on the adventurous expedition of ’45, furnished with a frigate and a ship
of the line by Mr. Walsh, of Nantes. Among the noble cavaliers who had
sacrificed everything to follow the Stuarts into exile was the Walsh
family, originally from Ireland. They had shared the wandering fortunes of
Charles II., returned with him at the Restoration to find the greater part
of their property confiscated; but they did not hesitate to sacrifice the
rest when James II. abdicated the throne, and a Walsh commanded the ship
which carried the King to France. Sent on a secret mission to England, he
was recognized, denounced, and arrested. James II. created him an Earl at
St. Germain. Two of his sons had retired to St. Malo and Nantes, and
engaged in commercial speculations, endeavouring thereby to restore the
fortunes of their house. Commerce was strictly forbidden to the Breton
nobles; but, when war or misfortune had reduced their fortunes, they were
allowed to enter into commerce, or any other profession, without
derogating from their rank, provided they first deposited their swords
with the Parliament, to be again claimed when their circumstances were
improved. All will remember the anecdote in the ’Sentimental Journey.’ As
a book, called ’The State of Nobility in Brittany,’ published in 1681,
sets forth: "When nobles are engaged in commerce, their noble blood
sleeps; but when the derogatory works are over, it revives. It is never
lost but in death." But to return to the Walsh family. One of the brothers
had embarked the remains of his little fortune in the business of
"armateur"—a kind of shipowner, or one who fits out and charters ships,
and sometimes commands them himself—the profession of Jean Bart and Duguay
Trouin.(23) It was to this Anthony Walsh, and a banker of Dunkirk, that
Prince Charles addressed himself to fit out an old worm-eaten seventy-gun
man-of-war, the ’Elizabeth,’ they had just obtained from Government for
his expedition. True to the hereditary loyalty of his family, Mr. Walsh
not only devoted all he possessed to the armament of the frigate, but also
fitted out a brig, called the ’Doutelle’—both intended as privateers to
cruise against the English—and took the command of her himself. On the
28th June, 1745, furnished with about 4000l. of money, Charles Edward
embarked on the Loire, in a fisherman’s boat, to join the ’Doutelle’ at
St. Nazaire, and the ’Elizabeth’ at Belle-Isle. He passed for a young
Irish priest, and wore the habit of a student of the Scots’ College at
Paris. The ships encountered an English man-of-war, the ’Lion.’ At the
sound of the first shot, the Prince rushed on deck and asked for a sword.
Mr. Walsh, by virtue of his authority as captain, took him by the arm and
said to him sternly, "M. Abbé, your place is not here; go below with the
passengers." The Prince obeyed, night separated the combatants, and on the
18th of July he was safely landed in Scotland. On Michaelmas Day, the
following year, the disasters of Culloden again threw him an exile on the
shores of Brittany.
From St. Nazaire we took a carriage for Guérande, to visit that remarkable
district called the Canton de Croisic, and consisting chiefly of that
place and the Bourg de Batz. We first came to Escoublac, a corruption of
Episcopi lacus, deriving its name from a lake belonging to the bishop of
the diocese.
The old town has been entirely buried by the moving sands which have blown
over it, and, in 1779, its inhabitants transferred their houses to the
present site. Hills of sand surround it in every direction.
Here we left the high road, and turned off to the left to Poulignan, a
little white bay, as its name implies; a charming retreat, with beautiful
white sands and picturesque rocks. This is a favourite watering-place with
the Nantais. Its whole population appeared to be in the water. A row of
small wooden châlets are built along the shore for the bathers, no
machines are used.
From Escoublac begins the large extent of salt-pans in which consist the
riches of this country. They reach to Batz and Le Croisic, the peninsula
which forms this district having formerly been an island which gradually
has been transformed into a marsh.
[Illustration: 44. Salt-pans, with Le Croisic in the distance.]
These salt-pans, cut out into small squares, have the appearance of one
great chess-board, interspersed with occasional hamlets and woods. The
working of them employs the whole population of the district.
They consist of large basins, dug at different depths, into which the
water of the sea is introduced, and are divided into squares called
"œillets." The salt-water is turned upon the marsh by canals styled
"étiers," edged with narrow paths or roads called "bossis," elevated, some
of them, three or four feet above the marsh; on these the newly collected
salt is generally laid. The water passes by a subterranean conduit, the
"coëf," into the "vasière," where the first evaporation takes place; and
then successively into the "cobiers," "fares," and "adernemètres," until
it flows finally into the "œillets," where the salt is definitively
formed. Each "œillet" is about 20 feet by 30. The heat of the sun and the
wind effect the evaporation, which the paludier assists by stirring the
water from time to time. The salt which forms on the surface resembles a
kind of white cream, and exhales an agreeable perfume resembling violets.
This is the finest salt; that which falls to the bottom of the salt-pan is
of a greyish cast. The salt when formed is then scraped off, drained, and
the women collect it and stack it on the "bossis" into conical heaps,
which they cover with a coating of clay, to render them impervious to
weather. In the salting season, the salt marshes with their innumerable
hillocks of white salt have the appearance of a vast tent-covered camp.
Each "œillet" produces about 150 lbs. of salt. The same salt-pans are
worked from century to century by the same "paludiers" or their
descendants. The proprietors may change, but the workmen remain,
considering the salt-pans their prescriptive inheritance. For payment,
they receive one-fourth of the salt. The dress of the paludier is a
smock-frock of irreproachable whiteness, with pockets, white shoes,
gaiters, and linen breeches, an enormous black flap hat turned up on the
side in a point or horn. The young man wears the point over the ear, the
married turns it behind, and the widower in front. We reached the Bourg de
Batz in time for vespers, and had an opportunity of seeing the people in
their Sunday dress. The men wear three or four cloth waistcoats, all of
different lengths, so as to let the various colours, red, white, and blue,
with which they are bound, appear one above the other in tiers, a muslin
turnover collar, full plaited breeches of fine cloth tied at the knee by
garters of floating ribbon, white woollen stockings with worked clocks and
light yellow shoes, their flap hats ornamented with a roll of chenille of
varied colours. The headdress of the women is singular and most intricate.
The hair, in two rolls, twisted round with white tape, forms a kind of
coronet across their heads; over this, a piece of net is drawn tight,
forming a sort of cap, describing a peak behind, and crossing in front
like a handkerchief.
[Illustration: 45. Paludier of the Bourg de Batz, in his working dress.]
The dress consists of several petticoats of cloth plaited, red body,
turned-up sleeves, and large coloured bibs or plastrons which they call
"pièces," of the same stuff as their dresses. The girls’ aprons are plain,
without pockets, but the women’s are of coloured silk, some of a rich
brocade. A shawl with fringed border completes the costume. Some of the
women had their heads and shoulders wrapped up in a triangular, black,
shaggy sheepskin mantle; these were widows.
At the inn where we alighted, they keep the splendid costumes worn by the
people at weddings and other great occasions; and, by paying them for
their trouble, they will put them on for inspection. The bride’s costumes
are of great magnificence; they array themselves in three different
dresses on their wedding-day. First, a gown of white velvet, with apron of
moire antique; secondly, one of violet velvet; and the third equally
costly. Embroidered sleeves, the "pièce" of cloth of gold, the petticoats
looped up with a wide sash, embroidered in gold, and gold clocks to the
stockings.
[Illustration: 46. Paludier of the Bourg de Batz, in his wedding dress.]
We were shown a state bed, or "lit de mariage," a tall four-post, painted
red, with green reps tester and curtains, embroidered with yellow
chenille. The great sign of wealth is to have the bedding reach to the top
of the bedstead. To effect this, the base is formed of bundles of
vine-stalks, over which is spread the straw, and when this scaffolding has
been raised some feet, a paillasse is placed over it, then the
feather-bed, so that it literally requires a ladder to ascend to the top
of this mountain of bedding, and then it is difficult to crawl into it.
There were a bolster and two pillows covered with velvet, which, with the
sheets, were all trimmed with a kind of lace or cutwork.
The houses are solidly built of granite, and slated; the windows large.
The furniture is good, generally comprising a well-waxed carved oak
armoire, upon which are arranged earthenware plates of various colours.
