Near this place, hard by the banks of the River Intel, there lived in former days a man named Marzinne. He was wealthy for those parts, that is to say, he could salt down a little pig once a year, eat as much black bread as he cared for, and buy himself a pair of wooden shoes when Laurel Sunday came round.[2]
And he was looked upon as proud by his neighbours, and had taken upon him to refuse the hand of his sister Rozenn to many a young fellow who laboured for his daily bread.
Amongst others to Bernèz, a diligent labourer and a worthy Christian; but one whose only treasure, coming into life, had been that of a good will. Bernèz had known Rozenn as a little girl, when he first came to work in the parish from Ponscorff-Bidré; and by degrees, as Rozenn grew up, the attachment of Bernèz had grown stronger and stronger.
It may be easily believed that Marzinne’s refusal was a terrible heartsore for him; nevertheless he kept up his courage, for Rozenn always received him kindly.
Well, Christmas-eve came round; and as a raging storm kept every one at the farm from going to the midnight Mass, they all sat round the fire together, with many young men from the neighbourhood, and amongst them Bernèz. The master of the house, willing to show off, had caused a supper of black-puddings, and hasty puddings made with wheat flour and honey, to be prepared; so that they all sat gazing towards the hearth, except Bernèz, whose eyes were fixed upon Rozenn.
But just as all the benches were drawn round the table, and every wooden saucer ready to be dipped into the steaming bowl, an old man suddenly pushed open the door, and wished the assembled company a good appetite. He was a beggar from Pluvigner, one who never set his foot on the church-floor, and of whom all good folks stood in dread. It was said that he bewitched cattle, turned standing corn black, and sold to wrestlers magic herbs. He was even suspected of becoming a goblin[3] at his pleasure.
However, wearing as he did the garb of a mendicant, he was welcomed by the farmer to the fireside; a three-legged stood was placed at his disposal, and he received a portion with the guests.
When the beggar had done eating and drinking, he asked for a night’s lodging, and Bernèz showed him his way into the stable, where a bald old ass and sorry ox were already established. The beggar stretched himself down between the two to share their warmth, and rested his head upon a pillow of turf.
But just as he was dropping off to sleep the clock struck twelve. Then the old ass shook his long ears, and turned towards the ox.
“Well, my cousin,” said he, in friendly tones, “and how has it gone with you since last Christmas, when we talked together?”