The Ankou and the Legend of Death

The Bretons, those inhabitants of France's Brittany region, are a mysterious people. Traditionally dressed in black, proud and cider-loving, it is also said they are exceptionally stubborn, at once cold and welcoming, often times brooding and hard working. One of their key traits is their openness and adventurous spirit. Indeed today, much of Brittany's people reside outside of Brittany, and throughout history, France's soldiers and naval officers counted many Bretons, of which several were my ancestors.

I often say, employing a nationalistic shortcut, that I am one-quarter French, from my grandfather.
He, on the other hand, would have me say that it is not so, that I am in fact, one quarter Breton.

Brittany in popular culture

There are four things the world takes for granted from the Bretons.

First, there is the Breton stripes - those ubiquitous blue and white marine stripes which traditionally constituted the Breton sailor's uniform and which today, through a fashionable trajectory arguably begun by Coco Chanel, can manifest itself through all manner of clothing, from dresses, bags, hats, tshirts, jumpsuits to coats.  For the last couple of years, the Breton stripes have been a force of fashion, a staple of many women's wardrobes. And if Jean-Paul Gaultier's Fall/Winter 2015-2016 show is anything to go by, Brittany's rich black velvets and magnificent gold embroidery may future impact our closets.

 Left: Traditional costume of Brittany

Right: Sample from Gaultier's 2015-2016 Fall/Winter collection

And then there are the French crêpes. There is nothing French about crêpes, let me tell you. They are 100% Bretons.

Another gorgeous Breton dessert is the emerging and fabulous Kouign Amann, a 19th century Breton culinary invention. This is a rich buttery pastry that Bostonions, Singaporians, Japanese and New Yorkans have newly 'discovered' and which graces any self-respecting foodie's blog. If you haven't tried Kouign Amann, I pity you.

And finally the top Brittany export par excellence, is prolific author, Jules Verne. Born and raised in the city of Nantes, an explorer both of the world and of futuristic possibilities, this celebrated father of science fiction has left an indelible mark in many languages.

The Land of Death

The Breton traditionally saw today's Brittany region as composed of 'countries'. 

The above map shows the Breton name for each country ("Bro" means "Country")

Note that France is called "Bro-C'Hall"

Recently I have been delving deeper into my ancestors' legends and beliefs, seeking to uncover their soul and temperament. What I have discovered is that much like the Venetians, they were traditionally a people preoccupied with death. Their psyche was entwined with the memory of those who have passed and there existed only a thin veil between their existence and the world of souls.

According to Anatole le Braz, the distinction between the natural and the supernatural does not exist for the Bretons, at least in the meaning we ascribe to these; the living and the dead are both inhabitants of the world and they exist in perpetual relation one with the other.

The entire Brittany region - from the mountains to the sea, from Brest to St Malo, from the Mont St Michel to Angers - is they say, filled with erring souls that cry and wail.  Brittany is above anything, the Land of Death. The dead live there with the living in close intimacy. Souls are not confined to the tombs of the cemetery; they wander by night through the large roads and the desert paths.

The Ankou - ancient Celtic legend

This way of living gave rise to many legends and to rich and varied set of symbols all with their own significance as concerns death.

One of their legends concerned l'Ankou. Who is this Ankou? For the Bretons, the Ankou is the servant of death, the personification of death. If he draws near you, usually at night when the moon is full, you will perceive first the rattling of his advancing horse-drawn cart. Then he emerges - hideous, a spectrally tall and thin old man with black sunken eyes, as though they are not at all there. He stands upon his cart, his long white hair hanging well past this shoulders, and he is clad with a black vest and a long brim felt hat.

A Breton is overcome with anguish at the mere sight of l'Ankou. The sound of his cart, the sight of him, presages only death. If you have seen the Ankou, then you have been gifted with a glimpse into the world of the dead. Seeing the Ankou is a sign of impending death among one of your close ones. Either that, or your own death will soon follow.

