Again,—

“Ces deux n’en font qu’un.”

[Illustration: 3. Château of Tourlaville.]

A river in the foreground, in the distance a setting sun, motto "Ainsi

puissai-je mourir." This assemblage of devices and mottoes is not

applicable to any particular individual, but may be supposed to be merely

an expression of the taste of the time. They are of the seventeenth

century, when the Ravalet had been succeeded by the Franquetot family, who

have since taken the name of Coigny. Their arms, with several others, are

in the little boudoir in one of the towers, called the Blue Chamber. Its

walls are distempered blue, and the coverlet and hangings of the bed, with

all the decorations of the room, are of the same colour. Having admired

the lovely view from the "Tour des quatre vents," we descended to the

kitchen of the farmer who rents the house, which now belongs to the

Tocqueville family. His wife was busily employed in making "crêpes," a

favourite kind of cake in Normandy and Brittany. It is made generally of

the flour of the sarrasin or buckwheat, mixed with milk or water, and

spread into a kind of pancake, which is fried on an iron pan, resembling

the Scotch griddle-cakes. Another variety, called "galette," is made of

the same ingredients, but differs from the crêpe in its being made three

or four times the thickness, and is therefore not so light. Though

generally made of buckwheat, wheat or oat-flour is sometimes used; and in

the towns, sugar and cinnamon and vanilla are added, and the simple

character of the crêpe entirely changed under the hands of the

confectioner. The little village of Tourlaville was famous for its

glassworks, until supplanted by those of Gobain.

On our return to Cherbourg we visited the lace school of the Sœurs de la

Providence, where about two hundred girls are employed in making black

lace like that of Bayeux, which has now completely superseded the

Chantilly; the manner of making both laces is similar. The old Chantilly

has completely died out, and the modern manufacture extends the whole

length of Normandy from Cherbourg to Bayeux. How the children can keep the

bobbins from entangling is a marvel; there were as many as five hundred on

one pillow. The lace-makers were chiefly employed in flounces, shawls, and

other large works. These are all made in separate pieces, and united by

the stitch called fine joining or "raboutissage." A half-shawl or "pointe"

was divided into thirty segments. We passed the evening at the

Etablissement, and next morning left Cherbourg.

The railway traverses the picturesque and rocky valley of Quincampoix to

Martinvast, whose little Romanesque church stands close to the station,

and at a short distance is the château of Martinvast, where its late

proprietor, M. du Moncel, established a model farm. A monument has been

erected to his memory in the church by the commune of Martinvast.

[Illustration: 4. Castle of Bricquebec.]

At Sottevast we took the omnibus for Bricquebec, which lies nearly five

miles from the station. Its ruined castle, dating from the end of the

fourteenth century, with its lofty octagonal donjon, nearly a hundred feet

high, standing on a high "motte" or artificial mound, has a most imposing

appearance. Bricquebec, the most considerable demesne of the Cotentins,

was taken by King Henry V. from the Sire d’Estouteville, who had so

gallantly defended Mont St. Michel against him. Henry gave Bricquebec to

William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, the ill-fated favourite of Queen

Margaret of Anjou, and he, on being taken prisoner by the French, sold it,

to raise the money for his ransom, to Sir Bertie Entwistle, who fought at

Agincourt, and who held it till the battle of Formigny expelled the

English from Normandy, and Sir Bertie fell at St. Albans in the

Lancastrian cause. The inn, "Hôtel du Vieux Château," is within the

enclosure of the ruins—a most dilapidated old place; our dirty

ill-furnished room next to a hayloft, the horses passing through the house

to the stable, and every kind of litter and rubbish accumulated under the

windows. Yet in the room we occupied had once slept our gracious Sovereign

Queen Victoria. On a placard is inscribed, "Chambre de la famille royale

d’Angleterre, 18 Août 1857;" and below stairs is another, setting forth,

"S. M. la Reine d’Angleterre, le Prince Albert, les Princesses Royale et

Alice, le Prince Alfred, sont descendus à l’hôtel du Vieux Château le 10

Août 1857." About a mile from Bricquebec is a Trappist convent; but we

were not allowed admission beyond the parlour, where is sold a quantity of

cutlery, not made—as we were given to understand when offered for sale—by

the monks.

Regaining the railroad, we went on to Valognes, which has been styled the

St. Germain of Normandy; a dull town, with worn-out houses, occupied by

worn-out aristocratic families. The grass grows in the streets.

Here we left the rail and proceeded to Saint Sauveur-le-Vicomte. On

entering the town, the castle is on the right of the road, the Abbey

church on the left. The large demesne of Saint Sauveur-le-Vicomte passed

by marriage into the Harcourt family, and belonged, in the time of Edward

III., to Geoffrey d’Harcourt, whose fortress was one of the most

formidable in Normandy. Banished from France, he went over to England and

persuaded Edward III. to make a descent upon Normandy instead of Gascony,

assuring him he would find rich towns and fair castles without any means

of defence, and that his people would gain wealth enough to suffice them

for twenty years to come. The King landed at La Hogue, or Saint

Vaast-la-Hogue, as it is now called, where he knighted the Prince of Wales

and made Warwick and Harcourt marshals of his army. They advanced in three

divisions—the King and the Prince in the centre, the two marshals on the

right and left—ravaging all before them, and not stopping in their

victorious course till the great victory at Crecy. Harcourt subsequently

met a traitor’s fate. A force was sent against him, his army was routed,

and, preferring death to being taken, he fought most valiantly until he

was struck to the ground by French lances, when some men-at-arms

dispatched him with their swords. He had sold the reversion of his castle

to King Edward III., to whom it was confirmed by the treaty of Bretigny.

Edward bestowed the barony upon that pride of English chivalry, Sir John

Chandos, in recompense for his great services in the wars. The square

donjon and inner gate were built by Chandos. The castle is well preserved,

and is now used as a hospice for orphans and aged women. The rooms are

kept beautifully clean, and on a tablet in one of the corridors is written

up "Dortoirs restaurés par la munificence de M. le Comte Georges

d’Harcourt en mémoire de ses illustres ayeux, anciens Seigneurs de ce

château, en 1838."

The Benedictine convent also belonged to the Harcourts until the revolt of

Geoffrey. It is now the property of the Sœurs de la Miséricorde, who have

rebuilt the fine Abbey church according to its former model. Originally

built in the eleventh century, it was partly burnt in the fourteenth, and

reconstructed in the fifteenth. The columns and arches of the nave are of

the first period; the form of the church is a Latin cross, having an apse

ornamented with a double row of lancet windows, richly sculptured. The

sculptures are all executed by an untaught workman of the place, who died

before he had completed the pulpit. To collect the funds necessary for the

undertaking, the foundress travelled throughout Europe. Her tomb is in the

church. "Julie Françoise Catherine Postel, née à Barfleur, 1756. Sœur

Marie Madelaine, Fondatrice et première Superieure Générale de l’Institut

des Ecoles Chrétiennes de la Miséricorde, morte en odeur de Sainteté 16

Juillet 1846, à l’Abbaye de St. Sauveur-le-Vicomte." The badge of the

sisterhood is a cross inscribed with their motto "L’obéissance jusqu’à la

mort." Some of the party made an attempt at fishing in the little river

Douve, but without success, though rewarded for their walk by a pretty

view of the apse of the Abbey church, with its delicately-sculptured

lancet windows, from the opposite side of the river.

[Illustration: 5. L’OBÉISSANCE JUSQU’À LA MORT.]

We hired a private carriage (_voiture à volonté_) to Périers. After

passing over a hilly road we crossed a marsh which extends from Carentan

to the sea, and reached a town called La Haye-du-Puits—a singular name

derived from the custom in the middle ages of surrounding the "motte" or

enclosure upon which the donjon was built, with a wooden palisade, or

sometimes with a thick hedge formed of thorns and branches of trees

interlaced: hence La Haye-du-Puits, La Haye-Pesnel, and others. Here is a

Norman church restored: all the capitals of the columns are of the same

pattern.

The Abbey church at Lessay, where next we stopped, is of the twelfth

century, and considered, with Coutances and Périers, to be the finest

examples of Romanesque in the Cotentin. The arches are round, and all the

architecture of the church, which has been restored, is of the same

period. The Abbey of Lessay had transmarine jurisdiction and the right of

presentation to the Priory of Boxgrove and other endowments in the diocese

of Chichester. The Abbey house, now inhabited, is a fine modernised

habitation. At Lessay we saw the manner of washing linen practised in many

places throughout Normandy and Brittany. Being first roughly washed in the

river, the clothes are placed in layers in a large cask, with a bunghole

at the bottom, alternately with wood-ashes, and on the top is laid a piece

of coarse sacking. Boiling water is poured over the top, which, as it

passes through the linen, absorbs the soda of the ashes, escaping at the

bottom and carrying away with it all impurities. This process is repeated

several times till the clothes are perfectly white.

Throughout this part of the country the mistletoe hangs as the sign of a

cabaret; and if cider is sold, some apples are fastened to the bush. On

the road to Périers we crossed a "lande" or common, where we met numerous

carts carrying sea sand, here used to mix with the heavy soil as manure.

At Périers we slept at the little inn "La Croix Blanche," kept by Madame

Casimir, the widow of a Polish officer, well known for her eccentricity

and good cuisine. The entrance to the apartments in the inns is generally

through the kitchen; in many the box bedstead (_lit clos_) stands in the

corner near the fire, Breton fashion. On a barber’s shop we saw painted up

"Içi l’on rajeunit." The church has a tall spire, and is one of the finest

religious edifices in this part of Normandy—painted windows, the capitals

of the columns of varied foliage, and fine groined clustered arches.

