Legends & Romances of Brittany Part 38

Another Celtic myth of the same type is to be found on the sh.o.r.es of the Firth of Forth. The story in question deals with the birth of St Mungo, or St Kentigern, the patron saint of Glasgow. His mother was Thenaw, the Christian daughter of the pagan King Lot of Lothian, brother-in-law of King Arthur, from his marriage with Arthur's sister Margawse. Thus the famous Gawaine would be Thenaw's brother. Thenaw met Ewen, the son of Eufuerien, King of c.u.mbria, and fell deeply in love with him, but her father discovered her disgrace and ordered her to be cast headlong from the summit of Traprain Law, once known as Dunpender, a mountain in East Lothian. A kindly fate watched over the princess, however, and she fell so softly from the eminence that she was uninjured. Such Christian subjects as Lot possessed begged her life. But if her father might have relented his Druids were inexorable. They branded her as a sorceress, and she was doomed to death by drowning. She was accordingly rowed out from Aberlady Bay to the vicinity of the Isle of May, where, seated in a skin boat, she was left to the mercy of the waves. In this terrible situation she cast herself upon the grace of Heaven, and her frail craft was wafted up the Forth, where it drifted ash.o.r.e near Culross. At this spot Kentigern was born, and the mother and child were shortly afterward discovered by some shepherds, who placed them under the care of St Serf, Abbot of Culross. To these events the date A.D. 516 is a.s.signed.

_'Fatal Children' Legends_

This legend is, of course, closely allied with those which recount the fate and adventures of the 'fatal children.' Like dipus, Romulus, Perseus, and others, Budoc and Kentigern are obviously 'fatal children,' as is evidenced by the circ.u.mstances of their birth. We are not told that King Lot or Azenor's father had been warned that if their daughters had a son they would be slain by that child, but it is probably only the saintly nature of the subject of the stories which caused this circ.u.mstance to be omitted. Danae, the mother of Perseus, we remember, was, when disgraced, shut up in a chest with her child, and committed to the waves, which carried her to the island of Seriphos, where she was duly rescued. Romulus and his brother Remus were thrown into the Tiber, and escaped a similar fate. The Princess Desonelle and her twin sons, in the old English metrical romance of _Sir Torrent of Portugal_, are also cast into the sea, but succeed in making the sh.o.r.e of a far country. All these children grow up endowed with marvellous beauty and strength, but their doom is upon them, and after numerous adventures they slay their fathers or some other unfortunate relative. But the most characteristic part of what seems an almost universal legend is that these children are born in the most obscure circ.u.mstances, afterward rising to a height of splendour which makes up for all they previously suffered. It is not necessary to explain nowadays that this is characteristic of nearly all sun-myths.

The sun is born in obscurity, and rises to a height of splendour at midday.

Thus in the majority of these legends we find the sun personified. It is not sufficient to object that such an elucidation smacks too much of the tactics of Max Muller to be accepted by modern students of folk-lore. The student of comparative myth who does not make use of the best in all systems of mythological elucidation is undone, for no one system will serve for all examples.

To those who may object, "Oh, but Kentigern was a _real_ person," I reply that I know many myths concerning 'real' people. For the matter of that, we a.s.sist in the manufacture of these every day of our lives, and it is quite a fallacy that legends cannot spring up concerning veritable historical personages, and even around living, breathing folk. And for the rest of it mythology and hagiology are hopelessly intermingled in their _motifs_.

_Miraculous Crossings_

Another Celtic saint besides Budoc possessed a stone boat. He is St Baldred, who, like Kentigern, hails from the Firth of Forth, and dwelt on the Ba.s.s Rock. He is said to have chosen this drear abode as a refuge from the eternal wars between the Picts and the Scots toward the close of the seventh century. From this point of vantage, and probably during seasons of truce, he rowed to the mainland to minister to the spiritual wants of the rude natives of Lothian. Inveresk seems to have been the eastern border of his 'parish.' Tradition says that he was the second Bishop of Glasgow, and thus the successor of Kentigern, but the lack of all reliable data concerning the western see subsequent to the death of Glasgow's patron saint makes it impossible to say whether this statement is authentic or otherwise.

Many miracles are attributed to Baldred, not the least striking of which is that concerning a rock to the east of Tantallon Castle, known as 'St Baldred's Boat.' At one time this rock was situated between the Ba.s.s and the adjacent mainland, and was a fruitful source of shipwreck. Baldred, pitying the mariners who had to navigate the Firth, and risk this danger, rowed out to the rock and mounted upon it; whereupon, at his simple nod, it was lifted up, and, like a ship driven by the wind, was wafted to the nearest sh.o.r.e, where it thenceforth remained. This rock is sometimes called 'St Baldred's Coble,' or 'c.o.c.k-boat.' This species of miracle is more commonly discovered in the annals of hagiology than in those of pure myth, although in legend we occasionally find the landscape altered by order of supernatural or semi-supernatural beings.

