Peronnik The Idiot

: Breton Legends

You cannot surely have failed, some time or other, to meet by chance

some of those poor idiots, or innocents, whose utmost wisdom scarcely

serves to lead them as beggars from door to door in quest of daily

bread. One might almost fancy they were straying calves who have lost

their way home. They stare all round with open eyes and mouth, as if in

search of somewhat; but, alas, that they seek is not plentiful enough

in t ese parts to be found upon the highways--for it is common sense.



Peronnik was one of these poor idiots, to whom the charity of strangers

had been in place of father or of mother. He wandered ever onwards

unconscious whither; when he was thirsty, he drank from wayside

springs; when hungry, he begged stale crusts from the women he saw

standing at their doors; and when in need of sleep, he looked out for

a heap of straw, and hollowed himself out a nest in it like a lizard.



As to any knowledge of a trade, Peronnik had, indeed, never learnt one;

but for all that he was skilful enough in many matters: he could go

on eating as long as you desired him to do so; he could outsleep any

one for any length of time; and he could imitate with his tongue the

song of larks. There is many a one now in these parts who cannot do

so much as this.



At the time of which I am telling you (that is, many a hundred years

ago and more), the land of White-Wheat was not altogether what you see

it nowadays. Since then many a gentleman has devoured his inheritance,

and cut up his forests into wooden shoes. Thus the forest of Paimpont

extended over more than twenty parishes; some say it even crossed the

river, and went as far as Elven. However that may be, Peronnik came one

day to a farm built upon the border of the wood; and as the Benedicite

bell had long since rung in his stomach, he drew near to ask for food.



The farmer's wife happened at that moment to be kneeling down on

the door-sill to scrape the soup-bowl with her flint-stone; but

when she heard the idiot's voice asking for food in the name of God,

she stopped and held the kettle towards him.



"Here," she cried, "poor fellow, eat these scrapings, and say an

'Our Father' for our pigs, that nothing on earth will fatten."



Peronnik seated himself on the ground, put the kettle between his

knees, and began to scrape it with his nails; but it was little

enough he could succeed in finding, for all the spoons in the house

had already done their duty upon it. However, he licked his fingers,

and made an audible grunt of satisfaction, as if he had never tasted

any thing better.



"It is millet-flour," said he, in a low voice,--"millet-flour moistened

with the black cow's milk, and by the best cook in the whole

Low Country."



The farmer's wife, who was going by, turned round delighted.



"Poor innocent," said she, "there is little enough of it left; but

I will add a scrap of rye-bread."



And she brought the lad the first cutting of a round loaf just out

of the oven. Peronnik bit into it like a wolf into a lamb's leg, and

declared that it must have been kneaded by the baker to his lordship

the Bishop of Vannes.



The flattered peasant replied, that was nothing to the taste of

it when spread with fresh-churned butter; and to prove her words,

she brought him some in a little covered saucer. After taking this,

the idiot declared that this was living butter, not to be excelled by

butter of the White Week itself; and to give greater force to his

words, he poured over his crust all that the saucer contained. But the

satisfaction of the farmer's wife prevented her from noticing this;

and she added to what she had already given him a lump of dripping

left from the Sunday soup.



Peronnik praised every mouthful more and more, and swallowed every

thing as if it had been water from a spring; for it was very long

since he had made so good a meal.



The farmer's wife went and came, watching him as he ate, and adding

from time to time sundry scraps, which he took, making each time the

sign of the cross.



Whilst thus employed in recruiting himself, behold a knight appeared

at the house-door, and addressing himself to the woman, asked her

which was the road to Kerglas castle.



"Heavens! good gentleman," exclaimed the farmer's wife, "are you

going there?"



"Yes," replied the warrior; "and I have come from a land so distant

for this purpose, that I have been travelling night and day these

three months to get so far on my way."



"And what are you come to seek at Kerglas?" asked the Breton woman.



"I am come in quest of the golden basin and the diamond lance."



"These two are, then, very valuable things?" asked Peronnik.



"They are of more value than all the crowns on earth," replied the

stranger; "for not only will the golden basin produce instantaneously

all the dainties and the wealth one can desire, but it suffices to

drink therefrom to be healed of every malady; and the dead themselves

are raised to life by touching it with their lips. As to the diamond

lance, it kills and overthrows all that it touches."



