The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (67 page)

“This is my youngest brother,” said Welet hastily, seeing his frown.

“Ah, I recognize you now. You have come to visit us? That is good of you.”

“Not without great hardship in the journey,” added Wuric.

“I can believe you. No one has ever come as far as this. But on your journey back, the road will be easier, for I shall ensure that you will be well protected over the harder
paths.”

So Wuric stayed with his sister, Welet, and her husband, the Lord Howlek. Each day, Lord Howlek left the palace, and he returned each night. Nor was there any cause to eat and drink, for they
always felt replete. Intrigued by the manner of living at the Crystal Palace, Wuric asked his sister where her husband went each day.

“I do not know, nor have I ever asked him.”

So the next morning, Welet asked her husband: “Where do you go, each day?”

Howlek frowned. “What makes you ask this question?”

“My brother is curious.”

And Wuric, when asked, confirmed his curiosity. “I would like to go with you, wherever it is, for I would like to see this country before I return to the kingdom of Cornwall.”

“Then you shall, but there is one condition.”

“I shall respect it, whatever it is.”

“You will do exactly as I say.”

“No hardship in that.”

“Then you must not touch anything and you must speak only with me, no matter what you see or hear.”

Wuric agreed to these conditions.

So they left the Crystal Palace and started along a path that was so narrow that Wuric could only follow behind the Lord Howlek. Then they came to a vast arid plain of sand, so broad that it
stretched like a great desert. There in the middle of it was a herd of big fat cattle, sitting in the sand and chewing their cud.

On they went until they came to a plain of grass, thick and tall. Here there was a herd of thin, emaciated cattle, bellowing pitifully.

“Listen, brother-in-law,” whispered Wuric, “tell me, for I have never seen the like: how do cattle grow fat in a sandy desert while they grow lean in a big grassy plain. Can
you explain this to me?”

Lord Howlek smiled thinly. “Know this: the fat cattle are the poor people who are content with their lot and do not covet other people’s wealth. The emaciated cattle are those who
are always fighting one another for wealth: fighting to increase their riches, and never satisfied because they are seeking more and more at the expense of others.”

On they went until they came to a river bank where they saw two giant oak trees clashing and banging against each other so bitterly that the splinters of wood flew off them. It was so terrible
that Wuric could not help himself, for he had a tender heart. He had a staff and he stretched it forward between the two trees.

“Stop this terrible fighting! You must not mistreat one another. Learn to live in peace.”

No sooner had he spoken these words than the trees disappeared and in their place were two men.

“We’ve been condemned to fight like this for an eternity, for we were always fighting in life. Our punishment was to argue and fight until some charitable soul took pity on us. Now
we can progress to the Land of the Ever Young. Blessings on you, young sir.”

The two humans vanished.

Lord Howlek moved on and they came to a cave entrance. From inside came a terrible uproar. Cries, curses, screams and wailing – Wuric’s blood ran cold.

“What is it?”

“That is the entrance to Purgatory. Now you must turn back, for you have disobeyed me. You should not have spoken or interfered between those two trees. Return to your sister. When I get
back tonight, I will place you on the road homewards.”

So Wuric returned to the Crystal Palace and his sister
asked, “Why are you back so soon, without my lord Howlek?”

“I disobeyed him.”

“So you do not know everywhere he goes?”

“No. I do not.” But Wuric could not suppress a shiver when he remembered the entrance to Purgatory.

That evening, the Lord Howlek returned and said to Wuric, “Because you have broken your promise, you must return to the kingdom of Cornwall and bide there awhile. One day you will return
here, and then you will stay for ever. Only then will you see the extent of my journey.”

“I will go,” Wuric agreed. “But I must know one thing above all others.”

“Ask away,” Lord Howlek said.

“Why do you slap Welet instead of kissing her?”

Lord Howlek smiled. “Because I love her. Do you not know the old proverb – the spontaneity of a slap shows sincerity, whereas the ceremonial of caresses is largely
convention?”

“That I do not understand.”

Lord Howlek sighed. “One day, you will.”

So there was a tearful parting with his sister, and Wuric followed Lord Howlek to the start of a road.