We had a most perilous drive to Coutances, the coachman, "en ribote,"

drove us at a fearful pace, and we were thankful when we arrived in

safety. The Norman cathedral is beautiful—so simple, so pure, and elegant;

its tall towers terminating in spires; and the chapels being separated by

open mullioned arches, great lightness is given to the interior. The

Bishop of Coutances was officiating at the consecration of some stones for

a new pavement; each flag was rubbed over and anointed with oil.

[Illustration: 6. Coutances Cathedral.]

The church of St. Pierre has a handsome square tower, pierced gallery, and

apse with a double row of columns. In the church of St. Nicholas we

particularly noticed the fine bosses of the groined arches in the chancel.

The fonts hereabouts have the serpent with the apple, and the cross carved

upon the cover. The church was filled with pots of flowers they were

employed in removing, for the day before had been the Fête of St. Fiacre,

the patron of gardeners. St. Fiacre, or Fiaker, was an Irish monk of the

seventh century, who, according to tradition, obtained from the Bishop of

Meaux a grant of as much ground out of the forest as he could dig a trench

round in one day’s labour, for the purpose of making a garden and

cultivating vegetables for travellers. Long time after, the peasants would

show the ditch ten times longer than was expected, and relate how, when

the Irishman took his stick to trace a line upon the soil, the earth dug

itself under the point of the stick, while the forest trees fell right and

left to save him the trouble of cutting them down. Outside the town are

the remains of an aqueduct, with ivy-covered arches, said to be the work

of the middle ages. It is a good point of view for sketching the

cathedral, and the public gardens also command a fine prospect.

The approach to Granville is by a sharp descent. The town is built at the

foot of a rocky promontory, the streets rising in terraces cut in the

rock, on the top of which are the citadel and the church on the

culminating point. It has been styled a Gibraltar in miniature. A fort was

built here by Lord Scales, who commanded the English forces in the

Cotentin in the time of Henry VI., and it was taken by surprise by

Estouteville, the hero of Saint Michel. The church is cruciform in plan,

the arms of the cross being equal. The axis of the nave is inclined to the

left, as we afterwards observed that of the Creizker at St. Pol de Léon.

It has been lately restored, and the painted windows are offerings of the

different families of the town. The view from the top of the "Roc" is very

extensive, including the Chausey islands and Jersey. A steamer runs twice

a week to St. Helier. A deep cutting in the rocks opens on the beach,

where the bathing-machines are stationed—curious little canvas huts

carried upon poles, like sedan chairs. The tide here rises 45 feet. It was

to Granville the Vendean army, commanded by La Rochejacquelin, appointed

generalissimo at twenty-two, marched after their fatal step of crossing

the Loire, expecting to make a junction with the English; but Granville

was vigorously defended, contrary winds retarded the arrival of the

English fleet, and the retreat from the coast, where it might have been

supported by the English, was the ruin of the Royalist army. Of the 80,000

who crossed the Loire sixty days before, only 8000 remained to make their

last heroic resistance at Savenay, which ended the great Vendean war. A

few months after, the hero of this noble army, the chivalrous Henri de la

Rochejacquelin, fell from the bullet of a soldier whose life he had

spared(1):—

“Lorsqu’en des jours trop malheureux

Pâlissait l’astre de la France;

Quand les cœurs les plus valeureux

Semblaient perdre toute espérance,

L’antique honneur, la sainte foi,

Brillèrent dans cette contrée;

Mourir pour son Dieu, pour son roi,

Fut le serment de la Vendée.”

The costume of the Granville women is singular. They wear long black

cloaks or mantles, edged with a frill of the same material, and on their

heads a kind of bandeau or under-cap, turned up at the ears, surmounted by

a white handkerchief, folded square and placed horizontally upon the head,

like the plinth of a Grecian capital.

We drove to St. Pair, a small watering-place about two miles from

Granville, nicely situated in a little sandy bay. In the middle of the

church is the monumental tomb of St. Pair and another saint (St. Gault);

their effigies, with mitre and crozier, side by side.

Next day we had a beautiful drive to Avranches. A winding road leads up to

the town, which is situated on an elevated plateau, commanding a view of

Brittany on one side and of Normandy on the other—a broad expanse of land

and sea, the former extending over the valley of the Sée, with its network

of small streams interlacing each other; Mont St. Michel appears in the

distance. The finest view is from the Botanic gardens. The cathedral of

Avranches fell at the end of the last century, but a model of it is

preserved in the museum. One stone remains, carefully surrounded by

massive chains, with an inscription recording that it was the spot where

Henry II. received absolution for the murder of Thomas à Becket:—"Sur

cette pierre, içi à la porte de la cathédrale d’Avranches, après le

meurtre de Thomas Becket, Archévêque de Cantorbéry, Henri II., roi

d’Angleterre, duc de Normandie, reçut à genoux, des légats du pape,

l’absolution apostolique, le dimanche xxii Mai, 1172." The cemetery is at

the foot of the hill; the tombs are of granite, with the letters in

relief: among them we read many well-known English names.

At Pontorson we could find no remains of the castle of Du Guesclin, which

was nearly surprised by the English under a captain named Felton, during

the absence of Du Guesclin, with the connivance of the "chambrières" of

the Lady Typhaine, his wife. Already their scaling-ladders were against

the wall, when Juliana, Du Guesclin’s sister, agitated by a troublous

dream, awoke suddenly, seized a sword, rushed to the window, and upset

three English who were coming up the ladder, and they were killed by the

fall. The enemy retired. Next morning Du Guesclin, on his return to

Pontorson, met Felton and his party, attacked them, and took them

prisoners. When Typhaine saw Felton, she tauntingly exclaimed, "Comment,

brave Felton, vous voilà encore! C’est trop pour un homme de cœur comme

vous d’être battu, dans une intervalle de douze heures, une fois par la

sœur, une autre par le frère." Du Guesclin caused the faithless

"chambrières" to be sewed up in sacks and flung into the river.

John IV. Duke of Brittany conferred upon Du Guesclin the government of

Pontorson, of which territory he was personally lord, by right of his

mother. It was here he often resided, and here he celebrated being made

Constable of France by King Charles V., and fraternised with Olivier de

Clisson, agreeing to afford each other mutual help—"contre tous ceux qui

peuvent vivre et mourir." The granite church was founded by Duke Robert,

father of the Conqueror.

Pontorson is the most convenient place for visiting Mont St. Michel. Our

drive thither was by the banks of the river Couësnon, along a sandy road,

bordered on each side by hedges of tamarisks, which leads to the "Grève,"

or sands, which have to be crossed to reach the Mount, a distance of

rather more than a mile. We met numbers of bare-legged half-clad women and

children, bringing in the produce of their fishing, shrimps and cockles

tied up in nets, and peasants with carts carrying in sea sand for dressing

the land. The appearance of Mont St. Michel is very imposing, a cone of

granite encircled by the sea. Above rises the fortress, surmounted by the

church, a height of 400 feet from the top to the water. Below, at the foot

of the Mount, picturesquely situated on an insulated rock, is the little

chapel of St. Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, the founder of St. Michel. The

Mount has been the residence of many of our English princes. Matilda,

queen of the Conqueror, visited St. Michel. It was here her son Henry I.,

then only Count of the Cotentin, was blockaded by his brothers William and

Robert, and obliged to surrender. Here Henry II. held his court, and, when

Henry V. overran Normandy, St. Michel was the only fortress that held out

against him, under its gallant defender Louis d’Estouteville of

Bricquebec. Two cannons, now at the entrance of the castle, are said to

have been taken from the English at the siege. Normandy was always the

scene of the quarrels between the English Norman princes, of the disputes

between the sons of the Conqueror, between Stephen of Blois and Henry of

Anjou, and again of those between Henry II. and his sons, and of Richard

and his brother John, to the latter of whom the Normans were attached.

Seven French kings have made pilgrimages to St. Michel; and here Louis XI.

instituted the order of knighthood, called in honour of the archangel St.

Michael, but afterwards styled the order of the Coquille, from the

cockleshells that formed the collar of the knights, and the golden

cockle-shells that bordered their mantles. The motto of the order was the

old motto of the Mount, "Immensi tremor Oceani" (the trembling of the

immeasurable ocean), being an allusion to the popular belief that when the

English approached St. Michel, the guardian archangel of the Mount raised

a tempest to drive the enemy’s vessels upon the rocks. This belief may be

traced back to the time when the island was occupied by the Druid

priestesses, who were supposed to have the power of raising storms and

stilling them by their magic arrows of gold.

We ascended by the flight of steps to the "Merveille," as the convent

building is called, and well it deserves its name, from its elegance, its

boldness, and its position, with a wall of above one hundred feet high,

and of immense length, rising from the rock and supported by fifteen

buttresses, and divided into three stories. In every point of view it is

one of the most remarkable edifices of the thirteenth century. The salle

des chevaliers, where the chapters of the knights were held, is a fine

hall, with three rows of columns, and above it are the beautiful Gothic

cloisters. The "préau" or court is surrounded by a double row of pointed

arches, interlacing each other, and filled in with flowered spandrils and

cornices, carved with the greatest delicacy and endless variety. The

church which crowns the building is supported by a circle of enormous

columns in the crypt beneath, called the Souterrain des Gros Piliers: it

has been entirely restored, and the carvings are the work of the prisoners

who were confined here. From one of the doors we went out to the platform

or terrace called Beauregard, from the beauty of its prospect, or

sometimes Sault Gautier, from a prisoner of that name, who three times

threw himself off the platform to commit suicide. The view from hence is

most extensive, the whole circuit of the bay extending to the west as far

as Cancale. In 1203 St. Michel became a royal demesne, and the buildings

were entirely reconstructed by the Abbot Jourdan, assisted by Philip

Augustus; and the works were continued by his successors to 1260.

