Or, as Sir Walter Scott alludes to them,—

“Some, chance-poised and balanced, lay

So that a stripling arm might sway

A mass no host could raise,

In nature’s rage at random thrown,

Yet trembling like the Druid’s Stone,

On its precarious base.” —LORD OF THE ISLES.

The council of Nantes, in the seventh century, ordered the bishops to have

the rocking-stones destroyed. The coarse rose-coloured granite of this

coast resembles the Egyptian.

We rowed back to the little inn at Ploumanach, and had some eggs and a hot

langouste or rock-lobster. This kind is more plentiful on the coast of

Brittany than the common, but these rocky shores abound in both sorts. The

village of Ploumanach is built nearly into the sea, in the midst of rocks

overhanging the harbour. It is almost exclusively frequented by fishermen;

in the front is a group of rocks or islands called Les Sept Iles; the Ile

aux Moines, the most important among them, is strongly fortified, and is

directly opposite Ploumanach. At the inn we found a German artist employed

in making sketches in oil of this strange coast. It was late when we

reached Lannion, a town prettily situated in the valley of Leguer; it

contains no remarkable buildings except a few houses of the period of

Henry IV. and Louis XIII. in the market-place. The mackerel and other

fisheries are carried on from here, the grande and petite pêche, the

"lieu" is taken in shoals and salted. The seaweed or wrack (_Fucus

vesiculosus_) called goëmon, is extensively collected along the coasts of

Brittany for fertilising the lands and also for fuel, which last is so

scarce that even cow-dung is collected and dried against the walls for the

same use. The gathering of goëmon takes place in March and September, and

employs the whole population of the district. Souvestre says, that on the

appointed day for gathering the crop, horses, oxen, cows, dogs, every

animal, and every machine, is put into requisition. Women and children all

are assembled in the bays, sometimes to the number of 10,000 persons; but,

to allow the poor to have the full advantage, the custom is, on the first

day, to admit only the necessitous of the parish. These borrow their

neighbours’ vehicles, and collect a good crop. It is called "the day of

the poor." The goëmon grows on rocks at a distance from the shore, and the

peasants not having sufficient boats to collect it tie the heaps together

with cords on to branches of trees and form a raft, on which the whole

family is launched; a barrel is attached at the end, and the unsteady

craft often rolls over and its cargo is precipitated into the water. The

fine sands of the sea shore are also carted and laid on the heavy lands to

divide the soil. Ascending the valley of the Leguer, about eight miles

from Lannion, on the opposite side of the river, we turned down a muddy

lane, and getting out into a field saw in front of us the imposing castle

of Tonquédec, perhaps the finest remains in Brittany of military

architecture, dating from the fourteenth century. It crowns the summit of

a hill, wooded down to the river’s edge, with water-mills and a little

village at the foot, the bright sparkling river running through the deep

wild valley; nothing can exceed the picturesque effect of these ruins when

seen from the opposite bank. Tonquédec has belonged from time immemorial

to the Viscomtes de Coêtmen, who held the first rank among the nobles of

Brittany, but one of them espousing the cause of the Constable Clisson

against Duke John IV. saw his fortress demolished. It was restored under

Henry IV., and again dismantled by order of Cardinal Richelieu, who hated

castles and their nobility. The castle is an irregular four-sided figure.

It had an outer enclosure, and was entered by a drawbridge, and furnished

with every imaginable fortification. Three sides were surrounded by

dwellings, among these a fine roofed salle d’armes remains. A flying

bridge led to the keep, which was of four stories, but the entrance on the

first story, so that in case of siege the garrison might retire to the

keep, and hold out till want of provisions or ammunition compelled them to

surrender. The towers and walls remain, the latter are ten feet thick.

On our way to Plouaret we drove up to the château of Kergrist, a square

edifice with pepper-box towers at each angle, in good preservation,

occupied by a lady of the name of Douglas. Our driver could not find the

way to the "Chapelle des Sept Saints," built over a dolmen, which lay near

the station at Plouaret, whence we proceeded by rail, and, entering the

department of Finistère, shortly after reached Morlaix over its

magnificent granite viaduct, the most important among the many which occur

between Rennes and Brest. The railway runs parallel to the coast, and

traverses, not far from their mouths, the streams which abound in this

"pays accidenté." This gigantic work is one-sixth of a mile (292 yards)

long, and consists of two tiers of arches, fourteen in the upper line and

nine below.

Morlaix is picturesquely built on the sides of three ravines, so steep

that the saying goes, "De la mansarde au jardin, comme on dit à Morlaix."

It is situated on a tidal river, about eight miles from the sea, ascended

by small vessels, which give the place a lively appearance. Few towns have

so many beautiful timbered houses of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries

remaining. One of the most curious is that belonging to a miller, No. 19,

in the Rue des Nobles, a street where the houses are built one story

projecting over the other, so that the top stories of the opposite houses

nearly touch each other and exclude the light. The fronts, gable-shaped,

have their enormous beams richly carved, and supported by brackets and

statues of St. Yves or other favourite saints; some are overlaid with

lozenge-shaped slates, and finished at the point with a leaden "épi," or

ornamental terminal. All have a kind of hall, panelled and sculptured to

the roof, the staircases richly sculptured and supported by a pillar

carved from top to bottom with statues of saints or grotesque figures

superposed one over the other. Among the statuettes in the house, No. 19,

are the figures of St. Roch and his dog; St. Christopher carrying the

infant Jesus, St. Michael, and various others. On another staircase, in

better preservation, but not so richly carved (at the Veuve Perron’s, No.

14, Grande Rue), are female saints,—the Virgin, St. Catherine, and St.

Barbara.

Morlaix gave a grand reception to the Queen-Duchess Anne, when on her

pilgrimage through Brittany in 1505. The town presented her with a little

ship of gold, bearing the arms of the city, and enriched with precious

stones, and a tame ermine with a diamond collar round its neck. Anne

received the ermine, and caressed the little animal, who returned her

endearments, and, at length, suddenly concealed itself in her bosom, which

unexpected proceeding startled the Queen, when the Seigneur du Rohan, who

was by her side, exclaimed, "What do you fear, madam; is not the ermine

your cognisance?" No less enthusiastic was the reception given by the

citizens of Morlaix forty years later (1548) to Mary Stuart, then only

five years old, on her landing in France. She was lodged in the convent of

the Jacobins, and assisted at the Te Deum in the church of Notre

Dame-du-Mur. When passing through one of the gates on her way back, the

drawbridge, overloaded with spectators, gave way, and several persons were

thrown into the water. Mary’s Scottish attendants cried out "Treason!" but

the Seigneur de Rohan, who was on horseback by the side of the royal

litter, indignantly exclaimed, "Jamais Breton ne fit trahison." The

loyalty and good faith of the Bretons is proverbial. "En tout chemin,

loyauté," is a Breton motto,(8) and it is one of the virtues attributed to

them by a Breton writer, who assigns to them four virtues and three vices.

Their virtues consist in a love of their country and their home,

resignation to the will of the Almighty, loyalty to each other, and

hospitality. Their vices are avarice, contempt for women, and drunkenness.

Their love of country and home is carried to an extent, rivalling, if not

exceeding, that of the Swiss. The Breton not only loves the village where

he was born, but he loves the field of his fathers, the hearth and the

clock of his home, even the bed on which he was born, and on which he

hopes to close his eyes. The conscript and sailor are often known to die

of grief when away from their native land. Brittany possesses for its

children an inconceivable attraction, and there is no country in the world

where man is more attached to his native soil.

“O landes! ô forêts! pierres sombres et hautes,

Bois qui couvrez nos champs, mers qui battez nos côtes,

Villages où les morts errent avec les vents,

Bretagne, d’où vient l’amour de tes enfants?” —BRIZEUX.

The Bretons are brave soldiers and good sailors; their disposition is

hasty and violent, and even ferocious in anger. When the people of Nantes

rose up in rebellion against Duke Francis, his brother-in-law, the Comte

du Foix, sent to pacify them, said to him on his return from his mission,

"J’aimerais mieux être prince d’un million de sangliers que de tel peuple

que sont vos Bretons"—Brittany has always been the theatre of great

virtues and great crimes.

On Sunday we went to the Welsh Baptist Chapel, to hear Mr. Jenkins preach

in the Breton language. He has been there thirty years zealously labouring

among the peasants, to convert whom he was sent by the Welsh Baptist

Missionary Society. From his thorough knowledge of the French and Breton

languages, he is eminently fitted for the task. He travels about the

surrounding country preaching, and establishing schools, and has revised

the Breton(9) translation of the New Testament for the Society, and

circulated, by means of colporteurs, from eight to nine thousand Bibles,

besides above 100,000 tracts. The task of acquiring the Breton language is

less difficult for a Welshman, for the similarity between them is so great

that the two people are able to make themselves understood to each other.