"And to whom do this diamond lance and golden basin belong?" asked

Peronnik, bewildered.



"To a magician called Rogear, who lives in the castle of Kerglas,"

answered the farmer's wife. "He is to be seen any day near the forest

pathway, riding along upon his black mare followed by a colt of three

months' old; but no one dares to attack him, for he holds the fearful

lance in his hand."



"Yes," replied the stranger; "but the command of God forbids him to

make use of it within the castle of Kerglas. So soon as he arrives

there, the lance and the basin are deposited at the bottom of a dark

cave, which no key will open; therefore, it is in that place I propose

to attack the magician."



"Alas, you will never succeed, my good sir," replied the peasant

woman. "More than a hundred gentlemen have already attempted it;

but not one amongst them has returned."



"I know that, my good woman," answered the knight; "but they had not

been instructed as I have by the Hermit of Blavet."



"And what did the Hermit tell you?" asked Peronnik.



"He warned me of all that I shall have to do," replied the

stranger. "First of all, I shall have to cross an enchanted wood,

wherein every kind of magic will be put in force to terrify and

bewilder me from my way. The greater number of my predecessors have

lost themselves, and there died of cold, hunger, or fatigue."



"And if you succeed in crossing it?" said the idiot.



"If I get safely through it," continued the gentleman, "I shall

meet a Korigan armed with a fiery sword, which lays all it touches

in ashes. This Korigan keeps watch beside an apple-tree, from which

it is necessary that I should gather one apple."



"And then?" said Peronnik.



"Then I shall discover the laughing flower, and this is guarded by

a lion whose mane is made of vipers. This flower I must also gather;

after which I must cross the lake of dragons to fight the black man,

who flings an iron bowl that ever hits its mark and returns to its

master of its own accord. Then I shall enter on the valley of delights,

where every thing that can tempt and stay the feet of a Christian

will be arrayed before me, and shall reach a river with one single

ford. There I shall meet a lady clad in sable whom I shall take upon

my horse's crupper, and she will tell me all that remains to be done."



The farmer's wife did her best to persuade the stranger that it

would be impossible for him to go through so many trials; but he

replied that women were incapable of judging in so weighty a matter;

and after ascertaining correctly the forest entrance, he set off at

full gallop, and was soon lost among the trees.



The farmer's wife heaved a deep sigh, declaring that here was another

soul going before our Lord for judgment; then giving some more crusts

to Peronnik, she bade him go on his way.



He was about to follow her advice, when the farmer came in from the

fields. He had just been turning off the lad who looked after his

cows at the wood-side, and was revolving in his mind how his place

should be supplied.



The sight of the idiot was to him as a ray of light; he thought he

had happened on the very thing he sought, and after putting a few

questions to Peronnik, he asked him bluntly if he would stay at the

farm to look after the cattle. Peronnik would have preferred having

no one but himself to look after, for no one had a greater aptitude

than he for doing nothing; but the taste of the lard, the fresh butter,

the rye-bread, and the millet-flour hung still sweet upon his lips; so

he suffered himself to be tempted, and accepted the farmer's proposal.



The good man forthwith conducted him to the edge of the forest, counted

aloud all the cows, not forgetting the heifers, cut him a hazel-switch

to drive them with, and bade him bring them safely home at set of sun.



Behold Peronnik now established as a keeper of cattle, watching over

them to see they did no mischief, and running from the black to the

red, and from the red to the white, to keep them from straying out

of the appointed boundary.



Now whilst he was thus running from side to side, he heard suddenly the

sound of horse's hoofs, and saw in one of the forest-paths the giant

Rogear seated on his mare, followed by her three-months' colt. He

carried from his neck the golden basin, and in his hand the diamond

lance, which glittered like flame. Peronnik, terrified, hid himself

behind a bush; the giant passed close by him and went on his way. As

soon as he was gone by, the idiot came out of his hiding-place, and

looked down in the direction he had taken, but without being able to

see which path he had followed.



Well, armed knights came on unceasingly in quest of the castle of

Kerglas, and not one was ever seen to return. The giant, on the

contrary, took his airing every day as usual. The idiot, who had at

length grown bolder, no longer thought of concealing himself when he

passed, but looked after him as long as he was in sight with envious

eyes; for the desire of possessing the golden basin and the diamond

lance grew stronger every day within his heart. But these things,

alas, were more easily desired than obtained.