Beneath and adjacent to the Mount, is the little island of La Tombeleine

or tombeau d’-Helène, so called from a young lady of that name, who unable

to accompany her lover knight when he left for England with the Conqueror,

as soon as the vessel which carried him away disappeared from her sight,

laid down on the shore and died. Every year, on the anniversary of her

death, the fishermen will tell you they see a dove seated upon the

Tombeleine rock, and remain there till morning’s dawn.

The guide pointed out to us the window of St. Michel, from which Barbès

tried to escape by means of a cord made of his sheets cut into strips and

tied together; but the line was too short, and he fell upon the rock and

was taken up much hurt. The provisions for the fortress are brought in up

an inclined plane, and raised by means of a tread-wheel, formerly worked

by the prisoners. We were conducted to the spot where stood, with bars

only three inches apart, the iron cage in which so many celebrities were

immured. Dubourg, the Dutch journalist, who wrote against Louis XIV., died

within its bars, devoured, it is said, by the rats. In 1777, the Comte

d’Artois (afterwards Charles X.) desired it should be destroyed, but his

wishes were disregarded. His cousin, the Duc de Chartres (afterwards Louis

Philippe), with his brother and sister, and Madame de Genlis, subsequently

visited the Mount. All exclaimed against the iron cage, and when they

heard that the Comte d’Artois had ordered its destruction, they sent for

hatchets, and the Duc de Chartres gave the first blow towards its

demolition; but the fine old fortress is no longer desecrated as a prison.

The Emperor has restored it to its original position, and it is now placed

under the control of the Bishop of Coutances, and is used as an asylum for

orphans under the care of a few Sisters.

Next morning we crossed the boundary between Normandy and Brittany, the

river Couësnon, which has often changed its course, once, it is said,

running beyond St. Michel—hence the popular saying—

“Le Couësnon par sa folie

A mis le Mont en Normandie.”

We had a beautiful drive to Dol or Dol-de-Bretagne, as it is styled, to

distinguish it from the fortress of the same name in the Jura, upon the

taking of which Madame de Sevigné writes in her letters with so much

enthusiasm. We were now fairly in Brittany, which though geographically

part of France still remains very distinct, owing to the Celtic origin of

its inhabitants. Brittany consists of five departments; but it is in Lower

Brittany alone, comprised in the departments of Finistère, Morbihan, and

the Côtes-du-Nord, that the true Celtic race, its language, names,

features, costumes, and superstitions are to be found.

This is the true Brittany, the Bretagne Bretonnante of Froissart, who

calls the eastern part of the province, La Bretagne Douce, because the

French language is spoken there. Dol was the great bulwark of Brittany

against Normandy; the wall and moat surrounding the town, with some of the

towers, still remain. Many of the houses are built, as the French term it,

"en colombage" that is, with the upper story projecting some fifteen feet

over the ground-floor, forming a gallery or porch supported by oak posts

or columns with sculptured capitals of the thirteenth century. The inn we

occupied had one of these porches: Madame Barbot, our landlady, and her

maid, were both dressed in Breton costume, with lace-trimmed embroidered

caps and aprons of fine muslin, clear-starched and ironed with a

perfection which the most accomplished "blanchisseuse du fin" of Paris

would find it difficult to surpass. The people here have the Breton

physiognomy, sharp black eyes, short roundi faces and brown freckled

complexions, a contrast to the blue eyes, long oval faces, and bright

tints of their Norman neighbours.

[Illustration: 7. Pilaster and Cornice from the Tomb of Bishop James,

Cathedral, Dol.]

The principal building at Dol is the Cathedral, built of grey granite, in

the style of many of our English churches. On the south is the "porte

episcopale," a large projecting porch with mullioned sides, and, near it,

a smaller porch with a central column semée of hearts, the "armes

parlantes" of Bishop Cœuret who built it. The clustered columns of the

nave, consist of a central pillar surrounded by four others running up to

the roof, so slender and delicate that they are united to the centre by

small bars of iron. Over the high altar is an enormous wooden crozier,

carved and gilt, from which the Host is suspended. A beautiful Renaissance

tomb on the north side of the cathedral was raised in 1507 to the memory

of Bishop James, who died three years before. The sculpture is much

mutilated, but the arabesques are most delicately and elegantly chiselled.

It is supposed to be the work of Jean Just of Tours, sculptor of the

magnificent tomb of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany, erected at St. Denis

by order of Francis I.

[Illustration: 8. Front of the Tomb of Bishop James, Cathedral, Dol.]

The chapel of St. Samson, patron saint of the cathedral, has been

restored. Mad people were brought here for cure, and placed in a recess

which still remains; the opening was covered over by an iron grating. Dol

was formerly the ecclesiastical metropolis of Brittany; the see was

founded by Samson, one of those British monks, who, with a whole

population of men and women, emigrated from England to escape the Saxon

slavery. They crossed the Channel in barks made of skins sewn together,

singing, as they went, the Lamentations of the Psalmist. This emigration

lasted more than a century (from 450 to 550), and poured a Christian

population into a Celtic country where paganism was longest preserved. St.

Samson and his six suffragans—all monks, missionaries, and bishops, like

himself—were called the "Seven Saints of Brittany;" St. Samson was what

was termed an "evêque portatif," meaning a bishop without a diocese, until

he founded that of Dol. Telio, also a British monk, with the assistance of

St. Samson, planted near Dol an orchard three miles in length, and to him

is attributed the first introduction of the apple-tree into Brittany.

Wherever the monks went, they cultivated the soil; all had in their mouths

the words of the Apostle, "If any would not work, neither should he eat."

The people admired the industry of the new comers, and, from admiration

they passed to imitation; the peasants joined the monks in tilling the

ground, and even the brigands became agriculturists. "The Cross and the

plough, labour and prayer," was the motto of these early missionaries.

“Sûr que le Ciel maudit l’arbre stérile,

Le sage passe en opérant le bien:

Vivre et mourir à l’univers utile,

C’est la devise et l’esprit du chrétien.”

_Chants de Piété_, MALO DE GARABY.

The monks of Dol were great bee-farmers, as we learn from an anecdote told

by Count Montalembert in his ’Moines de l’Occident.’ One day when St.

Samson of Dol and St. Germain, Bishop of Paris, were conversing on the

respective merits of their monasteries, St. Samson said that his monks

were such good and careful preservers of their bees that, besides the

honey which they yielded in abundance, they furnished more wax than was

used in the churches during the year, but that, their climate not being

fit for the growth of vines, they had great scarcity of wine. Upon hearing

this, St. Germain replied, "We, on the contrary, produce more wine than we

can consume, but we have to buy wax; so, if you will furnish us with wax,

we will give you a tenth of our wine." Samson accepted the offer, and the

mutual arrangement was continued during the lives of the two saints.

The marshy country round Dol has been formerly inundated by the sea; it is

now reclaimed and protected by a dyke twenty-two miles long, extending

from Pontorson to Chateauneuf. The whole tract is full of buried wood, a

submerged forest, which the people dig up, and use for furniture. It is

black, like the Irish bog-oak. They call it "couëron." In the midst of

this plain rises a mamelon or insulated granite rock, resembling in form

Mont St. Michel, called the Mont Dol. On the top is the little chapel of

Notre Dame de l’Espérance, upon which was formerly a telegraph, and near

it is a column surmounted by a colossal statue of Our Lady. Mont Dol was a

consecrated place of the Druids. The guides showed us a spring which never

dries, and also a rock upon which they point out the print of the foot of

the demon, left by him when wrestling with St. Michael. We met the curé,

who gave us a medal of the church, and told us the principal points in the

view before us, extending over the whole Bay of Cancale.

[Illustration: 9. Menhir, near Dol.]

On our way back to Dol, we walked to a cornfield, in the midst of it

stands a menhir(2) (they are so termed from the Breton _mœn_, stone, and

_hir_, long), called the "Pierre du champ dolant," a shaft of gray

granite, about thirty feet high, and said to measure fifteen more

underground. On the top is a cross. The first preachers of Christianity,

unable to uproot the veneration for the menhirs, surmounted them with the

cross, preserving the worship but changing the symbol. In the same manner,

they did not attempt to destroy the veneration for sacred groves and

fountains, but transferred to new saints the miracles of times past.

We drove through a pretty country to see the Château of Combourg, where

Chateaubriand passed his early days. It is a fine square castle of the

fifteenth century, with massive towers at each corner, surrounded by

trees, and standing proudly over the village below. The drawbridge has

been replaced by a modern "perron" or flight of stone steps, which leads

to the entrance hall. The salle d’honneur looks over a lake. We were taken

into his little melancholy room which Chateaubriand so well describes.

[Illustration: 10. Château of Combourg.]

"La fenêtre de mon donjon s’ouvrait sur le cour intérieure; le jour,

j’avais en perspective les créneaux de la courtine opposeé, où

végétaient des scolopendres et croissait un prunier sauvage. Quelques

martinets, qui, durant l’été, s’enfonçaient en criant dans les trous des

murs, étaient mes seuls compagnons. La nuit je n’apercevais qu’un petit

morceau du ciel et quelques étoiles. Lorsque la lune brillait et qu’elle

s’abaissait à l’occident, j’en étais averti par ses rayons, qui venaient

à mon lit au travers des carreaux losangés de la fenêtre. Des chouettes

voletant d’un tour à l’autre, passant et repassant entre la lune et moi,

dessinaient sur mes rideaux l’ombre mobile de leurs ailes."