The paludiers of Batz preserve their original type distinct from the
peasants of the environs; and form, like the Jews, a separate people,
intermarrying among themselves, retaining their own peculiar manners and
customs. They are supposed to descend from a Saxon colony. The paludier is
tall in stature; their women remarkable for their fair complexions, which
contrast strongly with their sunburnt neighbours. They are loyal and
devout, true to their word, courageous and enduring; though the paludier
is miserably poor, from the oppressiveness of the salt-tax, he never
complains. Begging is unknown. Their food consists of rye bread, porridge
of black corn, potatoes, and shellfish. They are sober, and drink wine in
small quantities.
Formerly the salt was distributed over the adjacent provinces by means of
"saulniers," the journeymen labourers of the paludiers. Dressed in their
picturesque costume, with a train of mules, whose tinkling bells announced
their arrival, the saulnier was welcomed in every village where he sold
his salt or exchanged it for other merchandize. "Le sucre des pauvres," as
salt has been aptly called, was severely taxed under the old régime;
distributions of the "sel royale" were yearly made by the Government among
the gentry of the provinces, but the poor, who had no such privileges,
severely felt the oppression, and smuggling was consequently extensively
carried on, and the "faux saulnier," with his double bag across his
shoulders, secretly sold salt upon which the gabelle had not been paid.
With a faux saulnier originated the great peasant rising in Brittany, the
Chouan war; a war to which Napoleon said, "All preceding wars have been
but games." Jean, father of the four brothers Cottereau, was a maker of
wooden shoes, and lived in a forest near Laval (Maine). From his solitary
life he had acquired such sombre, wild, melancholy habits, that people
gave him the name of Chouan, Maine patois for Chat-huant, and his family
received the sobriquet long before the insurrection of 1792. Jean
Cottereau was the most celebrated faux saulnier of Maine; he had
accidentally killed a revenue officer in one of his encounters, and his
heroic mother made a journey to Versailles, barefooted, "sur le cuir de
ses pieds," to obtain his pardon. Jean’s master and patron was
guillotined, his two sisters shared the same fate, and one of his brothers
died of his wounds, and his body was disinterred by the Revolutionists.
These personal wrongs, the treatment of the King, the interdiction of the
Catholic religion, its processions, its bells, the persecution of its
ministers, all goaded the Breton peasantry to revolt; and Jean was the
first to fire a gun against a Republican at the cry of "Vive le Roi." The
rising began with a few peasants, armed with a gun or a stick, dressed in
short breeches open at the knee, with leather gaiters, and coloured
garters; their long hair streaming over the shoulders, their heads covered
with a wide-brimmed hat, or brown or red cap, sabots tipped with iron,
and, in cold weather, a loose coat of goatskin. The Chouans assembled in
small bands and attacked the Republicans at night in ambuscade, and when
they had killed a few "Bleus" disappeared among the corn-fields or the
furze-bushes. Simple peasants, they fought against the Republicans in
defence of the altar and the throne. Their "commandements" ran thus:—
“Ton Dieu, ton Roy, tu serviras
Jusqu’à la mort fidèlement.
Docile à tes chefs tu seras,
Afin de vaincre surement.
Sobre et discret te montreras,
Buvant peu, parlant rarement;
De ton chef jamais n’agiras
Attendant le commandement;
Violemment rien ne prendras,
Mais en payant exactement.
Age et sexe respecteras,
Etant soldat et non brigand.
Les comités corrigeras,
Et les mouchards chrétiennement;
Né Breton, tu n’oublieras,
Afin d’agir loyalement.
Dans le succès clement seras;
Dans le malheur, ferme et constant.
Chaque jour ton Dieu tu prieras;
Que peux tu sans son bras puissant?”
Such were the first Chouans: they had no organisation until they followed
Larochejaquelin and the Vendean army to Granville, and accompanied them in
their retreat; when their numbers were materially increased and their
character completely changed by the deserters and brigands, who joined and
eventually succeeded the peasantry.
The church of Batz is of cut stone. It has a square tower, surmounted by a
cupola steeple, which with that of Le Croisic serves as a landmark to
vessels having to steer between the two dangerous rocks Le Four, in front
of Le Croisic, and Les Blanches, situated near the mouth of the Loire.
The choir is inclined, like that of St. Pol and others in Brittany. On one
of the bosses in the interior is a grotesque carving of a man torn to
pieces by the seven capital sins. On others are the Santa Veronica, the
Good Shepherd, Ste. Barbara, &c. Near the church are the pretty ruins of
the chapel of Notre Dame-du-Mûrier.
We drove on to Le Croisic, in Breton, "Little Cross;" so called from the
small chapel of the Crucifix, built to commemorate the baptism by St.
Felix, Bishop of Nantes, in the sixth century, of the Saxon colony who
occupied the peninsula. Le Croisic was one of the first towns in Brittany
which received Christianity, and bears for its arms a cross between four
ermines. Along the road-side are cisterns or wells dug in the sand, and
girls were filling with water the classical stone pitchers they carried
upon their heads—quite an Eastern picture, suggestive of Rebecca and the
damsels of her country. Le Croisic is almost surrounded by the sea, low,
and without shelter, which renders it cold, damp, and exposed to the
winds; turf is almost the only fuel used.
It is much frequented as a watering-place, and has an Etablissement. It is
also a sea-port, with a rocky entrance to the harbour, and the dangerous
rock with its lighthouse, called Le Four, extending for a league in front.
The inhabitants of Le Croisic are principally engaged in the sardine
fishery, and the curing of these fish consumes much of the salt of the
marshes. The people complain this year they have no large orders for
sardines, and there is but little white salt.
The chapel of St. Goustan, on the edge of the harbour, is singularly
built; its western gable perched upon a little rock, half of which is
inside and half outside the building. The church is no longer open for
Divine service; but the peasant-girl who desires to know if she will be
married this year, tries to pass a pin through the bars of the northern
window without touching the wall. On the opposite side of the estuary are
Périac and La Turbale, both seats of the sardine fishery. Returning the
way we came, we stopped at the Plage Valentin, another bathing-place in a
pretty little bay; with dressing-rooms and a small Etablissement. An
omnibus conveys the bathers from Le Croisic, for two sous. The sea looks
more inviting here and at Poulignan than at Le Croisic, where there is so
much seaweed in the harbour. We returned through Batz; the cathedral tower
of Saint Aubin at Guérande is to be seen at a great distance, and is a
prominent object in the scenery; the whole country is covered with
salt-pans. Guérande stands on a height, and turning back, the view of the
whole district is most extensive. We passed through Saillé, where Duke
John IV. married Joan of Navarre, afterwards the second wife of Henry of
Lancaster.
Guérande, built on a vine-covered granite slope, is a singular old feudal
town of the fifteenth century. It was fortified by Duke John V., and is
nearly surrounded by granite walls, with ten towers and four old gateways,
placed at the cardinal points of the compass. St. Michel, the principal
gate, or rather a fortress, is flanked by two high towers, and contains
the prison, archives, and hôtel de ville. A moat formerly surrounded the
walls; but it has long been filled in, and boulevards substituted. From
the battlements hang festoons of honeysuckle and ivy, and the moat is full
of the yellow iris and water-lilies; nevertheless, Guérande has an
austere, sombre aspect. There is a fine terrace walk, called the Mail,
commanding a view of the whole country over Poulignan, Batz, and Le
Croisic—a tented plain of salt.
[Illustration: 47. La Roche Bernard.]
The church of St. Aubin has Romanesque columns, with grotesque capitals.
In one, two persons are sawing a third, stretched upon a wheel. On the
left of the double-arched porch, is a pulpit outside the church, and there
is some good painted glass within. Notre Dame Blanche, a chapel of the
fourteenth century, is a pretty little building with stone pulpit and a
sculptured group of Notre Dame-de-la-Salette with the two peasant children
of Alsace. Next day, we took a private carriage for La Roche Bernard; the
road lying over a wide extent of land through Herbignac to La Roche
Bernard (Morbihan), which is most picturesquely situated on a rocky height
overhanging the Vilaine, here traversed by an elegant suspension-bridge,
opened in 1839, about 666 feet long and above 108 feet above high-water
mark—a terrible dizzy height to cross even in calm weather. A few years
since, the postman, his cart, and horse were all blown over into the
river, and nothing more was ever heard of them. We went fishing several
days in a large étang close to La Roche Bernard, and one evening took a
pretty walk over the hills to another pond situated in a lovely secluded
valley near a water-mill. La Roche Bernard was an early Protestant colony,
founded by the Sieur d’Andelot, Seigneur of La Roche Bernard, brother to
Admiral Coligny, and one of the firmest supporters of Calvinism. The
Calvinists used to assemble at his château of Bretesch, where the minister
of La Roche Bernard came to preach to them. D’Andelot and his sister, who
was equally zealous in the cause, are, it is said, interred at La Roche
Bernard. Near the Halles is a square block of houses; one of timber, with
"Voie au Duc" inscribed upon it. These houses are said to have belonged to
a Protestant community, and all to communicate with each other.
