The Stones of Plouhinec

Perhaps some of you have read a book called ‘Kenneth; or the Rear-Guard of the Grand Army’ of Napoleon. If so, you will remember how the two Scottish children found in Russia were cared for by the French soldiers and were kept as safe as possible from the horrors of the terrible retreat.

One of the soldiers, a man from Brittany, often tried to make them forget how cold and hungry they were by telling them tales of his home country, Brittany, which is full of wonderful things.

The best and warmest place by the campfire was always given to the children, but even so the bitter frost would make them shiver. Then the soldier would begin: ‘Plouhinec is a small town near Hennebonne by the sea,’ and would continue until Kenneth or Effie would interrupt him with an eager question.

Then he forgot how his mother had told him the tale, and had to begin all over again, so the story lasted a long while, and by the time it was finished the children were ready to be wrapped in whatever blankets could be found and go to sleep.

This is the story I will tell you.

Plouhinec is a small town near Hennebonne by the sea. Around it stretches a lonely moor where no grain can grow, and the grass is so rough that no animal gets fat on it. Here and there are scattered groves of fir trees, and small pebbles are so thick on the ground that you might almost think it was a beach.

On the far side, the fairies, or korigans as the people called them, had set up long, long ago two rows of huge stones; they were so tall and heavy that it seemed as if all the fairies in the world could not have placed them upright.

Not far from this great stone avenue, and on the banks of the little river Intel, lived a man named Marzinne and his sister Rozennik. They always had enough black bread to eat, and wooden shoes to wear, and a pig to fatten, so the neighbors thought them quite rich; and what was even better, they thought themselves rich too.

Rozennik was a pretty girl who knew how to make the best of everything, and she could, if she wished, have chosen a husband from the young men of Plouhinec, but she cared for none of them except Bernez, whom she had played with all her life. Bernez, though he worked hard, was so very, very poor that Marzinne told him roughly he must look elsewhere for a wife. But whatever Marzinne might say, Rozennik smiled and nodded to him as before, and would often turn her head as she passed and sing snatches of old songs over her shoulder.

Christmas Eve had come, and all the men who worked under Marzinne or on the farms around were gathered in the big kitchen to eat the honey-flavored soup followed by rich puddings, to which they were always invited on this special night.

In the middle of the table was a large wooden bowl, with wooden spoons placed in a circle around it, so that each could dip in his turn. The benches were full, and Marzinne was about to give the signal, when the door was suddenly thrown open and an old man came in, wishing the guests a good appetite for their supper.

There was a pause, and some faces looked a little frightened, for the newcomer was well known to them as a beggar who was also said to be a wizard who cast spells over the cattle and made the grain grow black and old people die of nobody knew what.

Still, it was Christmas Eve, and besides it was best not to anger him, so the farmer invited him in and gave him a seat at the table and a wooden spoon like the rest.

There was not much talk after the beggar’s entrance, and everyone was glad when the meal ended. The beggar asked if he could sleep in the stable, as he would die of cold if left outside. Rather unwillingly Marzinne gave him permission and told Bernez to take the key and unlock the door. There was certainly plenty of room for a dozen beggars, for the stable held only an old donkey and a thin ox; and as the night was bitter, the wizard lay down between them for warmth, with a sack of reeds as a pillow.

He had walked far that day, and even wizards get tired sometimes, so in spite of the hard floor he was just dropping off to sleep when midnight struck from the church tower of Plouhinec. At this sound the donkey raised her head and shook her ears and turned to the ox.

‘Well, my dear cousin,’ she said, ‘and how have you fared since last Christmas Eve, when we had a conversation together?’

Instead of answering at once, the ox eyed the beggar with a long look of disgust.

‘What is the use of talking,’ he replied roughly, ‘when a good-for-nothing creature like that can hear everything we say?’

‘Oh, you mustn’t waste time grumbling,’ rejoined the donkey cheerfully, ‘and don’t you see that the wizard is asleep?’

‘His wicked tricks certainly don’t make him rich,’ said the ox, ‘and he isn’t even clever enough to have found out what a piece of luck might come his way a week from now.’

‘What piece of luck?’ asked the donkey.

‘Why, don’t you know,’ inquired the ox, ‘that once every hundred years the stones on Plouhinec heath go down to drink at the river, and that while they are away the treasures underneath them are uncovered?’

‘Ah, I remember now,’ replied the donkey, ‘but the stones return so quickly to their places that you would surely be crushed to death unless you have in your hands a bunch of crowsfoot and of five-leaved trefoil.’

‘Yes, but that is not enough,’ said the ox; ‘even if you get safely past, the treasure you bring with you will crumble into dust if you do not give a baptized soul in exchange. A Christian must die before you can enjoy the wealth of Plouhinec.’

The donkey was about to ask more, when she suddenly found she could not speak: the time allowed for their conversation was over.

‘Ah, my dear creatures,’ thought the beggar, who had of course heard everything, ‘you are going to make me richer than the richest men of Vannes or Lorient. But I have no time to lose; tomorrow I must begin to hunt for the precious plants.’

He did not dare search too near Plouhinec, in case someone who knew the story might guess what he was doing, so he went farther south, where the air was softer and the plants are always green. From dawn until the last rays of light had faded from the sky, he searched every patch of ground where the magic plants might grow; he barely gave himself time to eat and drink, but at last he found the crowsfoot in a little hollow! That was certainly a great deal, but the crowsfoot was useless without the trefoil, and there was so little time left.