The bed on which Chateaubriand died has been brought from Paris and placed

in the room.

[Illustration: 11. Peasant Girl of Cancale.]

The next morning we left Dol for Cancale, of such world-wide celebrity for

its oysters. We left the railway at La Gouesnière, five miles and a half

from Cancale, to which we proceeded by the mail cart. It requires to

travel in Brittany to form any notion of the detestable vehicles, whether

public or "voitures à volonté," in which travellers in this country are

condemned to ride. Uncleaned, unpainted, creaking, jolting machines—as

fully tenanted with every kind of insect annoyance, as if one were

travelling in a hen-house. The horses are good, hardy, enduring little

animals, which go their thirty to fifty miles a day without any distress

either to themselves or the traveller. The Breton drivers are gentle and

kind, making more use of their voices than of their whips in urging on

their horses. The town of Cancale is situated on the heights, a

precipitous descent leading to the village below, called La Houle, which

lines the edge of the shore, and is occupied mostly by fishermen. This is

the port, and here are the pier and the lighthouse, and also a comfortable

inn to which the people of St. Malo resort in large parties, an omnibus

running thence daily. The panoramic view of the bay of Cancale is

beautiful and most extensive, one vast crescent of sand some ten square

leagues in extent, stretching from the picturesque rocks of Cancale to

Granville, its most northern point, and including Mont Dol, Mont St.

Michel, and Avranches. The western side is lined with huts and windmills,

but the water is so shallow that no boat can land. Having walked round the

little hurdled-in oyster parks, numbering, we were told, about 600, and

made ourselves very wet and dirty, though we borrowed sabots to enable us

to wade through the mud, we returned to the inn, and next day reached St.

Malo.

[Illustration: 12. Tomb of Chateaubriand, and View of St. Malo.]

St. Malo stands on a small granite island at the mouth of the Rance,

connected, by a causeway called "Le Sillon," with the mainland. The space

it occupies is so small, that castle, churches, streets, and towers are

all crowded together, and the whole is nearly surrounded by a sea wall,

which makes the town appear as if rising straight out of the ocean.

Towards the sea, the bay is encircled with groups of craggy islets, many

surmounted by forts, bristling up as the tide recedes, in every direction.

Conspicuous among these island rocks is that called the Grand Bé, chosen

by Chateaubriand for his last resting-place, as he wished to be buried

near the place of his birth. Singularly enough the name of the island "Bé"

signifies a tomb. On his request being granted, Chateaubriand wrote to the

Mayor of St. Malo.

"Enfin, Monsieur, j’aurai un tombeau, et je vous le devrai, ainsi qu’à

mes bienveillants compatriotes. Vous savez, Monsieur, que je ne veux que

quelques pieds de sable, une pierre de rivage sans ornement et sans

inscription, une simple croix de fer, et une petite grille pour empêcher

les animaux de me deterrer. La croix dira que l’homme réposant à ses

pieds était un Chrétien; cela suffit à ma mémoire."

At low water, the island is accessible on foot. The tomb consists of a

plain stone without inscription, surmounted by a granite cross, and is

surrounded by an iron railing. It is placed on the edge of a rock, and is

the resort of crowds of pilgrims.

"La vaste mer murmure autour de son cercueil."

The Hôtel de France is the house where Chateaubriand’s family lived, and

the room he occupied is filled with various memorials of him. The

Chateaubriand arms hang upon the wall. They were given by St. Louis to an

ancestor who was wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Massoura. The

King changed the peacock’s plumes, previously borne by the family, to

fleurs de lys on a field gules, with the proud motto "Mon sang teint les

bannières de France." The tides here rise to between forty and fifty feet

above low-water mark, so that the harbour is dry at low water, and is

crossed on foot to go to St. Servan, the suburb on the opposite side.

We walked round the ramparts and were shown the little gate down which

were sent every night the watch dogs of St. Malo, "chiens Anglais qui

s’appelent dogues." Shut up during the day, they were let out at ten at

night, and recalled in the morning to the sound of a copper trumpet, by

their keeper, styled the "chiennetier." Enactments were made for their

maintenance, called the "droit de chiennage." When let loose at night, a

warning bell was rung to apprise the inhabitants, as they tore the legs of

every one they met. Hence it used to be said "Il a été à St. Malo, les

chiens lui ont rongé les mollets." In 1770, a naval officer trying to

force a passage was attacked by a troop of these dogs prowling between St.

Malo and St. Servan; his sword was useless as defence, and, exhausted, in

despair he threw himself into the sea, but here he was followed by the

dogs and torn to pieces. A few days after they were all destroyed by the

municipality, and the custom of keeping them has been since discontinued.

In an old map of St. Malo, or "Saint Malo de l’isle," as it was then

styled, preserved in the Imperial Library at Paris, is laid down, near the

"Sillon" a little sentry-box marked, "Corps-de-garde de nuit pour les

chiens," and again, near the "Tour de la grande Porte," is the "Pont aux

chiens." The date of the map is 1662. The arms of St. Malo till the

seventeenth century were, on a field argent, a mastiff gules.

The castle dates principally from the Queen-Duchess Anne, and one of its

massive towers, the "Qui qu’en grogne" is a memorial of her dauntless

spirit. Twice crowned Queen of France, she was the only one of her line

worthy of the ducal crown. The Bishop of St. Malo was temporal lord of the

town, and maintained he held it direct from the Pope, as a fief of the

Church, because it was built upon land where a convent formerly stood; and

consequently the Duke of Brittany had no authority over it, either

spiritual or temporal. Duke John V. began to build a castle, but the

Bishop opposed himself to its construction, and the contest lasted on

until the time of the Queen-Duchess Anne, who, in defiance of the Bishop,

and to shew that she was and always would be sovereign of St. Malo,

finished the fortress and caused the lofty inscription to be placed in

raised letters upon the great tower: "Qui qu’en grogne, ainsi sera, c’est

mon plaisir;"—so runs the legend, but unfortunately a similar story is

told of Louis II., Duke of Bourbon.

On the opposite side of the mouth of the Rance is Dinard, lately become a

favourite watering-place; it has good sands, and houses and villas are

rapidly rising up in every direction, and covering its granite hills.

The prettiest route to Dinan is by the little steamer which ascends the

Rance, a lovely voyage, occupying about two hours. The banks one mixture

of rocks, valleys, and verdure; the river now expanding into the width of

a lake, now narrowing between its forest-clothed sides. After passing

through a lock, and, winding our way through a narrow pass of rocky crags,

we reached the bridge of Dinan; above us, the gigantic granite viaduct

stretched across the valley, the town, with its feudal walls and castle,

perched on its rocky heights over the river.

In the Grande Place is a miserable statue of Du Guesclin, who looks more

like a wandering minstrel than the hero of Brittany and Constable of

France. His life forms quite an historic romance. His future greatness was

foretold by a prophetess; his wife, the Lady Tiphaine, was herself a

fairy; his battles resemble those of the giants of old. Du Guesclin was

born at Broons, and was the eldest of ten children and of great trouble to

his parents. One day his mother dreamt she was in possession of a casket,

containing portraits of herself and her lord, and on one side were set

nine precious stones of lustrous beauty encircling one rough unpolished

pebble. In her dream she carried the casket to a lapidary, and asked him

to take out the rough stone as unworthy of such goodly company; but he

advised her to allow it to remain, and subsequently it shone forth more

brilliantly than the precious gems with which it was surrounded. The after

superiority of Bertrand over the other nine children explained the dream.

It was in this "Place," where his statue now stands, the celebrated duel

took place between Du Guesclin and an English knight, called by the Breton

chroniclers Thomas of Cantorbéry. Dinan was at that time closely besieged

by the Duke of Lancaster (1359), with the young Count de Montfort, and

defended by Du Guesclin. A truce of forty days had been agreed upon,

before the expiration of which Oliver, brother of Du Guesclin, rode out

unarmed beyond the city walls, and was made prisoner by Thomas of

Cantorbéry, who demanded a ransom of 1000 florins. On this news reaching

Du Guesclin, he immediately repaired to the English camp, where he found

the Duke of Lancaster playing chess with Sir John Chandos. They received

him most cordially, and agreed that the dispute should be settled by a

combat within the walls, the Duke of Lancaster consenting to preside.

Victory declared in favour of Du Guesclin, who would have cut off the head

of his adversary, had not the Duke of Lancaster interceded for his life.

Cantorbéry was dragged upon a hurdle out of the lists, and condemned to

pay 1000 florins to Oliver; his horse and armour were given to Bertrand,

and the felon knight expelled the English army.

We drove to see the Castle of Montafilant, one of the apanages of the

Rohan family, which passed with many others to the unfortunate Gilles de

Bretagne, by his marriage with the heiress Françoise de Dinan. The castle

is approached by a steep winding path, leading to the plateau upon which

it stands. Before the use of firearms, its position rendered it

impregnable. Of its seven towers, two only remain.

The story of Gilles de Bretagne forms the subject of a romance by the

Vicomte Walsh. Though his conduct was not free from blame, his long

captivity and tragic end have rendered this unfortunate prince an object

of pity to posterity. Third son of Duke John V., he was reared with Henry

VI. of England, and personally attached to the English; but he never was

in league with England against his own country, and his uncle the

Constable Richemont regarded him as the honour and hope of his house. His

wife Françoise was the most beautiful and accomplished woman of her time,

the "perle de noblesse, de gentilesse, et de savoir;" and moreover

possessed of the rich inheritance of her uncle Bertrand de Dinan, of the

Montafilant branch. She had been betrothed from her infancy to the Sire de

Gavre, son of Guy, Comte de Laval; but her father died when she was only

eight years old, and Gilles de Bretagne carried her off by force.