One day, when Peronnik was all alone in the pasture-land as usual,

he saw a man with a white beard pausing at the entrance of the

forest-path. The idiot took him for some fresh adventurer, and inquired

if he did not seek the road to Kerglas.



"I seek it not, since I already know it," replied the stranger.



"You have been there, and the magician has not killed you?" exclaimed

the idiot.



"Because he has nothing to fear from me," replied the white-bearded

old man. "I am called the sorcerer Bryak, and am Rogear's elder

brother. When I wish to pay him a visit I come here, and as, in spite

of all my power, I cannot cross the enchanted wood without losing my

way, I call the black colt to carry me."



With these words, he traced three circles with his finger in the

dust, repeated in a low tone such words as demons teach to sorcerers,

and then cried,





"Colt, wild, unbroken, and with footstep free,--

Colt, I am here; come quick, I wait for thee."





The little horse speedily made his appearance. Bryak put him on a

halter, shackled his feet, and then mounting on his back, allowed

him to return into the forest.



Peronnik said nothing of this adventure to any one; but he now

understood that the first step towards visiting Kerglas was to secure

the colt that knew the way. Unfortunately he knew neither how to trace

the three circles, nor to pronounce the magic words necessary for the

colt to hear the summons. Some other method, therefore, must be hit

upon for making himself master of it, and, when once it was captured,

of gathering the apple, plucking the laughing flower, escaping the

black man's bowl, and of crossing the valley of delights.



Peronnik thought it all over for a long time, and at last he fancied

himself able to succeed. Those who are strong go forth clad in their

strength to meet danger, and too often perish in it; but the weak

compass their ends sideways. Having no hope of braving the giant,

the idiot resolved to try craft and cunning. As to difficulties,

he suffered them not to scare him: he knew that medlars are hard as

flint-stones when first gathered, and that a little straw and much

patience softens them at length.



So he made all his preparations against the time when the giant usually

appeared in the forest-path. First he made a halter and a horse-shackle

of black hemp; a springe for taking woodcocks, moistening the hairs of

it in holy water; a cloth-bag full of birdlime and lark's feathers;

a rosary, an elder-whistle, and a bit of crust rubbed with rancid

lard. This done, he crumbled the bread given him for breakfast along

the pathway in which Rogear, his mare, and three months' colt would

shortly pass.



They all three appeared at the usual hour, and crossed the pasture

as on other days; but the colt, which was walking with hanging head,

snuffing the ground, smelt out the crumbs of bread, and stopped to eat

them, so that it was soon left alone out of the giant's sight. Then

Peronnik drew gently near, threw his halter over it, fastened the

shackle on two of its feet, jumped upon its back, and left it free

to follow its own course, certain that the colt, which knew its way,

would carry him to the castle of Kerglas.



And so it came to pass; for the young horse took unhesitatingly one of

the wildest paths, and went on as rapidly as the shackle would permit.



Peronnik trembled like a leaf; for all the witchery of the forest

was at work to scare him. One moment it seemed as if a bottomless pit

yawned suddenly before his steed; the next all the trees appeared on

fire, and he found himself surrounded by flames; often whilst in the

act of crossing a brook, it became as a torrent, and threatened to

carry him away; at other times, whilst following a little footway

beneath a gentle slope, he saw huge rocks on the point of rolling

down and crushing him to pieces.



In vain he assured himself these were but magical delusions, he felt

his very marrow grow cold with dread. At last he resolutely pulled

his hat down over his eyes, and let the colt carry him blindly onwards.



Thus they both came safely to a plain where all enchantment ceased,

and Peronnik pushed up his cap and looked about him.



It was a barren spot, and gloomier than a cemetery. Here and there

might be seen the skeletons of gentlemen who had come in quest of

Kerglas Castle. There they lay, stretched beside their horses, and

the gray wolves still gnawing at their bones.



At length the idiot entered a meadow entirely overshadowed by one

single apple-tree; and this was so heavily laden with fruit, that the

branches hung to the ground. Before this tree the Korigan kept watch,

grasping in his hand the fiery sword which would lay all it touched

in ashes.



At sight of Peronnik, he uttered a cry like that of a wild bird,

and raised his weapon; but, without betraying any emotion, the lad

simply touched his hat politely, and said,



"Don't disturb yourself, my little prince; I am only passing by on

my way to Kerglas, according to an appointment the Lord Rogear has

made with me."



