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.
The title “Prinsez-a-Sterenn” could, in fact, mean “Princess of the Pole Star,” but when F.-M. Luzel collected a version in the tale in the 1860s/1870s, he rendered it into French as “Princess of the Shining Star”. I have decided to keep to the Breton title, as still used in Cornouaille.
32 The Destruction of Ker-Ys
At the hour of the birth of Gwezenneg, Prince of Bro Érech, a holy man foretold that he would be king. But the holy man also issued a warning: that on the day Gwezenneg ate pork, drank watered wine and renounced his God, then he would surely die. And his death would come about by poison, by burning and by drowning.
Such was die nature of this prophecy that everyone at the court of Bro Érech laughed and sent the holy man away to his hermitage, with patronising smiles but also with gifts, lest he be a man of true prophecy.
The years went by and Gwezenneg grew to be a tall, handsome prince. It came about, as the holy man foretold, that he was acclaimed King of Bro Érech, a kingdom in the southernmost part of Armorica, the land by the sea, which we now call “Little Britain”. Gwezenneg married a princess of Kernascleden named Gwyar, and she bore him two sons. And Gwezenneg grew in fame and sought to extend the borders of his kingdom; he fought several wars with neighbouring princes, to
expand his kingdom.
All the while, however, he was aware of the prophecy made at his birth.
One day, he was hunting in the great forests of Pont Calleck, by the edge of the great lake there, when he came upon a beautiful young woman. Never had he beheld such beauty before. She sat on a log by the shore of the lake, combing her hair with a silver comb ornamented with gold. The sun was shining on her so that her two golden-yellow tresses, each one braided in four plaits, with a bead at the end of each plait, glistened like liquid fire.
She was dressed in a skirt of green silk, with a tunic of red, all embroidered with designs of animals in gold and silver. She wore a round golden brooch with filigree work decorated with silver. From her slender shoulders, there hung a cloak of purple.
Her upper arms were white as the snow of a single night and they were soft and shapely. Her cheeks had the tinge of the foxglove of the moor upon them. Her eyebrows were coloured black and her eyes were as blue as the bugloss. Her lips were vermilion. The blush of the moon was on her fair countenance, and there was a lifting pride in her noble face.
“Maiden, tell me your name,” demanded Gwezenneg, alighting from his horse and going on his knees before her as a tribute to her beauty.
She smiled softly, a dimple of sport in both her cheeks, and she answered with a gentle womanly dignity in her voice. “I am called ‘whirlwind’, ‘tempest’ and ‘storm’.”
“Lady, I would give the kingdom of Bro Érech to know you.” His children and queen, Gwyar, were all forgotten. “Lady of the rough winds, come as my mistress to my royal palace at Vannes. I will grant you anything that is in my power.”
“Think well on this, O king,” replied the girl. “I have warned you of the storm to come. Do you still desire me?”
“I do.”
“Then I will come to your palace, on the condition that no Christian cleric shall ever set foot there, and that you must submit to my will in all things.”
Without even thinking, Gwezenneg, mesmerized by the deep blue of her eyes, agreed.
So the girl, who said her name was Aveldro, the whirlwind, came to the king’s palace at Vannes.
Horrified, Gwyar, Gwezenneg’s queen, took her children and went straightaway to Guénolé, the bishop, and, sobbing, asked him to intervene and cure her husband’s infatuation. And when Guénolé came to Gwezenneg, the king would not listen to him. The bishop then turned to Aveldro, who was sitting unconcerned by the side of her lover. He demanded whether she felt guilt.
Aveldro turned to him with a smile.
“Guilt is for the followers of your God, Gunwalloe,” she said, using the ancient form of his name, so that he would know his pagan past. “Guilt is not for those who follow the old ways.”
And Guénolé was enraged. “Do you not follow the Christ?” he demanded.
“I cleave not to the clerics of your church,” she replied. “They chant nothing save unreason, and their tune is unmelodious in the universe.”
Then Guénolé cursed King Gwezenneg and reminded him that his doom had already been foretold.
Gwezenneg grew afraid at this, but Aveldro caused a great wind to blow through the palace which swept the cursing cleric from its halls. Now Aveldro had done this feat of magic in order to put heart into Gwezenneg. But he was awed by her great power and realized that she was a dryades: that is to say, a female Druid. And he feared Guénolé’s curse and the prophecy of his birth. So he waited until Aveldro had retired before he summoned a messenger and told him to go after Guénolé, telling the bishop that Gwezenneg would come to him as soon as he could and confess all his sins, do penance, and with his blessing would eject Aveldro from his court.
The next evening, Aveldro summoned him for the evening meal and a dish of meat was placed before the king.
“What meat is this?” he demanded of his cook, after he had chewed and swallowed a large piece. His cook looked uncomfortable.
“Why, we had no slaughtered beef nor mutton in the kitchen and so your lady,” he glanced awkwardly at Aveldro, “told us to serve the pig we had slaughtered for the servants. She said that you would approve.”
And Gwezenneg went white, for he knew the significance of eating pig. He reached for his wine glass to swallow the wine, in order to wash out the unclean meat from his mouth. He took one swallow before spitting out the rest of the wine in disgust.