“Go without fear on this road and you will soon be home. Remember that this parting will not be for long. You will return here quite soon.”

So Wuric went off along the road, a little sad and greatly puzzled. Nothing hindered him in that journey back. On he went, feeling neither fatigue nor hunger nor pain. Soon he came to Garras and
on to Chygarkye, and he went to look for the house of his parents and his brothers. But he could not find them.

“This is the very spot that the house stood, otherwise I am a fool indeed,” Wuric said, pausing by a field and peering around.

He saw a man walking along the road.

“Hey, fellow, I am looking for the house of Kellow and his wife and sons.”

The fellow shook his head.

“Kellow? No one by that name lives here, nor any of that name since my father’s father’s day.”

The man stared at him thoughtfully. Then he scratched his head. “But there do be a legend around the forest of Chygarkye of a Kellow and his sons who told of how their daughter married a
great lord and they were but poor peasant folks. But that were many hundreds of years gone by.”

Wuric felt suddenly cold. “Many
hundreds
of years ago?”

“So the legend goes.”

Wuric went to the old mystical mound at The Mount above Halliggye and sat down and wept for his lost family. They found him there a few days later, the body of an ancient old man, more skin and
bone than flesh. He was so great an age, that they do say his body crumbled to dust when they were taking him to be buried down at Garras.

And who is to say where his soul went?

Some hint darkly that he took the road back to
Lys-an-Gwrys
to dwell with his sister, Welet, and her Lord Howlek at the gates of Purgatory.

Brittany (Breizh)

Brittany: Preface

I
have always felt a particular attachment to Brittany, or Breizh, as it is named in the Breton language. My grandmother, Sarah-Ann DuLake, was the
granddaughter of a Breton political exile, Jean-Joseph DuLac, who had been employed in the office of the Procureur-Général Syndic of the États Bretagne, or the Breton
Parliament. In his early years he worked under Louis-René Caradeuc de la Chalotais (1701
–
85) who, as Procureur-Général, had dared challenge the power of the French
King Louis XV in 1764.

As the facts of Brittany’s incorporation into the French state are little known in the English-speaking world, I make no apology for devoting a few paragraphs to this intriguing
subject.

In the medieval period, Brittany had been an independent and prosperous trading country, but had long been the object of territorial ambition by both England and France. Finally, in 1488, the
Breton armies, under Francis II of Brittany, had been defeated by the French, under Charles VIII, at Aubin St Cromer. A treaty was signed with Francis II accepting Charles VIII as his
“suzerain lord”. But Francis II died soon after and his daughter Anne succeeded. She tried to regain Breton independence. The Treaty of Laval emphasized Brittany’s military defeat
and Anne was forced to marry Charles VIII at Langeais on 6 December 1491. When Charles VIII died, Anne then had to marry Louis XII, so that the precarious “union” could be maintained.
However, when Louis XII’s
heir François I succeeded to the throne in 1515, Anne’s daughter Claude had to marry him, in order for the French to maintain that
union. With that marriage, the crown head of Brittany rested in the crown of France.

This was made law in the
Traité d’Union de la Bretagne à la France
on 18 September 1532. The French promised to respect the autonomous position of Brittany within the
French empire and its autonomous parliament, the États. From Henri II, in 1554, however, attempts were made to assimilate Brittany into a centralized French state.

The Bretons proved stubborn at surrendering their independence. When Louis XV made attempts to centralize financial autonomy in 1760, Procureur Général La Chalotais reminded the
French in no uncertain terms as to the conditions of the Treaty of 1532. Chalotais was imprisoned for his defence of Breton independence. He was released and returned to Brittany in 1774, on the
death of Louis XV, and received a triumphal reception in the Breton Parliament, which now called itself the National Assembly of Brittany.

But the end of Brittany’s independence was in sight. Chalotais did not see it, as he died in 1785. Jean-Joseph DuLac did not appear to have suffered imprisonment with Chalotais.

