“Help, help, St. Corentin!” he cried in terror.
“Shake off the iniquity you carry at your back,” replied the saint, “and, by the help of God, you shall be saved.”
But Grallon, who was, after all, a father, hesitated what to do. Then St. Corentin touched the princess on the shoulders with his pastoral staff, and she sank downwards to the sea, disappearing in the depths of the gulf, called after her the Gulf of Ahèz.
The horse, thus lightened of his load, made a spring forwards, and so gained Garrec Rock, where to this very day may be seen the print-marks of his iron shoes.[5]
The first act of the king was to fall upon his knees, and pour forth thanks to God; then turning towards Keris,[6] he tried to judge how great was the danger from which he had been so miraculously rescued, but in vain he sought the ancient Queen of Ocean.
There, where had stood but a few moments before a harbour, palaces, treasures of wealth, and thousands of people, was to be seen nothing now but a smooth bay, on whose unruffled surface the stars of heaven looked calmly down; but beyond, in the horizon, just over the last ruins of the submerged dikes, there appeared the great red man, holding up with a triumphant air the silver keys.
Many are the forests of oak that have sprung up and withered since this awful warning; but through every generation fathers have told it to their children until this day. Up to the time of the great Revolution, the clergy of the different river-side parishes were wont to embark every year in fisher-boats, and go to say Mass over the drowned city. Since that time this custom has been lost, with many another one; but when the sea is calm, the remains of the great town may clearly be seen at the bottom of the bay, and the neighbouring downs are full of relics which bear witness to its wealth.
[1] Good or bad, these etymologies of Ahèz and Par-is are accepted by the Bretons. The last word is even treasured in a proverb,
“Since the town of Is was drowned,