Dissatisfied with his paternal inheritance, the lordship of Champtocé, he

retired to Guildo, one of the châteaux of Françoise’s dower, where he

passed his time in company with his English archers. His withdrawal from

court was represented to Duke Francis as the beginning of a revolt, by

Arthur de Montauban, his bitterest enemy and a great favourite of the

Duke. Gilles neglected his young wife, and she is reported, in an

unguarded moment, to have said to Montauban, she would marry him "if her

husband were to die." Duke Francis was determined to get rid of his

brother, and Charles VII. was persuaded to assist him in his vile design.

The King arrested Gilles on the charge of high treason, as being in

correspondence with the English; and, in proof of the charge, his enemies

produced forged letters from the King of England compromising the loyalty

of Gilles. Charles gave him over to his brother for punishment. In vain

were Gilles’s supplications to the Duke, or the entreaties of the

Constable, who went to Dinan and knelt to Francis to beg for the pardon of

his brother. Equally fruitless his being acquitted at Rédon, from there

being no proof of his guilt. The unfortunate Gilles was dragged from

prison to prison, and consigned to keepers destitute of every feeling of

humanity. Montauban, an Italian by descent (his mother was a Visconti),

sent for poison from Lombardy, and administered in his soup a strong dose,

which the good constitution of Gilles enabled him to resist. Starvation

was then tried, and the wretched Gilles would stand at his prison window,

calling on the passers by to give him bread: "Du pain, du pain pour

l’amour de Dieu," but no one ventured to relieve him. At last, a poor

woman dared to give him food, and placed a loaf on the edge of his grated

window, continuing for six months to share with him in secret her scanty

meal of black bread. Seeing that he could hold out no longer and that his

death was determined upon, Gilles begged the woman would fetch him a

minister of religion, that he might confess before he died. By stealth she

brought him a Cordelier monk, who confessed him across the bars of his

prison, and Gilles adjured him to seek his brother and acquaint him with

his pitiable condition. The monk started on his errand, but in the mean

time the gaolers of Gilles determined on putting an end to his life. They

twisted a cloth round his neck, and smothered him between two mattresses

while he slept. The monks of Bosquen carried his body to their abbey for

interment, and the wooden effigy that was placed over his grave is still

preserved in the Museum at St. Brieuc. The monk who had received Gilles’s

confession went in quest of Duke Francis, who, on hearing of his brother’s

death when at Avranches, had left for Saint Michel. The monk met him on

the Grève, and cited him in the name of his brother "de la part du Messire

Gilles" to appear within fifty days at the tribunal of Heaven to answer

for his murder. The menace was realised. Duke Francis died within the

appointed time, struck with remorse, and terrified at the summons of the

Cordelier. The monk was never seen again. On the death of Gilles, the Duke

of Brittany himself wished to marry Françoise, but she would not listen to

his proposals; and at last was obliged, in order to recover her liberty,

to marry the aged Comte de Laval, father of her betrothed, with whom she

lived peacefully thirty years, and had three sons. Duke Francis II.

appointed her to the charge of rearing his daughter Anne.

Arthur Montauban turned monk to avoid the vengeance of Duke Peter, brother

of Gilles, and eventually became Archbishop of Bordeaux. The Pope gave him

the Abbey of Rédon, but popular indignation prevented him from accepting

the appointment.

On our return from Montafilant we stopped to visit the Lunatic Asylum

(Asile des aliénés), called Les Bas Foins, kept by the brothers of

Saint-Jean-de-Dieu. There are six hundred inmates under the charge of

about sixty brethren. The buildings, with the chapel, are very handsome

and most complete in all the arrangements. Within the enclosure is a large

piece of land. The lunatics are employed in agricultural, garden, and

house occupations; they look very contented and happy. Visitors are not

allowed to speak to them. We omitted seeing the Croix du Saint Esprit, a

curiously sculptured Gothic granite cross of the fourteenth century, not

far from the asylum.

The castle of Dinan is now a prison. It was occupied by the Queen-Duchess

Anne, when on her way to a pilgrimage to Notre Dame-du-Folgoët, in

fulfilment of a vow made during the illness of Louis XII. In the chapel is

shewn a sculptured seat, still called the arm-chair of the Duchess Anne.

Within these walls were crammed, in the last century, about 2000 English

prisoners of war, many of whom fell victims to a contagious fever. From

the platform of the keep we had a magnificent view of the surrounding

country, extending to Mont Dol and the sea.

The church of St. Sauveur has a richly sculptured Romanesque portal. It

contains the heart of Du Guesclin, transferred from the church of the

Dominicans, where he desired it to be interred by the side of his wife

Tiphaine. His body was buried at St. Denis, in a tomb King Charles V.

caused to be made in his lifetime, and he left orders that on his death

his Constable should repose at his feet. On the dark-coloured monumental

stone now incrusted on the wall, are roughly sculptured his arms (an eagle

displayed charged with a cotice(3)), with a commemorative inscription in

gold letters:—

“Cy: gist: le cueur: de

Missire: bertram: du gueaquī

en: son vivāt: conētiable de

france: qui: trepassa: le: xiii^e

jour: de: jullet: l’an: mil iii^e

IIII^xx dont: son: corps: repos

avecques: ceulx: des: Roys

a sainct: denis en France.”

Above hangs a painting representing the Governor of Châteauneuf Randon,

laying the keys of the town upon the dead body of the Constable.(4)

[Illustration: 13. Effigy of Jean de Beaumanoir.]

Many of the streets of Dinan preserve the character of the Middle Ages,

the houses upon columns forming a kind of porch or covered way; and most

curious of all is the dirty, steep, narrow, winding street, called the Rue

de Jerzual, a ravine extending from the top of the town, in one pitch, to

the river’s edge. The Museum at the Mairie has an interesting collection

of tumulary slabs—recumbent figures taken from different churches and

abbeys, mostly from the Beaumanoir chapel of the Abbey of Lehon. There is

one of Jean de Beaumanoir, son of the hero of the "Combat des Trente,"

treacherously slain by his steward. He is represented in full armour, but

with his head bare, to indicate the manner of his death. The effigy of his

wife is also in complete armour, but on the belt that encircles her waist,

like those worn by the knights, is sculptured a wreath of roses. She was a

Du Guesclin by birth, and her feet repose upon an eagle, the bearing of

her house. The statue of Roland, Vicomte de Dinan, one of the nine great

Barons of Brittany in the twelfth century, is of gigantic proportions; the

warrior is clad from head to foot in chain mail, but he holds one of his

gauntlets in his hand. In the Museum is also a clock given to the city of

Dinan by the Duchess Anne, inscribed with the name of its maker and the

date of its construction: "1498, à Nantes par M. Hainzer de cette ville."

The ancient bronze standard measures (étalons) of Dinan are decorated with

the arms of the City, and Gothic inscriptions in relief, "Cart (quart) à

gros blé pour Dinan"—"Cart à fourmant (froment) pour Dinan"—and "Bouesceau

à scel (boisseau à sel) pour Dinan." Portraits of Du Guesclin and other

Breton worthies are in one of the rooms (Salle de l’Odéon). That of the

Constable answers to the description given of his appearance. He was low

in stature, with large Breton head, broad shoulders, long arms, and large

hands. His eyes were green, and his complexion swarthy: "la peau noire

comme un sanglier."

[Illustration: 14. Château of La Bellière.]

The drives round Dinan are endless in variety,(5) and all beautiful. We

took a carriage to see the Château of la Bellière, about five miles and a

half from Dinan, formerly the residence of Du Guesclin’s wife, the

celebrated Lady Tiphaine; her name answers probably to our English

Tiffany:—

“William de Coningsby—

Came out of Brittany

With his wife Tiffany

And her maid Manifas

And his doggs Hardigras.”

[Illustration: 15. Chimney. Château of La Bellière.]

The Lady Tiphaine was heiress and daughter of the Vicomte de Bellière; so

deeply versed was she in astrology, she was called Tiphaine la Fée. During

her husband’s absence in Spain, she resided at Mont Saint Michel, having

chosen this insulated spot for the facilities it afforded her of studying

the stars. She gave Du Guesclin a calendar on vellum, containing verses at

the beginning of each month, pointing out the lucky and unlucky days; how

many she marked down as such, we know not. Tycho Brahe had thirty-two

fatal days in his calendar. Had Du Guesclin consulted this precious

volume, which is now preserved in the Library at Avranches, he would never

have risked his fortune by fighting the battle of Auray on the Feast of

St. Michel, one of the fatal days against which she specially warns him in

her book. We wished to have seen the room where she died, and where many

memorials of her are preserved; but the proprietor was at his déjeuner,

and would not grant us admittance, so we were forced to be content with

seeing the exterior of the house, a château of the end of the fourteenth

century. It stands on the edge of a large sheet of water, in the midst of

trees on the roadside between Dinan and St. Malo. Its principal

characteristics are its tall octagonal chimney-shafts, composed of

granite, brick, and slate. They are surmounted by pieces of slate placed

edgeways and forming a kind of capital or coronet to the granite shaft.

Some of the chimneys have two circles of these coronets, and others are

enriched with little rows of arches, of which the sombre slate background

throws out the delicate ornamentation. Recrossing the magnificent viaduct,

we proceeded to visit the Benedictine Priory of Lehon, called in the

country "Chapelle des Beaumanoirs" from the mortuary chapel of that family

attached to the abbey:—

“Beaumanoir! à ce nom de glorieux prodiges

Des siècles écoulés réveillent les prestiges:

La pierre des tombeaux a paru se mouvoir

Et des trente Bretons les clameurs belliqueuses

Semblent répondre, sous ces voûtes fameuses,

A ce grand nom de Beaumanoir.” —AUBRY.