The labours of Mr. Jenkins have lately awakened the attention of the

Breton Roman Catholic clergy, who have publicly denounced him from their

altars, but without causing him to slacken in the good work he has

undertaken. Persecuted by a tyrannical priesthood, who hold dominion over

a peasantry bigoted in proportion to their ignorance, his position is one

of difficulty and danger; but he goes on with undrooping energy, convinced

that, though the progress is slow, the good seed has not been sown in

vain, and will, in due time, bear fruit, though those who first sowed it

may have passed away. There were about a dozen Bretons at the evening

service; they seemed to be constantly going in and out, as if unable to

keep up their attention to so long a service. There are also English

Protestant chapels at Morlaix and Quimper, and French at Brest and

Lorient.

We saw a christening in the cathedral, of a child about eighteen months

old; the mother wore a wonderful conical cap of lace.

A few houses from our hotel a ball was going on, given every week for the

workpeople of the town. The clatter of their iron-pointed wooden shoes

seemed quite to drown the music.

Next day we walked to the Fontaine des Anglais, so-called from the

slaughter of a body of English at that place. Jealous of the prosperity of

Morlaix, Henry VIII. sent a fleet up the river to attack the place, and

the commander, being informed by a spy of the absence of the chief nobles

at Guingamp, and of the townsmen at the fair of Pontivy, landed with a

force which entered Morlaix, burnt it, and returned laden with booty to

their boats. Six or seven hundred men, who were intoxicated, fell asleep

in the wood, where they were attacked by the nobles, who had hastened from

Guingamp to the assistance of the town, and were all massacred. The

neighbouring fountain, said to have been tinged with the invaders’ blood,

received in memory of the event the name of "Fontaine des Anglais." It was

on this occasion the town of Morlaix added to its arms, a lion (emblem of

vigilance), encountering a two-headed leopard (for England), with the

punning motto, "S’ils te mordent, mors-les" (Morlaix).

Emile Souvestre, author of ’Le Foyer Breton,’ and ’Les Derniers Bretons,’

the ablest portrayer of Breton manners, customs, and superstitions, was a

native of Morlaix; he died in the Protestant Communion, 1854.

We were recommended to sail down the Morlaix River to its mouth, as the

scenery is very picturesque, but we had not time to effect it. The great

beauty of Brittany generally consists in its river scenery, the Rance, to

Dinan; the rivers of Quimper and Quimperlé; the Aven, Elorn, and Blavet,

are all highly picturesque and worth visiting. Our next drive was to St.

Pol de Léon, partly along the bank of the river, passing under the church

of Notre Dame-de-la-Salzette and the convent below of St. François. The

tall steeples of St. Pol are seen at a great distance, and looking behind

is the best view of the Mené-Bré, an insulated conical mountain, one of

the Mené-Arré chain, situated near the station of Belle-Isle-Bégard. A

chain of mountains runs through the Côtes-du-Nord, and, at the western end

of the department, forks off into two branches which traverse the whole of

Finistère,—the Mené-Arré, or northern chain, and the Montagnes Noires, or

southern.

St. Pol looks like a town of the Middle Ages. "The holy city," as it is

called by the Léonnais, one of the four bishoprics(10) into which Brittany

was divided, comprising the modern districts of Morlaix and Brest. The

Pays de Léon is remarkable for the number of its religious monuments, its

fine churches, its bone-houses, calvaries, way-side crosses, and shrines.

Crosses are set up in every direction, and of every description, from the

plain unpretending simple cross of wood or stone, to the huge crosses

flaunting in green paint, with tears of gold—specimens of the taste of the

maire or priest of the district. No Breton passes the sacred symbol

without kneeling to salute it, and making the sign of the cross—evidence

that the piety of those who first raised them has not degenerated in their

posterity. The country is rich and varied. The Léonnais is tallest of all

the Breton race; his dress is generally black or blue, with a coloured

scarf round his waist, his hair is worn very long, and his broad-brimmed

hat has a silver buckle. He is grave, of a calm confiding faith, which

nothing can shake or alter, and of intense religious feeling. The church

is the place of meeting, where all his business is transacted, all his

aspirations centered. Throughout Brittany the priesthood are low and

ignorant. Like the Irish, the Breton farmer’s great ambition is to make

his son a priest. In no part of France are they more uneducated than in

Brittany.

St. Pol is still and melancholy, the grass grows in the streets, the city

looks as if it had not awakened since its palmy days of the fourteenth

century. Its churches, calvaries, cemeteries, all silent as death—

“A deep, still pool in the ocean of life.”

Its lively neighbour, Morlaix, offers a strange contrast: its inhabitants

may well say they are three hundred years in advance of St. Pol.

The pride of St. Pol de Léon is the church of Notre Dame-de-Creizker. Its

steeple, nearly 400 feet high, was said by Vauban to be the boldest piece

of architecture he ever beheld. It is built in the centre of the church,

entirely of granite, cut in the shape of tiles and open work, to within

eighty feet from the base. According to the legend, on the spot where the

church now stands, there lived in the time of St. Génévroc, a young girl,

whom the saint found, when passing her house on the fête of our Lady,

employed at her needle. He reproached her gently with her impiety, yet she

went on sewing, saying "she required food on Sundays as well as on work

days." But the girl has hardly finished speaking, when all her body became

cold and motionless as a stone. She was completely paralysed. Asking

pardon of St. Génévroc, he made the sign of the cross upon each of her

limbs, and the power of motion returned. Grateful for her recovery, she

gave to the saint, her house, which was situated in the middle of the town

(as its name implies), as a site for his church. It is said to have been

built by an English architect, invited to Brittany by Mary Plantagenet,

daughter of Edward III., and first wife of Duke John IV.(11)

The axis of the nave is inclined to the left, a mystic allusion to the

position of the head of the expiring Saviour on the cross. _Et inclinato

capite, emise spiritum_, "And He bowed his head, and gave up the ghost."

The north porch of the Creizker is beautifully sculptured with leaves of

the mallow, the vine, and mulberry. It was all under repair when we saw

it.

[Illustration: 22. The Creizker.]

The cathedral has two fine towers with spires, and a magnificent rose

window of the fifteenth century in the south transept, with, above, the

"fenêtre d’excommunication." The fine porch, lightly and delicately

sculptured, is surmounted by a balustrade, whence the episcopal

benediction was given. Over the high altar is a large wooden crosier,

gilt, from which to suspend the ciborium, similar to that we saw in the

cathedral of Dol. A black marble slab, at the foot of the steps of the

high altar, marks the grave of St. Pol de Léon, who died 570. St. Pol, the

patron bishop and founder of the cathedral, was one of the clergy of Great

Britain who emigrated to Brittany in the sixth century; he landed in the

island of Ouëssant, and passed on to the country of Léon, where he founded

a monastery. The island of Batz was, at that time, infested by an enormous

dragon, sixty feet long; the saint, accompanied by a warrior, entered the

cavern of the monster, tied his stole round its neck, and gave him to his

companion to lead, St. Pol following, beating him with his stick, till

they arrived at the extremity of the island, when he took off the stole,

and commanded the dragon to throw itself in the sea, an order the animal

immediately obeyed. St. Pol is always represented with the dragon by his

side, the stole round its neck. We were shown a little bell, said to have

belonged to the saint. It appears he had repeatedly asked the king to give

him this bell for his new church, but had always been refused. When one

day some fishermen brought him a large fish taken off the island of Batz,

and in its mouth was the coveted bell. It is certainly very ancient in

form, a kind of square pyramid about four inches wide and nine high, of

beaten red copper mixed, we were told, with a considerable quantity of

silver. It is now rung over the heads of the faithful on pardons, as a

specific against headache and earache—a singular remedy! The cathedral has

a fine marble tomb of Bishop Visdelou, preacher to Queen Anne of Austria;

he is represented in a half reclining posture, in his pontifical garments.

In every part of the cathedral are the little boxes of skulls.

Adjacent is the Ursuline convent, where is preserved a small figure of the

Virgin in jet; brought from a church in the Iles Sainte Marguerite, taken

from the Spaniards in the seventeenth century. It is supposed to possess

miraculous powers, and is sent round to the sick as a specific.

We breakfasted at the little inn (Hôtel de France), commanding a pretty

view of the coast from its windows and garden. The Léon country was

governed by Viscounts, who boasted, among several manorial rights, the

"droit de motte," which empowered them, if a vassal (they were "serfs de

motte") attempted to live out of his demesne, or to enter the service of

another lord, to bring him back to his "motte," a cord round his neck, and

inflict upon him corporal punishment. By virtue of the same right, if the

demesne of a lord was so placed that it had no natural height from which

to survey its extent, his vassals were made to bring sufficient cart-loads

of earth to raise a mound or "motte" of the requisite elevation. The other

privilege was the droit de "bris," equivalent to our flotsum and jetsum,

so lucrative that a Léon Viscount is recorded to have said, when a noble

was exhibiting his casket of gems, that he possessed a jewel more precious

than all they were admiring—alluding to a rock famous for its shipwrecks.

Duke John the Red, taking advantage of the misdeeds of one of these lords

of Léon, seized his rich possessions and united them (1276) to the crown.

