THE TURN OF THE ERMINE

An Anthology Of Breton Literature

Selected and translated by Jacqueline Gibson and Gwyn Griffiths

Kervarker

The theme of plagues is found in many ballads and songs in Brittany. Bozen Elliant - The Plague of Elliant - is one of the ballads in Hersart de la Villemarqué's Barzaz Breiz, the 1867 edition. Villemarqué suggests that this was the plague that ravaged much of sixth century Europe. Ratian, the bard-saint, was a contemporary of Saint Guénolé. Donatien Laurent points out that the ballad could be referring to a fourteen century plague or one even later than that. He points out that there may have been confusion between "Rasian" and "Basian" (i.e. Sebastien) another saint invoked against the plagues

The Plague of Elliant, 1839/Bosen Elliant 1839

Between Langolen and Le Faouet

A holy bard lives;

Father Rasian is his name.

He said to the people of Le Faouet:

"Celebrate a mass every month,

A mass in your church."

The lague has gone from Elliant,

But not without its load,

Seven thousand and a hundred have gone with it.

Around Elliant, in truth,

The Ankou has descended,

All the people are dead, save two;

An old woman of sixty years

And her only son survive.

"The plague is on the threshold of my home;

When God wills it, it will enter;

We shall leave when it comes," she said.

In the centre of Elliant, on the market place,

You will find grass to scythe down,

Except on the cart lane

Which carries the dead to their graves.

Those not crying would be hard-hearted;

Around Elliant, there would not be any:

See the eighteen carts, at the cemetery gate,

And another arriving there.

There were nine sons in one household,

Who were brought to their graves in a single cartload.

Their poor mother was pulling it.

Their father followed whistling:

He had lost his reason.

She was howling, imploring God,

Broken in body and soul.

"Bury my nine sons in the earth

And I shall give you a waxed cord,

Which will go thrice around your home,

And thrice around your sanctuary.

I had nine sons who were born to me,

Now they have gone with the Ankou.

With the Ankou on my doorstep,

No one will ask me for a sip of water!"

The cemetery is full, right up to its walls

The church is full, right up to its porch;

They have to bless the fields,

To bury the corpses in them.

I see an oak-tree in the cemetery,

And at its top a white sheet:

Everyone has been taken by the plague.