In the commune of La Roche Maurice, not far from the town of Brest in Brittany, a 17th century (1639-1640) church gives a chilling illustration of the Ankou symbolism. The church's principal entrance features the Ankou as a skeletal engraving with the words, "Je vous tue tous" - I kill you all. In what I conceive as a marriage between legend and Christianity, here, the Ankou warns us to be wary of our eventual death, he serves as a reminder. Nearby, another Latin inscription written in 1640 announces, "Souviens-toi, homme que tu n'es que poussière" - Remember, man that you are mere dust.

Perhaps it is this memory, the omnipresence of death, that sees the traditional Breton embrace his ever mourning black clothing. With such a preoccupation, the Breton could almost be thought of as the original Goth, but his beliefs lie beyond.

Anatole Le Braz, Cultural preserver

I feel that they are best represented by celebrated Breton culture expert, Anatole Le Braz, "The Bard of Brittany".  Anatole's work is a precious heritage considering that he lived during a period when the Breton language, the only living Celtic language in France, was banned from being taught in school and children were punished and humiliated for speaking it. This ban, effective from 1880 to 1950, meant that Anatole's collection and translation of Breton legends and cultural traditions was not only a defiance of French hegemony, but also a gift for generations to come. In his childhood and beyond, my grandfather could never be taught his own language. Today, Breton is the only Celtic language currently in use in Continental Europe.

***

An excerpt from Anatole de Braz's La Légende de la Mort, 1892
For non-French speakers, I have provided my translation in Italics.

Si nombreuses que soient les âmes qui demeurent avec les vivants dans leurs basses maisons de granit ou qui vivent dans les cimetières et les landes désertes, elles passent invisibles à la plupart des yeux et il est peu d’oreilles qui entendent dans l’air calme du soir leur vol silencieux et doux. Cependant on n’est jamais en ce monde sans nouvelles de cet autre monde de mystères, du monde des âmes et de la mort. Il en vient sans cesse comme de vagues rumeurs, des bruits lointains, des signes, des présages. Nul ne meurt sans que quelqu’un de ses proches n’en ait été averti. Certaines personnes ont entre toutes le don de voir, elles lisent plus aisément au livre de l’avenir, elles pénètrent tous les secrets de la mort, elles ont sans cesse des avertissements, des pressentiments ; elles aperçoivent des signes qui restent cachés aux yeux de ceux qu’absorbent les soucis de ce monde. C’est le bruit que font autour de nous les gens et les bêtes qui éteint pour nous ces voix légères qui viennent du pays des morts ; si nous n’étions pas pris tout entiers par nos affaires et nos plaisirs, nous saurions presque tout ce qui arrive de l’autre côté de la tombe.

No matter how numerous those souls that inhabit the world of the living in their low granite homes, or who live in the cemeteries or the desert moors, they are invisible to most eyes, and there exist few ears, who in the calm air of the night, can hear their gentle and silent flight. Yet, we are never in this world without news of this other world of mysteries, the world of souls and of death. They come to us in vague rumours, in distant sounds, signs and presages. No one dies without one of their close ones being advised. Certain persons have among others, the gift to see, they read more easily into the book of the future, they penetrate the secrets of death and they consistently have notices, presentiments; they perceive signs that remain hidden to the eyes of those who absorb the worries of this world. It is the sound around us, made by people, animals, that shut out for us, those light voices coming from the world of the dead; if we were not so taken entirely by our affairs and our pleasures, we would know almost all that takes place on the other side of the tomb.

