THE GROAC'H OF LOK ISLAND
At table.
Source
The Groac'h began to call:
— Hey! the prosecutor! hey! the miller! hey! the tailor! hey! the cantor!
And, with each cry, we saw a fish come running which she put in a steel net.
When the net was full, she went into a neighboring room and threw all the fish into a golden pan.
But it seemed to Houarn that amidst the sparkling of the frying, small voices were whispering.
"Who is it who is whispering under the golden frying pan, Groac’h?" he asked.
“It’s the wood that’s sparkling,” she said, stoking the fire.
A moment later, the little voices began to whisper again.
"Who is it that is whispering, Groac’h?" asked the young man.
“It’s the fried food that melts,” she replied, frying the fish.
Soon the little voices cried louder.
"Who is it that is shouting, Groac’h?" replied Houarn.
“It’s the cricket in the hearth,” replied the fairy, singing so loudly that the Léonard could no longer hear anything.
But what had just happened had given him food for thought, and as he began to be afraid, he began to feel remorse.
"Jesus-Marie! he said to himself, is it really possible that I forgot Bellah so quickly for a Groac’h, who must be the demon's daughter? With this woman, I wouldn't even dare to say my evening prayers, and I'm sure I'll go to hell like a languid pig."
While he was saying this, the fairy had brought the fried food, and she urged him to dine, telling him that she was going to get twelve new kinds of wine for him.
Houarn drew his knife, sighing, and wanted to start eating; but, barely had the blade which destroyed the enchantments touched the golden dish when all the fish stood up and became little men again, each wearing the costume of their state. There was a prosecutor in flaps, a tailor in purple stockings, a miller the color of flour, a cantor in a surplice, and all shouted at once, swimming in the frying:
"Houarn! Save us, if you want to be saved!"
"Holy Virgin! Who are these little men who sing in the melted butter?" exclaimed the stunned Léonard.
“We are Christians like you,” they replied; we had also come to the island of Lok to seek our fortune, we agreed to marry the Groac'h, and the day after the marriage, she did with us what she had done with our predecessors who are in the great pond.
"What! cried Houarn, a woman who seems so young is already the widow of all these fish!"
"And you will soon be in the same state, also exposed to being fried and eaten by the newcomers."
Houarn made a jump, as if he had already felt himself in the pan of gold, and ran towards the door, thinking only of escaping before the Groac'h returned; but this one, who had just entered, had heard everything. She threw her steel net at Leonard, who immediately transformed into a frog, and went to carry him into the fishpond, where her other husbands were already.
At that moment, the bell that Houarn wore around his neck rang of its own accord, and Bellah heard it at Lannilis, where she was busy skimming the milk from the day before.
Source: La Groac’h de l’Île du Lok from the French book Contes et légendes de Basse-Bretagne published in 1891.
Hello, my name is Vincent Celier.
I am writing translations of folk tales that I found in public domain French books, so that people who do not understand French may enjoy them too.
Houarn realizes what he has done: he forgot Bellah for the Groac'h!
Fortunately, with the knife that Bellah has given him, all the fish became men again and asked Houarn to save them.
But Houarn has no time for that and is transformed into a frog. Now only Bellah can save him. Let's hope that she will arrive in time for that.
For the last 20 years, I have been to the hairdresser only once. That was in 2009.
Before that, I had cut my hair myself with a hair clipper that I had bought for 30 Canadian dollars at Costco.
In 2009, shortly after I met Kati, she sent me to the hairdresser to get a professional haircut. As the result was not really different from what I was doing before, she decided to cut my hair herself.
So, today I had my Christmas haircut.
She also trimmed what she calls my Brezhnev eyebrows.
So, this is how I look now.
I tried to smile in this picture, but I did not really succeed. It looks like I am making fun of the photographer (who is myself).
-- Vincent Celier