“I have heard of him,” he said. “He lived in the days when my grandfather’s grandfather was but a boy, and now he sleeps in the churchyard yonder.”
Only then did Yvon realize that his visit to his sister had been one, not of days, but of generations!
The Seigneur with the Horse’s Head
Famous among all peoples is the tale of the husband surrounded by mystery—bespelled in animal form, like the Prince in the story of Beauty and the Beast, nameless, as in that of Lohengrin, or unbeheld of his spouse, as in the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Among uncivilized peoples it is frequently forbidden to the wife to see her husband’s face until some time after marriage, and the belief that ill-luck will befall one or both should this law be disregarded runs through primitive story, being perhaps reminiscent of a time when the man of an alien or unfriendly tribe crept to his wife’s lodge or hut under cover of darkness and returned ere yet the first glimmer of dawn might betray him to the men of her people. The story which follows, however, deals with the theme of the enchanted husband whose wife must not speak to anyone until her first child receives the sacrament of baptism, and is, perhaps, unique of its kind.
There lived at one time in the old château of Kerouez, in the commune of Loguivy-Plougras, a rich and 138 powerful seigneur, whose only sorrow was the dreadful deformity of his son, who had come into the world with a horse’s head. He was naturally kept out of sight as much as possible, but when he had attained the age of eighteen years he told his mother one day that he desired to marry, and requested her to interview a farmer in the vicinity who had three pretty young daughters, in order that she might arrange a match with one of them.
The good lady did as she was requested, not without much embarrassment and many qualms of conscience, and after conversing upon every imaginable subject, at length gently broke the object of her visit to the astonished farmer. The poor man was at first horrified, but little by little the lady worked him into a good humour, so that at last he consented to ask his daughters if any one of them would agree to marry the afflicted young lord. The two elder girls indignantly refused the offer, but when it was made plain to them that she who espoused the seigneur would one day be châtelaine of the castle and become a fine lady, the eldest daughter somewhat reluctantly consented and the match was agreed upon.
Some days afterward the bride-to-be happened to pass the castle and saw the servants washing the linen, when one cried to her:
“How in the world can a fine girl like you be such a fool as to throw herself away on a man with a horse’s head?”
“Bah!” she replied, “he is rich, and, let me tell you, we won’t be married for long, for on the bridal night I shall cut his throat.”
Just at that moment a gay cavalier passed and smiled at the farmer’s daughter.