It has frequently been observed that the majority of popular beliefs still extant in our different provinces are of Celtic origin.  A not less remarkable fact is the strong tinge of naturalism dominant in these beliefs.  Nay more, every time that the old Celtic spirit appears in our history, there is to be seen, re-born with it, faith in nature and her magic influences.  One of the most characteristic of these manifestations seems to me to be that of Joan of Arc.  That indomitable hope, that tenacity in the affirmation of the future, that belief that the salvation of the kingdom will come from a woman,—­all those features, far removed as they are from the taste of antiquity, and from Teutonic taste, are in many respects Celtic.  The memory of the ancient cult perpetuated itself at Domremy, as in so many other places, under the form of popular superstition.  The cottage of the family of Arc was shaded by a beech tree, famed in the country and reputed to be the abode of fairies.  In her childhood Joan used to go and hang upon its branches garlands of leaves and flowers, which, so it was said, disappeared during the night.  The terms of her accusation speak with horror of this innocent custom, as of a crime against the faith; and indeed they were not altogether deceived, those unpitying theologians who judged the holy maid.  Although she knew it not, she was more Celtic than Christian.  She has been foretold by Merlin; she knows of neither Pope nor Church,—­ she only believes the voice that speaks in her own heart.  This voice she hears in the fields, in the sough of the wind among the trees, when measured and distant sounds fair upon her ears.  During her trial, worn out with questions and scholastic subtleties, she is asked whether she still hears her voices.  “Take me to the woods.” she says, “and I shall hear them clearly.”  Her legend is tinged with the same colours; nature loved her, the wolves never touched the sheep of her flock.  When she was a little girl, the birds used to come and eat bread from her lap as though they were tame. [Footnote:  Since the first publication of these views, on which I should not like more emphasis to be put than what belongs to a passing impression, similar considerations have been developed, in terms that appear a little too positive, by M. H. Martin (History of France, vol. vi., 1856).  The objections raised to it are, for the most part, due to the fact that very few people are capable of delicately appreciating questions of this kind, relative to the genius of races.  It frequently happens that the resurrection of an old national genius takes place under a very different form from that which one would have expected, and by means of individuals who have no idea of the ethnographical part which they play.]

III

The Mabinogion do not recommend themselves to our study, only as a manifestation of the romantic genius of the Breton races.  It was through them that the Welsh imagination exercised its influence upon the Continent, that it transformed, in the twelfth century, the poetic art of Europe, and realised this miracle,—­that the creations of a half-conquered race have become the universal feast of imagination for mankind.