The evening of our arrival there was a wedding supper given at our hotel,
the grand dinner having taken place elsewhere. The bride wore a white
sash, with wreaths of white flowers round her Nantais cap. After supper
the party danced Breton "ronds." The dancers form a large ring (grand
rond), holding each other’s hands, which they swing violently as they
sidle round in a kind of hop-skip-and-a-jump step, accompanied by singing
in a most monotonous tone. This went on until midnight. This kind of dance
dates, they say, from Celtic times. The music consists of the biniou or
bagpipe, and the flageolet or hautboy, sometimes with the addition of a
drum. The biniou, cornemuse, or bagpipe, is the national instrument of
western and southern France. How it came to be introduced into Scotland
and expel the harp—which was as much the original music of Scotland as of
Wales and Ireland—is a mystery. But, as in the sixteenth century the harp
went out and the bagpipes came into fashion, it may be surmised that it
was brought in, with other French novelties, on the return of Queen Mary,
perhaps by the Queen herself, or, maybe, some itinerant player of the
cornemuse may have accidentally been in her train, and his music set a
fashion which has now become national.
On market-day numbers of the women from Muzillac, a place about ten miles
distant, came in with their fruit. They all wear an enormous plaited black
cap, which looks like the cowl of a friar. The graceful form of the
earthenware pots attracted our attention: probably they came from the
adjacent town of Herbignac. The 15th August, Fête de la Vierge, and also
that of the Emperor, was kept as a general holiday. An immense concourse
of people arrived from the neighbourhood, and attended the six o’clock
mass. We walked to the quay, to see the sports on the water; the
spectators picturesquely grouped on a mass of bare rocks, commanding a
pretty view up and down the river.
The amusements consisted of some races, and a mât de cocagne, or greased
pole, placed horizontally over the river; the feat being to walk safely to
the end, where the prize was fixed, without falling into the water. In the
evening "ronds" were danced, and every house had illuminations, in the
shape of a candle stuck in a potato, and placed on each end of the window
sill.
Next day we left by diligence for Vannes, passing through Muzillac and on
to Auray, where we took the steamer for Belle Isle.
A steamer sails daily from the quay at Auray. The banks of the River Loch
are very picturesque, the pine-trees (_Pinus maritima_) growing to the
water’s edge. On the left, the islands of the Morbihan; on the right,
Locmariaker; the view extending to Carnac and Mont St. Michel, over the
whole sweep of the bay formed by the peninsula of Quiberon.
At Port Navalo we emerged from the Morbihan, and, on our right, passed the
little rocky island of Teigneuse, with its lighthouse; and, on the left,
those of Houat and Haedik (the duck and the duckling); the former famous
as the retreat of St. Gildas, who leaped from here with one bound, a
distance of ten miles, to the peninsula of Rhuys, where he built his
monastery. From Auray to Belle Isle is in all forty-eight miles—ten miles
of river to Port Navalo, the rest open sea. After eight hours’ sail we
reached Le Palais, the port and principal town of Belle Isle, built on the
north-east side, and overhung by the citadel, the work of Vauban. The town
consists of one principal street—the Rue Trochu—so called after the
General of that name and his brother, who were the first, at the beginning
of this century, to introduce agriculture into the island. We passed, at a
distance to the right, the model farm of M. Trochu fils, on our way across
the island to the lighthouse,—a cheerless drive, as there are no trees to
be seen except near Le Palais. When M. Trochu commenced his labours,
agriculture was little attended to in France, but he persevered in his
exertions, beginning by clearing about sixty acres of granite rock, a land
covered with heath and furze, setting at defiance the Breton saying,
"Lande tu fus, lande tu es, lande tu seras." This same district is now
covered with rich meadows, fine woods, productive arable fields, and
magnificent pasture land, on which horses are extensively reared.
[Illustration: 48. Entrance to Le Palais, Belle Isle.]
We gathered on the heathy moor three kinds of heath, the Cornish among
others. The artichoke grows wild in the waste grounds. Wheat, turnips,
beetroot, Indian corn, and potatoes, are the chief produce of the land in
cultivation. This last vegetable was introduced by the families from Nova
Scotia (Acadia), who settled in Belle Isle, after that province was ceded
to England by the Treaty of Paris, in 1766. This was several years before
Parmentier had extended the use of the potato, or "truffe rouge," as it
was first called, over other parts of France. Indian corn was probably
also brought in by the Nova Scotians. The leaves are constantly cut during
its growth as fodder for the cattle, so that the cob hardly attains a foot
in height from the ground. On the left of our road we saw in the distance
the village of Bangor, which gives its name to one of the four districts
into which Belle Isle is divided. A little south is the fine granite
lighthouse, of the stupendous height of 450 feet. We toiled up 255 steps
(223 stone and 32 iron) before we gained the lantern, and, though the view
was very extensive, we were rejoiced at finding ourselves safe down. One
of the guardians had been waylaid, kicked, and beaten, a few evenings
before, for some slight grudge. He seemed in great suffering, but had no
doctor; the Breton, in his simple confiding faith—that with the Almighty
are the issues of life and death, and that illness will end according to
His decree—considers the calling in of a medical adviser but an
unnecessary expense to his family. From the lighthouse we walked to the
sea-shore. Belle Isle is a table-land, surrounded by steep cliffs,
averaging 130 feet in height, which can only be descended to the shore in
particular places. We walked to the Grotte du Port Coton, where begins the
"Mer Sauvage," as it is called, an extent of five to six miles of most
picturesque rocks, some elevated from 130 to 160 feet above the level of
the sea, jagged and torn into most fantastic forms by the ceaseless
dashing of the waters of the Atlantic, which have formed various grottoes
in the cliffs. We descended into one of these caverns by a narrow gulley,
but could not proceed far, as the tide was entering fast, and would soon
have surrounded us, cutting off all means of retreat.
[Illustration: 49. Device of Fouquet.]
It reminded us of the description in the ’Vicomte de Bragelonne’ of the
grotto at Locmaria, which was blown up, and crushed the mousquetaire
Porthos, at the moment of his and Aramis’ triumph over the soldiers of the
King. So great at times is the fury of the waves, that our guide at the
lighthouse told us he had seen on several occasions the spray driven over
to Le Palais, nearly five miles distant. Continuing our walk along the
cliffs, we came to an enormous mass of rock, standing far out detached
from the cliff, and covered with screaming sea-gulls. We again descended
by another fissure into a pretty sandy cove, surrounded by the same wild
granite rocks; but in most places there is no beach at all. It was now
high water, so it was useless to attempt the Grotte des Apothécaires,—the
finest, they say, of them all, and we returned to Le Palais well pleased
with the remarkably wild coast we had seen. Belle-isle forms now a canton
in the department of Morbihan. In ancient days it belonged to the Abbot of
Saint-Croix, at Quimperlé, who sold it, in the time of Charles IX., to the
Maréchal de Gondi, and, in 1573, it was erected into a Marquisate.
(Cardinal de Retz lived here after his escape from the castle of Nantes.)
One of his successors, Henri de Gondi, being overwhelmed with debt, sold
the island to Nicolas Fouquet, the ill-fated Superintendent of Finance, on
whose disgrace, and his being subsequently consigned to the fortress of
Pignarol, his grandson, the Marquis de Belle Isle, exchanged it with Louis
XV. for the Comté of Gisors, erected into a duchy in 1742. Fouquet built a
palace and completed the citadel, for which he employed Vauban. He also
projected fortifications to enclose the town, which are now in course of
completion by the Emperor, after Vauban’s plans. Several guns had just
been landed, the day before we visited the citadel, to see which an order
is requisite. Near the citadel is the "Maison centrale des détenus," now
only containing a few old men, too feeble for hard labour. We were too
tired to walk to look at the celebrated cistern of Vauban, which holds, we
were told, above thirty thousand imperial gallons of water. Fouquet’s
palace was, it is said, destroyed to complete the line of fortifications.