The viscounty of Léon fell by alliance, in the fourteenth century, to the

house of Rohan, in whose favour is was raised in the sixteenth to a

principality.

We continued our drive to Roscoff, three miles distant, a little sea-port

town, formerly one of the three great dens of corsairs and smugglers, all

under the protection of St. Barbe,—the other two being Camaret and Le

Conquet. Roscoff was the emporium of considerable contraband trade with

England. Tea, wine, and brandy were brought over in small casks, which the

smugglers tied together and threw into the sea, when near the coast, and

landed at night. The whole country round is now one extent of

kitchen-garden, the light sandy soil, dressed with the goëmon, produces an

incredible quantity of vegetables, onions, cabbages, parsnips, asparagus,

artichokes, cauliflowers, &c. Of onions, 2,000,000 lbs. are said to be

sent every year to England alone. The people here wear black caps, those

of the men are stocking-knit. The gardeners of Roscoff will carry their

produce above a hundred miles for sale. The chief vegetable consumed by

the Bretons themselves is the cabbage, of which the quantity raised is

enormous. The kind grown is mostly the Jersey or cow-cabbage, which grows

with stalks from five to six feet high, and has large leaves at every

joint. They use them for their cattle, as well as for their own eating.

Avenues of cabbages, stacked five or six feet high, are to be seen in most

Breton markets. Bread or porridge of buckwheat (blé noir) with

cabbage-soup is the customary diet of the country. The recipe is simple,

consisting of a cabbage-leaf, over which a little hot water is thrown, and

a "soupçon" of butter added to give it a flavour. These ingredients

compose the national soup which always appears at the tâble d’hôte, with

the inevitable "ragoût," _i. e._ harricoed mutton. The little town of

Roscoff has some historic importance. It was here that John de Montfort

sailed to England to do homage to King Edward III. for the duchy of

Brittany, and returned by the same port. Here also the child-princess Mary

Stuart landed in 1548 to marry the young Dauphin, afterwards Francis II.

In commemoration of the event, she afterwards caused the little chapel of

St. Ninian to be built close on the water’s edge. It is not more than

fifty feet long, and has an eastern flamboyant window, with others in the

side walls. The arches are fast going to decay, the stone altar is also

sculptured. When we saw it, the interior was filled with bundles of

broom-branches and poultry. It is strange this little chapel, built by the

Queen of two Kingdoms, should be suffered to fall to ruin for the lack of

a trifling outlay.

Here, two hundred years later, Prince Charles Stuart landed after

Culloden, in the French frigate the ’Heureux,’ sent by the French

Government to facilitate his escape, having eluded, through the chances of

a fog, the pursuit of the English cruisers; and here he knelt, in the

chapel of his ancestress, to return thanks for his deliverance.

The church of Roscoff has a curious pierced steeple, like many of those in

Finistère, and some alabaster bas-reliefs of the fourteenth century, with

numerous boxes of skulls. A ship rudely sculptured by the porch, and

another by the east window, show that the fishermen and ship-owners

contributed to the building of the church. By the shore is a rock of

grotesque form, and opposite, about three miles from Roscoff, is the

pretty island of Batz, which derives its name—Breton "batz," a stick—from

the rod used by St. Pol de Léon to work his miracle.

People were busily employed in boats collecting the goëmon, which they

pile in heaps along the shore. The great curiosity of Roscoff is its

enormous fig-tree, in the garden of the Capucine convent, said to be two

centuries old. It is supported by stone pillars, and is, we were informed,

above 300 feet in circumference.

We returned that evening to Morlaix: the viaduct by moonlight had a most

picturesque appearance. Next morning we proceeded by rail to the station

of St. Thégonnec, where nothing in the shape of a vehicle was to be had to

convey us to the town—nearly a mile and a half distant—but the ricketty

two-wheeled mail cart. At the little cabaret, which bears the important

name of Hôtel de la Grande Maison, we procured breakfast. The church has

been restored. It is rich in carvings, spoiled by gilding, the altars and

canopied pulpit especially. Opposite to the last are two coloured

"retables." The high altar, with two side altars and two smaller ones

behind, are gorgeously carved, coloured and gilt, and extend to the roof.

The painted-glass windows are the gifts of various persons. At the

entrance of the churchyard is a Renaissance porch, or triumphal arch,

dated 1581, with a sculpture representing St. Thégonnec, a bullock and car

by his side. Adjoining, is the ossuary, or reliquary, bearing the date

1676, also in the same elaborate style, destitute of bones, but having

below a crypt containing a group of life-sized figures representing the

Entombment, with this inscription:—

“Tu le vois mort, pécheur, ce Dieu qui t’a fait naître:

Sa mort est ton ouvrage, et devient ton appui.

A ce trait de bonté, tu dois au moins vivre pour lui.”

In the churchyard is also a calvary; the name given to those monumental

sculptures peculiar to Brittany, consisting of the crucifix, surrounded by

the chief witnesses of the crucifixion, together with minor groups

representing passages in the life of our Saviour. This calvary, executed

in Kersanton stone, is dated 1610; the numerous figures are all in the

grotesque costume of the period, with ruffs, toquets, trained gowns, and

scalloped jackets.

[Illustration: 23. Calvary, Guimiliau.]

We took a carriage for Guimiliau, passing on our road to the left, a

grotto. The church of Guimiliau partly dates from the Renaissance; it has

a finely sculptured porch, and contains within carvings of great beauty;

the pulpit, supported on a column, is dated 1677; the organ-loft is

enriched with splendid bas-reliefs in oak panels,—one represents a

triumphal march, after Le Brun, the others, King David and St. Cecilia.

But the grand monumental carving is the magnificent baptistery or

baptismal font, surmounted by a baldachin or canopy, supported by eight

twisted columns interlaced with vines, grapes and flowers, with graceful

little birds pecking the fruit. On the top of the canopy is a dolphin, and

above, two figures of Fame, trumpet-mouthed, surmounted by a royal crown

and the letters S. V. This baptistery and the organ-loft are both in the

style of Louis XIV., and are said to have cost 30,000 francs. In the

churchyard are a triumphal arch and a reliquary, both inferior to those of

St. Thégonnec, but the calvary of Guimiliau is one of the most extensive

in Brittany. It is of the sixteenth century. It consists of a solid

platform, ascended by a staircase, and raised upon arches; upon it,

sculptured in Kersanton stone, are the three crosses, the centre one

beautifully carved with St. John and the Virgin Mary by the side. The four

Evangelists are placed at each corner, and all the passages in the life of

Christ are represented by groups of little figures in the costume of the

sixteenth century. This singular monument bears two different dates, those

of 1581 and 1588.

Guimiliau is close to the railway, but there is no station there. We

returned to St. Thégonnec. The peasants along the road were threshing

their buckwheat on the open ground; women as well as men were at work.

They threshed in a circle, keeping good time with their strokes, and

laughing merrily while they flourished their flails,—they appeared a most

joyous party,—

“Ho! batteux, battons la gerbe,

Compagnons, joyeusement.”

Buckwheat, their "blé noir," is the Breton’s chief food, and is cultivated

to a large extent. With its coral-red stalks and snowy flowers it has a

very pretty appearance growing, and is the first care of the Breton

farmer—

“Ah! que la sombre nue aux funestes lueurs,

Planant sur la campagne,

Epargne les blés-noirs, les blés aux blanches fleurs,

Ce pain de la Bretagne."” —STÉPHANE HALGAN.

This plant, a native of Asia Minor, was evidently, from its French name,

"sarrazin," introduced into Europe by the Saracens or Moors. We proceeded

by rail to Brest, passing under the foot of the abrupt rock upon which

stand the picturesque ruins of the ancient castle of La Roche Maurice and

the church of La Roche. The rail runs along the banks of the Elorn through

a narrow wooded valley; the windings of the river are very picturesque,

and formerly a steamer ran from Landerneau to Brest, affording the

opportunity of seeing them.

Brest, the first harbour in France, is Breton only in name and locality;

it is built in an amphitheatre on the slopes of two hills divided by the

river Penfeld, which forms the port. On the right is the suburb

Recouvrance, on the left Brest proper. This irregular site often causes

the second floor of the houses in one street to be on a line with the

ground floor of another. Brest is clean and well built, and consists of

three long parallel streets. The principal one, called the Rue de Siam, in

commemoration of the Siamese Ambassadors sent to Louis XIV., who landed

here, runs the whole length of the town, ending at the fine iron bridge

called the Pont Impériale, the largest swing-bridge ever constructed. You

descend by a flight of steps from the Rue de Siam to the lower streets.

Running along the bay, of considerable extent, and well planted with

trees, is the magnificent promenade called the Cours d’Ajot, from the name

of the officer of the Engineers by whom it was laid out and planted a

century back. Well sheltered by its trees and refreshed by the sea

breezes, it commands a fine view over the new "port de commerce," and the

whole extent of the harbour of Brest, which is capable of containing 500

ships of the line, and is, with the exception of those of Rio Janeiro and

Constantinople, the largest and most beautiful in the world.