The west front, with its round-arched portal surmounted by a large Gothic

window, is very pretty. The chapel of the Beaumanoirs was ravaged at the

Revolution, the lead of the coffins sold, and the bones scattered. The

statues have since been removed to the Museum at Dinan, and the crypt

beneath, where they were buried, is inaccessible. At the Revolution, when

the monks were expelled, the priory was sold and used for a spinning

factory; and the weight of the machines crushed the floors, so as to shut

up the entrance to the vaults. In the parish church adjacent, is to be

noticed an ancient baptismal font, of cylindrical form, sculptured within

and without. We returned home by the Château du Chêne-Ferron, approached

by an avenue of firs, and had a lovely drive along the banks of the Rance.

Our last excursion in Dinan was to the Château of La Garaye, rendered

famous by the virtues and boundless charity of its last proprietors, Count

Claude Toussaint Marot de la Garaye and his wife, whose interesting story

is told in the charming poem of Mrs. Norton:—

“Listen to the tale I tell,

Grave the story is—not sad,

And the peasant plodding by

Greets the place with kindly eye,

For the inmates that it had.”

THE LADY OF LA GARAYE.

Count Claude de la Garaye and his wife were young, beautiful, and endowed

with friends, riches, and all that could make life bright and happy. They

entertained with hospitality, and enjoyed the pleasures and amusements of

the world; when one day the Countess was thrown from her horse, the

expectations of an heir vanished, and she was left a cripple for life.

Both were inconsolable for their disappointment. One day a monk came to

visit them, and tried to comfort them, seeking by his converse to turn

their thoughts from earthly affections to heavenly consolation—

"Ah! my father," said the lady, "how happy are you, to love nothing on

earth!"

"You are mistaken," answered the monk; "I love all those who are in sorrow

or suffering, and I submit myself to the will of the Almighty, and bend

myself with resignation to every blow He strikes."

He proceeded to show them there was still great happiness in store for

them, in ministering to the comforts of others. Following his counsel,

they went to Paris; for three years the Count studied medicine and

surgery, and his wife became a skilful oculist. On their return to La

Garaye, they gave up all the amusements of society, and devoted themselves

to relieving the sufferings of their fellow creatures. Their house was

converted into an hospital for the sick and the wounded, under the

ministering care of the Count and his benevolent wife:—

“Her home is made their home; her wealth their dole;

Her busy courtyard hears no more the roll

Of gilded vehicles, or pawing steeds,

But feeble steps of those whose bitter needs

Are their sole passport. Through that gateway pass

All varying forms of sickness and distress,

And many a poor worn face that hath not smiled

For years,—and many a feeble crippled child,—

Blesses the tall, white portal where they stand,

And the dear Lady of the liberal hand.”

THE LADY OF LA GARAYE.

Nor was their philanthropy confined to their own province. In 1720, they

offered themselves to M. de Belzunce—"Marseilles’ good bishop"—to assist

him during the visitation of the Plague. The fame of their virtues reached

even the French Court, and Louis XV. sent Count de la Garaye the order of

St. Lazarus with a donation of 50,000 livres and a contract on the post of

25,000 more.

They both died at an advanced age, within two years of each other, and

were buried among their poor at Taden, but their marble mausoleum in the

church was destroyed in the French Revolution. Count de la Garaye(6) left

a large sum to be distributed among the prisoners, principally English, at

Rennes and Dinan, who were suffering pent up in these crowded gaols. The

Comte had attended the English prisoners at Dinan during a contagious

fever, called the "peste blanche," and, in acknowledgment of his humanity,

Queen Caroline sent him two dogs with silver collars round their necks,

and an English nobleman made him a present of six more.

[Illustration: 16. Château of La Garaye.]

The ruined château is approached by an ivy-covered gateway, through an

avenue of beeches:—

“Le lierre flottant comme un manteau de deuil,

Couvre à demi la porte et rampe sur le seuil.”

LAMARTINE, _Harmonies Poëtiques_.

or, as Mrs. Norton renders it:—

“And like a mourner’s mantle, with sad grace,

Waves the dark ivy—hiding half the door

And threshold, where the weary traveller’s foot

Shall never find a courteous welcome more.”

It is fast falling to pieces. The principal part remaining is an octagonal

turret of three stories, with elegant Renaissance decoration round the

windows. One more quotation from Mrs. Norton, and we quit these hallowed

ruins:—

“We know the healthy stir of human life

Must be for ever gone!

The walls where hung the warrior’s shining casque

Are green with moss and mould;

The blindworm coils where Queens have slept, nor asks

For shelter from the cold.

The swallow,—he is master all the day,

And the great owl is ruler through the night;

The little bat wheels on his circling way,

With restless flittering flight;

And that small bat, and the creeping things,

At will they come and go,

And the soft white owl with velvet wings,

And a shout of human woe!

The brambles let no footsteps pass

By that rent in the broken stair,

When the pale tufts of the windle-strae grass

Hang like locks of dry dead hair;

But there the keen sound ever sweeps and moans,

“Working a passage through the mouldering stones.”

THE LADY OF LA GARAYE.

From Dinan, instead of taking the customary road to the railway station of

Caulnes, we hired a carriage, in order to visit the fortress castle of La

Hunaudaye, midway between Dinan and Lamballe. The road lay by Jugon, a

town prettily situated in the cleft of two hills. On one once stood an

important castle, which gave rise to the saying:—

“Qui a Bretagne sans Jugon,

A chape sans chaperon.”

Jugon is on the edge of two ponds. One of them, the largest in Brittany,

hangs suspended over the town, as if threatening it with inundation. They

told us it was swarming with fish of every description, and with pike of

fabulous dimensions. Turning off the road to the right, we entered the

forest of La Hunaudaye, and walked in a pouring rain to the château,

situated a short distance from the road. It is of vast extent, has five

round towers with ramparts of cut stone, and is surrounded by walls with

machicolated parapets. It is a splendid ruin, but the incessant rain

prevented us from spending much time in its examination. It was built in

the thirteenth century by Olivier de la Tournemine, and was one of the

strongest fortresses in Brittany. Situated in the midst of a vast forest,

its lord and his retainers were the terror of the surrounding country. No

traveller passed untaxed; all were compelled to pay toll. In 1504, the

Bishop of St. Brieuc complains to the Parliament at Rennes that,

regardless of the safeguard of the Duke, the foresters of the Lord of La

Hunaudaye had carried off his horses, trunks, and baggage, and, a year

later, they had the audacity to stop the Queen-Duchess Anne on her way to

a pilgrimage to the Folgoët. The Queen was conducted to the presence of

the Lord of La Hunaudaye, who maintained to her that he had only exercised

his right of exacting a ransom from all who passed through the forest

without his permission, but that he waived his privilege in favour of his

Sovereign. Be that as it may, he received her Majesty most royally, as the

old chaplain, Oliver de la Roche recounts, and gave a splendid banquet,

which he fully describes. The table, he says, was four times covered with

thirty-six dishes of viands, and lastly, was brought in, "en grande

vénération," by eight squires, a whole calf, standing on its legs, well

seasoned, with an orange in its mouth; and, when it appeared, the trumpets

sounded so loud that it seemed as if the walls shook. On seeing the

"dainty dish" that was "set before the Queen," all wished to have a share;

and the chaplain relates, with great satisfaction, how he was served

himself twice by the Lord of La Hunaudaye.

The dark deeds of the lords of La Hunaudaye have given rise to many a

legend. The following is a translation of one of the most popular:—

LEGEND OF LA HUNAUDAYE.

_(Translation.)_

“When the rock eagle wakes,

And the towers of Hunaudaye

Gleam like three phantom forms

In the morning’s sunlight ray;

When night her darksome wing

Folds round this desert waste,

Shun all this cursed ground—

Traveller flee thou in haste.

“There once—Great Heaven shield

Us all! and no ill arise—

There once—Hush! leave me not;

Hear you, from the ground, low sighs?—

There once—wrapped in the gloom

Of a dark and rainy night,

A man of haughty mien

Knocked at the door of might.

“’Open!’ cried he,—it turns

On groaning hinge. The rain

Pours, but the frightened guards

Mark neither spot nor stain

On his purple cloak—nor his plumes

Droop wet, yet the torrents fall

Wildly and fast to night,

Beating the castle wall.

“The baron, stern and sad,

Was in his tower alone,

Pacing, with mailed heel,

Upon the echoing stone:

Cried he—’What stranger seeks,

This hour, my castle drear?

Ho! Oliver, Ho! Ralph,

See who intrudeth here.’

“’Heaven shield thee, baron brave!

A strange knight in the hall

Craves audience.’ ’Lead him here:

Stay thou and Ralph in call,

At need.’ Silent and slow

The purple-mantled knight,

Advancing, paused—his looks

Gleaming unearthly bright.

“’Who art thou coming thus,

Loud clamouring at my gate,

Thou truly puissant knight,

With not one squire for state?

Knowst thou at word of mine—’

The stranger knight smiled stern,

Replied in awful voice,

’Would’st thou my name? now learn:

Here is my train—behold!’

He cried. There hideous stood

One spectre, then two more—

A sight to chill the blood—

Unveiled their features pale,

All three in cere-cloth dressed,

Opening all wide to point

Where blood flowed from the breast.

“’Baron, these are my guard,’

Said the unknown—’Here, lo!

Thy father’s aged form,

By poignard stroke laid low;

Here thy wife, cruelly slain

In the year thy brother fell;

They stand, pale, bleeding, stiff,—

Their murderer, can’st thou tell?’