A house was pointed out to us as having formed part of the original
building. Some years since, a stone was picked up in the harbour bearing
his ambitious device—a squirrel, with the motto, _Quo non ascendum?_ "To
where shall I not rise?" The greater number of the population of Belle
Isle are employed in the fisheries; of these the sardine and the tunny are
the chief. There are large establishments for curing sardines, which are
very abundant, and lobsters, taken in the rocks of Belle Isle and the
little islands of Houat and Hædic, are sent to London and Paris. The boats
go as far as Spain, to the coast of Catalonia, for the tunny fishery,
which extends from August to the beginning of October. These fish are
taken by lines hung along the sides of the vessel, with a bell attached to
each to give notice of a bite. The most esteemed part of the tunny is the
underneath, or "panse." The next morning we sailed back to Auray. The
nearest point to Belle Isle is Quiberon, only ten miles from Le Palais.
From Auray by rail to Quimper, where we took the diligence to Pont l’Abbé,
an old town formerly of some importance, in the midst of a fertile, rich
country. The costume worn at Pont l’Abbé and along the Bay of Audierne is
very singular. The cap, or "bigouden," is composed of two pieces: first, a
kind of skull-cap, or serre-tête, fitting tight to the head over the ears,
then a little round bit, resembling, the young people said, a "pork-pie"
hat, made of starched linen, pinched into a three-cornered peak, the
middle peak embroidered and tied on by a piece of tape fastening under the
chin; the hair is turned up, "en chignon," over the skull-cap. The body of
the dress has a large "pièce" of red or yellow, and sleeves to match. The
men wear several very short coats, one over the other, the shortest
trimmed with fringe; sometimes sentences are embroidered with coloured
woollens round the edge. It was market day; the women were sitting, with
distaff and spindle, on each side of the entrance to the Halle. Some of
them have short bead-chains with a ring, attached to the left shoulder, to
stick their distaffs in when not at work. There was abundance of fruit and
vegetables, potatoes, and sardines, which, with bigoudens and other
articles of dress, formed the principal commodities for sale. Pont l’Abbé
and its Port, Loctudy, carry on an extensive trade with Jersey, and large
quantities of potatoes are exported to that island. There were some Jersey
merchants at the table-d’hôte.
[Illustration: 50. Peasant Girl. Pont l’Abbé.]
The church of Pont l’Abbé has only one aisle. There is a fine rose window
over the west entrance, of great lightness and richness, with a smaller
one at the left; at the east end is another rose window of larger
dimensions, the mullions forming geometric patterns, but differing in
design from the other. The French architects always took great pains in
the decoration of this part of the church, and these wheel windows really
rival those of Rouen.
[Illustration: 51. Apse of the Church, Loctudy.]
Attached to the church, are the cloisters of the Carmelite convent to
which the church formerly belonged, built in the beginning of the
fifteenth century by Bertram de Rosmadec, who had so much contributed to
the completion of the cathedral at Quimper. The square is surrounded by an
interlaced circular arcade, forming trefoiled pointed arches, all in
excellent preservation. The access to the cloisters is through the
conventual building, now a private house and garden, the proprietor kindly
granting us permission.
We drove to Loctudy, on the mouth of the Pont l’Abbé river opposite the
little island of Tudy, called after an English saint of that name. Fleeing
from the persecutions of the Picts and Scots who desolated his country, he
founded here, at the end of the fifth century, a considerable monastery,
afterwards destroyed by the Normans.
At Loctudy is a curious Romanesque church, one of the best preserved in
Brittany, which dates from the Templars of the twelfth century. It has a
nave with aisles going all round the choir, and three round apsidal
chapels at the end. The five arches on each side of the nave are
horse-shoe shaped, and the choir is surrounded by the same number of high
narrow arches, resting on columns with grotesque capitals of complicated
design. The three chapels behind are seen through the opening; on one of
the capitals is sculptured the cross of the Templars. The whole building
is spoiled by whitewash.
“Chevaliers en ce monde cy
Ne peuvent vivre sans souci;
Ils doivent le peuple defendre,
Et leur sang pour la foi espandre.”
EUSTACHE DESCHAMPS.
[Illustration: 52. Torche of Penmarch.]
We engaged a rough kind of vehicle, much like a butcher’s cart, to visit
the Torche de Penmarch, a rocky promontory, so called from its fancied
resemblance to a horse’s head, forming the southern extremity of the
department of Finistère. The Torche is a mass of rocks separated from the
mainland by a chasm called the "Saut de Moine," because an Irish saint,
named Viaud, jumped across it on his landing. In rough weather, the noise
made by the sea dashing against its sides and rushing through the crevices
of the rocks, is said to be heard at Quimper, a distance of twenty-one
miles. A line of rocks runs all along the coast, marked by a lighthouse at
Penmarch; we proceeded to another group of rocks near which M. de
Châtellier, a proprietor and antiquary of this country, has built a house
for painting and enjoying the scenery. One of our party clambered down to
see the "Trou d’Enfer," a tremendously deep hole in the rocks, the bottom
covered with a pink sort of sea-weed, and the water as clear as crystal.
The whole country is a dreary sandy level, with salt-marshes, over which
we passed to the ruined church of St. Fiacre, and close by is that of St.
Guenolé, both situated near the sea. The countryman who showed us the
church, knelt reverently down at the threshold and put up a short prayer
before he entered the sacred building. The general devoutness and strong
faith of the Bretons is most impressive and genuine, mixed, no doubt, with
great superstition; but, as Wesley says, "Heaven makes allowance for
invincible ignorance, and blesses the faith notwithstanding the
superstition."
[Illustration: 53. Ship Sculptured on the Walls. Church of St. Guenolé,
Penmarch.]
St. Guenolé consists of an unfinished square tower, with crocketed
pinnacles and a porch of considerable size, under a large mullioned window
of the fifteenth century. On each side of the porch are rude sculptures of
ships and fishes, not uncommon in these parts, set there to show the
church has been built with the thank-offerings of the fisher population of
the district. In our tour we met with several churches with this sign,
evidences of the piety of the fishermen; indeed, at Dunkirk, when the
church was burned down in the sixteenth century by the French, it was
entirely rebuilt by the contribution called "le filet saint," from an
ancient custom among the fishermen of having one net so called, the
produce of which was set apart for the church.
[Illustration: 54. Church of St. Guenolé, Penmarch.]
Towards the lighthouse are the ruins of the old town of Penmarch, much
celebrated in the maritime history of the fourteenth to sixteenth
centuries; its commerce extended even to Spain, and the riches of its
inhabitants were so surpassingly great, that they drank out of silver
cups, and the lords of a manor near the Torche furnished the silk required
to line the road traversed by religious processions, their wealth being
due to the "viande de carême," that is to say, to the cod fishery. But the
discovery of Newfoundland deprived them of this lucrative monopoly, and
the ravages of Fontenelle le Ligueur completed their ruin. All now is a
scene of desolation. Penmarch has been called the Palmyra of Brittany.
Guy Eder Fontenelle, the Leaguer, who spread terror and devastation
throughout Brittany in the sixteenth century, was a member of the
Beaumanoir family; the name he adopted was that of one of the family
estates. He was born in the Château of Beaumanoir (near Evran), and his
elder brother early foresaw his guilty career. He escaped from college and
united himself with a set of young men as lawless as himself; they formed
themselves into a band, which soon became the dread of all Brittany. They
ravaged the whole of Tréguier and Cornouaille, surprised the châteaux of
Coëtfrec and others, took the church of Carhaix, which they fortified, and
the towns of Paimpol, Lannion, and Landerneau, which they pillaged,
Penmarch and Pontcroix, whence they carried off an immense booty and 300
vessels, with which they scoured the seas; and lastly, Douarnenez and the
Island of Tristan (in 1595), whence fruitless attempts were made to
dislodge them. For three years Fontenelle made this island his
head-quarters, issuing from his stronghold to devastate the country. He
murdered above fifteen hundred peasants at Plougastel, sank an English
ship, without allowing her crew a moment to save themselves, imprisoned
and tortured at Douarnenez all who fell into his hands. His victims never
survived his cruelties more than three or four days, when their bodies
were cast out into the bay to the fishes. These were only a few of his
atrocities. As he called himself one of the leaders of the League in
Brittany, the Duke de Mercœur, its chief, indignant at the barbarities
perpetrated in its name, caused Fontenelle to be imprisoned, but he was
liberated on paying a ransom; and, fearing he would give Douarnenez over
to the Spaniards, Fontenelle was included in the pacification of Mercœur
with Henry IV. But four years later he was implicated in the conspiracy of
Biron; on which occasion all his old crimes were raked up against him, and
he was condemned to be dragged on a hurdle, and broken alive upon the
wheel, which sentence was executed on the Place de Grève at Paris in 1602.
