les légendes

legends~I thought that King Arthur and his knights had all of their adventures in Great Britain, that Vivian's lake was somewhere near London and that the only reason that one of the most famous accounts of the legends is titled La Mort D'Arthur was that France is only a narrow body of water away from the where Arthur was killed.  Little did I know how rich my own "Small Britain" (yes this region of France used to be called Petite Bretagne, as opposed to Grande Bretagne, or Great Britain) would be in the genre of Arthurian legends. 

King Arthur and his knights... and Jesus and his disciples...

Then, with a very international group of students and an enthousiastic guide, I visited Brocéliande, a magical forest if there ever was one.  We began with the lake that serves as the watery home of the fairy, Vivianne, Arthur's training ground, where one can see a glass castle under the wavy surface when looking very carefully. The abbey next to the lake introduced us to one of the themes of the day, the coupling of belief in legends of magic, knights, and fairies with religious beliefs.  This came, in part, from the fact that the church tried to stamp out the "paganism" of magic but more so, it originates from the true duality in belief systems of Bretagne: Arthur had a magic sword and was raised by the combined efforts of a fairy and a wizard, but all of this happened under the watchful eye of God.  Our role was to open our minds, to set aside our personal beliefs (momentarily), and to exist fully in this world of magic.  We stared at the lake expecting to see a castle, walked paths turned red by iron traces-no- by the blood of lovers (fairy and human, killed by fairies who could not stand to see their sister show herself to a man), and expected to see the lady in white (buried alive by robbers- her ghost lives on) around every corner.

the forest...and the location of our quest!

 Our quest of the day was to find a fountain that boils, known for its healing powers, and, if perturbed, its ability to incite storms.  Our amazing guide warned that with how much rain we had already had in the preceding days, we would have a downright tempest if we tried this.  I for one, was not ready to have lightning strike all around us and therefore watched the boiling water in awe, without even touching it.  But how did we find this fountain?  We had to traverse every obstacle, following the holly that indicated where Merlin (born to pious mother and devil father) had pounded his cane to make the devil leave his life and his heart.  With a particularly forceful pound of his cane, the fountain sprang to life.  Of course, we found plenty of mushrooms along the way, home to the "korrigands," the Breton cousins of Ireland's leprechaun.

Do you see the korrigands?

And we could not forget Merlin's tomb (ironic- as he has eternal life), the dual stone formation representing trapped lovers, and the fountain of youth.  I still don't quite understand how we all came out of the "vallée sans retour"- the valley of no return- unscathed.  This forest, these tales and beliefs, are part of the multicolored and rich fabric of the region I am growing to love, a fabric that adorns the already beautiful garment that is "la France."  And I, too, can feel the magic...changing me just a little bit every day, not that of fairies or wizards but that of understanding, language, love, laughter, comfort, enjoyment, and self assurance that will propel me into the new adventure of next semester.  In Mali, I believe that I will encounter a very different kind of belief system in magic... we shall see.