QUIMPER—PONT L’ABBÉ—AUDIERNE—DOUARNENEZ.
[Illustration]
In the fruitful valley of the Odet and the Steir, where two rivers join
in their southern course to the sea, there rise the beautiful spires of
Quimper, the present capital of Finistère; a town containing about
13,000 inhabitants, now the centre of the commerce and industry of
southern Finistère, and, it may be added, the most pleasant
resting-place on our travels. If we approach Quimper for the first time
by road over the hills, we shall form the best idea of the beauty of its
situation and of the picturesqueness of its buildings. The first
impression of the traveller who arrives by train, and is hurried in an
omnibus along the straight quays lined with trees, to the Hôtel de
l’Épée, on the right bank of the river Odet, is one of slight
disappointment at the modern aspect of the town; but let him glance for
one moment from above out of one of the back windows of the inn (opened
for him by the bright-faced maiden sketched on page 104), and the view
of old roofs and cathedral towers will reassure his mind that neither in
architecture nor in costume is this city likely to be wanting in
interest. Quimper, the ancient capital of Cornouaille, with its warlike
and romantic history of the middle ages, the centre of historic
associations in the times of the War of the Succession, preserves many
landmarks and monuments that will interest the traveller and the
antiquarian. The fine Gothic cathedral has a richly sculptured porch
with foliated carving of the fourteenth century, such as we saw at Le
Folgoet. Above and between the two towers is an equestrian statue of the
somewhat mythical King Gradlon, who held a court at Kemper in the fifth
century, whose prowess is recorded in the early chronicles of Brittany,
and in the romances of the Round Table. The episode of his hunting in
the neighbouring forests, being miraculously fed by one Corentin, a
hermit, and finally converted to Christianity, is recorded continually
in song and story; and from this incident (related by Souvestre and sung
by Brizeux) dates the foundation of the ancient bishopric of St.
Corentin. The statue, like nearly every monument in Brittany, was partly
destroyed during the Revolution in 1793.
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[Illustration]
In spite of railways, telegraphs, and newspapers, and the bustle of
commerce that fills the streets and market of Quimper, some of the
inhabitants of the neighbouring valleys find time, on St. Cecilia’s Day,
to perform a pilgrimage to the cathedral and to sing songs in honour of
St. Corentin. Thus we see how lovingly conservative Brittany clings to
its monuments and legends, and how its people still dwell in the past.
The story of King Gradlon may be a myth, but, like all legends and
traditions, it has its origin in fact; and we who are not historians may
be fascinated with the thought that the battered horseman, the object of
so much interest to pilgrims in the past and to tourists in the present,
is a link in a chain of facts, pointing backwards to a far-off time
when, a little westward of the site of the present city of Quimper, on a
promontory near Pont Croix, stood the ancient Celtic city of Is, remains
of which are to be found to this day upon the shore.
The cathedral of Quimper was founded in the thirteenth century, but was
principally built in the fourteenth and fifteenth. It has no very
remarkable architectural features, but there is a grandeur in the lofty
aspect of the interior, lighted by some fine stained glass, which leaves
an impression of beauty on the mind. It is the centre and rallying-point
for all the country round, the home of Catholicism, the “one church” to
the inhabitants of Finistère. No picture of the wide _Place_ by the
river, where the great gatherings take place on fête-days, and where so
many curious costumes are to be seen together, is complete without the
two modern spires of the cathedral rearing high above the town. The
procession of people passing up the wide street on a Sunday morning
leading to its doors—a dense mass of figures, fringed with white caps,
like foam on a heaving sea, the figures framed by projecting gables
nearly meeting overhead—forms another picture which has also for its
background the two noble spires.[7] The old houses in the market-place
in the cathedral square, and the old inn, the Hôtel du Lion d’Or (this
last well worthy of a sketch), are overshadowed by the pile. The people
that come in by the old-fashioned diligences and the country carts and
waggons go straight to the cathedral on arrival in the square.
Footnote 7:
We believe it was to M. Viollet Le Duc, whose architectural taste and
energy are so well known in France, that the completion of these
towers is principally due.
