THE NINE BROTHERS, WHO WERE CHANGED TO SHEEP, AND THEIR SISTER

A BRETON STORY

THERE were once nine brothers and their sister, who were left orphans. They were rich also, and lived in an old castle in the midst of a forest. The sister, whose name was Lévénez, who was the oldest of the ten children, undertook the direction of the house, when the old lord died, and her brothers consulted and obeyed her in everything, as if she had been their mother. They often went hunting in the woods, which were full of all sorts of game. One day, following a roe, they came to a hut built of branches of trees, wattled together with clods of dirt. It was the first time they had seen it. Curious to know who could live in it, they entered under pretence of asking for some water to quench their thirst. They saw only an old woman with teeth as long as one’s arm, and whose tongue went nine times round her body. Frightened at this sight, they were about to run away, when the old woman said to them,—

“What do you want, my children? Come in, and do not be so frightened; I love children very much, especially when they are good and gentle like you.”

“We should like a little water, if you please, grandmother,” said the oldest, whose name was Goulven.

“Certainly, my children; I will give you some fresh, clear water, which I drew this morning, from my fountain. But come in, and do not be afraid, my poor dears.”

And the old woman gave them some water in a wooden porringer, and while they drank it, she caressed them, stroking the soft curls of their blond hair, and when they were ready to go, she said to them, “Now, my children, you must pay me for the little service I have rendered you.”

“We have no money with us, grandmother,” replied the children, “but we will ask our sister for some, and bring it to you to-morrow.”

“Oh! it is not money I want, my friends; but one of you,—the oldest, perhaps, for the others are still very young,—must take me for his wife.”

And turning to Goulven,—

“Will you, Goulven, take me to be your wife?”

The poor boy could not reply at once, the request seemed so strange to him.

“Come, answer, will you have me for your little wife?” asked the horrible old woman again, embracing him.

“I do not know,” said Goulven, confounded; “I will ask my sister.”

“Very well; to-morrow morning I will come myself to the castle, for your answer.”

The poor children returned to the house, sad and trembling, and hastened to tell their sister all that had happened.

“Shall I be obliged to marry that horrible old woman, sister?” asked Goulven, weeping.

“No, my brother, you shall not marry her,” replied Lévénez; “I know that we shall all have to suffer for it, but we will endure whatever comes to us, and we will never abandon you.”

The next day, the sorceress came to the castle as she had promised. She found Lévénez and her brothers in the garden.

“You know, doubtless, why I have come,” said she to Lévénez.

“Yes; my brother has told me everything,” said the young girl.

“And you are very willing that I should become your sister-in-law?”

“No; that cannot be.”

“Why not? Perhaps you do not know who I am, and what I can do.”

“I know that you can do a great deal of harm to my brothers and me; but you cannot force me to consent to what you ask.”

“Think well of it, and repent quickly of this foolish resolution, while there is yet time, or misery to you!” cried the sorceress, furious, and her eyes shone like two burning coals.

Lévénez’s nine brothers trembled all over; but she, calm and resolute, replied to these threats,—

“I have thought of it all, and I shall change nothing of all I have said.”

Then the horrible old woman turned a wand, which she carried in her hand, towards the castle, pronounced a magic sentence, and immediately the castle fell to the ground with a great noise. Not one stone was left upon another. Then turning the wand towards the nine brothers, who were hiding behind their sister in great terror, she pronounced another magic sentence and the nine brothers were immediately changed into nine white sheep. Then she said to Lévénez, who still retained her natural form,—

“Now, you can go and keep your sheep in this plain. And take care never to tell any one that they are your brothers, or the same thing will happen to you.” Then she went away, sneering.

The beautiful gardens of the castle, and the grand wood which surrounded it, had been changed also, instantly, into a great arid and desolate plain.

Poor Lévénez, left alone with her nine white sheep, pastured them on the open plain, and never lost them from her sight a moment. She sought for tufts of fresh grass, which they ate from her hand, and she played with them, caressed them, embraced them, and talked to them as if they understood her. And indeed they appeared to understand her. One of them was larger than the others; it was Goulven, the oldest of the brothers. Lévénez had built a shelter, a sort of hut, with stones, clods of earth, moss and dry grasses, and at night, or when it rained, she took refuge there with her sheep. But when the weather was fine, she ran and played about in the sun with them, or sang songs, or recited her prayers, to which they listened attentively, all ranged in a circle around her. She had a very beautiful voice, clear and correct.

One day a young lord who was hunting in those parts, was astonished to hear such a beautiful voice in a place so deserted. He stopped to listen; then going in the direction from which it came, he soon found himself in the presence of a lovely young girl, surrounded by nine white sheep, who appeared to love her very much. He spoke to her and was so struck with her sweetness, her wit, and her beauty, that he wished to take her and her sheep away with him to his castle. She refused to go. But the young lord could think of nothing but the pretty shepherdess, and every day, under pretence of hunting, he went to see her and talk with her in the great plain. At last he carried her away with him to his castle, and they were married, and there were long holidays and great feasting.