“The phantoms three enlaced

The trembling baron round;

He vainly shrieked,—the walls

With demon laughs resound;

The echoing thunders rolled

Along the valley deep;

Lightnings, when pale dawn broke,

Blasted the castle keep.

“It stands a blackened pile;

The ruined gate is there.

But the sky lowers dark,

Oh! traveller flee, beware;

At this hour the shades of night

Brood o’er the solemn gloom.

Traveller, haste, oh! haste;

Leave this abode of doom.”

It was in the forest of La Hunaudaye that the Chouans of the Côtes du Nord

were secretly exercised and drilled by their chief, La Rouërie, under the

name of Gosselin, who died of horror on hearing of the execution of

thirteen of his confederates betrayed by the physician Chaftal. Gosselin

was succeeded by the "Cid" of the Chouan chiefs, Boishardy, called the

"Sorcier," who, after his interview with General Humbert, was betrayed and

shot by the "Bleus." For twelve years was Brittany cut off from France by

this Chouan war, an insurrection even more formidable than that of La

Vendée. The peninsular position of Brittany, its vast extent of coasts,

its forests, its mountains, its people, speaking a strange language,

entirely under the subjection of the priests, rendered it peculiarly

adapted to carry on a war against the republicans; a war, the whole object

of which was to upset all order, by preventing the citizens from accepting

office under the republic, by punishing those who acquired national

property, by stopping couriers and all public conveyances, destroying

bridges, breaking up roads, assassinating public officers, and executing

horrible punishments on those who sent provisions into the towns.

The castle of La Hunaudaye was destroyed by order of the Commune of

Lamballe, in 1793, that it might not serve as a retreat for the Chouans.

We arrived very wet at Lamballe, a town most picturesquely situated on the

declivity of a granite cliff, surmounted by a handsome church, rising from

the very edge of the rocks. It formed part of the territory of the Duke of

Penthièvre, whose heiress, Jeanne la Boiteuse, married Charles of Blois,

the competitor with John de Montfort(7) for the dukedom of Brittany. More

tenacious of her rights than her husband, Jeanne would never listen to any

compromise. After the treaty of Bretigny, the kings of England and France

proposed a division of the duchy between the two rivals; but, intimidated

by his wife, Charles dared not consent; and again, before the battle of

Auray, when a division was agreed upon, subject to the acceptance of the

Countess, Jeanne exclaimed, "My husband makes too cheap a bargain of what

is not his own." And she wrote to Charles, "Do what you please. I am a

woman, and cannot do more; but I had rather lose my life, or two if I had

them, before I would consent to so reproachable an act, to the shame of my

family" (_des miens_). Later she said to him, "Preserve me your heart, but

preserve me also my duchy, and, happen what may, act so that the

sovereignty remains to me entire." Her pride and obstinacy cost her

husband his life. The name of Lamballe is associated with the memory of

the unfortunate Princesse de Savoie de Carignan, the sad victim of

revolutionary fury. On the death of her husband, the Prince de Lamballe,

the vast estates of the Penthièvre family passed to his sister, the wife

of Philippe Egalité, and from her descended to Louis Philippe, King of the

French.

[Illustration: 17. Section of Lanleff Church.]

Next day we made an excursion to the famed Temple of Lanleff, in Breton,

the "land of tears," situated in a retired valley about six miles from the

sea. According to the tradition of the country, it was built by "Les

moines rouges," as they style the Templar Knights. The road was

incessantly up and down hill, as we afterwards found they are throughout

Brittany; a "pays accidenté" it may be truly called. The chapel of Lanleff

is composed of two concentric circular enclosures separated by twelve

round arches, with cushion-shaped capitals, having heads, human and

animal, rudely sculptured upon them at the four angles. Its whole diameter

is about twenty-two feet. It was probably built by some Templar Knight in

the beginning of the twelfth century on his return from the Holy Land. The

number of arches may allude to that of the twelve Apostles.

[Illustration: 18. Plan of Lanleff Church.]

The parish church was built into the east side of the temple, the only

part which has preserved its roof, and which served as a vestibule to the

more modern building. A gigantic yew formerly grew in the central

enclosure, and overshadowed it with its spreading branches; but the parish

church has been taken down and rebuilt in another part of the village, and

the yew-tree has disappeared.

Close to the temple is a spring enclosed by flagstones. When moistened,

they appear covered with blood-stained spots. According to the tradition,

in olden times an unnatural father sold his child to the Evil One. The

gold received for the bargain was counted out upon the side of the spring,

and the accursed money left its print upon the stones. A bare-legged

peasant who stood by with her pitcher, threw some water over the stones,

and immediately there appeared round red spots of different

sizes—indelible marks of the diabolical bargain. We went into a cottage

close by, and had some boiled eggs and cider. The inmates were at their

meal—a bowl of milk, into which they broke their buckwheat "galette." We

were much struck with the jealous pertinacity of the Breton, to show he

considers himself as of a different people and country to the rest of

France, a feeling which more than three hundred years has not dissipated.

Our driver would talk of Bretons and French as of distinct nations, and

the Normans in this part of Brittany are the special objects of hatred,

originating, perhaps, in the former subjection of Brittany to Normandy.

When Charles the Simple ceded to the fierce Northmen the province now

known by their name, their sovereignty extended over Brittany, and the

dukes of Normandy did homage for both provinces to the King of France. The

Bretons struggled hard against the supremacy of the Barbarians, but

eventually had to acknowledge the Duke of Normandy as their sovereign

lord.

St. Brieuc, principal town of the department of the Côtes-du-Nord, has

been described as an old town with a new face. Though one of the oldest in

Brittany, it has little of antiquity to detain the traveller. The Palais

de Justice is a handsome building, in the midst of a pretty garden,

commanding a view of the Tour de Cesson, lower down the river (the Gouët),

a large circular tower built by Duke John IV., and blown up by Henry IV.,

at the desire of the Briochins, as the inhabitants of St. Brieuc style

themselves. The mine split it in two, and the part that remains serves as

a landmark for the pilots between St. Brieuc and its port, about two miles

distant, called Légué. Notre Dame d’Espérance is a pretty church, rebuilt

about ten years since, with a calvary in front, and a series of painted

windows representing the principal saints of Brittany, and the most

celebrated pilgrimages of the Virgin in that province. At St. Brieuc,

1689, James II. of England reviewed his little army, and was received with

royal honours by the bishop of the place.

We proceeded by the railway to Guingamp, next to St. Brieuc, the principal

town of the department, capital of the duchy of Penthièvre. It is situated

in the richly wooded and cultivated valley of the Trieux, a favourite

fishing river of considerable size, and affording trout, salmon, and dace,

from Guingamp to Paimpol, where it falls into the sea, a distance of

twenty miles. It runs through the centre of the town, and is here a

considerable stream.

Attached to the Cathedral is the venerated sanctuary of Notre

Dame-du-Bon-Secours, one of the most celebrated places of pilgrimage in

Brittany. The pardon takes place the Saturday before the first Sunday in

July, and owes its origin to the brotherhood called the "Frérie blanche,"

an association of which Duke Peter accepted the title of lay-abbot. The

motto embroidered on their banner was (in Breton) "A triple cord is not

easily broken." The triple cord being emblematic of the three

estates—clergy, nobles, and laity—in whose unity consisted the strength of

Brittany. The Frérie blanche no longer exists, the triple cable is broken,

the pilgrimage alone remains.

[Illustration: 19. Fountain of Duke Peter.]

La Pompe, or the fountain of Duke Peter, as it is called, is of later

dater date, being in the style of the Renaissance. It consists of three

circular basins in tiers. On the lower are sea-horses, which, with their

wings, support the second basin, and Naiads uphold the third. On the top

is a figure of the Virgin with her arms extended.

The women of Guingamp wear high muslin caps, dark petticoats, and black

stockings. Knitting-pins in hand, they work away at their stockings

whether walking, talking, or with a load of butter on their heads, as they

do throughout all Brittany. When not at work, their knitting-pins are

stuck in their hair. Knitting and spinning are the occupation of their

lives. When the Breton’s idol, Du Guesclin, was a prisoner to the Black

Prince, and was asked how he could raise the large sum named for his

ransom, Du Guesclin replied, that "the women of Brittany would rather spin

for a year and ransom him with their distaffs, than that he should remain

prisoner."

“Quand vous étiez captif, Bertrand, fils de Bretagne,

Tous les fuseaux tournaient aussi dans la campagne;

Chaque femme apporte son écheveau de lin;

Ce fut votre rançon, messire Du Guesclin!”

_Les Bretons_, A. BRIZEUX.

Guingamp was given by Duke John V. to his son Peter, who resided here and

rebuilt the castle. When attacked by his mortal illness, the physicians

attributed his malady to witchcraft, and declared it could only be

remedied by counter-spells. The Prince refused to have recourse to such

means, saying, "I had rather die by the will of God, than live by the will

of the Devil."—"J’aime mieux mourir de par Dieu, que de vivre de par le

Diable."

We walked to the small chapel of St. Léonard, picturesquely situated on a

little eminence. It was built by Charles of Blois, on his return from his

captivity in England, and dedicated by him to St. Léonard, the

patron-saint of prisoners—a contemporary of Clovis, from whom he obtained

permission to set free all the captives he should find in the prisons. In

the month of May, people who are attacked with fever repair to St. Léonard

to seek, upon the walls of the chapel or on the calvary attached to it,

snails as cures for their malady. They must gather them themselves, pound

them, and put them into little bags, which they wear round their necks. As

soon as the fever leaves them they bury their bags at the foot of the

walls of the chapel, and, if they fail to perform this ceremony, the fever

will return. We found quantities of these bags, made of coarse linen,

lying half-buried under the walls of the chapel. There is a pardon here

every year, on which occasion only the chapel is opened.

