that fertile
district, were converted into a permanent lake. A not improbable
confirmation of this occurrence is found in the fact that the
fishermen in that lake see distinctly under the water, in calm
weather, ecclesiastical towers, which, according to the custom of the
country, are slender and lofty, and moreover round; and they
frequently point them out to strangers travelling through these parts,
who wonder what could have caused such a catastrophe."

In the Welsh version of this fascinating legend it is the bard
Gwyddno, of the twelfth century, who tells of the downfall of the
submerged city, and two of the strophes which occur in his poem are
also found in the Breton poem. The Welsh bard may have received the
story from Breton sources, or the converse may be the case.

The legend that Cardigan Bay contains a submerged territory is widely
known, and strangely enough seems to be corroborated by the shape of
the coast-line, the contour of which suggests the subsidence of a
large body of land. Like their brothers of Ireland, the fishermen of
Wales assert that at low tide they can see the ruins of ancient
edifices far down beneath the clear waters of the bay.[43]

Before the days of the French Revolution there was still to be seen at
Quimper, between the two towers of the cathedral, a figure of King
Gradlon mounted on his faithful courser, but in the stormy year of
1793 the name of king was in bad odour and the ignorant populace
deprived the statue of its head. However, in 1859 it was restored.
Legend attributes the introduction of the vine into Brittany to King
Gradlon, and on St Cecilia's Day a regular ritual was gone through in
Quimper in connexion with his counterfeit presentment. A company of
singers mounted on a platform. While they sang a hymn in praise of
King Gradlon, one of the choristers, provided with a flagon of wine, a
napkin, and a golden hanap (or cup), mounted on the crupper of the
King's horse, poured out a cup of wine, which he offered ceremoniously
to the lips of the statue and then drank himself, carefully wiped with
his napkin the moustache of the King, placed a branch of laurel in his
hand, and then threw down the hanap in the midst of the crowd below,
in honour of the first planter of the grape in Brittany. To whoever
caught the cup before it fell, and presented it uninjured to the
Chapter, was adjudged a prize of two hundred crowns.

There is a distinct savour of myth about all this. Can