[Illustration]
The interior of the cathedral, which is the largest in Brittany, is very
striking; there is a handsome chapel dedicated to Ste. Anne, the patron
saint of Brittany, to St. Roch, and other saints. There is high-mass at
half past ten, and a sermon by an ancient ecclesiastic preached from the
handsome carved pulpit in the nave. It is an eloquent discourse,
apparently, for along the aisles and between the pillars
familiar-sounding phrases are poured fluent and fast. But the dense
crowd of men and women with upturned faces on the pavement near the door
can hear little of what is passing; the words take an upward curve of
sound, and are heard more distinctly by the spiders and the flies. The
loss may not have been great if we take the testimony of a writer[8] in
1877, who says:—“I attended mass one morning at Quimper, and the
following is the substance of a sermon preached to a large and attentive
congregation mostly of working men and women: ‘There are three duties,’
said the preacher, ‘imposed by the church on the faithful: first, to
confess at least once a year; secondly, to confess in one’s own parish;
thirdly, to confess within the fifteen days of Easter.’ The omission of
the first of these is regarded by the church as a sin of such gravity
that it is condemned to be punished by the withholding of Christian
burial. Not one word, throughout a long discourse to simple, devout,
careworn peasant folk, of moral teaching, religious counsel, or
brotherly love!”
Footnote 8:
_A Year in Western France_, by M. Betham-Edwards.
[Illustration]
In some of the chapels there are services during the day, and there is a
continual movement of white caps in and out of the confessionals; and,
occasionally during the day, some poor, weather-worn man is doing
penance, going round and round the cathedral on his knees, making a
curious slouching sound on the pavement (as grotesque a figure as
sketched on page 106). He is dressed in rags, and carries his sabots
under his arm during his long journey; thus, several times round the
pavement, dragging his weary limbs and—according to the enormity of his
sins—paying his sous as he goes.
The character of the people of this part of Cornouaille seems less
reserved, and there is a gay, genial aspect about them which is
refreshing when coming from the north. The bright face and figure of the
girl whose portrait Mr. Caldecott has caught exactly is one of a flutter
of five, who wait at table at the Hôtel de l’Épée in the costume of the
country, which, by the way, is worn here for the especial benefit of
travellers. It is probable that every one of these bright-faced women
would discard it to-morrow if they had the chance (as their mistress and
her children have done); but there is still plenty of local costume to
be seen in Quimper. We have only to go out into the gardens, to visit
the farms, by-roads, and lanes, and we shall come upon some of the most
picturesque scenes in our travels.
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[Illustration]
In the corner of a field just outside the town, where a lively
discussion is going forward between a farm labourer and three girls at a
well, there is a picture which for colour alone is worth remembering. It
is one of those everyday scenes in which costume and the surrounding
landscape harmonise delightfully. We give few sketches of architecture
because photographs of the best examples may always be obtained,
preferring rather to give the life of the people. There are more figure
subjects in the streets of Quimper than there is time to note. Thus, for
instance, as we pass through a poor, dirty suburb at the lower end of
the town, a woman comes to the door of a dark dwelling, and gives alms
to a professional beggar, so grotesque and terrible in aspect that he
hardly seems human; but the woman standing at the stone doorway wears a
costume that might have been copied from an Elizabethan missal. She
gives, as every one gives, to the poor in Brittany, but her husband’s
small wages at the pottery works hard by leave little margin for
charity, and he will want all his spare money at this time of year for
the fêtes. The fêtes are an occasion for universal feasting and
rejoicing, in which the drinking propensities of the holiday makers are
only too apparent in the streets, leading in the evening, sometimes, to
domestic interviews like the one sketched below.
[Illustration]
At the time of the Fête of the Assumption there is a crowd at Quimper
from all parts of Finistère, and there is an amount of festivity which
must be bewildering to the quiet inhabitants; it is then that we may see
sometimes in the streets the splendid type of Breton woman sketched at
the head of this chapter, and, by contrast, some others much more
grotesque.