We took a carriage to Paimpol. On our way we stopped at the Château de

Boisgelin, belonging to the Marquis of the same name, but could not obtain

admittance. On to the Abbey of Beauport (Sancta Maria de Bello Porto),

founded in the thirteenth century, beautifully situated on a tongue of

land at the entrance of the Bay of Paimpol, opposite the island of

Saint-Rion. In its large garden, which extends down to the sea, are

planted myrtles, figs, mulberries, and other trees of the south of Europe.

Beauport has been called the Chartreuse of Brittany. It is a lovely

secluded spot, as, indeed, are most of the sites of the old abbeys,

varying in aspect, but always beautiful. No description can give an idea

of the magnificent panoramic views from the walls of the abbey.

[Illustration: 20. Abbey of Beauport.]

M. Merimée justly observes, "It appears strange that, in so early a stage

of civilisation, the monks should be so alive to the beauties of nature.

The contemplative habits of monastic life must at all times have imparted

to the mind a feeling of abstract beauty, independent of any idea of real

utility. Secure of an uniform, peaceful existence, limited in his

pleasures and his ambition, sheltered by his sacred office, above others,

from the reverses of fortune, the monk of the thirteenth century was in a

position to love, and did love, beauty for itself. And while the knight,

at war with all the world, thought only on building an impregnable

fortress, the abbot embellished his dwelling, and tasted the enjoyments

afforded by imagination and the arts. "The abbey of Beauport is built in

the pointed style, and is a perfect example of the monastic architecture

of the thirteenth century—the most important and most beautiful convent

ruins in Brittany. The original disposition of its buildings may yet be

clearly traced. These abbeys were all built upon the same plan. In the

centre was the square garden (préau), surrounded by the cloisters. On the

south side the church, extending from west to east; on the north, the

refectory, with the kitchen attached. On the east was the chapter-house,

and some small apartments; above these were the dormitories. Outside was

the interior court, reserved for the brethren, and beyond, the great

court, into which the provisions were brought, and round which were the

stables and farm buildings. The garden, orchard, mill, oven, dovecote,

cider-press, &c., were all within the walled enclosure, for the abbeys

were not merely convents dedicated solely to devotional exercises. After

prayer followed labour. The Breton abbeys were quite model farms; the

woods and the commons afforded the means of rearing cattle to those who

had the privilege of pasturage in the forests. Many had also the right of

acorns and beech-mast for their pigs (_droit au gland et à la faîne_). One

abbey, that of Morimond (Haute Marne), is recorded to have had twenty

piggeries, of three hundred pigs each, distributed in its forests. The

monks also reared sheep and horses, and fattened fish in their ponds. They

were the first who advanced the science of horticulture and the

cultivation of vegetables. To these agricultural pursuits were added, in

many convents, the industrial arts, and some of the brethren were brewers,

curriers, fullers, weavers, shoemakers, carpenters, and blacksmiths. Their

cultivation of the liberal arts and sciences is well known. During the

Middle Ages the monasteries were the sole depositories of learning.

Beauport is now occupied by a Polish lady, Countess Poninsky, who allows

no one to enter the abbey, as her husband was buried in the church.

Two or three miles further we reached Paimpol, where we remained the

night, at a nice hotel. Paimpol is a seaport town prettily situated in a

cultivated country on the bay that bears its name. Its inhabitants are

employed in the mackerel and Iceland fisheries. The women about here wear

close straw-bonnets. They all, in this department, ride on horseback, "à

califourchon," like the men.

We hired our carriage on to Tréguier. At Lézardrieux we passed the estuary

of the Trieux, over a magnificent suspension-bridge, at a considerable

elevation above the water, vessels sail under it. It was built 1840, and

is 833 feet long, that is, 167 longer than the famed bridge of La Roche

Bernard (Loire Inférieure). The bridge swung frightfully when we passed

over it. In the churchyard of Pleudaniel is a pretty granite calvary, and

skulls are placed in recesses in the wall on each side of the

church-porch.

We next came to the Château of La Roche Jagu, on the summit of a hill

overhanging the river Trieux and defending the entrance. It has more of

the character of a "maison forte" than of a "manoir," as was termed the

habitation of a knight, and of those who holding a fief, yet did not

possess the seignorial right to a castle with towers and donjon. The

manoir might be enclosed by walls and moats, but not with towers. The

entrance on the side opposite to the river is through a large walled court

by a low Gothic doorway, closed by an enormous iron grating of upright and

horizontal bars of great thickness, hanging on four hinges, and secured by

four locks; all the windows have gratings of the same kind. A stone

staircase leads to the one story, consisting of a suite of large rooms

half lighted by narrow windows. Some of these are occupied by the keeper

of the castle and others are reserved for the use of the proprietor, the

Marquis d’Argentré, and, when he goes there, are decorated and partly

furnished with the pieces of old tapestry lying about. At the end of these

rooms is a turret, which communicates with a covered gallery surmounting

the whole length of the façade facing the river, and commanding a

beautiful view of the windings of the silvery Trieux and of its

fir-clothed banks. This gallery is furnished with battlements, and served

the double purpose of a rampart and an observatory. The wall on the

river-side is fifteen feet thick, and a chapel hewn in the thickness of

the wall is lighted by a Gothic window looking over the Trieux. Fourteen

elegant chimney-shafts of cut stone, cylindrical in form, and ornamented

with iron spikes, give a most original character to the building. The

château belonged to the Maréchal Duc de Richelieu, who sold it in 1773 to

the Tressan family, under the stipulation that its subterranean passages

should not be explored. They are said to extend under the bed of the river

to the Château of Frinandour, half a league distant.

We next passed through Pontrieux, a pretty, small town, seated in a deep

valley, the river Trieux flowing through it. The river here is famous for

salmon, and there is a considerable commerce in its little port.

La Roche-Derrien on the Jaudy, during the War of Succession in Brittany,

was a castle of some celebrity. It was here Charles of Blois was taken

prisoner by the English, who, under Sir Thomas Dagworth, were in

possession of the place. Charles of Blois assembled a large army, and

attacked them by night. Three times was he rescued, and three times

retaken; he had received eighteen wounds, and was at last compelled to

surrender. Jeanne de Montfort, like all women who hate, was very

vindictive, and caused her illustrious prisoner to be ignominiously

dragged to Quimperlé, Vannes, and Hennebont, whence he was transferred to

London, and confined in the Tower. It was nine years before he regained

his liberty. Meanwhile his heroic wife, Jeanne de Penthièvre, became head

of his party, as Jeanne de Flandre was that of the De Montfort. The "War

of the two Jeannes" continued for nine years, during which they fought

with fierceness and courage, and ruled with ability. Curious,—the history

of France was illustrated in this century by five heroines of the name of

Jeanne: Jeanne d’Arc, Jeanne Hachette of Beauvais, and the Jeannes of

Penthièvre, Flandre, and Clisson, who made themselves famous in Brittany.

On his release, Charles of Blois gave La Roche-Derrien to Du Guesclin.

The castle was demolished, but a calvary has been built on the site.

Not far from La Roche-Derrien is the church of Langoat, which contains the

monument of Ste. Pompée (1370), mother of St. Tugdual. On the granite tomb

reposes her marble effigy, and around it bas-reliefs in Gothic niches

represent the life of the saint. In all the churches in this district,

tressels are placed in the nave ready for funerals. The gravestones have

in each a little hollow well, to contain water for sprinkling over the

grave, or in some a small basin is set upon the gravestone, with a sprig

of box laid by the side, for the same pious purpose.

Every one must be struck by the excellence of the roads in Brittany, as

indeed throughout France; in no instance does the French administrative

talent more fully display itself. The roads are of three classes: the

"routes impériales," under the care of the Government; "départementales,"

kept entirely at the expense of the department; and the "chemins

vicinaux," which belong to the communes or parishes, and which all the

inhabitants are called upon to support. To each lieue de poste (two and a

half miles), is appointed a "cantonnier" or road-keeper, who is

responsible for the condition of the length of road assigned to his care.

We stopped at Kermartin, a farmhouse near Tréguier, to see the bed said to

have belonged to St. Ives, the favourite saint of the Bretons, and whose

name is borne by the majority of the inhabitants of the district of

Tréguier and St. Brieuc. Charles of Blois held him in great veneration. He

gave part of a rib of St. Ives to the church at Lamballe, and carried the

relic in procession barefooted to the church. Before the battle of Auray,

he ordered his men to march "in the name of God and St. Yves."

St. Ives, or Yves Hélory, was one of the most remarkable characters of the

thirteenth century. He studied law in the schools of Paris, and applied

his talents in defending the cause of the poor; hence he was called "the

poor man’s advocate;" and so great to this day is the confidence placed in

his justice, that, in the department of the Côtes-du-Nord, when a debtor

falsely denies his debt, a peasant will pay twenty sous for a mass to St.

Yves, convinced that St. Yves will cause the faithless creditor to die

within the year. His truthfulness was such, he was called St. Yves de

Verité. He is the special patron of lawyers, and always represented in the

"mortier," or lawyer’s cap, with an ermine-trimmed scarlet robe.

“Saint Yves était Breton,

Avocat et pas larron,

Chose rare, se dit-on.”

Lawyers, says a writer, take him for a patron, but not for a model. Philip

le Hardi, in acknowledgment of his worth, granted him a pension of six

deniers a day—in those times a considerable sum.