safe and sound in the fountain, as whole as if the saint's knife had never come near him.

At this sight the King of Cornouaille was struck with admiration, and exclaimed to the hermit, "Man of God, this place is not for you; for He who is my Master as well as yours has forbidden us to hide a light beneath a bushel. You must leave this hermitage, and come with me. You shall be Bishop of Quimper, my palace shall be your dwelling-place, and the whole city your possession. I will build a monastery for your disciples at Landevenec, and the abbot shall be chosen by yourself."

The good king kept his promise; and giving up his capital to the new Bishop, he went to dwell himself in the town of Is.

This town then stood upon the very spot now covered by the Bay of Douarnénèz. It was so large and so beautiful, that when the people of old times were seeking for a title worthy of the capital of France, they could find nothing better than to call it Par-is, that is to say, The like of Is. It was lower than the sea itself, and was defended from all fear of inundation by huge dikes, with doors to open occasionally and let the tide in or out. Grallon's daughter, the Princess Dahut, carried the silver keys which locked these doors suspended round her neck, from which fact the people generally called her Alc'huèz, or more shortly Ahèz. [11] Now she was a great magician, and had adorned the town with numberless works of art far surpassing the skill of any human hand. All the Korigans [12] throughout Cornouaille and Vannes had assembled at her call to make the dikes and forge the iron doors; they had plated the palace all over with a metal resembling gold (Korigans being clever workers in metal), and had fenced in the royal gardens with balustrades glittering like polished steel.

They it was that kept Dahut's beautiful stables in such perfect order,--those stables that were paved with black, red, or white marble, according to the different colours of the horses in the stalls. And to the Korigans also was intrusted the care of the harbour, where the sea-dragons were kept; for by her powerful art had Dahut gained a wonderful ascendency over the monsters of the deep, so that she had placed one at the disposal of each inhabitant of Keris, that it should serve him like a horse, on which he might safely go across the waves to fetch rich treasure from another shore, or to attack the ships of foreign enemies. So these citizens were rich to that degree they actually measured out their corn in silver vessels. But wealth had hardened and perverted their hearts; beggars were hunted like wild-beasts from the city, for they could not endure the sight of any in their streets but merry prosperous folks dressed out in smart apparel. Our Lord Himself, had He appeared amongst them clad in sackcloth, would have been driven away. The only church remaining in the city was so forsaken, that the very beadle had lost the key of it; nettles grew upon its steps, and against the door-posts of the principal entrance birds had built their nests. The people of the place spent their days and nights in public-houses, dancing-rooms, or theatres; the one only object of their lives being apparently to ruin their immortal souls.

As for Dahut, she set them the example; day and night it was a gala in the palace. Gentlemen, nobles, and princes came from the remotest lands to visit this far-famed court. Grallon received them with courtesy, and Dahut with something more. If they were good-looking, she bestowed on them a magic mask, by means of which they were enabled to keep private appointments with her in a tower standing near the floodgates.

There they might remain talking with her until the hour when the sea-swallows, beginning their flight, passed before the tower-windows; when Dahut hastily bade them farewell, and, in order that they might go out, as they came, unseen, she once more brought forth her magic mask; but, alas, this time it closed upon them of its own accord with a strangling embrace. Then a black man took up the dead body, threw it across his horse like a sack of wheat, and went to fling it down the precipice between Huelgoat and Poulaouën. This is indeed only too true; for even to this day can be heard from the depths of the ravine the melancholy wailing of these wretched souls at evening hour. May all good Christians bear them in remembrance at their prayers! [13]

Corentin, who heard of all the goings-on at Keris, had many a time warned Grallon that the forbearance of God was drawing to a close; [14] but the king had lost all his power, and dwelt quite solitary in one wing of his palace, like a grandfather who has made over all his property to his heirs; and as for Dahut, she cared nothing for the threats or warnings of the saint.

Well, one evening, when she was keeping festival as usual, she was informed that a powerful prince from the very ends of the earth had arrived to see her, and he was instantly announced.

He was a man of vast stature, clad from head to foot in scarlet, and so bearded that even his two eyes, glittering as stars, could scarcely be seen. He began by paying compliments in rhyme to the princess--no poet or minstrel could have conceived the like; and then he went on talking with such brilliant wit, that the entire assembly were struck dumb with astonishment. But what moved the friends of Dahut with the greatest wonder was to find how far more skilful than themselves this stranger was in sin. He was familiar, not only with all that human malice has invented since the creation of the world, in every region where mankind has dwelt, but with all that it ever shall invent until the moment when the dead shall rise again from their cold graves to stand before the judgment-seat of God. Ahèz and her court perceived that they had found their master, and one and all resolved to put themselves under the teaching of the bearded prince.