One rather striking instance of miraculous crossing is that of St Noyala, who is said to have crossed to Brittany on the leaf of a tree, accompanied by her nurse. She was beheaded at Beignon, but walked to Pontivy carrying her head in her hands. A chapel at Pontivy is dedicated to her, and was remarkable in the eighteenth century for several interesting paintings on a gold ground depicting this legend.

We find this incident of miraculous crossing occurring in the stories of many of the Breton saints. A noteworthy instance is that of St Tugdual, who, with his followers, crossed in a ship which vanished when they disembarked. Still another example is found in the case of St Vougas, or Vie, who is specially venerated in Treguennec. He is thought to have been an Irish bishop, and is believed to have mounted a stone and sailed across to Brittany upon it. This particular version of the popular belief may have sprung from the fact that there is a rock off the coast of Brittany called 'the Ship,' from a fancied resemblance to one. In course of time this rock was affirmed to have been the ship of St Vougas.

_Azenor the Pale_

There is a story of another Azenor, who, according to local history, married Yves, heritor of Kermorvan, in the year 1400. A popular ballad of Cornouaille tells how this Azenor, who was surnamed 'the Pale,' did not love her lord, but gave her heart to another, the Clerk of Mezlean.

One day she sat musing by a forest fountain, dressed in a robe of yellow silk, wantonly plucking the flowers which grew on the mossy parapet of the spring and binding them into a bouquet for the Clerk of Mezlean.

The Seigneur Yves, pa.s.sing by on his white steed at a hand-gallop, observed her "with the corner of his eye," and conceived a violent love for her.

The Clerk of Mezlean had been true to Azenor for many a day, but he was poor and her parents would have none of him.

One morning as Azenor descended to the courtyard she observed great preparations on foot as if for a festival.

"For what reason," she said, "has this great fire been kindled, and why have they placed two spits in front of it? What is happening in this house, and why have these fiddlers come?"

Those whom she asked smiled meaningly.

"To-morrow is your wedding-day," said they.

At this Azenor the Pale grew still paler, and was long silent.

"If that be so," she said, "it will be well that I seek my marriage chamber early, for from my bed I shall not be raised except for burial."

That night her little page stole through the window.

"Lady," he said, "a great and brilliant company come hither. The Seigneur Yves is at their head, and behind him ride cavaliers and a long train of gentlemen. He is mounted on a white horse, with trappings of gold."

Azenor wept sorely.

"Unhappy the hour that he comes!" she cried, wringing her hands.

"Unhappy be my father and mother who have done this thing!"

Sorely wept Azenor when going to the church that day. She set forth with her intended husband, riding on the crupper of his horse. Pa.s.sing by Mezlean she said:

"I pray you let me enter this house, Seigneur, for I am fatigued with the journey, and would rest for a s.p.a.ce."

"That may not be to-day," he replied; "to-morrow, if you wish it."

At this Azenor wept afresh, but was comforted by her little page. At the church door one could see that her heart was breaking.

"Approach, my daughter," said the aged priest. "Draw near, that I may place the ring upon your finger."

"Father," replied Azenor, "I beg of you not to force me to wed him whom I do not love."

"These are wicked words, my child. The Seigneur Yves is wealthy, he has gold and silver, chateaux and broad lands, but the Clerk of Mezlean is poor."

"Poor he may be, Father," murmured Azenor, "yet had I rather beg my bread with him than dwell softly with this other."

But her relentless parents would not hearken to her protestations, and she was wed to the Lord Yves. On arriving at her husband's house she was met by the Seigneur's mother, who received her graciously, but only one word did Azenor speak, that old refrain that runs through all ballad poetry.

"Tell me, O my mother," she said, "is my bed made?"

"It is, my child," replied the chatelaine. "It is next the Chamber of the Black Cavalier. Follow me and I will take you thither."

Once within the chamber, Azenor, wounded to the soul, fell upon her knees, her fair hair falling about her.

"My G.o.d," she cried, "have pity upon me!"

The Seigneur Yves sought out his mother.

"Mother of mine," said he, "where is my wife?"

"She sleeps in her high chamber," replied his mother. "Go to her and console her, for she is sadly in need of comfort."

The Seigneur entered. "Do you sleep?" he asked Azenor.

She turned in her bed and looked fixedly at him. "Good morrow to you, widower," she said.

"By the saints," cried he, "what mean you? Why do you call me widower?"

"Seigneur," she said meaningly, "it is true that you are not a widower yet, but soon you will be."

Then, her mind wandering, she continued: "Here is my wedding gown; give it, I pray you, to my little servant, who has been so good to me and who carried my letters to the Clerk of Mezlean. Here is a new cloak which my mother broidered; give it to the priests who will sing Ma.s.ses for my soul. For yourself you may take my crown and chaplet.

Keep them well, I pray, as a souvenir of our wedding."

Who is that who arrives at the hamlet as the clocks are striking the hour? Is it the Clerk of Mezlean? Too late! Azenor is dead.