THE TURN OF THE ERMINE

An Anthology of Breton Literature

Selected and translated by Jacqueline Gibson and Gwyn Griffiths

KERVARKER (From the 1839 Edition of Barzaz Breiz

The Nightingale/Ann Eostik

A young wife from Saint-Malo, yesterday,

At her window cried:

"Alas! Alas! I am lost!

My poor nightingale has been killed!"

"Tell me, my newly-wed wife,

Why do you get up so often,

So often, lying next to me,

In the middle of the night, you leave your bed,

Your head is bare, and also your feet,

Why do you get up thus?"

"I rise dear man, like this,

In the middle of night, from my bed,

Because I like to see

The tall ships come and go."

"It is not, surely, for a ship,

You go so often to the window,

It is not for the ships,

Neither for two nor for three.

It is not to see them,

or the moon, or the stars.

My lady, tell me,

Why each night, you rise!"

"I rise to go and look

At my baby in his cradle."

"Neither is it to go and see,

See a sleeping baby;

I do not want to hear lies,

Why do you get up like this?"

"My little old man, to calm you down,

I shall speak the truth:

There is a nightingale I hear every night

In the garden on a rose-bush;

A nightingale which I hear each night;

Her song is so joyful, her song is so sweet!

Her song is so sweet, so beautiful, so harmonious,

Each night, each night, when the sea calms down!"

The old man, when he heard this,

Thought it over in his mind;

The old man when he heard this,

Spoke to himself thus:

"Whether she speaks true or false,

That nightingale shall be caught!"

The following morning when he rose,

He went and sought the gardener.

"Good gardener, listen well,

There is something that pains me:

In the hedge there is a nightingale

Which does nothing but sing at night:

All night it does nothing but sing,

So much that it keeps me awake.

If you catch her tonight,

I'll give you a golden coin."

The gardener when he heard this;

went to set a trap,

He caught the nightingale,

And to the master took it,

The master, when he received it,

Laughed heartily.

He strangled it, and threw it,

On the white lap of his poor lady.

"Here, here, my young wife;

Here is your fine nightingale;

I went and caught it for you;

I hope my sweet, it pleases you."

Her young lover, when he heard of this,

With great sadness did he speak:

"My love, I have been found out,

No more can we see each other,

Under a clear moon, at the window,

As we used to do."