TRÉMEUR OR THE HEADLESS MAN
Trémeur and saint Herbot.
It must have been quite funny, all the same, to see a headless man walking!
I must tell you that the old man was none other than Saint Herbot, the hermit. You probably know by reputation Saint Herbot, the friend of the milkmaids, a saint sweeter than fresh butter.
Finally, when they had gone a little further, the hermit, seeing that his companion was sweating profusely from carrying his head to his heart, first offered to carry it in his turn, to rest him. But immediately he reflected that, if he took his head off completely, it was probable that the poor devil would not be any better off. And yet they say that many people would be much better off without their bad heads. No matter, a famous idea suddenly came to Saint Herbot. You'll see.
We then passed a farm, and the housewife was churning milk on the threshold of her house.
“You make beautiful butter there,” said the hermit.
"Well no, a thousand misfortunes!" replied the woman, swearing a little. "This damn milk doesn't rise at all; because of the storm, apparently."
"Well!" said the saint, laughing, "you are not doing it well, good woman."
"Ah!" replied the latter, “I’m not doing it right! That’s swell! Me, the best in the country for butter! You're rambling, old man."
"By the horns of my cow!" says Saint Herbot. "Here, good woman, I bet that in three strokes I will leaven all your churned milk if you want to give me a little piece afterward."
"I'll give you a piece", she said, "but as for making my butter rise in three strokes... you're kidding."
"Possible, but let me do it."
And, saying this, the hermit took the handle of the churn, gave three good blows, no more, no less, and said to the farmer's wife:
"Look at it yourself."
In truth, the butter was done, and beautifully! It was wonderful, and the farmer didn't really know what to think about it. She thought, I think, that there was some wizarding going on there, especially when she saw the hermit take some butter in his hands; then, after having buttered Trémeur's neck well with his knife, place his head between his two shoulders and say to him:
"Now, my friend, you are restored; your head is strong enough, you can travel the world. Just beware of fire and candlelight! Be careful of sunburn, because butter, you see, melts in the heat, and goodbye to your poor head, my boy! You have been warned. But before I leave you, kneel, so that I may baptize you in the name of the Trinity."
Trémeur therefore knelt down, and Saint Herbot poured water on his head, saying: Ego te baptiso, which means, if you know Latin: “I baptize you with water."
This is going well, very well, so much so that Saint Herbot turned in his direction and left Trémeur well glued, well straightened, and no less surprised. As for the rest of the butter, the farmer's wife, looking at him as if bewitched, offered it, kindly, to Trémeur, who accepted it and put it in his pocket for his supper, seeing that his appetite was beginning to return.
From now on our man could travel without too much fear, in overcast weather; and, by taking a few precautions, his head, if necessary, was worth as much as that of many people. It is true that his eyes were a little fixed and wild, and that he could no longer turn his neck; but when you're on the verge of losing your mind forever, you shouldn't look so closely.
Source: Trémeur ou l'homme sans tête 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.
The prisoner that Trémeur freed turned out to be a legendary saint (not recognized by the church).
And this saint is able to put back his head on Trémeur using butter, of all things!
When I was young, in most parts of France you could only buy unsalted butter. Except in Brittany where you could find salted butter. We loved it!
Three hundred meters from my house in Harrison Hot Springs, there is a small park, with lots of parking places.
There are a number of picnic tables. When it is not cold and it does not rain, many people come there during the weekends.
It is near Harrison Lake, which is 60 km long and has an area of 250 km2.
In this picture, you can see the village of Harrison Hot Springs that is 5 km from there.
As you can see there is not much snow on the mountains this year.
This afternoon, I am flying to Calgary to join my wife Kati at her son's place.
-- Vincent Celier