The city of Is according to Lucien Boulain

English trans. Erik Stohellou
© 2011 Erik Stohellou

t that time, there were in Britain, two holy apostles, friends of God... Kaourintin, First bishop of Quimper (St. Corentin) and St. Gwennole, first abbot of Landevennec... Often they had preached the faith in Is, and admonished the king of crimes, injustices, infamies that were committed in the palace of the young maid. People laughed them, and the king weakened by age, no longer had authority to stop the disorders of the big city. God grew tired seeing the hardness and made known to the angel of Britain, his friend Guénole that, without delay, the city would be flooded by water. Immediately Gwennole, mounted his horse, ran to the city of Is with the thought to stop the wrath of God... But the time for mercy was past, when the saint arrived about midnight, the locks were open and the sea was making a terrible noise while running on the inhabitants of the houses and palaces.

Gwennole on horseback, had Gralon following. The old man, always good father, despite the disorder of his daughter, without knowing the holy abbot, take the big culprit behind him on his horse of battle. The waves of the sea came over them trembling, they would be swallowed up when a voice thundered: Gralon, Gralon, if you do not want to die get rid of the demon that you bear up behind you.

The warning was from Gwennole, the angel of Britain.

Ha Guenolé enn eur grena
Ha gri : Gralon toll an diaoul-ez
Divar daillard da hin kane :

Soon the waves stopped and they saw the punishment of heaven.

Gwennole could only save Gralon... One can still see on the way, the trace of the horse's hoof on rock, where the abbots of Landevennec, before taking their dependents come to pray and recognize Gralon as founder of the monastery.

Ahes, the bad maid, was changed into Mari-Morgan (who sings on the sea, or sea foam), half woman and half fish; when it is moonlight, one still hears her singing in the ruins of the sunken city.

Her eyes are like two stars, her hair the color of gold, her neck and her soft breasts are as white as snow, her voice melodious charms and put to sleep. The sailors of the country, when they hear, they say with fear: let us move away, Ahes came out of his palace, the bad weather is near, and if we delay, we will be thrown on the rocks, to sleep our last sleep.

As Sodom, Gomorrah, Babylon, Is is no longer, and the waves roll over its ruins. At sunrise, Gralon and Gwennole climbed the mountain of Menez-Hom, Gralon glanced behind him with pity.

Where Is was, one can only sea the sea, he fell to his knees to thank God and the Virgin: rising, he saw on the west, Rumen-Goulou and Men-ru-ar-Goulou, on this rock there was human sacrifice: each month, a small child who is pulled at the breast.

Eyes filled with tears, hands raised to the sky, Gralon told his friend: on the red stone dedicated to a barbaric God, I would build a church in honor of the Virgin, and there, where one pours blood in honor of Teutates, the mother of the true God will make His grace on the Britons.

He was true to his word... The pagan priests rebelled when they saw the temple destroyed. The king defeated them near Argol, leading the converted Bretons. His prayer ended, the king followed Gwennole to Landevennec, abbey he had constructed. He had already given his palace in Quimper to Saint Corentin. Instead of this palace is the beautiful cathedral. Gralon spent the rest of his days in Landévennec in the most austere penance... He often went with his friend to Rumengol, Itron-varia-romedd-ol... Our Lady of any remedy.

The Virgin appeared to him and it was rumored in Britain. He died in the arms of Gwennole, in Landevennec Abbey, which he founded.

He commended his soul to God, saying with confidence: Itron Varia Rumengol, mirit ouzin na zin da na Gall... Madam Mary of Rumengol, cast your eyes upon me so I did not go at a loss.

Long ago this death, and the Bretons who are people of faith and heart, have the memory of their old king and his friend Gwennole.

If they knew more about the history of their beautiful country when they come to Trinity Sunday, the saint's day of Rumengol, seeing the Bay of Douarnenez, Menez-Hom, Landevennec, the chapel miraculous and high, would say with tears in their eyes:

Bras ar burzudou a zo bet
Bars an amzer treinenet :

Great miracles were
in times past.

Many differ from opinion, not on the existence of the city of Is, but on its location.

No one can shake these beliefs of the people, and let illusions for many people, the etymology of the word Paris is par-et-is, that is to say, equal to Is.

A baoué e confondet Is
Neus quet cavet par da Paris.

The Breton king had his grave to Landevennec, even in the abbey... his memory continued for a long time. Long one saw the two friends walking at night in the cloisters and on the terraces of the abbey, discoursing the things of God... do not we still see them ?

Poetry had captured the image of these two shadows that could be seen from afar, walking, talking slowly, at times of major festivals, it announced major events.

Lavar din ar Belek ?
Parrès Landévennec
A lein è di,
A vel roas e balé
Gralon a Guénolé
En abbati.

It was always the priests who saw them, seems to say the Breton poet. The French translation does not say it.

Tell me, if one can see When Landévennec opens Its Saint's Day, The eminent and beloved shadows Of Gwennole who prays With Gralon.

It was always the times of festivals, ceremonies, they were seen walking and praying.

Sources : Lucien Boulain, Souvenirs de la Basse-Cornouaille. 1895