Brest harbour has only one entrance, which is to the west, through a

narrow channel called Le Goulet, less than a mile in width, and cut into

two by the Mingant rock. In the year 1796 the ’Republican’ was lost here.

Sailing out of the harbour, with a contrary wind and snow, the pilot

thought he had passed the Mingant rock, when the ship struck, and went

down with 800 men on board. Brest Castle in the Middle Ages was a place of

such strength and importance that John IV., who had four times besieged it

fruitlessly, when it was under the English dominion, was wont to say "Ce

n’est duc de Bretagne, qui n’est pas sire de Brest." It had been held by

Sir Robert Knolles against the army of the King of France under Du

Guesclin, who was obliged to raise the siege. The donjon was built by King

Richard II. during the War of Succession. The making Brest an important

naval station was the thought of Richelieu, and the work of Louis XIV.,

who built the arsenal.

Next day we made an excursion to see the church of Notre Dame-du-Folgoët

or the Fool of the Wood, celebrated in legendary lore: the tale is so old

and often told, we have some scruples in repeating it.

Towards the middle of the fourteenth century, there lived in the woods of

Lesneven, a poor idiot boy, called Salaun (Solomon), better known under

the name of the Fool of the Wood (Folgoët). He was miserably clad, had no

bed but the ground; no pillow, but a stone; no roof, but the tree which

gave him shelter. He went every day to Lesneven to seek his daily bread,

but he never begged; he uttered the simple words "Ave Maria! Solomon could

eat bread," and returned with whatever pittance was given him to his tree

near the fountain, into which he dipped his crusts, and plunged even in

the depth of winter, for his bath, always repeating the words, "Hail,

Maria!" One day a party of marauding soldiers accosted him. In answer to

their questions, he replied, "I am neither for Blois nor Montfort, I am

the servant of the Lady Mary." This simple life he led for nearly forty

years, when at last he fell ill and died, repeating his favourite words

"Ave Maria." He was found dead near the fountain, and was buried by his

neighbours. After a time, when the memory of the poor idiot boy had nearly

passed away, there suddenly sprung up from his grave a white lily with the

words "Ave Maria" inscribed in letters of gold upon its petals. The news

of the miracle spread throughout all Brittany, Duke John sent

commissioners; the grave was opened, and it was found the lily proceeded

from the mouth of Salaun,—"ceste royale fleur sortait par sa bouche du

creux de son estomach"—a testimony of the innocence and piety "du plus

beau mignon de la reine des Cieux." Duke John vowed to erect a church to

our Lady over the fountain of the poor mendicant, whose faith had been

thus recognised;(12) and, faithful to his promise, the first stone was

laid by him in 1366, as a thank-offering for his success the previous year

at the battle of Auray, which had fixed the crown upon his head. His wife,

Joan of Navarre, not only made a pilgrimage to the Folgoët in 1396, but

also contributed to the building of the church. It was completed by John

V., about 1419. The Queen-Duchess Anne of Brittany went there in

pilgrimage after the recovery from illness of Louis XIII. Anne of Austria

founded six masses at the Folgoët, in gratitude for the birth of Louis

XIV., and several popes granted indulgences to those who made pilgrimages

to this shrine. This church is one of the finest in Brittany. Its colour

is sombre; it is the oldest monument in Brittany in which the Kersanton

stone is employed. This stone is a volcanic rock called hornblende, of

very fine grain, with minute specks of mica. There is a large quarry near

St. Pol de Léon; but it is found principally on the west of the harbour of

Brest, near a village from which it takes its name. Kersanton stone is of

a dark-green colour, approaching to bronze, gives out a metallic sound

when struck, and is easily worked in the quarry, in blocks of from twenty

to forty feet cube, but hardens on exposure to the air. Time has no

destructive effect on it; the most delicate, lightest, and most ornamental

sculptures executed in it remain uninjured, while the hardest granites,

erected at the same time, are friable and decomposed. The Kersanton stone

cuts glass like a diamond.

The architecture of the Folgoët is distinguished for the elegance and

richness of its ornamentation: the softness of the Kersanton stone, when

fresh taken from the quarry fits it specially for the deeply cut,

lace-like works of the artists of the flamboyant school, and the church is

remarkable for the skill with which the productions of the vegetable

kingdom are represented both within and without. It has no transepts, but

to the south is a projection formed by the treasure chamber. The modern

pulpit has a series of medallion bas-reliefs representing the legend of

Solomon.

The jubé, or roodloft, is a perfect lacework of stone. Above three arches,

decorated with vine-leaves, is an open-worked gallery of pierced

quatre-foils surpassing in exuberance of ornament any other known.

To the east are five altars, all of Kersanton stone, most delicately

sculptured—the under-cutting of the foliage most wonderful. They are in

the shape of tombs or sarcophagi, the form generally adopted for altars in

the sixteenth century. Round the "autel des anges," richest of them all,

is a row of eighteen niches, filled in with the figures of angels, holding

alternately phylacteries and escutcheons; round the top is a cornice of

thistle-leaves—on the cut stalk of one hangs a dew-drop perfect to nature.

The high altar is decorated with vine-leaves, birds pecking the grapes,

and the ermine, with its motto "À ma vie," introduced. The altar of the

rosary has also a cornice of vine-leaves modelled evidently after the high

altar.

[Illustration: 24. The Fool’s Well, Folgoët.]

The fine flamboyant rose window at the east of the church resembles that

of St. Pol de Léon, and below it is the fountain of Salaun. The spring is

concealed under the high altar, and flows into a basin without, preserved

by a kind of Gothic porch sculptured with thistle-leaves and crockets, and

within it, on a bracket, is a delicately chiseled image of the Virgin.

Some children round the fountain offered us pins, the use of which we did

not understand. We afterwards learned that it is the custom in Brittany

for girls to take a pin from their bodice, and throw it into a sacred

well, to ascertain, by its manner of sinking, when they would be married.

If the pin falls head foremost, then there is no present hope of

matrimony, but if the point goes first, it is a sure sign of being married

that year.

On the new year, in some parts of Brittany, pieces of bread-and-butter are

thrown into the fountains, and from the way in which they swim the future

is foretold. If the buttered side turns under, it forebodes death; if two

pieces adhere together, it is a sign of sickness; and if the piece floats,

it is an assurance of long life and happiness.

The veneration for springs and healing wells is of very ancient date, and

was prohibited by early councils of the Church; but the worship of that

element from which suffering humanity seeks for relief in all its ailments

has passed through succeeding creeds, and that which was held sacred a

thousand years back is still the object of reverence and affection.

Nor is the sculpture outside the church less remarkable than the interior.

The west door, now fallen to decay, has an arch with double entrance

separated by a column containing a bénitier. A wreath of curled leaves

runs round the arch, and on a bracket of thistle-leaves formerly stood a

statue of John V.

The north side has little ornament. The great richness is in the south,

where is the fine porch of Bishop Alain de la Rue, who consecrated the

building, and more splendid still, is, at the angle formed by the

projecting sacristy facing the west, the Porch of the Apostles. The twelve

Apostles are ranged on each side, under rich canopies; the whole porch one

mass of floral decoration, vine-leaves and mallows, interspersed with

dragons, birds, and insects. On the right of the porch is a crouching

figure with a label inscribed: "Bn soiez venz,"—"Bien soiez venuz" or

"Soyez les bien venus"—an invitation to the faithful to enter into the

church. On the lintel of the two doors are ermines passant, and the motto

of the Dukes of Brittany, "À ma vie," and towards the south are the

remains of a whole cornice of ermines, running through the rings of a long

scroll inscribed with "À ma vie." This motto was first taken by Duke John

IV. (who instituted the order of the Ermine) to imply that he had

conquered Brittany, and would maintain it, even at the cost of his life,

"à ma vie."(13)

The collar consisted of a double chain, in each of which were four

ermines, and two more hung suspended from two chains, surmounted by

coronets. The motto "À ma vie" was placed round each of these ten ermines.

The Père Lobineau quotes a history of Duke John, in which the order is

thus spoken of:—

“Lors fit mander tous les Prélats,

Abbés et Clercs de tous Estats,

Barons, Chevaliers, Escuyers,

Qui tous portoient nouveaux Colliers

De moult bel port et belle guise;

Et étoit nouvelle Dévise

De deux Rolets brunis et beaux,

Couplés ensemble de deux fermeaux;

Et au dessus étoit l’Ermine

En figure et en couleur fine,

En deux Cedules avoit escript

_À ma vie_, comme j’ai dit;

L’un mot est blanc, l’autre noir,

Il est certain, tien, pour le voir.”