But perhaps the most interesting group of all, and the most complete and
characteristic of Mr. Caldecott’s sketches, is the one which forms the
frontispiece to this volume—a scene in a _cabaret_, or wineshop, where
the farmers who have come in to market, whose carts we may see on the
cathedral square, meet and discuss the topics of the day, amongst which,
after the state of trade and the crops, the term of Marshal McMahon’s
government and the results of the annual levy of “les conscrits” are
uppermost. Soon after harvest-time, generally early in September, the
annual levy of reserves for the army takes place, and Quimper, being the
centre of a populous district, is the rallying-point for lower
Finistère.
[Illustration]
It is the nearest approach to an open political discussion that we may
witness on our travels, and a good opportunity to see the conservative
Breton farmer, the “owner of the soil,” one who troubles himself little
about “politics” in the true sense of the word, and is scarcely a match
in argument for the more advanced republican trader and manufacturer of
Quimper, but who, from hereditary instinct, if from no other motive, is
generally an upholder of legitimist doctrines and a royalist at heart.
Seated on the carved oak bench on the left is a young Breton clodhopper
or farm help, whose ill-luck it has been to be drawn this year; who
leaves his farm with regret—a home where he worked from sunrise to
sunset for two francs a week, living on coarse food and lodging in the
dark with the pigs. As he sits and listens with perplexed attention to
the principal speaker, and others gather round in the common room to
hear the oracle, we have a picture which tells its story with singular
eloquence, and presents to us the common everyday life of the people of
lower Brittany with a truthfulness and vivacity seldom, if ever,
exceeded. The only bright colour in the picture is in the red sashes of
the men and in one or two small ornaments worn by the women.
[Illustration]
Other scenes should be recorded if only to show, by way of contrast,
that Quimper is very like other parts of France. At one of the _lycées_
the annual prize-giving is going forward, and there is a fashionable
gathering, in which military uniforms are prominent. It is an
opportunity for seeing some of the _élite_ of Quimper both on the
platform and in the crowded hall, and a great chance for a sketch. The
boys come up one by one, and stand on a raised platform to be decorated
with a paper wreath, to receive a book and a salutation on both cheeks.
It is interesting to note that, before joining his applauding friends in
the hall, the boy takes off his wreath and throws it away. There is
scarcely a Breton costume in the hall.
[Illustration]
In Quimper we are in a pleasant valley, surrounded by gardens, orchards,
and fields, and sheltered from the wind by clustering woods. The sun
shines so warmly here that it is difficult to realise that a few miles
to the west and south there are stretches of broad moorland leading to
the boldest coast on the west of France. It is true that the people that
come in from Pont l’Abbé, Audierne, and Douarnenez bear the impress of a
seafaring life, and are different in style and costume to any that we
have yet seen.
It is worth while for every one who stays in Quimper to see something of
the coast, and to make a tour of at least two or three days to Pont
l’Abbé, Penmarc’h, Pont Croix, the Pointe du Raz, and Douarnenez. In
this short journey the traveller will see some of the finest coast
scenery in Brittany, and people differing in character and costume from
other parts of Finistère; a hardy fishing population, tempted to dangers
and hardships by the riches to be found in the sea.
If the scenery which we have passed through on our way to Quimper
resembled Wales, the district west of Quimper will remind us of
Cornwall. We are, in fact, on the extreme edge of Brittany,
corresponding to the Cornwall of England, _Cornouaille_, the _Cornn
Galliæ_ of the ancients, a dangerous, storm-blown coast, wild, desolate,
and picturesque. We may go down the river from Quimper to Pont l’Abbé,
or a shorter route by road a distance of twelve miles, the first part
over hills and through cultivated lands, in the latter part over wide
moorland, covered with gorse and edged with pines. This is a beautiful
drive, but, to judge of the quiet, almost mediæval stillness of Pont
l’Abbé, it should be approached by water on a summer’s evening, when,
after a long and sometimes rather boisterous passage from the mouth of
the river Odet, the little fishing-boat is rowed up the Pont l’Abbé
river under the tower of its ancient castle. On the left, before
entering the river, the little port of Loctudy is passed, where there is
an ancient Romanesque church, well preserved, said to have been built by
the Knights Templars in the twelfth century.