In consideration of the illustrious house to whom he belonged, the king
granted that in the act of condemnation he should not go by his own name.
We next went to see the church of Saint Nonna in the town, the largest of
the numerous churches in the parish of Penmarch. Ships are sculptured in
front of the tower, as at St. Guenolé. On the left of the porch is a
pretty window, the mullions formed by three fleur de lis. In the church is
a curious old painting styled, "Procession du vœu de Louis XIII."
Portraits of the King, the Dauphin (Louis XIV.), Anne of Austria, and
Cardinal Richelieu, are introduced, and a view of the church of St. Nonna
is in the background.
[Illustration: 55. Fleur-de-Lisé Window, Church of St. Nonna, Penmarch.]
On our way home we passed, on the left, at Kerscaven, two menhirs, one
curiously furrowed and shaped like a half-opened fan.
We had a pretty drive from Pont l’Abbé, with occasional views of the Bay
of Audierne, extending from Penmarch to the Pointe du Raz. Midway the
horse, going down a steep hill, fell, and we all found ourselves upon the
road, but happily unhurt. We met numbers of peasants returning from the
fair at Pontcroix; and our driver, a butcher by trade, coolly stopped the
vehicle, to discourse with them on the price of stock, and to handle the
sheep they had bought. Our drive was enlivened with occasional peeps of
the Bay of Audierne till we reached the little port of that name, the view
of which is very pretty. Audierne is approached by a bridge across the
river or estuary. At its entrance is a lighthouse, and on the right a
sandy bay, with bathing-machines in the season.
[Illustration: 56. Pointe du Raz.]
The town consists of three streets of cut granite houses, with the name of
the builder and the date of their construction inscribed over the door.
Fishing is the occupation of the inhabitants, and the table-d’hôte at our
comfortable, clean, little inn was plentifully supplied with magnificent
john dorys, large red mullet, langoustes, and fish of every description.
From Audierne we took a carriage to visit the Pointe du Raz, a promontory
so famous for its rocks and wrecks. We went through a treeless country;
near a pretty bay, on the left, is the chapel of Notre Dame-de-Bon-Voyage,
destined chiefly for sailors, after which the country becomes more wild,
barren, and cheerless. We passed over a bridge which no Breton would dare
to cross at night, for fear of being flung by the spirits into the river.
According to their belief, a hare appears on the bridge, and terrifies the
horses, who throw their rider, and the traveller is dragged by the phantom
into the muddy river, where he is kept till morning’s dawn, when he is
allowed to pursue his way, exhausted with cold, and half dead with fright.
They are very superstitious here, as in all Cornouaille. A writer says,
"every nation of the earth has its superstitions and absurdities, but
Brittany has those of all other nations united." An old woman in a village
hard by, said our driver, has never been seen inside the walls of a
church; the people say she has sold herself to the evil one, and no one
dares go near or speak to her.
On the left is the pretty steeple of the church of Plogoff, situated on an
eminence, and dedicated to Saint Collédoc, a Welsh bishop of the sixth
century, contemporary of King Arthur, and associated with many of the
doings of Queen Guinevre and the knights of the Round Table. Lescoff is
the last village we passed through before—after driving over a barren
plain—we arrived at the lighthouse, built thirty years back at the Pointe.
We walked thence to the Pointe, a gigantic and magnificent mass of rocks,
eighty feet above the level of the sea. We met with a good-natured woman,
who led the young people over the rocks to look down the "Enfer de
Plogoff." They had a slippery scramble to reach the hole, a kind of tunnel
through which the sea rushes with great violence, so much more terrible
than that of Penmarch, that the noise has been compared to the distant
roaring of some thousands of wild beasts issuing from the depths of a
forest. In the mean time, we remained seated on the bank enjoying the
view. On the south lay the Bay of Audierne, extending in the form of a
crescent, the promontories of Penmarch and Raz forming the extreme points.
The currents, and the numerous rocks of the bay, render it a dangerous
coast, formerly peopled by barbarous wreckers, who despoiled the
shipwrecked mariners as our Cornish men of old. Opposite the Raz, about
seven miles distant, is the Island of Sein, and to the right, the Baie des
Trépassés. The island of Sein was anciently the seat of an oracle,
interpreted by nine Druidesses, who were versed in every art and science.
Moreover, they appear to have been accomplished needlewomen; for a Breton
chronicler, giving an account of the coronation of an early king (Erech)
at Nantes, describes his mantle as embroidered by these priestesses with
figures of Arithmetic, Astronomy, and Music. Their skill in divination
caused them to be associated with the fairies; and Morgan—_i.e._ "born of
the sea"—one of these priestesses, who lived in the first century of the
Christian era, was famous among the British fairies.
“Avec succès cultivait la magie,
Morgan de plus, était assez jolie.”
Chateaubriand celebrates Velleda, the last of the Druidesses of Sein, tall
in stature, her eyes blue, with long fair floating hair, dressed in a
short black tunic, without sleeves, bearing a golden sickle suspended from
a brazen girdle, and crowned with a branch of oak. Here King Arthur was
brought by Merlin to recover of his wounds. The inhabitants of the island
were celebrated for their ferocity as wreckers.
The passage between the island and the point or Bec du Raz—"qu’aucun n’a
passé sans mal ou sans crainte"—is very dangerous, owing to the number of
rocks and the violence of the currents; hence the well-known prayer of the
Breton sailor, "Mon Dieu, secourez-moi pour traverser le Raz, car mon
navire est petit et la mer est grande." Having no wish to run the risk of
being detained at the island by rough weather, we did not attempt the
passage.
The Baie des Trépassés, over which we looked on the right, is so called
from the Celtic legend that the Druids embarked in this bay after their
death, to be buried in the island of Sein:—
“Autrefois, un esprit venait, d’une voix forte;
Appeler chaque nuit un pêcheur sur sa porte;
Arrivé dans la baie, on trouvait un bateau
Si lourd et si chargé de morts qu’il faisait eau,
Et pourtant il fallait, malgré vent et marée,
Les mener jusqu’à Sein, jusqu’à l’île sacrée.”
BRIZEUX.
The bay also derives its name from the numerous shipwrecks that have taken
place on its rocks, and from the number of corpses that have been floated
there by the currents from ships foundered in the gulf comprised between
the entrance of Brest, the Ouëssant Islands, and Sein. The whole extent of
the coast of Brittany is one long wall of rocks, placed as it were to
protect it from the inroads of the sea and from foreign invasion. Heaped
one over the other, they resemble the bastions of a citadel, the advanced
rocks extending out to sea, jutting up in every direction in endless
reefs. Or its line of coast may be compared to the jagged teeth of a comb,
with a second line of defence in the rocks further out to sea.
On the desolate shore of the Baie des Trépassés is a piece of water, the
étang de Laoual, site of the city of Is—submerged by Divine vengeance,
according to popular tradition, in the fifth century—a place of great
commerce, arts, riches, and also of luxury. Gradlon, or Grallo, the king,
alone attempted to stem the torrent. Built in the vast basin which now
forms the Bay of Douarnenez, it was protected from the ocean by a strong
dyke, the sluices only admitting sufficient water to supply the town. King
Gradlon kept the silver key (which opened, at the same time, the great
sluice and the city gates) suspended round his neck. His palace was of
marble, cedar, and gold; in the midst of a brilliant Court sat enthroned
his daughter Dahut, a princess who "had made a crown of her vices, and had
taken for her pages the seven capital sins." Taking advantage of the sleep
of her father, Dahut one night stole the silver key, and instead of
opening the city gate, by mistake unlocked the sluices. The King was
awakened by St. Guenolé, who commanded him to flee, as the torrent was
reaching the palace. He mounted his horse, taking his worthless daughter
behind him. The torrent was gaining upon him fast, when a voice from
behind called out, "Throw the demon thou carriest into the sea, if thou
dost not desire to perish." Dahut felt her strength failing her; the hands
that convulsively grasped her father’s waist relaxed their hold; she
rolled into the water, disappeared, and the torrent immediately stopped
its course. The King reached Quimper safe and sound, and that town became
afterwards the capital of Cornouaille.
