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He is personified death. But there is more to it. There is one for every
town, thought up as Parishes, but for those of the non-christian, there is a firm acknowledgement of an Ankou in every region.
The last to die on New Year's Eve will become the next Ankou, and thus carry on the tradition taking the place of the old.
He collects the souls of the dead, assisting death.
It is a male, though I have heard a couple of times of a female,
but mostly all human associations such as skin and hair are removed, and a skeleton is left under a black shroud, black large-brimmed
felt hat, and wooden shoes. He rides in a cart, from one to four black or slate grey horses (I was told one slate grey horse,
but it depends on who you talk to) and the cart itself is noisy and creeky, and you can hear it coming from a ways off, accompanied
by two footsman - the older folk tell me that once the Ankou is out, he never leaves empty handed. To look in it's face is
immediate death, but there have been tales of mortals assisting the Anjou, some living, with hair as white as snow, while
others were not as fortunate. It is said it's terrible bad luck to work on New Year's Eve, as Ankou might employ your services,
but take your life before dawn.
One story I heard was he walks with the souls on that night, while the Wild hunt is
running wild in the countryside. He makes sure the Ancestors are remembered and honored, it's said that rattling windows is
a sign of his anger - again, it depends on who you ask.
He is not death itself, but a personified person in the scheme
of death - a pawn if you will. In all the depictions of Ankou, it carries the scythe correctly - so thus it might denote a
link to the harvest. I have also heard a mention of his cutting you from your mortal cord, and another version has it that
he "collects" your soul into his cart when you die, no cutting mentioned.
He is a powerful figure, and not one to
be taken lightly - and he is still remembered by the French in the independant Breton region.
One legend tells us
that he was a prince (one older man said he was just a land owner), cruel and vindictive. He was so foolhearty that he challenged
a stranger (death) to a game of chance. This man was given in to fits of petty jealousy and anger - and a good outlet was
hunting. The moment of death, as well as pain and suffering of others was like mother's milk to this man. Foolishly on the
Sabbat he ventured out hunting drunk and roused to sport, and he caught chase to a white stag. They came upon a figure, massive
and void of of life as being dressed in all black - but to the drunken company it was a man nonetheless, who was riding a
milk-white horse (another personification of death itself). Angry at having this man/stranger on his land, the prince challenged
the rider to a contest. The contest was whomever could take down the stag and kill it would not only have it's meat and hide,
but also have the right to determine the fate of the loser. The stranger on the white horse agreed - but the men said it resembled
dry leaves being scraped against stone walls.
The gave chase, but the mortal horse and rider could not gain on the
otherworldly stag, and soon the stranger on the white horse caught the creature, and won the contest with a single shot. Unwilling
to be humbled by this defeat, the prince arrogantly ordered his men to surround the strange rider boasting "I'll have two
trophies to be taken home!"
But, the stranger merely laughed - and the older fellow telling me this story said it
sobered the men quick- the stranger said, "You can have the stag, and with it all the dead of the world. If your joy is to
hunt, then thou shalt do thus; across battlefields, plague-pits, and hearths shall you hunt for your trophies foolish man.
And all your dealings will reak of decay." And thus this man became Death's servant and a loyal one at that -the Ankou.
There
is another story, of course with drunken men. The were stumbling home one night, and they heard the Ankou's creaking cart
coming towards them. Two of the more bold men taunted the Ankou, and threw stones at his cart, spooking the horses and causing
the cart to hit a road stone, and break an axle. Drunk and not wanting to get into trouble, the two men fled the scene. But
the third friend lent a hand, and used one of his shoe-laces, and a thick branch to fix the cart - as he felt bad because
of his companion's actions towards the Ankou. The Ankou nodded his head in thanks, and got into his cart, and sped off as
if the cart was never broken. In the morning, the two who threw stones were dead in the road, cold as ice. The man who aided
the Ankou lived, but his hair was white as the full moon, and he had aged ten years. He never mentioned what had transpired
that night to anyone, ever again.
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