Anonymous - Breton Legends

The Three Wayfarers.

p. 3.

Breton Legends.

p. 74.

Translated from the French.

London
Burns, Oates, & Co., 17 Portman Street, and 63 Paternoster Row

T he various Collections of Household and Legendary Tales of different countries which have appeared of late years sufficiently attest the popular interest which attaches to these curious and venerable relics of bygone days. Even such eminent scholars as the Messrs. Grimm have not thought it beneath them to devote their time and research to the task of collecting the old fireside Stories and Legends of Germany; and the result of their labours is a volume of tales of remarkable interest and attractiveness, distinguished no less for variety and invention than for pathos, humour, and graceful simplicity.

Similar Collections have been published from time to time in relation to other countries (among others, a remarkable one on the Norse Legends, recently issued); and it seemed to the Editors of the present volume that the time had arrived when Brittany too might venture to put forward her claim in this respect to public attention. A selection of some of the best of the Breton Legends is therefore presented to the reader in this little volume.

It may be remarked, that the Breton Legends, though possessing much that is common to the German and other National Tales, have yet features peculiar to themselves. They are, we may say, deeply coloured by the character of the country in which they have their home. The sea-coast of Brittany, with its rugged rocks and deep mysterious bays and inlets; the lone country heaths in which stand the Menhir and Dolmen, with their dark immemorial traditions; the gray antiquated chateaus with their fosses and turrets,all impart a wild and severe character to its legends, and strike the reader with a kind of awe which he scarcely feels in reading those of other countries. In addition to this, the way in which the religion of the Cross, and the doctrines and rites of the Church are interwoven with the texture of almost every one of the Breton Tales, seems to mark them off with still greater distinctness, lending them at the same time a peculiar charm which can hardly fail to commend them to the sympathies of the religious reader.

We may add that the moral lessons to be derived from many of these Legends are as striking as they are ingeniously wrought out.

The Tales are a translation from the French; and for this the Editors are indebted to the skill and good taste of a lady, who has entered most fully into the spirit and feeling of these simple but beautiful specimens of Legendary Lore.

T here dwelt in the diocese of Lon, in ancient times, two young noblemen, rich and comely as heart could desire. Their names were Tonyk and Mylio.

Mylio, the elder, was almost sixteen, and Tonyk just fourteen years of age. They were both under the instruction of the ablest masters, by whose lessons they had so well profited that, but for their age, they might well have received holy orders, had such been their vocation.

But in character the brothers were very unlike. Tonyk was pious, charitable to the poor, and always ready to forgive those who had offended him: he hoarded neither money in his hand nor resentment in his heart. Mylio, on the other hand, while he gave but his due to each, would drive a hard bargain too, and never failed to revenge an injury to the uttermost.

It had pleased God to deprive them of their father whilst yet in their infancy, and they had been brought up by their widowed mother, a woman of singular virtue; but now that they were growing towards manhood, she deemed it time to send them to the care of an uncle, who lived at some distance, and from whom they might receive good counsels for their walk in life, besides the expectation of an ample heritage.

So one day, after bestowing upon each a new cap, a pair of silver-buckled shoes, a violet mantle, a well-filled purse, and a horse, she bade them set forth towards the house of their fathers brother.

The two boys began their journey in the highest spirits, glad that they were travelling into a new country. Their horses made such good speed, that in the course of a few days they found themselves already in another kingdom, where the trees, and even the corn, were quite different to their own. There one morning, coming to a cross-road, they saw a poor woman seated near a wayside cross, her face buried in her apron.

Tonyk drew up his horse to ask her what she ailed; and the beggar told him, sobbing, that she had just lost her son, her sole support, and that she was now cast upon the charity of Christian strangers.

The youth was touched with compassion; but Mylio, who waited at a little distance, cried out mockingly,

You are not going to believe the first pitiful story told you by the roadside! It is just this womans trade to sit here and cheat travellers of their money.

Hush, hush, my brother, answered Tonyk, in the name of God; you only make her weep the more. Do not you see that she is just the age and figure of our own dear mother, whom may God preserve. Then stooping towards the beggar-woman, he handed her his purse, saying,

Here, my good woman, I can help you but a little; but I will pray that God Himself may be your consolation.

The beggar took the purse, and pressed it to her lips; then said to Tonyk,

Since my young lord has been so bountiful to a poor woman, let him not refuse to accept from her this walnut. It contains a wasp with a sting of diamond.

Tonyk took the walnut with thanks, and proceeded on his way with Mylio.

Ere long they came upon the borders of a forest, and saw a little child, half naked, seeking somewhat in the hollows of the trees, whilst he sung a strange and melancholy air, more mournful than the music of a requiem. He often stopped to clap his little frozen hands, saying in his song, I am cold,oh, so cold! and the boys could hear his teeth chatter in his head.

Tonyk was ready to weep at this spectacle, and said to his brother,

Mylio, only see how this poor child suffers from the piercing wind.

Then he must be a chilly subject, returned Mylio; the wind does not strike me as so piercing.

That may well be, when you have on a plush doublet, a warm cloth coat, and over all your violet mantle, whilst he is wrapped round by little but the air of heaven.

Well, and what then? observed Mylio; after all, he is but a peasant-boy.

Alas, said Tonyk, when I think that you, my brother, might have been born to the same hard fate, it goes to my very heart; and I cannot bear to see him suffering. For Jesus sake let us relieve him.

So saying he reined in his horse, and calling to him the little boy, asked what he was about.

I am trying, said the child, if I can find any dragon-flies asleep in the hollows of the trees.