[Illustration]
Pont l’Abbé with its dull, straight streets and deserted-looking houses,
has no striking architectural features; but the costumes of the people
are altogether unique in Brittany, and the interiors of their dwellings
are as quaint and curious as any painter would desire. The women wear
close-fitting caps of red or green, embroidered with gold thread, the
hair being turned up at the back and fastened at the top; they wear
skirts of blue or green with a border of yellow, and the men, short blue
jackets and sashes.
In Pont l’Abbé we may see, what is so rare in these days, an old street
in which the costume of the people harmonises with the date of the
buildings, and in which the quiet of a past century seems never to have
been disturbed. Walk down a narrow grass-grown street to the open square
above the river, at the end of which is the western porch of the fine
church of Pont l’Abbé, and the only two figures visible in the afternoon
are a girl carrying a basket coming from the Carmelite convent, and a
priest in black robes crossing the square. The church and convent were
founded in 1383, and there is little here to mark the passage of years.
The church has been completed and beautified since those early times,
and afterwards wrecked by the Revolution; but the aspect of the square
and of the cloisters of the convent are little altered. The interior of
the church is remarkable for the grace and lightness of its pillars, and
for the richness of its stained glass; the rose windows are said to
rival in beauty those of Rouen. Notwithstanding that the church has but
one aisle, that the ceiling is now painted blue, and that the carvings
in stone and wood are sadly mutilated, it is an architectural monument
of great interest.
[Illustration]
Six miles south-west of Pont l’Abbé, across a dreary, marshy plain is
the poor fishing town of Penmarc’h, built upon the dark rocks that form
a barrier against the sea, on one of the wildest promontories of
Cornouaille; a city whose riches in the fifteenth century were so great
that, according to historians, “she could equip her three thousand
men-at-arms, and shelter behind her jetties a fleet of eight hundred
craft.” The original prosperity of Penmarc’h arose from the
cod-fisheries, which were the source of immense wealth before the
discovery of Newfoundland. The history of its invasion by the English in
1404, and the disasters in the sixteenth century, when the town was
partly destroyed by an inroad of the sea, and afterwards sacked by Guy
Eder Fontenelle at the time of the Wars of the League, is one of the
most romantic and terrible in the history of Brittany. It is a place to
see if only to mark the traces of this wonderful city, once containing
10,000 inhabitants. A few ruined towers and the foundations of streets
mark the site of the ancient city, which is now inhabited by a scattered
fishing population numbering in all about 2000, the men braving the
elements in their little fishing-boats, the women and children
collecting seaweed and tilling the poor soil. There is a mass of rocks
separated from the land, called the Torche de Penmarc’h, which all
visitors are taken to see, and where the waves break upon the shore with
the sound of thunder.
We have said little of the ruins of the church of St. Guénolé and of the
parish church of Ste. Nonna at Penmarc’h, with its stained glass and
quaint stone carving, or of other relics of the ancient city, because in
nearly every town in Cornouaille there is some object of interest to
examine. Antiquarian travellers should stay at the Hôtel des Voyageurs
at Pont l’Abbé, where they will be very comfortably housed, and can
explore this district, interesting not only for the historic
associations connected with Penmarc’h, but for Druidical remains which
the winds of the Atlantic are laying bare every year on this coast. It
is a dreary, wind-swept promontory, from which the quiet superstitious
inhabitants are only too glad to retreat. No wonder they flock into
Quimper, and sun themselves on the _Place_ during the summer days!
On the road between Pont l’Abbé and Audierne we obtain fine views of the
open landscape, with solitary figures here and there working in the
fields, and occasional glimpses of the sea. It is a windy drive; the
colour is sombre, and the clouds which come up in heavy masses from the
sea cast deep shadows over the land.
[Illustration]
If we try to recall the impression of the scene, it is principally of
clouds, as in landscapes by Ruysdael or Géricault. The land for miles is
without sign of habitation, the highest point of interest is a bank of
furze, a stunted tree, or a heap of broken stones, chipped perhaps from
a fallen menhir; a solitude that seems more hopeless and remote from the
tumultuous aspect of the heavens.