By way of beginning, he proposed to them a new dance, danced in hell by the Seven Deadly Sins. So he called in for the purpose a musician he had brought with him. This was a little dwarf, clad in goat-skin, and carrying a sort of bagpipe under his arm.

Scarcely had he begun to play before Dahut and her courtiers were seized with a sort of frenzy, and began to whirl about like the waves of the sea in a furious storm. The stranger instantly took advantage of the confusion to snatch the silver keys of the floodgates from the princess's neck, and to vanish from the saloon.

Meanwhile Grallon sat all solitary in the great gloomy hall of his own lonely palace. He was near the hearth; but the fire was almost out. His heart grew every moment more and more heavy with sad thoughts, when all at once the great folding-doors flew open, and St. Corentin appeared upon the threshold, with a halo of glory round his brow, his pastoral staff in his hand, and a cloud of incense floating all about him.

"Rise, great king," said he to Grallon; "take whatever precious things may still be left you, and flee away; for God has given over to the power of the demon this accursed city."

Grallon, terrified, started up; and calling to some faithful old servants, took what treasure he possessed; and mounting his black horse, followed after the saint, who shot like an arrow through the air.

As they passed before the dikes, they heard a wild roar of waters, and beheld the bearded stranger, now restored to his own demoniac form, opening the floodgates with the silver keys he had taken from the Princess Dahut. The sea already streamed like a torrent on towards the devoted city; and the white waves, rearing their foamy crests above the lofty roofs, seemed rushing to its overthrow. The dragons chained within the harbour roared with terror, for even the beasts could feel their end at hand.

Grallon would fain have uttered a cry of warning, but St. Corentin once more entreated him to fly, and he plunged onwards at full gallop towards the shore; on, on through streets and squares and high roads, ever followed by the raging ocean, with the horse's hind hoofs always in the surge. So passed he by the palace of Dahut herself, who darted down the marble steps, her wild locks floating on the breeze, and sprang behind her father on the saddle. The horse stood still suddenly, staggered, and already the water mounted to the old king's knees.

"Help, help, St. Corentin!" he cried in terror.

"Shake off the iniquity you carry at your back," replied the saint, "and, by the help of God, you shall be saved."

But Grallon, who was, after all, a father, hesitated what to do. Then St. Corentin touched the princess on the shoulders with his pastoral staff, and she sank downwards to the sea, disappearing in the depths of the gulf, called after her the Gulf of Ahèz.

The horse, thus lightened of his load, made a spring forwards, and so gained Garrec Rock, where to this very day may be seen the print-marks of his iron shoes. [15]

The first act of the king was to fall upon his knees, and pour forth thanks to God; then turning towards Keris, [16] he tried to judge how great was the danger from which he had been so miraculously rescued, but in vain he sought the ancient Queen of Ocean.

There, where had stood but a few moments before a harbour, palaces, treasures of wealth, and thousands of people, was to be seen nothing now but a smooth bay, on whose unruffled surface the stars of heaven looked calmly down; but beyond, in the horizon, just over the last ruins of the submerged dikes, there appeared the great red man, holding up with a triumphant air the silver keys.

Many are the forests of oak that have sprung up and withered since this awful warning; but through every generation fathers have told it to their children until this day. Up to the time of the great Revolution, the clergy of the different river-side parishes were wont to embark every year in fisher-boats, and go to say Mass over the drowned city. Since that time this custom has been lost, with many another one; but when the sea is calm, the remains of the great town may clearly be seen at the bottom of the bay, and the neighbouring downs are full of relics which bear witness to its wealth.

THE STONES OF PLOUHINEC.

Plouhinec is a poor little market-town beyond Hennebon, towards the sea. Bare commons or little fir-woods stretch all round it, and enough grass to fit an ox for the butcher's knife, or so much bran as would fatten one descendant of the Rohans, [17] has never yet been yielded by the entire parish.

But if the people of those parts have reason to complain for want of corn and cattle, they abound in flints to that degree that they could furnish materials for the rebuilding of Lorient; and out beyond the town there lies a great wide common, whereon are set by Korigans two rows of tall stones that might be taken for an avenue, did they but lead to any thing.