"With you?" replied the dwarf; "and who, then, may you be?"



"I am our master's new servant," said the idiot; "you know, the one

he is expecting."



"I know nothing of it," replied the dwarf; "and you look to me

uncommonly like a cheat."



"Excuse me," returned Peronnik, "such is by no means my profession;

I am only a catcher and trainer of birds. But, for God's sake, don't

keep me now; for his lordship, the magician, is expecting me this

very moment; and has even lent me his own colt, as you see, that I

may the sooner reach the castle."



The Korigan saw, in fact, that Peronnik rode the magician's young

horse, and began to consider whether he might not really be speaking

truth. Besides, the idiot had so simple an air, that it was not

possible to suspect him of inventing such a story. However, he still

felt mistrust; and asked what need the magician had of a bird-catcher?



"The greatest need, it seems," said Peronnik; "for, according to his

account, all that ripens, whether seed or fruit, in the garden at

Kerglas, is just now eaten up by birds."



"And what can you do to hinder them?" asked the dwarf.



Peronnik showed the little snare which he had manufactured, and

declared that no bird would be able to escape it.



"That is just what I will make sure of," said the Korigan. "My

apple-tree is ravaged just as much by the blackbirds and thrushes. Set

your snare; and if you can catch them, I will let you pass."



To this Peronnik agreed; he fastened his colt to a bush, and going up

to the apple-tree, fixed therein one end of the snare, calling to the

Korigan to hold the other whilst he got the skewers ready. He did as

the idiot requested; and Peronnik hastily drawing the running noose,

the dwarf found himself caught like a bird.



He uttered a cry of rage, and struggled to get free; but the springe,

having been well steeped in holy water, bade defiance to all his

efforts.



The idiot had time enough to run to the tree, pluck an apple from it,

and remount his colt, which continued its onward course.



And so they came out of the plain; and behold, there lay a thicket

before them, formed of the very loveliest plants. There were to be seen

roses of every hue, Spanish brooms, rose-coloured honeysuckles, and,

towering above all, the mysterious laughing flower; but round about

the thicket stalked a lion, with a mane of vipers, rolling his eyes,

and with his teeth grinding like a couple of new mill-stones.



Peronnik stopped, and bowed over and over again; for he knew that in

the presence of the powerful a hat is more serviceable in the hand

than on the head. He wished all sorts of prosperities to the lion and

his family; and requested to know if he was without mistake upon the

road to Kerglas.



"And what are you going to do at Kerglas?" cried the ferocious beast

with a terrible air.



"May it please your worship," replied the idiot timidly, "I am in

the service of a lady who is a great friend of Lord Rogear, and she

has sent him something as a present to make a lark-pasty of."



"Larks!" repeated the lion, licking his moustache; "it is an age

since I have tasted them. How many have you got?"



"This bagful, your lordship," replied Peronnik, showing the cloth-bag

which he had stuffed with feathers and birdlime.



And in order to verify his words, he began to counterfeit the warbling

of larks.



This song aggravated the lion's appetite.



"Let me see," said he, drawing near; "show me your birds; I should

like to know if they are large enough to be served up at our master's

table."



"I desire nothing so much," replied the idiot; "but if I open the bag,

I am afraid they will fly away."



"Half open it, just to let me peep in," said the greedy monster.



This desire fulfilled Peronnik's highest hopes; he offered the bag to

the lion, who poked in his head to seize the larks, and found himself

smothered in feathers and birdlime. The idiot hastily drew the strings

of the bag tight round his neck, making the sign of the cross over

the knot, to keep it inviolable; then, rushing to the laughing flower,

he gathered it, and set off as fast as the colt could go.



But it was not long before he came to the dragons' lake, which he

must needs cross by swimming; and scarcely had he plunged in, when

they came towards him from every side to devour him.



This time Peronnik troubled not himself to pull off his hat, but

he began to throw out to them the beads of his rosary, as one would

scatter black wheat to ducks; and at every bead swallowed one of the

dragons turned over on its back and expired; so that he at length

reached the opposite shore unharmed.