In the churchyard is a cross erected by Cardinal de Coëtivy (died 1474),

who is represented kneeling at the foot; it is said to be the work of

Michel Colomb, sculptor of the celebrated monument raised by Queen Anne of

Brittany to her parents, now in the Cathedral at Nantes. Next day, we went

to Le Conquet, returning by St. Mathieu. We crossed the swing-bridge to

the suburb Recouvrance, so called from the chapel of our Lady, to whom

shipwrecked mariners addressed their petitions to recover (recouvrir)

their property. On our left we saw the islet rock of Bertheaume, about 200

feet high, distant from the coast 150. Until lately, the communication

with the mainland was by means of a kind of cradle drawn on two cables,

about nine mètres in circumference.

Le Conquet(14) is a little seaport built on the slope of a steep hill.

Formerly it was of some importance, and a great resort of pirates. Sir

Walter Manny took the town for the Countess of Montfort, during the war of

the two Jeannes, and it was attacked by the fleets of Henry VIII. and his

daughter Mary. Opposite is a beautiful beach, called the Blancs Sablons,

accessible at low water by walking across the harbour. Here is the point

of communication with the island of Ouëssant, about seventeen miles

distant, by means of a steamer, weather permitting, as the Chenal du Four,

which separates this group of islands from the continent, is covered with

rocks and is very dangerous in rough weather. Its men are all seamen or

fishermen, the women perform the agricultural labour. They bring in their

produce to Brest at the monthly fairs, and are not so cut off from the

world as Gresset describes them:—

“Sous un ciel toujours rigoureux

Au sein des flots impétueux,

Non loin de l’Armorique plage

Habitacle marécageux,

Moitié peuplé, moitié sauvage,

Dont les habitants malheureux

Separés du reste du monde,

Semblent ne connoître l’onde

Et n’être connus que des cieux.”

GRESSET.—_Carême impromptu._

[Illustration: 25. Abbey of St. Mathieu.]

We now reached the Abbey of St. Mathieu, situated on the extreme point of

Brittany and of France, on the top of a promontory, well called Finistère.

Here in the sixth century was built a monastery in honour of St. Matthew

the Evangelist, whose head had been stolen in Egypt by some Breton

navigators, and been brought to land at this point, which long bore the

name of "St. Mathieu de fin de terre" (Finistère). In the twelfth century

the monastery was converted into a Benedictine abbey, which is a beautiful

example of the Early English style. The formidable rocks at its feet are

called Les Moines. The monks of St. Mathieu kept a beacon for the safety

of mariners on these dangerous shores. The modern lighthouse quite masks

the sight of the abbey, and is a great disfigurement to the view, which,

in other respects, is most grand; the imposing granite ruins of the abbey

church on the very edge of these weather-beaten cliffs, worn and torn by

the ocean with its unwearied waves; on the right, the reefs of the Passage

du Four, which appear to unite the islands of Ouëssant and its satellites

to St. Mathieu; on the left the elongated point of the Bec du Raz, which

no one, according to the Bretons, ever passed without grief and suffering.

In sight of Saint Mathieu, the English in 1504, with eighty ships,

attacked Hervé de Porzmoguer, a Breton captain, with only twenty. His own

ship the ’Cordelière,’ which had been built and fitted out by Anne of

Bretagne, at her own expense, took fire; it held 1200 troops besides the

ship’s company. Porzmoguer grappled the ’Cordelière’ to the ship of the

English admiral, the ’Great Harry;’ and both vessels, driven by the

north-west wind to the entrance of the Goulet, were burned together, and

above 2000 men perished in the two ships. Porzmoguer mounted the mast

followed by the raging flames, and cast himself from the main-top, in full

armour, into the sea.

In 1597, the fleet sent by Philip II. to take possession of Brittany for

Spain was dispersed in a storm off Point St. Mathieu, and, out of a

hundred and twenty ships, scarcely one remained.

On our way home, we passed a little town called La Trinité, from three

springs all issuing from the same fountain, at which washerwomen with

their wooden bats were hard at work, beating the clothes to rags on the

stones.

[Illustration: 26. Peasant Girl of Ouëssant.]

Next day was the monthly fair at Brest, which brought in many of the

country people in their picturesque costumes. Most conspicuous among them

were the peasants of Ouëssant, last type of the Celtic women, in their

singularly Italian-looking head-dress, their hair streaming over their

shoulders; and the Plougastel men, in red caps, with coats and trowsers of

white flannel.

Most of the market-women were furnished with enormous umbrellas, red,

blue, and green. In this rainy province, they are indispensable, and the

acquisition of an umbrella is a great object of ambition to the Breton

peasant.

We left Brest by the steamer for Pont Launay and Châteaulin, a four hours’

sail in the harbour of Brest. On the right we passed the Point des

Espagnols, where Frobisher, sent by Queen Elizabeth to the assistance of

Henry IV., received his death wound. Leaving on our left Plougastel, where

we were unable to visit the celebrated calvary, we passed near the "Anse

du Fret," whence Joan of Navarre, then widow of Duke John IV., sailed to

England to marry Henry of Lancaster, 1403. Henry, when Earl of Derby, had

visited Nantes to ask the assistance of his uncle in returning to England,

and Joan had favoured his expedition, but Duke John died the same year

(1399). When Queen Dowager of England, she saw the children of her two

husbands arrayed against each other, and her son Arthur, who had been

invested by King Henry IV. with the Earldom of Richmond, made prisoner at

Agincourt by his half-brother King Henry V., who confined him in the

Tower, and afterwards in Fotheringay Castle. Joan received hard treatment

from her stepson. Accused of being a sorceress—a reputation she inherited

from her father, Charles the Bad of Navarre—Henry caused her to be

confined in Leeds and Pevensey castles, and deprived her of her property.

It was only on his approaching death that he restored her to liberty. She

retired to Havering Bower in Essex, where her grandson, the unfortunate

Gilles de Bretagne, was reared and educated with Henry VI. She died in

1437, and the memory of "Joan the witch queen" was long held in awe by the

people of Havering Bower.

[Illustration: 27. Peasant Girl, Châteaulin.]

On the left is the hamlet of Kersanton, which gives its name to the stone

so called. At the entrance of the Aulne,(15) to the right, we passed the

ruins of the abbey of Landévenec, the most ancient monastic establishment

in Brittany. At Pont Launay an omnibus took us to the railway station at

Châteaulin, celebrated for its slate quarries, a drive of three quarters

of an hour. From here we proceeded by rail to Quimper, capital of

Cornouaille. The district of Cornouaille—Cornu-Galliæ, expressing its

position at the horn or extremity of France—is most varied in character.

The part on the north is enclosed between the two chains of mountains,

which, running nearly parallel with each other, traverse the department of

Finistère, the Mené-Arré, and the Montagnes Noires. A single chain passes

through the Côtes-du-Nord, and forks off, at the edge of the department,

near Callac, whence the northern range, the Mené-Arré, runs westwards to

Faou harbour; while the Montagnes Noires incline to the south-west, and

reach the sea near Crozon. The country between these chains is dreary and

bare—barren plains and black mountains; to the south it is cultivated and

productive. The stormy rock-bound coast is wild and desolate. One-third of

the department consists of landes, marshes, and sandy shores (_grèves_).

The people are the Irish of Brittany. Their wants are restricted to a tub

of salted pork and a provision of cider, with rye, or black corn, to make

their "galette." They are simple in their manners, kind to the poor, and

enduring of suffering. Respect for the misfortunes of others, and patience

under their own, is one of the Breton characteristics.

In the days of Conan Meriadec there lived a holy man, called Corentin, who

retired to a solitude for prayer and meditation, near a fountain in a

forest. Every morning a little fish came to him from the fountain; he cut

a piece off it for his daily pittance and threw it again into the water,

and in an instant the fish became whole. The miracle was repeated every

morning. One day King Gradlon, who held his court at "Kemper," was in the

forest near the hermitage of St. Corentin, with some of his suite, and

asked him if he could give him something to eat. The saint immediately ran

to his fountain and called his little fish, cut off a piece, which he gave

to the maître d’hôtel to prepare for the king and his attendants. The chef

laughed when he took the slice; but, to the surprise of everybody, the

fish multiplied so as to completely satisfy the hunger of the king and his

party. Gradlon threw himself on his knees at the feet of St. Corentin, and

gave him the forest, with a "maison de plaisance," which St. Corentin

converted into a monastery. The king afterwards erected Quimper into a

bishopric, to which he nominated St. Corentin:—

“Voici dans le fond la ville de Kemper,

Asise au confluent de l’Oded et du Ster.

Comme sa cathédrale, aux deux tours dentelées,

S’élève noblement du milieu des vallées,

O perle de l’Oded, fille du roi Grallon,

Qui de saint Corentin portes aussi le nom,

Rejouis-toi, Kemper, dans tes vielles murailles!

Vois avec quelle ardeur, ô reine de Cornouailles,

Tes fils de tous les points de l’antique évêché,

Pêcheurs et montagnards, viennent à ton marché!

Cornouillais! en passant près de sa basilique,

Du bon saint Corentin adorez la relique.