“What weak wine is this?” he demanded of the chamberlain, who had served the wine.
His chamberlain looked awkwardly at Aveldro.
“Why, sire, we had only one flagon of good wine left in the palace and so your lady told us to add a little water to it, so that it would go that much further. She said that you would approve.”
“God be damned!” swore Gwezenneg, rising up in anger from his place. Then, realizing the nature of his unthinking curse, he sat down abruptly. Gwezenneg sat white-faced and stared at Aveldro, who smiled a knowing smile.
Aveldro was a skilful Druidess, for she could read the thoughts of the King of Bro Érech just as surely as if he had spoken them aloud. She knew that he had planned to go to Guénolé and betray her. So, that same night, she evoked a vision which mesmerized him. And once more he pleaded for Aveldro to come to bed with him and make love and, in the vision, she consented.
Then Gwezenneg awoke from his lovemaking with a dry mouth and a great thirst which lay heavily on him.
“I thirst,” he moaned, “but can find no water.”
Aveldro smiled beside him. “I will go to the kitchen, my lover, and bring you some crystal cold water to assuage your thirst.”
When she returned, she handed him a glass of water. He drained the glass and returned to sleep.
She watched his sleep and was satisfied, for she had placed poison in the glass.
At dawn, she was abruptly wakened by distant shouting. She smelt smoke and burning. It had happened that Gwyar, driven to distraction with her anger, had come upon the palace that night and set a fire under her husband’s sleeping chamber.
Aveldro, taking a last look at her poisoned lover, decided to flee the palace. She had wanted to be there when Gwezenneg’s body was discovered, so that no blame would attach itself to her. But with the flames licking at the walls, she decided that her journey westward to her home must be precipitate. She escaped from the burning fortress and disappeared into the dawn light.
Now Gwezenneg, drugged with the poison, was not yet dead. For he was a strong and healthy man and it took a time for the poison to work through his system. The noise of shouting awoke him and he saw great flames engulfing his chamber. In discomfort from the poison, he staggered from his bed and, standing swaying, he gazed about him, finding himself amidst the smoke and crackling fires. He sought for a means of escape. The heat was intense but he managed to flee from the bedchamber as the blazing ridge poles of the roof came crashing down.
He made his way down the stone stairs, with the stones so hot that they burnt and blistered his bare feet, and found himself in the kitchens of the palace. There he was trapped by a great sheet of flame and, in desperation, he saw the tall water vats. In an effort to escape the flames, he clambered into the first vat, which was filled with water. He plunged into its icy depth, intending to wait there until the flames had passed.
But the poison had so weakened him that he could not swim and, after a minute or two, he sank into the cold water of the vat and was drowned.
The next day, when Guénolé came to the smouldering ruins of the palace, the attendants of King Gwezenneg told him what had happened, for they had found the body of the king in the debris. Guénolé knew then that the prophecy had been fulfilled. But he knew also that the cause of it was the mysterious woman named Aveldro, the whirlwind. He vowed that Aveldro, who had denied the Living God, would have to pay reparation for this deed, if ever she was found.
The time came when Guénolé left the sad kingdom of Bro Érech and set about a journey westward to the kingdom of Kernev, which is Cornouaille, which stretched south f
rom the Monts d’Arrée and east to the River Ellé, beyond the great realm of Domnonia. Guénolé had heard that this kingdom of Kernev was still fiercely pagan. So he set out to convert it and he built a great monastery, which is called Landévennec, and slowly the people of Kernev turned to him and accepted his teachings.
However, Kernev was ruled by an eminent king called Gradlon. Gradlon ruled from a great city called Ker-Ys, which is “the beloved place”, which was situated in what is now the Baie des Trépassés, that is the Bay of the Dead, just off the Pointe du Raz, for at the time the land of Kernev stretched over this area of the sea.
Ker-Ys was a mighty place and spoken of in awe by those merchants who had travelled to its massive walls.
Guénolé was put in a mind to see the city and to bring the word of the Living God to its king, Gradlon.
One day, seated in his cell at Landévennec, he sent for his disciple, Gwion, who had been a fisherman from Kerazan and had often sailed the western coast around Kernev.
“Tell me of this Gradlon and Ker-Ys, for tomorrow I mean to make a journey to see them.”
Gwion looked slightly worried. “They hold steadfast to the old gods,” he warned his master.
“So did many of us, until we heard the truth,” Guénolé replied complacently.
“Gradlon is certainly a fair king,” Gwion said. “A sad king, though. Once, many years ago, Gwezenneg of Bro Érech tried to extend the borders of his kingdom to the west and into the territory of Kernev. He brought an army with him and crossed the River Scorv at Hennebont, which is the old bridge.
“It happened on that day Gradlon’s wife and queen, Dieub, was visiting her kinfolk at Belon. And with her was her son Youlek the Determined. Gwezenneg and his warriors came down like a plague of locusts, slaughtering all before them and leaving behind the blackened earth stained red with blood. And the blood of Gradlon’s wife, Dieub, was among that which had mingled with the sorry clay. And the blood of Gradlon’s son, Youlek, also drenched the earth, for Youlek had tried to protect his mother with his word. And all the generations of Dieub’s family were slaughtered.”
The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends Page 52