The valley guarded by the black man had now to be crossed. Peronnik

soon perceived him, chained by one foot to the rock, and holding

in his hand an iron bowl, which ever returned, of its own accord,

so soon as it had struck the appointed mark. He had six eyes, ranged

round his head, which generally took turns in keeping watch; but at

this moment it so chanced that they were every one open. Peronnik,

knowing that if seen he should be struck by the iron bowl before he

had the opportunity of speaking a word, resolved to creep along the

brushwood. And by this means, hiding himself carefully behind the

bushes, he soon found himself within a few steps of the black man,

who had just sat down, and closed two of his eyes in repose. Peronnik,

guessing that he was sleepy, began to chant in a drowsy voice the

beginning of the High Mass. The black man at first, taken by surprise,

started, and raised his head; but, as the murmur took effect upon him,

a third eye closed. Peronnik then went on to intone the Kyrie eleison,

in the tone of one possessed by the sleepy demon. The black man

closed a fourth eye, and half the fifth. Peronnik then began Vespers;

but before he had reached the Magnificat, the black man slept soundly.



Then the youth, taking the colt by the bridle, led it softly over

mossy places; and so, passing close by the slumbering guardian,

he came into the valley of delights.



This was the most-to-be-dreaded place of all; for it was no

longer a question of avoiding positive danger, but of fleeing from

temptation. Peronnik called all the saints of Brittany to his aid.



The valley through which he was now passing bore every appearance of

a garden richly filled with fruits, with flowers, and with fountains;

but the fountains were of wines and delicious drinks, the flowers

sang with voices as sweet as those of cherubim in Paradise, and

the fruits came of their own accord and offered themselves to the

hand. Then at every turning of the path Peronnik beheld huge tables,

spread as for a king, could scent the tempting odour of pastry drawn

fresh from the oven, and see the valets apparently expecting him;

whilst further off were beautiful maidens coming to dance upon the

turf, who called him by his name to come and lead the ball.



In vain the idiot made the sign of the cross, insensibly he slackened

the pace of his colt, involuntarily he raised his face to snuff up

the delicious odour of the smoking dishes, and to gaze more fixedly

upon the lovely maidens; he would possibly have stopped altogether,

and there would have been an end of him, if the recollection of the

golden basin and the diamond lance had not all at once crossed his

mind. Then he instantly began to blow his elder-whistle, that he

might hear no more those soft appeals; to eat his bread well rubbed

with rancid dripping, to deaden the odour of the dainty meats; and

to stare fixedly on his horse's ears, that the lovely dancers might

no more attract his eyes.



And so he came to the end of the garden quite safely, and caught sight

at last of Kerglas Castle. But the river of which he had been told

still lay between it and him, and he knew that this river could only

be forded in one place. Happily the colt was familiar with this ford,

and prepared to enter at the right spot.



Then Peronnik looked around him in quest of the lady who was to be

his guide to the castle; and soon perceived her seated on a rock,

clad in black satin, and her countenance as yellow as a Moor's.



The idiot pulled off his hat, and asked if it was her pleasure to

cross the river.



"I expected thee for that very purpose," replied the lady; "draw near,

that I may seat myself behind thee."



Peronnik approached, took her on his horse's crupper, and began to

cross the ford. He had almost reached the middle of it, when the lady

said to him,



"Knowest thou who I am, poor innocent?"



"I beg your pardon," replied Peronnik, "but from your dress I clearly

see that you are a noble and powerful lady."



"As to noble, I ought to be," replied the lady, "for I can trace

back my origin to the first sin; and powerful I certainly am, for

all nations give way before me."



"Then what is your name, may it please you, madam?" asked Peronnik.



"I am called the Plague," replied the yellow woman.



The idiot made a spring as if he would have thrown himself from his

horse into the water; but the Plague said to him,



"Rest easy, poor innocent, thou hast nothing to fear from me; on the

contrary, I can be of service to thee."



"Is it possible that you will be so benevolent, Madam Plague?" said

Peronnik, taking his hat off, this time for good; "by the by, I now

remember that it is you who are to teach me how to rid myself of the

magician Rogear."



"The magician must die," said the yellow lady.



"I should like nothing better," replied Peronnik; "but he is immortal."



"Listen, and try to understand," said the Plague. "The apple-tree

guarded by the Korigan is a slip from the tree of good and evil, set

in the earthly Paradise by God Himself. Its fruit, like that which was

eaten by Adam and Eve, renders immortals susceptible of death. Try,

then, to induce the magician to taste the apple, and from that moment

he need only be touched by me to sink in death."