Que tous ceux d’Elliant et des mêmes chemins

Boivent à sa fontaine et s’y lavent les mains;

Non pas les Léonards, eux de qui les ancêtres,

Voici quelque mille ans, hommes jaloux et traîtres,

Volèrent le poisson dont notre Corentin

Coupait pour se nourrir un pen chaque matin,

Et qui chaque matin, ô pieuse merveille!

Nageait dans sa fontaine aussi frais que la veille:

Eh bien! les Léonards volèrent ce poisson,

Mais Kemper n’oublie jamais leur trahison;

Sans jouir de leur crime, ils en portent la peine,

Et toujours le poisson nage dans la fontaine.”

_Les Bretons_—BRIZEUX.

Quimper, or Quimper-Corentin, is prettily situated at the junction of the

rivers Odet and Stheire; its Breton name, Kemper, signifying confluence.

It was long called Kemper-Odet. On the opposite side of the river the

hills, consisting of a mass of rocks, covered with trees, rise to some

height, and are ascended by well-kept walks. The river runs straight

through the town, like a canal, edged by stone quays and crossed by iron

bridges, with avenues of trees on each side. Trout can be seen in the

sparkling stream; and we watched a boy with a hook at the end of a reel of

black silk, hanging over the bridge, with a piece of kneaded bread for

bait. With this simple tackle he contrived to hook a trout of tolerable

size, and let it run out the length of his silk line till he had tired it

out and landed it. The scenery of the river below Quimper, flowing through

a bed of granite blocks, is, we were told, lovely, but we had no time to

visit it further down. The view from the top of the wood-covered heights

on the opposite side is very extensive, looking down upon the town, with

its cathedral towers rising above, the promenade, and the course of the

river. At the end of the town there is a manufactory of coarse pottery;

but formerly it produced ware of a finer quality.

The beautiful cathedral is the largest of the four episcopal churches of

Lower Brittany (Vannes, St. Pol, Quimper, and Tréguier), and was

principally built in the fifteenth century. On the platform over the

finely sculptured porch, rich in foliage like the Folgoët, placed between

the two towers, is the equestrian statue of King Gradlon, to whom is

attributed the introduction of the vine into Brittany. The statue was

decapitated in 1793, but restored ten years back. On St. Cecilia’s day

companies of musicians used to mount on the platform. While they sang a

hymn in praise of King Gradlon, one of the choristers, provided with a

flagon of wine, a napkin, and golden hanap, mounted on the crupper of King

Gradlon’s horse, poured out a cup of wine, which he offered ceremoniously

to the lips of the statue and then drank himself, carefully wiped with his

napkin the moustachios of the king, placed a branch of laurel in his hand,

and then threw down the hanap in the midst of the crowd below, in honour

of the first planter of the grape in Brittany. To whoever caught the cup

before it fell, and presented it uninjured to the Chapter, was adjudged a

prize of two hundred crowns.

The two spires of the cathedral are modern, and were built by an annual

subscription of a sou for five years, called the "sou du St. Corentin:"

more than 600_l._ was thus raised. They have only been lately finished.

[Illustration: 28. Beggar. Quimper.]

The men about Quimper all wear the national costume—enormous bragou-bras,

or breeches of a kind of white sail-cloth, a broad-brimmed felt hat, long

hair, falling over the shoulders, wooden shoes, and a broad belt with

metal buckle. Their woollen jacket and waistcoat are edged with gay

colours, and have sometimes the itinerant tailor’s name and the date of

the making of the garment, embroidered in wool upon the breast. On gala

days brown or blue cloth bragous are worn, tied with coloured ribbons at

the knees, black leather gaiters with buttons, and the sabots are replaced

by leather shoes and costly silver buckles. The national costume is more

preserved in Cornouaille than in the other parts of Brittany. The pen bas

or cudgel, with a large knob, like the Irish shillelah, is always ready at

hand:—

“Comme une conque immense ouverte au bord des eaux,

En Cornouaille est un port, il y vient cent bateaux.

Un sable jaune et fin couvre ses côtes plates,

Mais un infect amas de rogues, de morgates,

D’ossements de poissons sur le rivage épars,

La saumure qui filtre entre ses deux remparts,

Soulèvent tous les sens quand cette odeur saline

Arrive au voyageur qui tourne la colline,

Laissant derrière lui les taillis de Melven,

La belle lande d’or qui parfume Aven,

Et ces mouvants aspects de plaines, de montagnes

Que déroulent sans fin nos sauvages campagnes.

Plus de batteurs de seigle ici, plus de faucheurs,

Mais des canots chargés de mousses, de pêcheurs,

Partant et revenant avec chaque marée,

Et sur les quais du pont versant à leur rentrée,

Des sardines en tas, des congres, des merlus,

Des homards cuirassés, de gros crabes velus;

Et, du fond des paniers, mille genres énormes,

De toutes les couleurs et de toutes les formes,

Avec leur œil vitreux et leur museau béant,

Tous enfants monstrueux du grand monstre Océan.

Aussitôt le pressier les sèche, les empile,

Et quand leur grasse chair a degorgé son huile,

De Nantes à Morlaix cherchant les acheteurs,

On voit bondir sur mer les hardis caboteurs."”

_Les Bretons_—BRIZEUX.

[Illustration: 29. Concarneau, with Sardine Boats.]

Thus the Breton poet describes Concarneau, a little fortified town, which

has been called the St. Malo of Cornouaille, and is celebrated for its

sardine fishery. The road lay through a wooded country, with steep hills

and valleys, intersected by streams: on the right a view of the Bay of La

Forêt, where extensive oyster-culture is going on. After a tedious journey

with miserable horses, we reached Concarneau at nine, a distance of little

more than thirteen miles, having set off a few minutes after four.

Concarneau proper is on a rocky island, surrounded by fortifications, with

eight or nine towers and thick walls, and communicating with the mainland

by means of a drawbridge. This is called the "Ville Close." It consists of

only one street. When Duke John IV. embarked from here for England, he

left Sir Robert Knollys governor of the duchy. The constable Du Guesclin,

after the surrender of Hennebont and Quimperlé, took Concarneau by storm

and slew all the English garrison, except the captain, who received

quarter.

Opposite the island is the faubourg Sainte Croix, which is more populous

than the Ville Close, and where all the business of the place is carried

on. The sardine fishery, from June to November, occupies two-thirds of the

population. From three to four hundred vessels are employed with five men

to each boat. Calm weather is most favourable for fishing. The sardines

are taken in large seine nets, one side floating with corks on the surface

of the water, the other falling vertically. The sardines, attracted by the

bait, try to force themselves through the meshes of the net, and are

caught by their gills. The bait used is called "rogue:" the best is

composed of the roe of the cod-fish, pounded and steeped in salt water for

several days; sometimes the roe and flesh of the mackerel is used. Rogue

is made in Norway and Denmark, but principally at Drontheim, and is very

expensive, costing about sixpence the lb.; hence an inferior bait is

substituted, composed of shrimps and other small crustacea, with fish

salted, and the heads of anchovies, all pounded and putrified together.

But this kind of decomposed bait is forbidden by the fishery laws. The

employment of it accounts for the rareness of good sardines, as the

remaining of such a substance in the body of the animal cannot fail of

corrupting it. It is a pretty sight to behold the little fleet employed in

the sardine fishery return in the evening, laden with the results of the

day’s work. The fish, when landed, are counted out into baskets, shaken in

the water, and taken up to one of the curing-houses: of these there are

about sixty in Concarneau. In the first shed we saw above fifty women

employed in taking off their heads—"detêter" it is called—an operation

they effect with great dexterity. With one cut at the back of the neck the

head is separated and the fish "éventré" at the same time.

The sardines are next placed in little wire trays, with divisions like a

double gridiron, and fried or dipped in boiling oil, an operation

principally performed by the women of Pont l’Abbé, who are supposed, like

the Germans of our baking and sugar-refining houses, to be peculiarly

constituted to resist heat. The gridirons are then hung up to drain. The

sardines are next packed in tin boxes, cold oil poured over them, and the

boxes soldered down. From 800 to 900 boxes are placed in a boiler and

boiled for half an hour to test the boxes, and those which leak are put

aside. They are of English tin, and the making of them is the winter’s

occupation. Finally, the boxes are stamped with the name of the

establishment, and packed in deal cases for exportation. The sardine is a

very delicate fish, and easily decays. It is only taken out of the net

with a rake (_raquette_); in summer, numbers are spoiled from being heaped

in the boats, and at whatever hour the boats come in the fish go through

the whole process of curing, as they will not keep till the next day.

Concarneau exports from 15,000 to 20,000 barrels of sardines annually.

Only a part are "anchoitée," that is, preserved like the anchovies of the

Mediterranean, the others are salted in casks; and quantities, only

slightly salted, are packed in baskets, to be sent to the provincial

markets. It is estimated that twelve hundred million fish have been caught

this year. The sardine fishery extends along the whole western coast of

Brittany from Douarnenez to the Loire.