Il ne faut pas croire au reste que les gens qui nient qu’il y ait des intersignes, aient été plus que les autres privés de ces avertissements, mais ils craignent ces choses d’épouvante (traou-spont), et ne veulent rien voir ni rien entendre de l’autre vie. Beaucoup de Bretons ont comme un recul involontaire devant ce monde mystérieux qui les environne de toute part, si étrangement mêlé au monde réel ; les choses de la mort ont pour eux un invincible attrait et en même temps ils les fuient, comme poussés par une instinctive et toute-puissante terreur. Il est dangereux d’être en trop fréquente et trop intime communication avec les âmes qui peuplent l’autre monde ; il est dangereux même d’en savoir trop sur l’autre vie ; ceux qui reçoivent du pays des morts de trop fréquents messages sont déjà marqués pour être la proie de l’Ankou. Il n’est point rare que ceux qui ont reçu quelqu’une de ces étranges révélations meurent eux-mêmes au bout de quelques semaines ou de quelques mois.

On dirait que de ce pays lointain qu’elles habitent les âmes tirent à elles les vivants et que lorsqu’elles viennent parmi les hommes elles les enchantent et les charment et les emmènent captifs jusque dans leur silencieuse demeure. Tous ceux qui ont été mêlés à quelqu’une de ces scènes étranges, qui précèdent parfois la mort, à ces cérémonies mystérieuses qu’accomplissent les âmes auprès de ceux qui vont mourir perdent à jamais la gaieté, la joie insouciante qui s’exhale en chansons ; ils restent graves, ensevelis en un rêve dont rien ne les peut éveiller ; c’est encore sur la terre des hommes qu’ils marchent, ils mangent et boivent comme les autres hommes ; comme les autres ils conduisent la barque et la charrue, mais ce ne sont déjà plus des vivants.

Nous sommes là en présence de conceptions très anciennes, l’idée du présage ne s’est point démêlée des autres idées auxquelles elle est entrelacée. Les apparitions des âmes sont à la fois signes et causes de mort ; aussi ne peut-on considérer l’intersigne comme un avertissement divin ; c’est la Mort elle-même qui décèle sa présence, c’est elle qui fait sortir du tombeau les âmes, qui vont devant elle, comme des hérauts, appelant les vivants ; tous ceux qu’elles rencontrent, elles les fascinent, elles les blessent, l’Ankou n’aura plus qu’à achever leur besogne. La nature entière frémit à l’approche de la mort : c’est l’oiseau (sparfel) qui voltige autour de la maison et vient frapper à la vitre, ce sont les chiens qui hurlent, c’est la pie qui vient se poser sur le toit. Pas une nuit ne se passe sans que quelques signes n’indiquent l’approche de la mort ; elle rôde sans cesse autour des hommes, les Bretons la sentent toujours présente et peut-être est-ce au sentiment que la grande mangeuse d’hommes est toujours là tout près d’eux, la main levée prête à s’abattre sur leur épaule, qu’il faut attribuer cette étrange tristesse, cette tristesse grave et songeuse, coupée d’éclats de gaieté, dont sont encore empreints ceux que n’ont point trop changés les idées nouvelles venues du pays de France.

Ce perpétuel contact avec la mort a imposé sur l’âme des Bretons une empreinte profonde ; il n’est pas de pays où ceux qui ne sont plus restent ainsi mêlés aux vivants ; les morts gardent, à vrai dire, leur place dans leur maison, le cimetière est comme un prolongement du foyer ; on y va, si j’ose dire, causer avec les siens. Il y a dans les grandes villes, à Paris par exemple, une sorte de religion de la mort, mais c’est, à tout prendre, bien plutôt le culte des tombeaux que le culte des morts ; on ne vit point en intimité avec eux. En Bretagne, il semble que ceux qui sont partis ne soient point partis tout à fait, qu’ils soient encore là tout près, qu’ils aient seulement changé de demeure, qu’ils habitent le cimetière au lieu de la maison. Aussi y a-t-il une vive résistance aux tentatives faites pour éloigner les cimetières des villages ; cela paraît aux Bretons une sorte de profanation, il leur semble qu’on brise les familles, qu’on contraint les vieux à habiter loin de la maison de leurs fils.

