Bonjour From Brittany
Deified and demonised across the world throughout the ages, the dragon of yore also left its footprints upon the lives, legends and landscapes of Brittany. Indeed, Breton lore once held that the peninsula of Brittany itself was the body of the enormous dragon slain by the archangel Michael.
Whether you choose to call it street art or simply common graffiti, the walls of several Breton towns have been enriched by some wonderful examples of the craft in recent years. In an earlier post, I highlighted some from the north Breton town of Saint-Brieuc and this post features many new murals that now adorn that town as well as a few that were painted over. Additionally, some works spotted in the towns of Morlaix and Brest were just too good not to include here too.
To talk of the soul is, to some, to touch on the very essence of existence. First century authors noted that the ancient Celts believed in the indestructibility and inevitable transmigration of the human soul and, despite the march of Christian dogma, such beliefs remained in the Breton tradition where there was no significant separation between the living and the dead; both dwelt in discrete worlds that were in perpetual relation with one another. The souls of the dead surrounded the living, wandering the skies and sunken paths of the land as black dogs, petrels, horses or hares.
The lives of those who inhabited the rural Brittany of yesteryear were guided by the seasons and the precious hours of daylight. For them, the unpredictable year was punctuated by the key dates of the agrarian and liturgical calendar. With harvest well underway here in today’s Brittany, a look at some of the old rituals, beliefs and superstitions once associated with the agricultural cycle here might be timely.
In the west of Brittany, when the mysterious glow of a torch seemed to dance on the moor at night, it was said that it was the phantom of the Ligueur, the brigand La Fontenelle who, during the Wars of Religion, ravaged the land, indiscriminately massacring thousands of innocents and leaving intolerable misery in his wake. In some parishes wasted by him, where the population had numbered a thousand adults, he reduced it to a dozen.
A terrifying cacophony of noise crashes across the night sky; demonic howls hang on the wind and blast through the dark forest; thunder rumbles across the moorland and lightening streaks across the bruised sky. Children hide in fear while their parents murmur a quiet prayer; it is the passing of the dreaded Fantastic Hunt.
For over two centuries, a remarkable phenomenon was once noted in central Brittany; a seemingly spontaneous outbreak of barking women that disappeared as suddenly as it had first appeared. The reasons for these strange behaviours have, at times, been attributed to causes ranging from demonic possession to sexual frustration.
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