One of the curiosities of Concarneau is its aquarium, under the direction

of M. Guillon. It consists of six cisterns, made by the blasting of the

solid rock, and comprising an area of large extent, within a walled

enclosure. In these cisterns the water is renewed at each turn of the tide

through narrow openings in the wall. Three of these reservoirs are

reserved for fish, the others for crustacea—lobsters and langoustes. Of

these they keep from 10,000 to 15,000 at a time, and send them off daily,

when fattened, to Paris and the principal markets of France. It was

curious to see the dread shown by the common lobster to the langouste.

They all were adhering to the sides of the reservoirs as if afraid to

encounter their more powerful companions. Quantities of turbot, also

reared for sale, were in one of the cisterns, darting with the greatest

rapidity in the water when the keeper threw in pieces of sardines for them

to eat. At the end of these cisterns is a building, with every arrangement

for the culture of fishes—rows of little troughs, and other vessels, to

contain them. Many of the fish are so tame, they came immediately to the

keeper on his making a noise in the water with his fingers. Here are fish

of every description, and naturalists have every facility of studying

their habits. Among others, we saw the graceful little sea-horse or

hippocampus, a native of the seas of Brittany as well as of the

Mediterranean.

[Illustration: 30. Dolmen. Trégunc.]

From Concarneau to Quimperlé is a distance of above eighteen miles. The

road runs near the sea, over a large tract of land covered with furze

(ajonc), which, in Brittany, grows from five to six feet high, forming a

solid impenetrable mass. Huge blocks of granite are scattered about in

every direction, jutting out from among the furze—menhirs, cromlechs, and

dolmens—a perfect wilderness of Celtic remains. We drove over an extent of

several miles of furze-covered hills and heathy land. Before we reached

the village of Trégunc we stopped to see a large dolmen on the side of the

road, and further to the right a rocking-stone, twelve feet long and nine

feet thick, standing about fifteen feet from the ground, the second

largest in Brittany. It is poised by a little projection, like an inverted

cone, upon another rock lying half-buried in the ground. The upper block

can easily be set in motion by the hand. It is called by the country

people "La pierre aux maris trompés," and was formerly consulted by

husbands to test the fidelity of their wives. Even now the partner of a

faithless wife is said to be incapable of giving to the stone the rocking

motion it so easily receives from another.

[Illustration: 31. Rocking Stone. Trégunc.]

On the left we passed the majestic ruins of the castle of Rustéphan,

_i. e._ Run, mound, of Stephen, having been built by Stephen Count of

Penthièvre at the beginning of the twelfth century. It belonged in the

thirteenth to Blanche of Castile, the mother of St. Louis. The present

edifice dates from the fifteenth. One of the sides remaining has a

cylindrical tower with pinnacled doorway, and the windows have stone

mullions.

[Illustration: 32. Château of Rustéphan.]

Pursuing our road through blocks of granite, we descended into the valley

of Pontaven, the town of millers, according to the old saying—

“Pont Aven, ville de renom;

Quatorze moulins, deux maisons;”

a little port built upon rocks, at the foot of two elevated mountains,

over which are scattered masses of granite boulders, obstructing the

course of the river which bounds over them. The banks are lined with woody

slopes; wooden bridges cross the river at intervals; mills are established

on the ledges of the rocks on its sides; and the noise of the mills, with

that of the sparkling river tumbling through the rocks in waterfalls, keep

up a perpetual din. Pontaven is celebrated for the quantity of its salmon:

so much is taken, that it used to be said that the millers fattened their

pigs upon this fish, which was literally true, as they took the small

salmon, called glésils, in nets (_poches_) for that purpose. Salmon now is

very dear. At the mouth of the Pontaven river was a castle, whose

proprietor had the privilege of firing upon the fishing-boats which

returned up the river without giving to the castellan their finest fish,

which his steward went down to select. Pontaven is seven and a half miles

from Bannalec, the nearest railway station. After remaining a few hours we

drove on to Quimperlé—in Breton, Kemper (confluence) Ellé—so called,

because it is at the confluence of two rivers, the Elle and Isole:—

“Vous reverrai-je encore, ô fleuve de l’Ellé,

Vous, Izôle, où mon cœur est toujours rappellé!

Les eaux sombres de l’Ellé, claire ceux de l’Izôle;

De ces bords enchantés je dirais chaque saule.”

BRIZEUX.

Quimperlé is a great resort for fishing, the Quimperlé salmon and trout

being renowned throughout Brittany, and even at Paris. This town is

beautifully situated, surrounded by high hills, in a valley, watered by

these bright rivers, the hills covered with gardens, orchards, the

Ursuline, Capucine, and other convents, and crowned by the steeples of the

Gothic church of St. Michael. Its principal building is the church of St.

Croix, formerly that of a Benedictine abbey, celebrated for its riches.

The island of Belle-Ile-en-Mer then belonged to it. It is a most singular

edifice, built in the eleventh century, after the model of the church of

the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. In 1862 it fell down, but is at present

in course of restoration, after its original plan. The old abbey buildings

are now occupied by the Prefecture. We were given permission to pass

through the convent garden—the workmen and building materials having

blocked up the other entrances—to see the crypt in which is the tomb of

Saint Gurloës, first abbot of Quimperlé. His effigy, with crosier in hand,

his feet resting on a dragon, lies upon a monument, about three feet high,

with an opening in the lower part. The saint—Saint Urlose, as the Bretons

call him—is invoked principally for the gout, and persons so afflicted

crawl through the hole under the tomb, where, suspended by chains, is an

iron hook. They twist a lock of their hair round this hook, and tear it

off with violence, hoping to propitiate the saint by this

mortification—evidently a remnant of heathen times, when hair was

sacrificed to deities or to the memory of departed friends.

At Quimperlé was buried John de Montfort, rival of Charles of Blois for

the ducal crown. Sent to Paris under a safe-conduct by the Dauphin John,

Philip of Valois had him shut up in the Louvre, whence he escaped, after a

captivity of three years, to England. Edward III. espoused his cause and

granted him some troops. After an unsuccessful attack upon Quimper, De

Montfort died (1345) at Hennebont, and was buried in the church of the

Dominicans at Quimperlé. He appointed Edward III. guardian of his son, and

Edward immediately occupied Quimperlé and caused money to be struck in his

name. Lord Lewis of Spain, on the side of Charles of Blois, made a descent

upon Quimperlé at the head of 6000 men, and pillaged the whole country. On

the news reaching Sir Walter Manny, he hastened to meet the enemy, took

possession of their fleet, and made such carnage of the soldiers, that

they were all killed or taken prisoners, and Lewis of Spain escaped with

difficulty. The country about Quimperlé is beautiful—wood and water in

every direction. The department of Finistère is traversed by three hundred

streams, and has an extent of nearly four hundred miles of coast. We were

advised to go and see the rood-screen of the chapel of Rosgrand, but had

no time. We visited the ruins of the church of St. Columban. Above a

round-arched doorway is a beautiful flamboyant window, between two

canopied niches. We next walked up to the Place near St. Michel, where a

cattle-market was being held. The Breton peasants, with their long shaggy

uncombed hair hanging round their shoulders—they comb and wash only on

fête days—their dirty canvas bragou bras, patched coats, and sabots with

tufts of straw crammed in, looked more dirty than it is possible to

imagine. Cleanliness is the last of the Breton virtues. The market and the

fair are the two great events of the country, and people flock from great

distances to sell their merchandise. But of all extraordinary animals is

the Breton pig, as tall as a donkey; a lean, long-necked, ragged, bristly,

savage-looking beast, as ill kept as its master, and it runs like a

greyhound when approached. The Breton cow is very small, small as the

Kerry cows of Ireland, very pretty and very productive. The Breton butter

is proverbially good, and is given out most liberally, in lumps as big as

loaves, at the tables-d’hôte. It is brought to market in jars which the

women carry upon their heads. It is to the Queen-Duchess that Brittany,

and indeed all France, owes the privilege of eating butter in Lent. It

was forbidden as animal food by the laws of the Church, and oil, a

vegetable production, ordered as a substitute. In 1491, Anne solicited of

Rome, for herself and household, permission to eat butter on fast-days,

alleging, as a plea, that Brittany did not produce oil. Encouraged by this

favour, Brittany obtained the same indulgence, and it was acquired

successively by the other provinces of France; but all are originally

indebted for the privilege to the good Queen-Duchess Anne.

Next day, leaving the department of Finistère, we entered that of

Morbihan, and went by rail to Lorient on the river Scorff, here joined by

the Blavet. It was formerly the seat of the French East India Company; it

is now one of the five military ports of France and the residence of a

maritime Prefect. In the Place Bisson is the statue of a young officer of

the French navy, a native of Guemené-sur-Scorff (Morbihan). When

commanding, in 1827, a brig in the Greek Archipelago, he was attacked by

two pirate vessels. Nine out of his fifteen men were killed and himself

wounded; the enemy crowded on the deck. Desiring the survivors of his crew

to jump overboard, "Now," cried he to the pilot, "is the moment for

revenge!" and, setting fire to the powder-magazine, he blew up himself,

his ship, and the pirates who had boarded her. Next morning the bodies of

seventy Greeks lay on the sea-shore, showing the success of his

self-devotion. The pilot, who, with four sailors, was saved, received the

decoration of the Legion of Honour. On the pedestal of Bisson’s statue is

an inscription, concluding with these words: "Mort en héros, pour son roi

et sa patrie, ses amis le pleurent, la France le regrette, et ses frères

d’armes envient son sort."