Further Reading:

Adkins, Madeleine, "Will the real Breton please stand up? Language revitalization and the problem of authentic language", 2013.
http://www.academia.edu/4513013/Will_the_real_Breton_please_stand_up_Language_revitalization_and_the_problem_of_authentic_language

The Enigma of The Mascherari

Call me indulgent and self-absorbed but I have longed for this post - a reflection on a mystery, or rather, a mystery within a mystery.

I feared that if I didn't put down these thoughts, then one of my beloved creations would never be truly understood. I do not feel good when my readers miss deeper meanings. I feel awfully superficial. Please remember that I am an INFJ and I will weave complex detail and subtleties into my writing beyond the narrative.

 You see, I wrote The Mascherari with a single puzzle in mind, but over time, as I became absorbed into the main character and sensed the response that his journey evoked within him, an enigma of another kind was born. I felt that there had to be more to Antonio da Parma.

 ***This post contains spoilers from The Mascherari: A Novel of Venice.***

What is The Mascherari *really* about?

It tells the story of a child witch who is denounced and imprisoned secretly by the evil Council of Ten so that over six years, her supernatural powers may come to serve their political purposes. The ghost of her mother, also a witch, once a leader in the Covent of Diana, haunts our inquisitor, Antonio da Parma as this one investigates a series of grizzly murders while in Venice.

Antonio likes being haunted, he follows the clues avidly, until they help him solve the murders, unveil a sinister family secret, and discover the identity of the witch. They also lead him to the woman of his dreams. He finds the imprisoned witch, now a young woman, and together they form a new Cult of Diana in Benevento, Southern Italy.

At the end of the story, Antonio takes on the pagan deity role he was always destined to take and she becomes his consort, Jana.

You have to read back to the Etruscan origins of the Cult of Diana to understand that Antonio da Parma is actually the embodiment of the pagan God, Janus. In Etruscan mythology, Jana (Diana) is the moon goddess and is also the consort of Janus. In The Mascherari, Janus and Jana, have found each other.

When you read The Mascherari, remember along your journey, that Antonio is much more than he seems. Look for the clues, they are there. Not those of the immediate mystery, no...the other clues.

When I was working on The Mascherari, I once mentioned that I began to notice surrealistic streams of expression in my writing. If this book were a surrealism painting, a work of free association, associations that came not from me, but from the main character, then one would read clearly a series of Janus symbols throughout.

Janus the god of doors and doorways 

Janus having two faces, one looking forward and one looking back, was given the role of Guardian of Gates by both the Etruscans and the Romans.  Doors, passageways and archways are therefore associated with Janus.  His name is not far from the Etruscan word, janua, which means "door".
On numerous occasions, Antonio encounters doorways almost as though he is himself a doorkeeper.

There is the scene when he attempts to make a first visit to Catarina Contarini and he pauses before the Moor's head on the door, then the night scene when he knocks unsuccessfully at the mask maker's door, when he pushes the door to the mask maker's upstairs atelier, and later, when he stands at the foot of the tower in Constanziaca island and when he negotiates locked doors in the cancelleria while snooping in the secret archives of the Council of Ten.

Even in his dream, Antonio, the spirit of Janus, has a vision of a marble archway at the top of a hill.

Antonio's experiences abound with doors and passageways, evoking time and time again, the symbolism of Janus.

Janus as the Opener of Doors

For the Romans, Janus was given the dual titles of Patulcius (Opener) and Clusius (Closer). Janus was more often the Opener of doors, being portrayed with a key in his left hand.

It is then significant that Antonio da Parma's passage is rarely if ever impeded.

He picks at the lock of the mask maker's atelier without a moment's hesitation. He manages to fool the palace notary into giving him the keys to the palace archives and even when he is imprisoned by the Council of Ten and all freedom seems lost, a free passage out of the dungeons comes to him through none other than the Doge.