The nine sheep had been installed in the garden of the castle, and Lévénez passed almost all her days there, playing with them, caressing them, and talking to them as if they understood her; and they did indeed seem to understand all that she said to them. Her husband was astonished to see them so intelligent, and he asked himself if it were possible that they could be real sheep.

Lévénez had an attendant who was the wife of the castle gardener, and who was also the daughter of the old woman who had changed her brothers into sheep; but of this she knew nothing. One day, when Lévénez was leaning over the edge of a well which was in the garden, to see how deep it was, her attendant took her by the feet and threw her down the well. Then she ran to her mistress’ chamber, got into her bed, and drew the curtains close around the bed and at the windows, and pretended to be sick. The lord was absent at the moment. But on his return, not finding his wife in the garden among her sheep as usual, he went to her chamber.

“What is the matter, my sweetheart?” said he.

“I am very sick,” replied the traitress; and when he was about to open the curtains, “Don’t open the curtains, I beg you; I cannot stand the light.”

“Why are you alone? Where is your attendant?”

“I do not know; I have not seen her the whole day long.”

The lord looked for her in the castle, and then in the garden, and not finding her, he returned to his wife, and said to her,—

“I do not know what has become of your attendant. I cannot find her anywhere. Do you want anything? Perhaps you are hungry?”

“Oh, yes! I am very hungry.”

“What would you like to eat?”

“I must have a bit of that big white sheep in the garden.”

“What a strange notion! You who love your sheep so much, and this one most of all!”

“That is the only thing that will soothe the frightful pain I suffer. But do not make any mistake; I want a piece of the big white sheep, and not of any other.”

The husband went to the garden and ordered the gardener to take the big white sheep and kill it at once and put it on the kitchen spit.

So the gardener, who was conniving with the attendant, ran after the white sheep. But it ran so fast round and round the well, bleating so pitifully all the time, that he could not catch it. The lord, seeing this, wanted to help him, and went up to the well. He was astonished to hear moans and groans which seemed to come up from it. He leaned over the opening and called out,—

“Who is there? is there any one down the well?”

And a gentle voice that he knew so well, answered him,—

“Yes, it is I, your wife, Lévénez.”

The lord, without waiting to hear more, quickly lowered the bucket into the well and drew up his wife. She was all trembling and terrified.

Soon after this occurrence a child was born to them, a son, as beautiful as the day.

Lévénez said it must be baptized at once.

“You may choose the godmother, if you wish, but I want my big white sheep for the godfather,” said she to her husband.

“What! have a sheep for your son’s godfather?”

“I wish it, I tell you; do as I say and do not be uneasy about it.”

Not wishing to cross his young wife, and fearing lest he should make her sick, the father consented, though grieved at his heart, that the big white sheep should be his son’s godfather.

They went to church. The big white sheep, very happy, walked in front with the father and the godmother, a young and beautiful princess. The other eight sheep, his brothers, followed him. The whole procession entered the church, to the great astonishment of the village people. The father presented the child to the priest. The latter looked at the godmother, but seeing no godfather, he asked,—

“Where is the godfather?”

“Here he is,” replied the father, pointing to the big white sheep.

“What! a sheep?”

“Yes, it seems so; but do not stop for a matter of form, but go on without fear with the service.”

The priest made no more objections, such transformations being, doubtless, common in his day, and proceeded to baptize the child.

The sheep then raised himself on his two hind legs, took his godson in his two forelegs, with the assistance of the godmother, and all passed off very well.

But as soon as the ceremony was over, the sheep godfather became a handsome young man. He was Goulven, Lévénez’s oldest brother.

He told how he and his brothers had been changed into sheep by an old sorceress because he had refused to marry her. His sister, the child’s mother, could not tell of it lest the same fate should befall her; but now the charm was broken, and the sorceress had no longer any power over them.

“Are the sheep really your brothers?” asked the priest.

“Yes, they are my brothers, and the time has come for them also to escape from the power of the sorceress, and return to their human form. Lay your stole over them, say a prayer, and you will see them become men again, as I have done.”

The priest followed his advice: he laid his stole on each of the sheep successively, recited a prayer each time, and immediately they resumed their original form.

Goulven then told of the terrible deed which had been done to his sister by her attendant, the daughter of the sorceress.

So they returned to the castle determined to treat each one as she had deserved.

They sent men to seek for the old sorceress in the wood where she dwelt, and when they brought her, she and her daughter and the gardener were torn to pieces by four horses and then thrown into a great fire and burned to ashes.

Goulven and Lévénez lived after that peacefully and happily, and were blessed, they say, with many children.

Told by Le Noac’h, of Gourin, at Merville, near Lorient, March 10, 1874.

F. M. Luzel.