In the meantime, my son, come in here, and let's talk a little.
"You're joking, my godfather. How do you want me to talk?" Trémeur seemed to be saying, using pitiful contortions.
"Ah! That’s right", said Saint Herbot, laughing. "So rest up, boy, then you'll go. In the absence of a head, I see that you have a heart, and that is worth just as much, and even more."
Trémeur therefore came and sat down in the cave; then, after having rested, he got up, said goodbye as best he could to his old boss, and left by the Huelgoat road, to go to Rome to ask the Pope for forgiveness for his sins, and his head, if it was possible to patch it up.
But you can well imagine that one cannot go to Rome without eating or drinking, like a blind person going from Gourin to Carhaix. Go to Rome! Lord God!! Terrify the Pope and the cardinals, by showing them such a walking ghost, with his head in a pitcher on his back! No, no, that was not possible! God, who allowed him life, could not allow it; so the unfortunate man, a tireless walker, remained in the Breton country, where he never stopped wandering at random, coming and going to get to Rome, where all his wishes were directed.
Horrible ghost! he walked thus night and day, like the shadow of Death, praying with intention, praying without ceasing, and asking God to shorten his ordeal. He had been walking for so long that he must have thought he was very close to his goal. His strength was beginning to run out. Finally, one evening, after having climbed the great hill of Carhaix, the headless man, overwhelmed with fatigue, wanted to lean against the wall of the cemetery; but he missed his shot: the cursed pitcher hit a stone and was torn to pieces, so much so that the unfortunate noggin rolled in the dust of the road, where the decapitated man tried, during half the night, to find it by groping. Unfortunately, his head had rolled too far down the slope; it was impossible for him to catch up with her, and he fell dying into the moat on the road.
In truth, you would die for less, as the gravedigger said with a laugh.
This is the story of the headless man. It was told to me by my grandfather, who got it from old Bornik, the sacristan of the monastery.
Finally, I urge you to go for a walk near Carhaix, if you do not know this beautiful country: you will see the headless saint there. He is still there, in the place where he once fell, lying against the embankment of the Saint-Trémeur cemetery; only it is turned into stone, naturally, to last longer under the sun and the rain, and to remind the world of this surprising and above all true story.
For my part, I say in closing, that if Trémeur had lost his head, he had kept a strong heart; which perhaps proves that the heart is better than the head.
Source: Trémeur ou l'homme sans tête from the French book Contes et légendes de Basse-Bretagne published in 1891.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
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.
Of course, it is impossible for a headless man to go from Brittany to Rome. It was inevitable that Trémeur would never go to Rome and he would die.
In this very strange tale, we have met Saint Herbot. The main character in this story is also a saint who is not recognized by the church: Saint Trémeur. As he is a legendary saint, there are several versions of his life.
Today, I am lazy, so I will just say:
-- Vincent Celier