So runs the legend. That a great city once existed in the Bay of
Douarnenez admits of no doubt. Besides the religious chronicles of the
country, which have preserved the memory of its existence, in the
sixteenth century, remains of old edifices were standing at the entrance
of the bay, old paved roads have been traced, and walls found under water
near the Pointe du Raz.
The tradition of a town thus swallowed up is common among the Celtic race.
In Wales, the site of the submerged city is in Cardigan Bay; in Ireland,
in Lough Neagh:—
“On Lough Neagh’s banks, where the fisherman strays,
At the hour of eve’s declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
Beneath the waters shining.”—MOORE.
One of our party went out fishing to the Pointe, and returned well laden
with his spoils.
[Illustration: 57. Front of the Church, Pontcroix.]
The road from Audierne to Douarnenez passes by Pontcroix, a little town on
the same river (Goazien) as Audierne, along which the road runs—a charming
drive. It has a magnificent Romanesque church of the twelfth (probably of
the fifteenth) century, with a remarkable porch, richly embroidered in
quatrefoils and trefoils. A tower in the centre, with octagonal spire is
second to none in Cornouaille, except that of Quimper. The arches of the
nave are horseshoe, the transepts very narrow. Under the altar of the Lady
Chapel is a "Cène," half the size of nature, sculptured in ivory and
marble, of marvellous workmanship.
[Illustration: 58. Wheel of Sacring Bells, Notre Dame de-Comfort, near
Douarnenez.]
Eleven miles from Douarnenez we stopped to see the pretty little chapel of
Notre Dame-de-Comfort, in a hamlet of that name, with light open-work
steeple. Attached to one of the arches, on the left of the choir, is a
wooden wheel, hung round with bells, to which is attached a long string.
It is erroneously called "the wheel of fortune;" but is, in fact, the old
wheel of sacring bells in use before the single bell was adopted. The boy
who showed us the chapel pulled the string which was fastened to a hook
near the altar, and the wheel revolved and rang a merry peal. Formerly
there was a little wooden figure attached to the wheel, which performed
the same office. The road runs round a hill, along an estuary formed by
the river, and suddenly the beautiful lake, called the Bay of Douarnenez,
bursts on the sight, of a blue as lovely as the Italian seas.
The dirty little town of Douarnenez is charmingly situated to the south of
the bay, the hills clothed with trees to the water’s edge. The Pointe du
Raz forms the western boundary of the bay, and it is shut in to the north
by the peninsula of Crozon; its extreme point, Pointe de la Chèvre,
advancing nearly midway into the bay. The tide here falls eighteen feet.
The triple peaks of the Méné-Hom, one of the Montagnes Noires, is a
prominent feature in the view. Islands are scattered over the gulf, and
the island of Tristan, retreat of Fontenelle le Ligueur, is so close to
Douarnenez, that it may be reached on foot at low water.
The hotel was crammed, gentlemen sleeping on the billiard-table, or
littered down in the room of the table-d’hôte: the place was crowded. All
the world had flocked in to assist at the Pardon of Sainte Anne-la-Palue,
which was to take place the following morning. No vehicle was to be had,
and we were in despair of being able to go, when a good-natured voyageur
kindly offered to drive us in his carriage—a proposal we thankfully
accepted. In all our wanderings we had hitherto never been so fortunate as
to see a Pardon, and we were very anxious to go.
The Pardon of Sainte Anne-la-Palue takes place the last Sunday in August,
continuing three days, and is one of the most frequented in Finistère.
[Illustration: 59. Costume of a Finistère Bride.]
At Plonevez-Porzun we turned off the Crozon road, and about two miles
further arrived at the chapel. The road all the way was lined with
peasants walking to the Pardon. The young men of Douarnenez wear blue
jackets, embroidered in colours, with rows of plated buttons, the sleeves
and waistcoat of a darker blue than the jacket, scarlet sashes, some with
plaited bragou bras and shining leather gaiters; but most of them wore
trowsers, their hair long, and their hats with two or three rows of
coloured variegated chenille. The women had square caps, and aprons with
bibs. Those who were in mourning wore light yellow caps, called
"bourladins," stained that colour with beeswax or saffron.
St. Anne is a newly-built church, standing on the slope of a down which
separates it from the sea, in a perfectly insulated situation. It is only
opened once a year for the Pardon. Round it were erected numerous stalls,
with toys, epinglettes, and rosaries (chapelets), in heaps for sale; for
rosaries must always be purchased at the Pardon, to preserve the wearer
from thunder and hydrophobia. The great fabric for them is at Angers,
where they are made in immense quantities. In the principal manufactory a
steam-engine is used for turning the beads; in the others the common
lathe. One maker told us she sent annually into Brittany alone rosaries to
the value of 800_l_. There were tents and booths erected for the
accommodation of the pilgrims who had arrived the preceding day. They eat,
drink, and dance in the tents by day, and sleep on the tables at night.
At ten o’clock, at the ringing of a bell, a procession was formed,
consisting of a long line of peasants, preceded by priests and banners,
which made the round of the church; the penitents, en chemise to the
waist, barefooted, carrying wax-tapers in their hands. The penance is
sometimes executed by proxy: a rich sinner may, for a small sum, get his
penance performed by another. One woman made the round of the church on
her knees, telling her beads as she hobbled along. This was in performance
of a vow made for some special deliverance.
We proceeded to the top of the hill, from which the beautiful Bay of
Douarnenez presented a most lively appearance; fleets of small boats
arriving from every direction, and a huge steamer from Brest, which was
obliged to land its passengers in small boats, on account of the
shallowness of the water.
The appearance of the downs now became very animated, covered with
gaily-dressed peasants arranged in groups, sitting or lying on the grass,
in every kind of attitude.
At four o’clock the grand procession took place. First came the priests of
all the surrounding districts, with the banners and crosses of their
parishes; then followed five girls (three and two) in white, carrying a
banner, and eight more in similar attire, bearing a statue of the Virgin.
Next appeared the banner of Sainte Anne, carried by women in the gorgeous
costume of the commune—gowns of cherry-coloured silk, trimmed half the way
up with gold lace, a silver lace scarf, and aprons of gold tissue or rich
silk brocade. Under their lace caps was a cap of gold or silver tissue.
Four more of these superbly-dressed bearers ("porteuses") carried the
statue of Ste. Anne.
[Illustration: 60. Well of Ste. Anne-la-Palue.]
Girls carrying blue flags walked by their side. Troops of barefooted
penitents and shaggy-headed beggars closed the procession, which was
followed by a countless train of the peasants. It slowly wound its way
over the hill, and again descended to the church, where it mingled among
the crowds of assembled spectators, which filled the churchyard and were
seated on the steps of the calvary.
Not far from the church is the holy well of Ste. Anne, where devotees were
engaged pouring the holy water over their hands and backs, dipping their
children, and testing its miraculous efficacy by various other ablutions.
We proceeded next morning to Quimper, having had no opportunity of seeing
Douarnenez itself. In the season it is a favourite watering-place, the
bathing being about two miles from the town. It is a great place for the
sardine fishery. From Quimper we went by rail to Rosporden, whence an
omnibus runs to Concarneau. The church of Rosporden is situated on a
little promontory, jutting out into a large étang fed by the river Aven,
which runs through it and flows on to Pontaven.
We took a carriage at Rosporden for Le Faouët, passing by Scaër on the
Isole, a stream which rises at the foot of the Montagnes Noires, takes a
curve round the town of Scaër, and joins the Laita. It is full of trout
and salmon.
Scaër is a town remarkable for having preserved many old customs and
superstitions; among others, the bees are considered to be entitled to
share in the joys and sorrows of the family. Their hives are surrounded
with a red stuff on the occasion of a marriage; with a black on that of a
death. This custom is still preserved in Wales. In all parts of Brittany
bees are treated with special affection. As the redbreast is sacred,
because she broke a thorn from the crown of our Lord that pierced His
brow, so are the bees revered because, as we learn from the code of Hoel
the Good, though they were sent from heaven to earth after the fall of
man, the blessing of Heaven has ever followed them in their exile. This,
too, is the reason the wax they produce has the privilege of lighting the
altars for the divine office.
[Illustration: 61. Cross Stones.]