The seeds of revolution and republicanism grew in Brittany’s fertile soil and no less than 333 officers of the American revolutionary army in 1776 were Breton volunteers, men like the
Marquis La Fayette, Marquis de la Rouerie, Comte Guichen and others. Enthusiastic Bretons fitted out sixteen warships and manned them for the American Revolution. The Bretons threw themselves into
the revolution, thinking to rid themselves of the centralizing policies of the French kings and maintain their political independence. But the French republicans were even more centralist and
succeeded where the French monarchs had not; they declared Breton autonomy “a privilege” and abolished the Breton Parliament.

The President of the Vacation Court of the États Bretagne protested to the French Constituent Assembly: “
Les Corps
ont des privileges
.
Les nations ont
des droits
!” (Parliament has privileges. Nations have rights!) Vicomte de Botherel, who had become the Procureur Général Syndic, raised the same protest in a printed
manifesto. Even the Marquis La Fayette had made an impassioned plea to the French republicans to allow Brittany to retain its independence in the Breton Parliament, before giving up and accepting a
place in the new French National Assembly.

His fellow Bretons did not give up so easily, led by the Marquis de la Rouerie, who had learnt his craft as a brigadier in the American Revolution, and then by Georges Cadoudal; there followed
over ten years of bitter warfare in Brittany. There were no less than four armed camps: Breton republicans and Breton royalists, who wished an independent Brittany with different ideologies, and
French royalists and French republicans, who wanted to incorporate Brittany in the French state but differed as to the type of French state. All four were fighting each other.

Breton autonomy was inevitably lost, for the French republicans and French royalists were in accord on one thing: that Brittany was to become part of France, and the new centralist French state
emerged.

Many political Bretons fled abroad. Vicomte de Botherel went to London, where he made an annual protest at the abolition of the Breton parliament until his death in 1805. My grandmother’s
grandfather also arrived in England at that time, to act as Botherel’s secretary and he eventually changed the name DuLac to DuLake.

Our family, therefore had Breton, as well as Irish, Welsh and Scottish branches and I was fortunate to imbibe folklore from each. I found the Breton folk tales were particularly fascinating. We
had the works of Anatole Le Braz on our bookshelves, such as his
Land of Pardons
(1884). Another assiduous collector of Breton legends was Francois-Marie Luzel (1821
–
95) with
works such as
Contes Populaires de Basse-Bretagne
, Paris, 1879. He published many editions of Breton medieval mystery plays and volumes of legends and folktales and songs in such works as
Gwerziou Breiz-Izel
(1868
–
74) and
Soniou Breiz-Izel
(1890).

His work provided an essential background for some of these retellings. I am also indebted to P. Sébillot’s
Costumes populaires de la Haute-Bretagne
,
Paris
, 1886, and to the many scholarly works of the Abbé Francois Falc’hun, such as
Perspectives nouvelles sur l’histoire de la langue Bretonne
(Presses
Universitaires de France, 1963).

I should emphasize that the stories chosen here are those handed down orally until the nineteenth century, when various versions were noted down, particularly by Luzel. The medieval literature
of the Breton
lai
has not been used, even though some see them as an integral part of Breton legend and folklore. In fact, the Breton
lai
became popular in England during the
fourteenth century. They were transmitted to England via French translations rather than directly from the Breton form.

The
lais
usually dealt with Celtic themes from the Arthurian Cycle. Marie de France (
ca
AD
1200) became famous for her Breton
lais
, versified
narratives full of Celtic myths and atmosphere. Of the fifteen Breton
lais
that are extant,
Sir Launfel
is the best known. He was a warrior at Arthur’s court who fell in love
with a fairy. Guinevere accused Launfel of insulting her and Arthur swore to have him executed. James Russell Lowell retold the tale in his 1848 version
The Vision of Sir Launfel
.

Over the years, some notes and advice, which I have incorporated into these retellings, have come from Yann Tremel and Professor Per Denez, formerly of the University of Rennes. And there had
always been the guiding hand of Philippe Le Solliec of Lorient.

The story of “The Destruction of Ker-Ys” is almost a classic and its retellings from Le Braz and Luzel and others are numerous. The version of “N’oun Doaré”
given here differs in several respects from the oral tradition picked up from F.-M. Luzel in Morlaix in 1874. I am convinced that this version, for which I have to thank Professor Per Denez for
referring me, shows more of the original Celtic motifs than the one Luzel copied down from the Morlaix factory worker.