Antonio, like Janus, is an Opener of doors, because no door remains closed to him for too long.

This uncanny ability reaches its climax when Antonio and Esteban find themselves erring in a hedge maze on the island of Constanziaca. One needs to conceive each pathway in the maze as a two-way gate, a gate that remains figuratively closed until such time when the riddle of the maze is solved.
Antonio, true to his role as Opener of gates, steps up to the task, resolving the maze and deriving a path to the tower.

Janus the two faced god

There is a scene where Catarina Contarini, whose husband has been accused of sodomy and who is visited by our inquisitor, becomes almost frightened of Antonio. She writes, in her diary:

 "Such was his presence that even as he left, I felt as though he had eyes on the back of his head."

And again, when Antonio is strolling through the gardens of the Giudecca with Lorenzo Contarini, we find him pausing as he reflects before the statue of a two-faced god, as though drawn irrevocably.

Did you miss all that?

Janus who can see into the future and into the past

As Almoro Donato indicates time and time again, Antonio possesses a remarkable intuition - one that comes to the fore in the atelier where he has a sort of premonition for the violence that has taken place and the revenge that will take place. He sees the death of the mask maker (the past) just as he senses what is about to happen to the broker, Rolandino (the future).

I added a short couplet both in Italian and English throughout the book. It effectively summarises the power of Janus conferred to Antonio: his uncanny powers of seeing all, both in the world of the living and of the dead, to the left and to the right, behind him (the past) and ahead of him (the future).

Vide attraverso il mondo interno

e il mondo esterno,

a destra ea sinistra,

sopra e sotto,

prima di lui e dopo di lui.

It is just perfect.

Janus as a manifestation of Chaos

When Zara, the Castilian card reader, unveils the third card to reveal Antonio da Parma's near future, we find that it is card 16, La Torre.
This card, The Tower, is traditionally associated with chaos, sudden change and revolution. It is one and the same with the ancient nature of Janus who was seen as the god of transitions. Not only does this card reveal Antonio's future, but it also reveals his nature come to life.

And the Castilian card reader knows this well. Later, in his diary, Antonio who at this point seems to only have a subconscious notion of who he really is, will write:

 "Then she bowed to me as though - and this is strange- as though she had been blessed."

Zara bows to him, a true daughter of the cult.

In true surrealistic fashion, Antonio does eventually encounter a tower, much like on the card. It is an isolated fortress on the ancient island of Constanziaca. There, he will meet his witch, for the first time. In the tower, he is catapulted through a series of chaotic events, which seal his fate, leading him to his destiny.

The revolution has begun. Antonio da Parma, the servant of the Venetian Republic, albeit a reluctant one, the accomplice of tyranny, of oppression and of feudalism, finally discovers new meaning in the cult begun by the 13th century preacher Aradia, adept of Diana. Freedom, freedom for all.

As Janus, Antonio is a priest of the Cult, a true mystic, a pilgrim of Diana.

Throughout the story, Antonio navigates Venice as though in longing, seeking his grail, dreaming of her, the woman in his dreams.
Antonio is a pilgrim but he is also a latent priest of the Cult.
Remember Esteban's intense reaction after Antonio, having cleverly disguised himself as a priest, invents a plague infestation charade to ward off the naval inspectors from their illegal ship.
Antonio writes:

Then he turned to me, and his voice was a blend of curiosity and surprise. 'You play the part of the priest convincingly, Antonio. It was your best performance yet.'"

But the clever Esteban, as we know, has long derived Antonio mystical nature. He is undoubtedly a strong catalyst in Antonio's transformation. Remember this exchange as both of them schemed in the Piazza:

"Signor da Parma, in time, you may even discover yourself through one such costume."
"You mean, lose myself," I mocked, reaching for the wine pitcher.
"Oh no. I mean that the costume will liberate you, edge you closer to the reality of your being." 