But as we approach the town of Pont Croix, and, turning westward,
descend the hills to cross the estuary of Audierne, the view over the
bay is more luxuriant. Below us, through the stems of pine trees that
line the steep road, cut in granite rocks—as we descend to the right
bank of the river Goayen where it widens into an estuary—is the little
fishing village of Audierne, consisting of two or three straight streets
of granite houses, one or two large wharves and warehouses, a
lighthouse, and nearly a mile of protecting sea-wall. The evening is now
fine and calm, and the tide is coming in without a ripple, bringing a
few fishing-boats up to the quay, and attracting the inhabitants on to
the _Place_ in front of the principal inn, the Hôtel du Commerce, where
the portly Père Batifoulier receives us, and provides us with excellent
accommodation. It is a sheltered, sunny spot, surrounded by cultivated
hills, where people come from Quimper to bathe in summer; but if we walk
upon the downs behind the town, we shall get glimpses of a coast almost
as exposed and dangerous to mariners as at Penmarc’h, where the sardine
fishermen are spreading their nets on the grass.
Audierne is within six miles of the famous Pointe du Raz, the Land’s End
of Brittany, beyond which, stretching out into the Atlantic, is the Île
de Sein, inhabited by a poor population of fishermen and seaweed
gatherers. A glance at the map will show the position of the island, and
the “Bec du Raz,” the dangerous channel which divides it from the shore,
through which the fishermen of Audierne and Douarnenez, with many
prayers and crossings of the breast, pass and re-pass in their frail
boats.
It is a dreary road from Audierne to the Pointe du Raz, passing the
villages of Plogoff and Lescoff. At this point the rocks are higher
above the sea than at Penmarc’h, and the scene is altogether more
extensive and magnificent. We are on an elevation of eighty or ninety
feet, and almost surrounded by the sea. To the south and east is the
wide bay of Audierne, to the west the Île de Sein, the ancient home of
Druidesses, and the horizon line of the Atlantic; to the north and east
the bay of Douarnenez, across which is the jutting headland of La
Chèvre.
A cloud of sea-birds rises from the rocks below, and floats away like a
puff of steam, there is an orange tint in the seaweed piled upon the
shore, and a purple tinge upon the distant hills across the bay of
Douarnenez; but the green upon the scanty grass in the foreground is
cold in colour, and almost the only flowers are yellow sea-poppies and
the little white bells of the convolvulus. On every side are piles of
rocks stretching out seaward as barriers against the waves of the
Atlantic; a dangerous, desolate shore, on which many a vessel has been
wrecked. To the north is the Druids’ “Baie des Trépassés,” where,
according to ancient legends, the spirits of the departed wait on the
shore to be taken in boats to the Île de Sein. It is a Celtic legend,
recounted in every history of Brittany.
[Illustration]
The exposed position of the Pointe du Raz, the strange, fantastic
grandeur of the rocks, and the wildness of the waves that beat upon the
shore in almost all weathers, are alone worth a visit. The numerous
artists who stay at Quimper, Douarnenez, and Pont-Aven, in the summer
months would do well to pitch their tents for a time near the Pointe du
Raz, if only to watch from this elevation the changing aspects of sea
and sky, to see the sea, calm and blue in the distance, but dashing
spray in sunshine over walls of rock, and seaweed gatherers on a summer
evening getting in their harvest, as deep in colour as the corn.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Leaving Audierne, and turning eastward towards Douarnenez, following the
course of the river Goayen, we come in about an hour to Pont Croix, an
ancient town of 2500 inhabitants. The church is a fine Romanesque
building of the fifteenth century, with a curious porch and some good
carving in the interior. It is a quiet, rather deserted-looking town, on
an eminence above the river, reminding one in its position and its air
of faded importance of the ecclesiastical city of Coutances, in
Normandy.
[Illustration]
It is a fine drive over undulating hills to Douarnenez, with views of
landscape more fertile than any we have seen since leaving Quimper;
landscape with open moorland, interspersed with fields of corn, where
harvesting is being actively carried on, as in the sketch. Here we get a
glimpse of one of the old farmhouses of Finistère, and (on a very small
scale) of the farmer himself approaching in the distance to superintend
operations.