He had almost given up hope when, on the very last day before he had to travel to Plouhinec, he came upon a small clump of trefoil half hidden under a rock. Hardly able to breathe from excitement, he sat down and eagerly searched through the plant he had torn up. Leaf after leaf he threw aside in disgust, and he had nearly reached the end when he cried out with joy—the five-leaved trefoil was in his hand.

The beggar scrambled to his feet and without a pause walked quickly down the road that led northward. The moon was bright, and for some hours he kept steadily on, not knowing how many miles he had walked, nor even feeling tired. By and by the sun rose and the world began to stir, and he stopped at a farmhouse door and asked for a cup of milk and a slice of bread and permission to rest for a while in the porch. Then he continued his journey, and so, toward sunset on New Year’s Eve, he came back to Plouhinec.

As he was passing the long line of stones, he saw Bernez working with a chisel on the tallest one of all.

‘What are you doing there?’ called the wizard. ‘Do you mean to hollow out a bed for yourself in that huge column?’

‘No,’ replied Bernez quietly, ‘but since I happened to have no work to do today, I thought I would carve a cross on this stone. The holy sign can never hurt.’

‘I believe you think it will help you win Rozennik,’ laughed the old man.

Bernez stopped his work for a moment to look at him.

‘Ah, so you know about that,’ he replied; ‘unluckily Marzinne wants a brother-in-law who has more pounds than I have pence.’

‘And suppose I gave you more pounds than Marzinne ever dreamed of?’ whispered the sorcerer, glancing around to make sure no one overheard him.

‘You?’

‘Yes, me.’

‘And what must I do to earn the money?’ asked Bernez, who knew well that the Breton peasant gives nothing for nothing.

‘What I ask of you only needs a little courage,’ answered the old man.

‘If that is all, tell me what I have to do, and I will do it,’ cried Bernez, letting fall his chisel. ‘If I have to risk thirty deaths, I am ready.’

When the beggar knew that Bernez would give him no trouble, he told him how, during that very night, the treasures under the stones would be uncovered, and how in just a few minutes they could take enough to make them both rich for life. But he said nothing about the fate that awaited a man without the crowsfoot and the trefoil, and Bernez thought only boldness and speed were needed. So he said:

‘Old man, I am truly grateful for the chance you have given me, and there will always be a pint of my blood at your service. Just let me finish carving this cross. It is nearly done, and I will meet you in the fir wood at whatever hour you wish.’

‘You must be there without fail an hour before midnight,’ answered the wizard, and went on his way.

As the hour struck from the great church at Plouhinec, Bernez entered the wood. He found the beggar already there with a bag in each hand and a third slung around his neck.

‘You are punctual,’ said the old man, ‘but we need not start just yet. You had better sit down and think what you will do when your pockets are filled with gold and silver and jewels.’

‘Oh, it won’t take me long to plan that,’ returned Bernez with a laugh. ‘I shall give Rozennik everything she could wish for—dresses of all kinds, from cotton to silk, and all kinds of good things to eat, from white bread to oranges.’

‘The silver you find will pay for that. And what about the gold?’

‘With the gold I will make Rozennik’s relatives and all her friends in the parish rich,’ replied he.

‘So much for the gold; and the jewels?’

‘Then,’ cried Bernez, ‘I will divide the jewels among everyone in the world, so that they may be wealthy and happy; and I will tell them that Rozennik wished it so.’

‘Hush! It is almost midnight—we must go,’ whispered the wizard, and together they crept to the edge of the wood.

With the first stroke of twelve a great noise arose over the silent heath, and the ground seemed to shake under the feet of the two watchers. The next moment, by the light of the moon, they saw the huge stones near them leave their places and go down the slope toward the river, knocking against each other in their haste. Passing the spot where Bernez and the beggar stood, they were lost in the darkness. It seemed as if a procession of giants had gone by.

‘Quick,’ said the wizard in a low voice, and he rushed toward the empty holes, which even in the night shone brightly from the treasures inside them. Flinging himself onto his knees, the old man began filling the bags he had brought, listening all the while for the return of the stones up the hill, while Bernez more slowly stuffed handfuls of everything he could see into his pockets.

The sorcerer had just closed his third bag and was beginning to wonder if he could carry away any more treasures when a low murmur, like a distant storm, reached his ears.

The stones had finished drinking and were hurrying back to their places.

On they came, bent slightly forward, the tallest of them all at their head, breaking everything in their way. At the sight Bernez stood frozen with horror and said,

‘We are lost! They will crush us to death.’

‘Not me!’ answered the sorcerer, holding up the crowsfoot and the five-leaved trefoil. ‘These will save me. But in order to keep my riches, I had to sacrifice a Christian to the stones, and an evil fate threw you in my way.’ And as he spoke he stretched out the magic herbs to the stones, which were advancing swiftly. As if acknowledging a power greater than theirs, the monstrous things instantly parted to the right and left of the wizard, but closed their ranks again as they approached Bernez.

The young man did not try to escape; he knew it was useless, and he sank to his knees and closed his eyes. But suddenly the tall stone that was leading stopped right in front of Bernez, so that no other could get past.

It was the stone on which Bernez had carved the cross, and it was now a baptized stone, with the power to save him.

So the stone stayed before the young man until the rest had taken their places, and then, darting like a bird to its own hole, it came upon the beggar, who, thinking himself quite safe, was staggering along under the weight of his treasures.

Seeing the stone approach, he held out the magic herbs he carried, but the baptized stone was no longer subject to the spells that bound the others, and it passed straight on its way, leaving the wizard crushed to powder in the heather.

Then Bernez went home and showed his wealth to Marzinne, who this time did not refuse him as a brother-in-law. Bernez and Rozennik were married and lived happily ever after.