Esteban has known all along. "Oh, I have known men like you, Antonio da Parma," he says, as he compares Antonio to the many pilgrims he has taken on his ship to the Levant.

Janus the God of Beginnings

For the Romans, Janus was also the God of beginnings, lending his name to the month of January. It is in January, on the 1st day of the month, that Antonio visits the young genius, Leon Battista Alberti who reveals to him, through his brilliant deciphering, the secret of The Council of Ten. Enlightened by this new knowledge, Antonio, who was already beginning to be wary of the Council, undergoes a rapid transformation. Inasmuch as January is the month of Janus, it is the month in which Antonio's agency into the Cult of Diana is catalysed.

Janus and Jana as one entity

In a more ancient Etruscan tradition, Janus/Jana existed not as two entities but as one and the same, an androgynous being, with qualities both masculine and feminine.

In The Mascherari there are allusions to this representation of Janus/Jana.  One of these is Antonio's sexuality which raises eyebrows on two occasions.

In the first occasion, when Antonio finds himself judged by a prostitute, he makes an interesting reflection. He writes:

"She saw through me, saw that I had not been with a woman since my wife died. But she is mistaken in her summation of me."

Could Antonio not be attracted to women then? On the contrary, shortly after his visit to the carampane district, Antonio has an intense carnal dream involving the prostitute which leaves no doubts as to his interest in women.

And yet later, when he meets another equally astute prostitute, she remarks, "You are an admirer of Esteban, I can see it. He is so handsome, isn't he?"
There is without a doubt a duality in Antonio's sexuality, one that does not go unseen.

But Antonio, as we shall see, is only one half of a whole being.  He is the half that will only be complete once he meets the witch, Elena.

We find that as he reaches the top of the tower where she is imprisoned, he stumbles upon his knees. Weakened and blinded, he experiences a jolt, like a bolt through his heart: he feels her own heartbeat. At this point, we might be tempted to attribute this physical shock to the after-effects of having breathed in the poisonous miasma of the labyrinth. But it is not so. Antonio has, at this moment, rejoined his other half. Janus and Jana are one.

Going further, Janus/Jana is a balance of masculine and feminine forces that transcend what we label as masculine and feminine.  Similarly, though Antonio has come to rescue Elena, this is no traditional knight and damsel encounter. In the struggles that ensue, it is Elena who will save both of them.  The idea being that both Janus and Jana need each other.

This belief is highlighted at the very end of the novel where I have referenced the teachings of Aradia:

"Everything which lives is of male and female essence. 

Do not exalt one without the other. 

Come to know both as to be complete."

Janus - God of Deceit, and of Dual Nature

The veritable enigma and one that escapes even me, is whether Antonio is in fact conscious of his nature and has chosen to conceal it to all, even to the writer who naively assumes that he remains unaware of it until the very end.

Has he fooled us all?

Remember his hatred of Carnivale and his longing for the peaceful hills of Tuscany? Has he really come all the way to Venice at the behest of the Council of Ten, or did he return on his own volition, because three years ago, he might have also seen her, the witch, and wanted to see her again now that his wife was dead.

We cannot know. But his private nature and his designs are kept intensely close.

He has told no one of his capacity to see ghosts. Even when Catarina Contarini tells him that if he had seen one, she would believe him, Antonio coldly replies, "I told you no such thing." Of course we, the readers know that he has, and it is perplexing that Catarina's warm reassurance, especially when Antonio is usually faced with skepticism, should be met so harshly.

Can we deduce, then, that Antonio, despite his writer's best intentions, is an unreliable narrator? Or as Esteban remarks, when he introduces Antonio to his crew, "One who keeps much to himself."

As Janus, god of deceit, can we expect anything less from him?

Despite the patrician's cold-blooded nature, we almost come to sympathize with Lorenzo Contarini's scathing final address to the man he has spied upon all the way down South, in Benevento:

"You almost had me fooled, avogadore, you two-faced consort of witches."