It was the day of a Pardon, and the peasants were all in gala dresses. A
wrestling match unfortunately had just been finished; for throughout
Cornouaille wrestling has been, from time immemorial, as favourite a game
as in our county of the same name. Our driver tried without success to
procure for us some of the little double crystals, intersecting each other
at right angles, called "pierre de croix"—by mineralogists grenatite—found
in the Coatdry, a small affluent of the Aven, washed out of the mica slaty
rocks in which they abound. The peasants assign to them a miraculous
origin, and wear them in little bags round the neck as charms against
headache, blindness, shipwreck, and hydrophobia, being, as they allege,
signed with the cross. According to tradition, a pagan chief, having, in
his impious rage, thrown down the cross in the chapel of Coatdry, Heaven,
in memorial of the outrage, placed the sacred symbol upon the stones of
the river.
At Le Faouët we again entered the department of the Morbihan. This pretty
little town is situated between the Sterlaer and the Ellé. We first walked
to see the chapel of Ste. Barbe, perched, in the most singular manner, in
the cleft of a high rock, about a mile from the town.
After a steep climb we reached the plateau of the hill, where is the
monument of a M. Berenger, who desired to be buried in this elevated spot,
which commands a charming view of the surrounding country, the silvery
waters of the Ellé winding at the base of the mountain. We then descended,
by a flight of handsome, broad, granite steps, with balustrades, to the
chapel, placed on so narrow a space that it was impossible to give it the
usual inclination to the east. The entrance-porch is to the southwest, and
the high altar opposite, against the walls of the chapel, to the
north-east. On the top of the steps is the belfry, consisting of a roof,
supported by four columns. The day of the Pardon each pilgrim rings the
bell. The chapel was built in this singular spot, according to tradition,
by a knight, who was overtaken by a storm in the valley of the Ellé
beneath. He saw an enormous mass of detached rock on the point of falling
down and crushing him, when he invoked the intercession of Sainte Barbe,
the guardian saint against thunder, promising to build her a chapel, if
delivered from the danger. His prayer was heard; the rock was stayed in
its descent and rested on the cleft, where, next day, the grateful knight
began building the chapel, as a thank-offering for his escape. Above Ste.
Barbe, stationed on an insulated rock, one of the highest peaks in
Brittany, is a small chapel, dedicated to St. Michael, also approached by
a flight of stone steps, like Ste. Barbe, with bridge built over an
archway. The rock on which it stands is so abrupt, that rings are placed
along the sides of the chapel for the pilgrims, when creeping round, to
hold on by. Many have perished in the attempt; none, they say, have ever
succeeded in making the circuit.
There was a wedding at Le Faouët during our stay there. Guests, invited
from all quarters, to the number of 250, arrived in their gala costumes,
some of them magnificent: one woman wore a gown entirely of gold tissue;
it was her wedding-dress. The musicians, with biniou and hautboy, went
round to summon the guests. We saw the procession going to church. The
bride was prettily dressed, with a high cap, beautifully "got up," pointed
in form, and trimmed with lace, and embroidered; a muslin apron, also
lace-trimmed, and a double muslin shawl, similarly trimmed, the lace
beautifully plaited; a violet silk dress, white moire sash, and a small
bunch of white flowers. The bridegroom was "en bourgeois." Outside the
church door were tables, laid out with cakes; after the service the bride
and all the party took each a cake and put money in the plates, as an
offering for the poor. They next adjourned to the Place, where they danced
three "gavottes" under the trees. The ceremony of stealing away the bride
then took place; that is, she was chased by some dozen of the youths of
the company, and he who had the good fortune to capture her she treated to
a cup of coffee at a café. Dinner followed, and then they returned to the
interminable gavotte. They hold each other’s hands "en grand rond," then
wind themselves round the centre couple, executing most elaborate steps,
and uncoil again to return to the grand rond. We counted as many as thirty
couples in one gavotte. These festivities last two, or sometimes three,
days, during which time all the wedding party are entertained free of
expense.
Le Faouët is a great fishing quarter. The Ellé, which flows round the
town, is a stream of considerable size; and, four miles below Le Faouët,
it is joined by the Laita, and before Quimperlé unites its waters with the
Isole, whence its mingled streams flow into the Atlantic, under the name
of the Laita. We were told that large fish were taken in a pond in the
grounds of the Abbey of Langonnet, not far from Le Faouët, but it is
strictly preserved.
The people of this district retain all the old Breton superstitions; they
believe in the Car of Death, drawn by six black horses, driven by the
"Ankou," or Phantom of Death, with an iron whip. They also have full faith
in the Washerwomen of the Night (Lavandières de la Nuit), who wash the
shrouds for the dead, and fill the air with their melodious songs:—
“Si chrétien ne vient nous sauver,
Jusqu’au jugement faut laver:
Au clair de la lune, au bruit du vent,
Sous la neige, le linceul blanc.”
“If no good soul our hands will stay,
We must toil on till judgment-day:
In strong wind or clear moonlight,
We must wash the death-shroud white.”
They engage the passer-by to help them in wringing the linen; if he
refuses, they drown him in their washing trough, or suffocate him in a wet
sheet. Should he show himself ill-disposed, after having agreed to help
them, they dislocate his arm. If he wrings the wrong way, his fate is
inevitable; but if docile and obliging, they give him some clothes and
dismiss him.
[Illustration: 62. Rood-Screen or Jubé, St Fiacre.]
A mile and a half from Le Faouët, on a height a little off the Quimperlé
road, is the beautiful church of Saint Fiacre, dating from the middle of
the fifteenth century, celebrated for its carved wooden jubé, or
rood-screen, and its painted glass. The church is falling to decay. It
would be tedious to enumerate all the figures, and describe the details of
this beautiful jubé. The carving is a perfect tracery of lace-work. Three
large figures represent our Saviour and the two thieves. Then there are
the Virgin and St. Joseph; the latter, with carpenter’s plane and hammer.
Below, Adam and Eve, and the Angel with the flaming sword. Two angels hold
cartouches, on one of which is inscribed, "L’an mil C/IIII XX/IIII (1480)
fut fait cette sculpture par Olivier de Loergan;" and, on the other,
"Cette passion fut peinte l’an 1627. Yves Perez fabricant. Tous repaint en
1866." Below are panels carved in the flamboyant style, of exquisite
workmanship. The two middle panels have the sacred monogram, those on the
east side ermines surrounded by cordelières.
The side of the rood-loft facing the choir has pendents with grotesque
carvings of allegorical signification.
A man in an apple-tree, gathering the fruit, symbolizes theft. Next comes
a disgusting representation of gluttony: a man relieving himself of a pig
he has swallowed, the tail alone remaining in his mouth. Then follow a
young man and woman, gaily attired, emblematic of luxury. So far, three of
the "sept péchés capitaux" are represented; but after these comes a
national subject: a man playing on the bagpipe. The figures throughout the
rood-screen are all boldly executed, and the tracery most elegant and
delicate.
The painted glass in the church is considerable, and represents the Life
of Our Saviour, that of St. Fiacre, the Feast of Herod, and the Martyrdom
of the Baptist, figures of the Prophets of the Old Testament, with many
others. In most of the subjects, the figures are much mutilated. On one
window is inscribed, "Pierre Androuet ouvrier demeurant à Kemperlé 1552."
Over one altar is a sculpture, representing the Martyrdom of Saint
Sebastian, between two archers, in the quaint costume of the sixteenth
century.
About six miles from Le Faouët, is the ruined castle of Poncallec, with
its forest, étang, and forge; once the demesne of the young marquis of
that name, who was implicated in that conspiracy to transfer the Regency
from the Duke of Orleans to Philip V. of Spain, called the plot of
Cellamare. Of the hundred and forty-eight gentlemen included in the
accusation, all escaped to Spain, except Poncallec and three others.
Poncallec refused to accompany them from a superstitious fear, a
fortune-teller having foretold he should perish by the sea, "par la mer."
They took refuge in a church, but were surprised by a party of cavaliers
who had muffled the feet of their horses to reach them unheard. They
escaped through a subterranean passage, and, for fifteen days, lay
concealed in the hollow of a yew-tree, fed in secret by faithful peasants.
Poncallec traversed France in the disguise of a priest, but was arrested
at the Pyrenees. He with the three others were all convicted of high
treason, and, a few hours after their condemnation, were beheaded at
Nantes. Poncallec was the last to suffer. When ascending the scaffold, he
asked the executioner his name; on his answering "La Mer," Poncallec felt
the witch’s prophecy was fulfilled.