"I will try," said Peronnik; "but even if I succeed, how can I obtain

the golden basin and the diamond lance, since they lie hidden in a

gloomy cave, which cannot be opened by any key yet forged?"



"The laughing flower will open every door," replied the Plague,

"and can illuminate the darkest night."



As she spoke these words they reached the further bank of the river,

and the idiot went onwards to the castle.



Now there was before the entrance-hall a huge canopy, like that which

is carried over his lordship the Bishop of Vannes at the processions

of the Fete Dieu. Beneath this sat the giant, sheltered from the heat

of the sun, his legs crossed, like a proprietor who has gathered in

his harvest, and smoking a tobacco-pipe of virgin gold. On perceiving

the colt, on which sat Peronnik and the lady clad in black satin,

he lifted up his head, and cried in a voice which roared like thunder,



"Why this idiot is mounted on my three-months' colt!"



"The very same, O greatest of all magicians," replied Peronnik.



"And how did you get possession of him?" asked Rogear.



"I repeated what your brother Bryak taught me," replied the idiot. "On

reaching the forest border I said,





'Colt, wild, unbroken, and with footstep free,--

Colt, I am here; come quick, I wait for thee.'





and the little horse came at once."



"Then you know my brother?" said the giant.



"As one knows his master," replied the youth.



"And what has he sent you here for?"



"To bring you a present of two curiosities he has just received from

the country of the Moors,--this apple of delight, and the female

slave whom you see there. If you eat the first, you will always have a

heart as much at rest as that of a poor man who has found a purse of

a hundred crowns in his wooden shoe; and if you take the second into

your service, you will have nothing left you to desire in the world."



"Give me then the apple, and make the Moorish woman dismount,"

replied Rogear.



The idiot obeyed; but the instant the giant had set his teeth into

the fruit, the yellow lady laid her hand upon him, and he fell to

the ground like a bullock in the slaughter-house.



Then Peronnik entered the palace, holding the laughing flower in his

hand. He traversed more than fifty halls, one after the other, and

came at length before the cavern with the silver door. This opened of

its own accord before the flower, which also gave the idiot sufficient

light to find the golden basin and the diamond lance.



But scarcely had he seized them when the earth shook under his feet;

a terrible clap of thunder was heard; the palace disappeared; and

Peronnik found himself once more in the midst of the forest, holding

his two talismans, with which he set forward instantly to the court

of the King of Brittany.



He only delayed long enough at Vannes to buy the richest costume

he could find there, and the finest horse that was for sale in the

diocese of White-Wheat.



Now when he came to Nantes, this town was besieged by the Franks, who

had so mercilessly ravaged the surrounding country, that there were

scarcely more trees left than would serve a single goat for forage;

and more than that, famine was in the city; and those soldiers died

of hunger whose wounds had spared their lives. And on the very day

of Peronnik's arrival, a trumpeter proclaimed aloud in every street

that the King of Brittany would adopt that man as his heir who could

deliver the city, and drive the enemy out of the country.



Hearing this promise, Peronnik said to the trumpeter,



"Proclaim no more, but lead me to the king; for I am able to do all

he asks."



"Thou!" said the herald, seeing him so young and small; "go on thy

way, fine goldfinch; the king has now no time for taking little

birds from cottage-roofs."



By way of reply, Peronnik touched the soldier with his lance; and

that very instant he fell dead, to the infinite terror of the crowd

who looked on, and would have fled away; but the idiot cried,



"You have just seen what I can do against my enemies; know now what

is in my power for my friends."



And having touched with his golden basin the dead man's lips, he rose

up instantly, restored to life.



The king being informed of this wonder, gave Peronnik command of all

the soldiers he had left; and as with his diamond lance the idiot

killed thousands of the Franks, and with his golden basin restored

to life the Bretons who were slain, a very few days sufficed him

for putting an end to the enemy's army, and taking possession of all

their camp contained.



He then proposed to conquer all the neighbouring countries, such as

Anjou, Poitou, and Normandy, which cost him but very little trouble;

and finally, when all were in obedience to the king, he declared his

intention of setting out to deliver the Holy Land, and embarked from

Nantes in a magnificent fleet, with the first nobility of the land.