Near this place, hard by the banks of the River Intel, there lived in former days a man named Marzinne. He was wealthy for those parts, that is to say, he could salt down a little pig once a year, eat as much black bread as he cared for, and buy himself a pair of wooden shoes when Laurel Sunday came round. [18]

And he was looked upon as proud by his neighbours, and had taken upon him to refuse the hand of his sister Rozenn to many a young fellow who laboured for his daily bread.

Amongst others to Bernèz, a diligent labourer and a worthy Christian; but one whose only treasure, coming into life, had been that of a good will. Bernèz had known Rozenn as a little girl, when he first came to work in the parish from Ponscorff-Bidré; and by degrees, as Rozenn grew up, the attachment of Bernèz had grown stronger and stronger.

It may be easily believed that Marzinne's refusal was a terrible heartsore for him; nevertheless he kept up his courage, for Rozenn always received him kindly.

Well, Christmas-eve came round; and as a raging storm kept every one at the farm from going to the midnight Mass, they all sat round the fire together, with many young men from the neighbourhood, and amongst them Bernèz. The master of the house, willing to show off, had caused a supper of black-puddings, and hasty puddings made with wheat flour and honey, to be prepared; so that they all sat gazing towards the hearth, except Bernèz, whose eyes were fixed upon Rozenn.

But just as all the benches were drawn round the table, and every wooden saucer ready to be dipped into the steaming bowl, an old man suddenly pushed open the door, and wished the assembled company a good appetite. He was a beggar from Pluvigner, one who never set his foot on the church-floor, and of whom all good folks stood in dread. It was said that he bewitched cattle, turned standing corn black, and sold to wrestlers magic herbs. He was even suspected of becoming a goblin [19] at his pleasure.

However, wearing as he did the garb of a mendicant, he was welcomed by the farmer to the fireside; a three-legged stood was placed at his disposal, and he received a portion with the guests.

When the beggar had done eating and drinking, he asked for a night's lodging, and Bernèz showed him his way into the stable, where a bald old ass and sorry ox were already established. The beggar stretched himself down between the two to share their warmth, and rested his head upon a pillow of turf.

But just as he was dropping off to sleep the clock struck twelve. Then the old ass shook his long ears, and turned towards the ox.

"Well, my cousin," said he, in friendly tones, "and how has it gone with you since last Christmas, when we talked together?"

Instead of answering, the horned beast looked sideways at the beggar, and muttered,

"It was hardly worth while for the Almighty to vouchsafe us speech together on a Christmas-eve, and thus to acknowledge the assistance rendered by the presence of our ancestors at the birth of the Saviour, if we are compelled to put up with this fellow as our auditor."

"You are very proud, my friend," answered the ass gaily. "It is I rather who have reason to complain, I, whose noble ancestor once carried the Saviour to Jerusalem, proved by the cross imprinted ever since upon the shoulders of our family. But I can be well satisfied with whatever Providence has seen fit to grant me. Besides which, you see well enough that the sorcerer is asleep."

"All his witchcrafts have been powerless to enrich him," said the ox; "and he has thrown his soul away for little enough. The devil has not even hinted to him of the lucky chance he might have hereabouts in the course of a few days."

"What lucky chance?" asked the ass.

"How!" cried the ox; "don't you know, then, that each hundred years the stones on Plouhinec Common go down to drink at the river Intel, and that whilst away the treasures they conceal are left exposed?"

"Ah, I remember now," interrupted the ass, "but then the stones return so quickly to their places, that it is impossible to avoid being crushed to pieces by them if you have not as your safeguard a twig of cross-wort surrounded by the five-leaved clover."

"And besides," continued the ox, "the treasures you may carry off all fade to dust unless you offer in return a baptised soul. A Christian must suffer death before the devil will permit you to enjoy in peace the wealth of Plouhinec."

The beggar was not asleep, but had listened breathless to this conversation.

"Ah, my good friends," thought he to himself, "you have made me richer than the wealthiest in all Vannes or Lorient. Be easy; the sorcerer of Pluvigner shall not lose Paradise for nothing."

He slept at last; and rising at the break of day, he wandered through the country seeking for the cross-wort and the five-leafed clover."

He was forced to look long and wander far, where skies are milder and plants always green, before he was successful. But on the eve of New-Year's Day he came again to Plouhinec, with the countenance of a weasel that has just found out the entrance to a dovecote.

In crossing the common, he came upon Bernèz busy striking with a pointed hammer on the tallest of the stones.

"Heaven preserve me!" cried the sorcerer, laughing, "are you anxious to dig yourself a dwelling in this rocky mass?"