From here we proceeded to Hennebont (Breton, "old bridge"), famous, in the

War of Succession, for its heroic defence by Jeanne de Flandre, during the

captivity of her husband, Jean de Montfort, who had been taken prisoner at

Nantes and carried off to Paris. Jeanne, who, as Froissart says, had the

courage of a man and the heart of a lion, placed herself at the head of

his party. Like another Maria Theresa, she presented herself before the

Breton lords, with her infant son in her arms, and received their oaths of

allegiance. She then joined in the defence of Hennebont, which was

invested by Charles of Blois. Clothed in armour and mounted on a

war-horse, she galloped up and down the streets, encouraging the

inhabitants. She ordered the ladies of her suite and other women of the

place to cut short their "keytels," carry the stones to the ramparts, and

transport pots of quick-lime to throw down upon the enemy. At the head of

300 horsemen, the Countess, who rode better than any squire, sallied out

of the town, attacked and burnt the enemy’s camp, retreated to Auray, and,

a few days after, re-entered Hennebont, with banners flying and trumpets

sounding. But the blockade was so close that provisions were wanting, and

the garrison compelled her to agree to a capitulation, unless within three

days assistance arrived from England. The time was on the point of

expiring, and a herald had approached the gate of the city to receive the

keys in the name of Charles of Blois, when the Countess, from her window,

perceived at sunrise the English fleet entering the port in full sail. She

exclaimed, "We are saved!" The siege was raised, and the Countess, says

Froissart, kissed Sir Walter Manny and all his companions, one after the

other, two or three times, like a noble and valiant dame. "Better,"

observed Charles, when he heard the news, "that Jeanne, instead of her

lord, had been shut up in the Louvre." He left the carrying on of the

siege to Lewis of Spain, and proceeded to Vannes and Auray. Some fragments

of walls are all that remain of Jeanne de Montfort’s castle, which was

situated on a height on the other side of the river in the "Vieille

ville." The town on the left bank of the Blavet is called the "Ville

neuve" and the "Ville close," being surrounded by walls. Large vessels

ascend the Blavet to Hennebont. It is traversed by a light and elegant

railway viaduct of twelve arches. We saw on the quay a quantity of red

iron-ore from Bilbao.

Hennebont is a very pretty town; the principal building is the church of

Notre Dame-de-Paradis, of the sixteenth century, with a fine square stone

tower, surmounted by a beautiful spire, and a tall porch, forming one side

of the tower. This handsome church has lately been restored. The scenery

about the Blavet is very pretty—the banks wooded, and fertile fields. We

took a boat and rowed up the river, passing the ruined Abbaye de la Joie,

where a hideous château has been built. This was a Cistercian convent,

founded in the thirteenth century by Blanche of Navarre, wife of Duke John

I. (_le Roux_). The chapel of Notre Dame-de-Paradis formerly belonged to

the convent; but when the parish church was demolished, the Abbey ceded

this chapel to the town, reserving the privilege of a separate seat for

the Abbess, who, on the Sunday after St. John’s day, had her crosier

carried before her in state by one of her vassals at high mass and

vespers.

From Hennebont we went by rail to Auray, and established ourselves for

some time in the Pavillon d’en Haut, a most comfortable hotel. Auray is

situated on the slope of a hill, the streets narrow and steep.

Our first drive was to Ste. Anne d’Auray, one of the most famous places of

pilgrimage in Brittany, on account of its miraculous well and church. It

has been called the Mecca of Brittany. Here, according to the legend in

the seventeenth century, Ste. Anne appeared to a countryman, and directed

him to dig in a certain field, where he would find her image, and to build

a chapel there. Guided by a miraculous light, Nicolazic discovered the

statue, and erected a chapel on the site.

[Illustration: 33. Scala Sancta. Ste. Anne d’Auray.]

The spring where Ste. Anne first appeared is now enclosed in a large basin

of cut stone. Near it is the church, in course of reconstruction. It

stands in a court surrounded by covered galleries for the shelter of the

pilgrims. Two flights of steps, called the Scala Sancta (after that of St.

John Lateran), lead to a platform over the three entrance gates, upon

which is an altar surmounted by a cupola, where mass can be heard by

20,000 persons. The steps are ascended by the pilgrims barefooted, as they

do at Rome. The fête of Ste. Anne is celebrated on the 26th of July, when

pilgrims arrive from all parts of Brittany to visit the miraculous statue,

to ascend the holy staircase, and to drink or wash in the sacred fountain.

It was a fête day when we visited Ste. Anne. There was a large assemblage

of people, and booths were erected round the court, where were sold

rosaries and the wire brooches, with scarlet and blue tufts of worsted,

called _épinglettes_, worn by the Bretons in their hats as a token of

their having made a pilgrimage. We saw exhibited the photograph of a young

lady, said to have lately recovered from paralysis after bathing in the

holy well. So world-wide is the fame of Ste. Anne d’Auray that a traveller

mentions having seen at her shrine an embroidered altar-cloth of Irish

damask, with "Irlande: Reconnaissance à Sainte Anne, 1850," woven into the

pattern. The convent, with its enclosure, the Scala Sancta, fountain, and

miraculous bush, all date from the seventeenth century. There is a railway

station for Ste. Anne, within two miles of the church.

Returning to Auray, we went to the Chartreuse, which owes its origin to

the chapel of Saint Michel-du-Champ founded (1382) by John de Montfort,

afterwards Duke John IV., on the spot where, in 1364, he gained the battle

of Auray, which obtained for him the duchy of Brittany. The chapel is

close to the railway station. In the fifteenth century it was given to the

Chartreux, and became a monastery of the order which existed until the

Revolution. The present church was built at the end of the reign of Louis

XV.

The battle was fought on the marshy plain by the side of the muddy river

Alrée. It is fully described by Froissart. In the two armies were

assembled all the chivalry of England, France and Brittany. The

Breton-English were commanded by Sir John Chandos; the French, by Du

Guesclin; with de Montfort were also Sir Robert Knollys, Sir Hugh

Calverley and Olivier de Clisson; with Charles of Blois, Du Guesclin, the

Comte d’Auxerre, the Viscomtes of Rohan and Tournemine, and Charles de

Dinan. At the moment of the battle, the white greyhound of Charles of

Blois deserted his master and ran to his rival de Montfort, who was on

horseback, and caressed him, standing on his hind paws. De Montfort

recognised the dog by his collar, ornamented with the arms of Brittany,

and this incident passed through his army as a favourable omen. The dog

was known to have been the gift of a witch to Duke John the Good, who

bequeathed it to his niece Jeanne, wife of Charles of Blois.

Both armies heard mass, confessed themselves, and received the Communion

before they opened the battle. The war cry of Charles was, "In the name of

God and St. Ives," Montfort repeated the motto of his family, "Malo mori

quam fœdari" (better to die than be sullied), and his troops advanced to

the onset to the cry of "Malo." Both chiefs wore the ermines emblazoned on

their armour and their standards; and relatives and friends were ranged in

battle array against each other. Following the tactics which had been

successful at Cressy and Poitiers, Chandos quietly awaited the impetuous

attack of the Franco-Breton army, which was unable to shake their

antagonists, who returned the charge. The melée was fearful, but the

battle was in favour of the English. Charles performed prodigies of

valour. In vain Rohan and Laval rallied round him with the flower of the

Breton knights; the prince was a prisoner, and an English soldier

despatched him by plunging a dagger into his throat. Du Guesclin sustained

all the force of the fight with his heavy steel mace, his battle-axe and

his sword; but his mace was broken, the handle of his axe carried away,

his sword shivered, and he had no other weapon left but his gauntlets, and

was nearly overpowered by numbers, when Chandos, who fought with a

battle-axe, entreated him to surrender, "Messire Bertrand, rendez-vous,

cette journée n’est pas vôtre; il faut céder à la fortune, une autre fois

vous serez plus heureux." Convinced of the truth of Chandos’ words, Du

Guesclin surrendered to him the handle of his sword. Beaumanoir was among

the prisoners; and Clisson, who never left the field, lost an eye in the

conflict.

A hair shirt was found, with thick knotted cords round the waist, upon the

body of Charles, for he delighted in deeds of mortification. He often used

to place pebbles in his shoes, and once walked two leagues barefoot in the

snow to visit the relics of St. Ives, in consequence of which he was laid

up for three months. He was buried at Guingamp, and his widow and children

desired his canonisation; but de Montfort, fearing such a step would

render him unpopular in Brittany, persuaded Pope Gregory XI. to refuse it.