On reaching Palestine, he performed great deeds of valour, compelled

many Saracens to be baptised, and married a fair maiden, by whom

he had many sons and daughters, to each of whom he gave wealth and

lands. Some even say that, thanks to the golden basin, he and his

sons are living still, and reign in this land; but others maintain

that Rogear's brother, the magician Bryak, has succeeded in regaining

possession of the two talismans, and that those who wish for them

have only--to seek them out.







NOTE ON THE TALE OF "PERONNIK THE IDIOT."



It seems almost impossible not to recognise in the story of Peronnik

the Idiot traces of that tradition which has given birth to one of

the epic romances of the Round Table. Disfigured and overlaid with

modern details as is the Breton version, the primitive idea of the

Quest of the Holy Graal may still be found there pure and entire.



Some explanation must be given of this. So early as the sixth century,

the Gallic bards speak of a magic vase which bestows a knowledge of

the future, and universal science, on its owner; in later times a

popular fable tells of a golden vase possessed by Bran the Blessed,

which healed all wounds, and even restored the dead to life. Other

tales are told of a basin in which every desired delicacy instantly

appeared. In time all these fictions become fused, and the several

properties of these different vases are found united in one; the

possession of which is of course naturally sought after by all great

adventurers.



There is still extant a Gallic poem, composed in the beginning of the

twelfth century, of which the whole burden is this quest. The hero,

named Peredur, goes to war with giants, lions, serpents, sea-monsters,

sorcerers, and finally becomes conqueror of the basin and the lance,

which is here added to the primitive tradition.



Now there can be no doubt that this Gallic legend, which found its

way throughout Europe, as is proved by the attempts at imitation

which have been made in every language, must have been known in

Brittany above all, united as it is to Gaul by a common origin and

language. It must have become popular in the very form it wore when

taught by the bards to the Armoricans.



But besides the successive alterations which are the speedy result

of oral transmission, French imitations by degrees incorporated

themselves with all the primitive versions. M. de la Villemarque

has in fact observed, in his learned work on the Popular Tales of

the Ancient Bretons, that when the Gallic legends were developed by

the French poets, they appeared so beautified in their new costume,

that the Gauls themselves abandoned the originals in favour of the

imitations. Now that which is true of them is equally so of the

Armoricans; and it seems to us beyond a doubt that the tradition of

Peredur, which they had originally received, must have been seriously

modified by the later poem of Christian of Troyes.



In order to elucidate our idea, we will give a hasty analysis of this

poem, which is little known, being only extant in manuscript.



Perceval, the last remaining son of a poor widow, whom the miseries

of war had left destitute, is simple, ignorant, and boorish. His

mother carefully conceals from his sight every thing that might

turn his attention to the idea of war; but one day the lad meets

King Arthur's knights, learns the secret so long hidden from him,

and, his mind filled with nothing now but tournaments and battles,

abandons his maternal roof and sets off for Arthur's court. On the

way he sees a pavilion, which, taking in his simplicity for a church,

he enters. There he eats two roebuck pasties, and drinks a large

flagon of wine; after which he goes once more upon his way, and soon

arrives at Cardeuil, ill-clad, ill-armed, and ill-mounted. He finds

Arthur buried in profound meditation, a treacherous knight having just

carried off his golden cup, defying any warrior to take it from him

again. Perceval accepts the challenge, pursues the thief, kills him,

recovers the cup, and seizes on the slain knight's armour. He is at

length admitted into the order of chivalry.



But the recollection of his mother haunts him every where. What is he

in quest of? He himself knows not; he wanders at random and without

a purpose wherever his wild courser carries him. Thus one day he

reaches a castle, and enters. A sick old man reposes there upon a bed;

a servant appears with a lance from which flows one drop of blood, and

then a damsel bearing a graal, or basin, of pure gold. Perceval longs

to know the meaning of what he sees, but dares not ask. The following

day, on leaving the castle, he is informed that the sick old man is

called the fisher-king, and that he has been wounded in the thigh;

Perceval is at the same time reproached for not having questioned him.



He continues onwards, meeting by chance Arthur, whom he follows to

court; but the day after his arrival a lady clad in black appears to

him, and warmly blames him for being the cause of the fisher-king's

sufferings.



"His wound," said she, "has become incurable, because thou didst not

question him."