A few miles farther, and the landscape is again bare and uncultivated,
we see peasants in the fields at rare intervals; flocks of black and
brown sheep feeding on the open land. There is a charm of wildness and a
peculiar beauty about the scenery here that we who write for artists
should insist upon with all the power of the pen. It is the fashion to
stay at Douarnenez and at Pont-Aven, but we have few records of the best
scenery in Cornouaille.
[Illustration: HARVESTING IN FINISTÈRE.]
Douarnenez, the headquarters of the sardine-fisheries, has a population
of about 9000, almost entirely given up to this industry; the men in
their boats, and the women and girls in the factories. It is a busy,
dirty, and not very attractive town, with one principal street leading
down to the port; but walk out of it in any direction, so as to escape
the odours of the sardine factories, and the views from the high ground
are most rewarding.
There is no prettier sight, for instance, than to watch the arrival of a
fleet of several hundred fishing-boats rounding the last promontory,
racing in whilst they are eagerly watched from the shore. At the point
where the sketch was taken, the little fleet divides, to come to anchor
at different inlets of the bay. Of the scene down at the port, where the
boats unload; of the massing of a forest of masts against the evening
sky, with rocks and houses high above as a background, we can only hint
in these pages.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR THE SARDINE BOATS AT DOUARNENEZ.]
At Douarnenez, in summer, the inhabitants are accustomed to an inroad of
visitors who come for the bathing season, and there is a little colony
of artists who live comfortably at the principal inns (_en pension_ for
five or six francs a day), but it is not as quiet as Pont-Aven, of which
we shall speak in the next chapter, for the streets are closely built
and badly paved, and the busy inhabitants wear sabots which are rattled
down to the shore at all hours of the day and night, according to the
tide. Moreover, the inhabitants of the town are scarcely typical
Bretons; they are a little demoralised by success in trade, a little
inclined to smuggling, and decidedly fond of drinking. The men, living
hard lives, facing the most fearful storms of the Atlantic in their
exposed little boats, out sometimes for days without a take, are apt to
be uproarious when on shore. The hardy, bright-featured women of
Cornouaille, whose faces are becoming so familiar to us in these pages,
have a rather sad and reckless look at Douarnenez; their homes are not
too tidy as a rule; the little children play in streets which steam with
refuse from the sardine factories, where their elder sisters are working
in gangs, with bare feet and skirts tucked up to their knees, sifting,
and sorting, and cooking sardines, and singing snatches of Breton songs
the while. The lower streets, steep and narrow, are blocked with
fish-carts, and the port is crowded with boats with nets drying in
festoons. But the view of Douarnenez seen at a little distance out at
sea, with its high rocks and overhanging trees almost reaching to the
water’s edge, and above, the spire of the old church of Ploaré standing
sharp against the sky, will remain best in the memory. There is no end
to the beauties of the bay of Douarnenez, if we explore the
neighbourhood, starting off early for the day and not returning until
sundown.
[Illustration]
In the evening there is a great Bohemian gathering at the Hôtel du
Commerce; its artistic visitors overflow into the street, and make
themselves heard as well as seen. There is a clatter of tongues and a
cloud of smoke issuing from the little café presided over by the neat
figure in the sketch. Those who have been to the Hôtel du Commerce at
Douarnenez will recognise the portrait at once; those who have not must
picture to themselves a girl with dark hair and brown complexion, a
headdress and bodice in which scarlet and gold are intermingled, a dark
skirt with a border of yellow or orange, and a spotless white apron and
sleeves. In soft shoes she flits silently through the rooms and supplies
our clamorous wants in turn; neither remonstrance nor flattery will move
her, or cause her to raise her eyes.
The children of Douarnenez have learned to beg, and along the broad road
which leads to Quimper, beggars are stationed at intervals to waylay the
charitable. Driving home in the little covered carriage shown in the
sketch, a dark object appears before us on the way. Near it, at the side
of the road, is a little shed roughly made with poles and brambles, and,
protruding from it, two sabots filled with straw, two sticks, and a pair
of _bragous bras_. The rest of the structure consists of dried ferns,
and a poor deaf human creature propped up to receive the alms of the
charitable, a grim figure watching and waiting in the sun and wind.
[Illustration]