HENNEBONT.
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From Quimperlé to Hennebont by road or railway, we pass Pont Scorff,
where is the boundary line which divides the departments of Finistère
and Morbihan. We enter now the district of Bas-Bretagne, the Arcadia of
Brittany, of which so much has been written and sung by French writers,
and of which only those who have lingered in its byways have discovered
the charm. It is the part of Brittany most interesting from its historic
associations, the land most strewn with dolmens and menhirs, and
mysterious Druidical remains.
Holiday travellers from Quimper to Vannes pass by the large and busy
town of L’Orient because it is described, truly, as “an uninteresting
modern town with straight streets and quays,” and many also pass by
HENNEBONT. There is no historic interest in L’Orient, whose 40,000
inhabitants are busy in shipping and trade—the trade, amongst other
things, of importing foreign spirits and tobacco, and of planting in
every village in Brittany the cheap manufactured cottons and fineries
which stamp out individuality in costume, the last stronghold of
self-respect amongst the peasants, both men and women. In every remote
village, on church walls and on mediæval towers, is posted in glowing
colours the announcement of a Grand Magasin des Modes at L’Orient, and
every afternoon there comes by train to Hennebont the _Petit Journal_ to
complete the work of civilisation; a little journal, distributed by hand
to all who possess a sou, giving in its daily sheet little beyond
Parisian gossip, but containing sometimes some strange paragraphs like
the following, which would seem of doubtful interest to Bretons:—
“—On adoucit les mains et on les habitue à des mouvements
aristocratiques.”
“—On communique aux jeunes ladies le nom et la profession de leur
futur mari.”
“—On enseigne l’élégance et la grâce en douze heures, succès
garanti.”
“—On loue et on échange de petits enfants.”
“—On coupe les oreilles et la queue aux chiens d’après la dernière
mode.”
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Hennebont is only five miles from L’Orient, and of course some of the
inhabitants wear the modern dress, but it is still very
primitive-looking, being seldom visited by strangers. Sloping southward
towards the river, where ships are loading and unloading at the little
port, is the chief street, shown in the sketch opposite. Hennebont is an
old historic town, containing about 5000 inhabitants, and is the natural
outlet for the produce of the surrounding country. At the upper end the
street widens into a grass-grown _Place_, where is the church of Notre
Dame de Paradis, with its square tower and lofty recessed portal, the
work, it is believed, of an English architect in the sixteenth century,
a structure not in any way very remarkable. The town is divided into the
comparatively modern Ville Neuve, sketched above, the Ville Close, and
the Vieille Ville on the right bank of the Blavet, memorable for its
sieges in the War of Succession in Brittany, and for the exploits of the
Countess of Montfort in defending the city in the fourteenth century, of
which Froissart gives a spirited account in his Chronicles.
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[Illustration]
In the high-street of the town, the Ville Neuve, are the two principal
inns, we can hardly call them hotels, outside one of which a traveller
reposes after the midday meal; and a little below are the older
hostelries, where there have been numerous arrivals during the day.
Opposite, on a low wall, is a shelter of trees, a favourite lounge,
whither come in the afternoon the old and the young to talk, to quarrel,
and to flirt.
[Illustration: REAPERS ON THE ROAD.]
Sit down on the wall and watch the passers by. First a cart, drawn by
diminutive bullocks, heavily laden with field produce, comes lumbering
down, the driver in broad-brimmed hat and heavy sabots; next, a clatter
of hoofs and a troop of high-bred horses, led or ridden by riders in
scarlet coats and white trousers, pass down to the river; they come from
the _haras_ in the neighbourhood, one of the government breeding
establishments; this gives a dash of colour and a style to Hennebont
quite foreign to its ordinary aspect. Next, with heavy, measured tread,
comes a procession, half solemn, half grotesque, of reapers and
professional _batteurs_ changing their quarters. Next comes out and
stands at the door of the Hôtel de France the innkeeper, dressed, unlike
most of his neighbours, in a frock-coat and hat; a slim man in dandy
Parisian attire, almost the only black figure to be seen in Hennebont.
[Illustration]
Women pass busily up and down, carrying heavy loads, some with the white
lappets of their caps thrown backward, treading heavily like beasts of
burden. Excepting for a short time in the heat of the day, when the men
rest and the women knit, there are few unemployed hands in Hennebont.
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The evening brings more activity, the farmers and their wives pack up
and depart in their country carts, shutters open in the dark grey-stone
houses on the _Place_ near the church; the _maire_ and the _avocat_ take
a walk, or a drive with their families; and women and children emerge on
various errands. It is then that out of side streets, and doorways in
walls unlocked with heavy keys, issue, one by one, the fairest
inhabitants of Morbihan, some especially erect, bearing earthen vessels
on their heads, wending their way up the town to a road beyond the
church, where, under the cool shade of trees, and partly shut in by
walls, is the fountain which supplies Hennebont with water. It is a
rendezvous for old and young, men, women, and cattle, a place to see and
to sketch, charming in its sheltered aspect after a midday sun; women
coming and going with their pitchers; men helping or bringing cattle to
water, and numerous washing parties on their knees.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Every way we turn there is a picture of some sort to be sketched; if we
follow the narrow, winding streets of the Ville Close, sheltered by
trees and overshadowed by walls, we come suddenly upon an old
time-stained doorway like that below; and, amongst the people that crowd
the poorer quarter, are many quaint and interesting groups.
[Illustration]
Here we may notice again the harmonious combinations of costume and
buildings, and how the women, tall and straight, clad in draperies of
soft material, seem to give dignity to the most squalid surroundings.
They are a pleasant, homely people at Hennebont; a town worth visiting
before simplicity, individuality, and local costume have passed away.
But the air is close in this valley, and we are too near the main line
of railway; let us turn northward to see something more of the interior
of the province of Morbihan.
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