The knight, wishing to repair his fault, seeks in vain to find once

more the king's palace; he is repulsed as by an invisible hand,

until the moment when he resolves to go and find a saintly hermit,

to whom he makes his confession. The priest shows him that all his

errors are owing to his ingratitude towards his mother, and that

sin held his tongue in bondage when he ought to have inquired the

meaning of the graal; he imposes a penance on him, gives him advice,

reveals to him a mysterious prayer containing certain terrible words,

which he forbids him from making known; and then Perceval, absolved

from his sins, fasts, adores the Cross, hears Mass, receives Holy

Communion, and returns to a new life.



He now sets forth in quest of the graal, and meets with a thousand

obstacles. A woman, whom he has loved, White-Flower, appears, and

endeavours to detain him; but he escapes from her. He fastens his

horse to the golden ring of a pillar rising on a mountain called the

Mount of Misery, arrives at length at the castle for which he sought,

and this time fails not to inquire into the history of the lance

and the graal. He is told that the lance is that with which Longus

pierced the side of Christ, and that the graal is the basin in which

Joseph of Arimathea received His divine blood. This has come down

by inheritance to the fisher-king, who is descended from Joseph, and

is Perceval's uncle. It procures all good things, both spiritual and

temporal, heals all wounds, and even restores life to the dead, besides

becoming filled with the most delicious dainties at its owner's desire.



After the lance and the graal, they bring out a broken sword;

the fisher-king presents it to his nephew, begging him to reunite

the fragments; in which he succeeds. The king then tells him that,

according to prophecies, the bravest and most pious knight in the

whole world was to perform this act; that he himself had attempted

to weld the pieces together, but had been chastised for his rashness

by receiving a wound in the thigh. "I shall be healed," he added, "on

the same day that sees the knight Pertiniax perish,--that treacherous

knight who broke this wonderful sword in slaying my brother."



Perceval kills Pertiniax, thanks to the aid of the holy graal, cuts

off his head, and brings it to the fisher-king, who gets well, and

abdicates in favour of his nephew.







The points of accordance between this poem and the Breton story are

not very difficult to trace. In the two recitals we hear of the

conquest of a basin and a lance, the possession of which ensures

corresponding advantages; the heroes both of the French and Armorican

version are subjected to dangers and temptations, and success assures

to them alike--a crown. Some points of resemblance may even perhaps

be discovered between the idiot Peronnik, going ever onwards he knows

not whither, and extracting from the farmer's wife his rye-bread,

his fresh-churned butter, and his Sunday dripping; and this Perceval,

simple, ignorant, boorish, who begins by eating two roebuck pasties,

and drinking a great flagon of wine.



Certainly the different details, and the trials imposed on Peronnik,

are not in general much like the probation to which Perceval was

subjected; but, on the other hand, they closely resemble those to which

Peredur, the hero of the Gallic tradition, was exposed. It would seem,

therefore, that this Armorican story has drunk successively from the

two fountains of French and Breton legendary lore. Born of the Gallic

tradition, modified by the French version, and finally accommodated

to the popular genius of our province, it has become such as we have

it at this day.



Peronnik the idiot seems, moreover, to us worthy of being studied

by those who seek, above all else in tradition, for traces of the

popular genius. Idiotism, amongst all tribes of Celtic race, was never

looked on as a degradation, but rather as a peculiar condition wherein

individuals could attain to certain perceptions unknown to the vulgar;

and the Celts were led to imagine that they had an acquaintance with

the invisible world not permitted to other men. Thus the words of the

idiot were looked on as prophetic; a hidden meaning was sought for in

his acts; he was, in fact, considered, in the energetic language of an

old poet, as having his feet in this world, and his eyes in the other.



Brittany has preserved in part this ancient reverence for persons of

weak mind. It is by no means unusual in the farms of Leon to see some

of these unfortunates, clad, whatever may be their age, in a long dress

with bone buttons, and holding a white wand in their hands. They are

tenderly cared for, and only spoken of under the endearing title of

dear innocents, unless in their absence, when they are called diskyant,

that is to say, without knowledge. They stay at home with the women

and little children; they are never called upon to perform any labour;

and when they die, they are wept over by their relations.



I remember meeting with one of these idiots one day, in the

neighbourhood of Morlaix; he was seated before a farm-house door,

and his sister, a young girl, was feeding him. Her caressing kindness

struck me.



"Then you are very fond of this poor innocent?" I asked, in Breton.



"It is God who gave him to us," she replied.



Words full of meaning, which hold the key to all this pious tenderness

for creatures useless in themselves, but precious for His sake by

whom they were confided to our care.