As you may know, behind Aeternum is a small business based in Brittany (in southern Finistère, to be precise). It is well known that this region lives to the rhythm of legends, myths, and magical practices, some more widely known than others (Brocéliande, Merlin, the Fairy Viviane, the Alignments, and many others). So, to shine a light on our beautiful region, we will regularly publish little-known legends from Breton history. This week, we are heading to Côtes-d'Armor.
An ancient legend whispers the name of a cursed book: the Agrippa. It is not an ordinary grimoire, but a gigantic book, as tall as a man, whose red pages are covered with black characters. This book is said to have been signed by the devil himself, but its nickname was inspired by the occultist Cornelius Agrippa. It is said that possessing it grants immense power over invisible forces, but obviously at a price few are willing to pay.
No one can leave such a book within reach. Those who possess one hang it from a crooked beam, secured with a heavy, rusty chain. It must be opened only in case of necessity, and even then, one must know how to read it backward, distroiñ anezhañ in Breton, or risk falling prey to its spells.
Many have tried to uncover its secrets. Some out of carelessness, others out of greed. There is a story of a curious young man who, taking advantage of the owner's absence, dared to touch the Agrippa. No sooner had he turned the first page than an invisible force imprisoned him in his reading. He could no longer tear his gaze away from the words scrolling past, and the more he read, the more an icy breath filled the room.
Suddenly, a commotion arose above the house. A cloud of black crows descended upon it, beating their wings furiously. But these birds were not ordinary: they were the devil's messengers, come to claim a soul. They scratched at the windows, struck against the walls, and circled their prey. Fortunately, the owner of the grimoire, warned by a mysterious instinct, returned in time. He tore the book from the unfortunate man's hands and slammed it shut. The crows immediately vanished into the night, and the young man, deathly pale, swore never again to touch what did not belong to him.
But the Agrippa did not merely grant the power to summon spirits. In the countryside, some priests possessed a copy and knew how to use it to enforce order. In those ancient times, when taverns drew men far beyond what was reasonable, these clergymen had found a way to bring stragglers home. At nightfall, they transformed into black dogs, appearing at crossroads to frighten those who lingered on the roads.
Each parish had one, and everyone feared its appearance. It was said that in Plouaret, an enormous black dog sat near the calvary. During the day, the imprint of its haunches remained marked on the ground, where the grass never grew back. And legends of its appearances spread throughout all the towns, sometimes describing an apparition in a forest, sometimes near a stream.
Those who crossed its path did not linger. It did not attack, but it followed. Silently. Its eyes gleamed with a reddish light, and its shadow grew with every step. It did not run after those fleeing, but its breath could be heard right behind them, icy and oppressive. The boldest sometimes tried to confront it, but no one ever managed to touch it. It was not made of flesh, but of shadow and taboo.
If the black dog follows you, people used to say, never turn around. For those who dared to meet its gaze disappeared, swallowed by the night...
Additional source: Le Télégramme
Par Olivier of Aeternum
Passionate about esoteric traditions and the history of the occult from the earliest civilizations to the 18th century, I share some articles on these topics. I am also co-creator of the online esoteric shop Aeternum.