The estates of the four victims were confiscated, their arms effaced from
the fronts of their houses, the moats of their castles filled in, and
their trees (hautes futaies) cut down, "à hauteur d’infamie," that is,
within nine feet of the ground, in like manner as were those of Moor Park,
after the execution of the Duke of Monmouth. A list was presented to the
Regent Philip of other offenders, but he tore the paper, and published an
amnesty. The story of Poncallec is dramatically told by Alexandre Dumas,
in his novel, called ’Une fille du Regent.’ The Bretons honoured the
victims as martyrs, and M. de la Villemarqué, in his ’Chansons Bretons,’
gives a touching elegy which shows the sympathy excited by the tragic fate
of Poncallec:
“Quand il arriva à Nantes, il fut jugé et condamné,
Condamné non par ses pairs,
Mais par des gens tombés de derrière les carrosses.
Ils demandèrent à Poncallec:
’Seigneur marquis, qu’avez vous fait?
—Mon devoir; faites notre métier.’
Il est mort, chers pauvres, celui qui vous nourissait,
Qui vous vêtissait, qui vous soutenait;
Il est mort celui qui vous aimait, habitants de Berné
Celui qui aimait son pays et qui l’a aimé jusqu’à mourir.
Il est mort à vingt-deux ans
Comme meurent les martyrs et les saints;
Que dieu ait pitié de son âme!
Le seigneur est mort … Ma voix s’éteint, …
Toi qui l’as trahi, sois maudit, sois maudit;
Toi qui l’as trahi, sois maudit.”
We left Le Faouët and its comfortable primitive inn, the "Lion d’Or," with
much regret; the country around is beautiful, and we had arranged to set
out early that we might cross the Montagnes Noires by daylight; but we
were disappointed in procuring a carriage, and it was not till late in the
afternoon that we were able to leave in a diligence, of which the coupé
alone was reserved to us, the interior being occupied by Breton farmers,
returning from a horse-fair. From the elevated wooded ground of Le Faouët,
the road makes a precipitous descent, and crosses the little stream of
Moulin-au-duc, after which it again rises, in a winding direction, along
the side of a mountain with a valley and little stream beneath. Then a
rapid descent brought us to Gourin, where we would gladly have risked
staying the night, and waited till morning to pursue our road over the
mountains, but we had paid our fare to Carhaix. Up hill and down again,
like all the roads in mountainous Finistère, from Gourin we ascended again
and passed a crest of the Montagnes Noires, which separates the three
departments of Finistère, Morbihan, and Côtes-du-Nord; and proceeded
through a valley to Carhaix, where we arrived at midnight, and therefore
had no opportunity of seeing the beauties of the mountain scenery.
Carhaix is a dirty, unpaved, dull town of the middle ages, much decayed
from its ancient importance when capital of the country dismembered from
Cornouaille, in the sixth century, by Comorre the Breton Bluebeard. It is
situated on an eminence, commanding an extensive view of the barren
monotonous surrounding country, bounded by the Arré mountains, the Alps of
Finistère. It is the centre of Lower Brittany, and the Duke d’Aiguillon,
Minister of Louis XV., caused six roads to be made from it to Brest,
Quimper, Morlaix, St. Brieux, Vannes, and Châteaulin, with the hope of
introducing commerce and civilisation into this barren district, "le
dernier trou du monde," as it is styled by the Parisian.
La Tour d’Auvergne, Premier Grenadier de France, was born here, and a
bronze statue of him, by Marochetti, has been erected to his memory. He is
in the uniform of a private soldier, and presses to his heart the sword of
honour just presented to him by the First Consul. Round the pedestal are
four bas-reliefs, representing scenes in his life. In the first, he saves
a wounded soldier; in the second, he forces the gates of Chambery; in the
third, he takes leave of the parents of a youth, for whom he goes as a
substitute into the army. The last represents his death; he was killed by
a lance at Ober-hausen (Bavaria), fighting against the Austrians. The
monument bears this inscription on its four sides:—
“La Tour d’Auvergne, 1^er Grenadier de France, né à Carhaix le 23
Decembre, 1715; mort au champ d’honneur le 27 Juin, 1800.
“Ecrivain, Citoyen, Soldat, sa vie toujours glorieusement remplie ne
laisse que de sublimes exemples à la posterité.
“Tant de talens, et de vertus, appartenaient à l’histoire et au premier
Consul, de les devancer.
“Celui qui meurt dans une lutte sacrée trouve pour le repos une patrie
même sur la terre etrangère.”
Preferring the title of "Premier Grenadier de France" to higher honours,
La Tour d’Auvergne remained as a private soldier to his death; but in a
decree of Buonaparte, then First Consul, preserved in the Musée des
Archives, he orders that La Tour d’Auvergne’s name should still be kept on
the muster-roll of his old regiment; and, when called, the corporal should
answer, "Mort au champ d’honneur!"
The moderation and absence of ambition in the character of La Tour
d’Auvergne is expressed in a letter to Le Coq, Bishop of Ille-et-Vilaine.
He writes,—"Je me prosterne bien plus volontiers devant la Providence pour
le remercier que pour rien demander; du pain, du lait, la liberté; et une
cœur qui ne puisse jamais s’ouvrir à l’ambition, voilà l’objet de tous mes
désirs."
La Tour d’Auvergne had a learned dog, which he educated as a soldier; he
went through the whole drill, and his master made him always wear boots.
He marched in them, on one occasion, the whole distance from Paris to
Guingamp.
A horse fair and market were going on at Carhaix. Some of the women wore
curious flannel hoods, edged with colours. There were baskets of burnt
limpet shells and lime, used in washing as substitutes for soap. In the
porch of the church dedicated to St. Tremeur (son of the Bluebeard
Comorre) are some of the little skull-boxes so common in the north of
Brittany. One was labelled, "Ci gît le chef de Mr. Thomas François Nonet,
ancien notaire et maire de la ville de Carhaix le 28 J^ier 1776, décédée
le 8 7^bre 1842." The curfew bell rings at Carhaix at a quarter to ten.
We left next day for Huelgoat, fifteen miles distant, the road up and
down, wild and dreary. At Pont Pierre, about nine miles from Carhaix, we
crossed the Aulne, even here a considerable river, with a beautiful thick
forest on our right. At a place called La Grande Halte, we turned off the
road to the right for Huelgoat, about a mile and a half off. It is
prettily situated on a large pond or lake, nearly a mile and a half in
circumference, and of great depth (20 feet). It was market day; the men
wore brown serge coats, close white breeches and black gaiters, with straw
hats bound with black. The countrymen from Saint Herbot were there in
their black shaggy goat or sheepskin overcoats, the hair turned outwards
(there are flocks of black sheep throughout Finistère), without sleeves,
and the white breeches, black gaiters, and straw hats. The women of
Huelgoat wear large white turnover collars and caps with long ends turned
up.
We first walked to the rocking stone on the slope of a steep hill,
considered the third largest in Brittany; the block forming a kind of
double cube, that is, about twice the length of its height. It requires a
very slight impulse to make it rock. This "fairy stone" is often consulted
by the peasants. In the ravine close by, below the path, is what is called
the "Cuisine de Madame Marie," but termed in the guide-books the "Ménage
de la Vierge;" a recess formed of large masses of fantastically shaped
granite rocks, through which a small stream of water flows, arriving
thither from the pond, by a subterranean course. One stone, hollowed out,
is called the écuelle of the Virgin, and others have each the name of some
different utensil requisite for the "Ménage" of our Lady. The young people
managed to scramble to the bottom.
Huelgoat (Breton, "high wood") is celebrated for its lead-mines, which are
now no longer worked. A well-kept path, cut on the top of the ridge, leads
to the mines, about two miles and a half distant, along a neat little
canal, three feet wide, issuing from the great pond, and supplying the
hydraulic machine used to pump the water out of the mine. The deeply
wooded valley, along the ridge of which it runs, is traversed by a rushing
stream, which runs over rocks; and at a place called Le Gouffre, the
rounded granite masses are piled in the wildest confusion, like those of
the Ménage de la Vierge, forming a large dark cavern, at the bottom of
which the imprisoned river foams and roars, and has forced itself an
escape through a gorge at some distance from the place, where it is lost
to view. A young girl is said, about a century back, to have fallen down
this gulf. Attempting to gather some of the mosses that line the sides of
the rocks, she slipped in and perished in the sight of her intended. Her
body never reappeared, but our guide assured us that her ghost was seen
four years since, and that sighs and groans are to be heard at eve issuing
from the fatal chasm.
The pretty little ivy-leaved campanula was growing here in abundance. We
visited in succession the "robber’s cave," the "Pierre cintré" (a natural
archway), and other wonders, and returned much pleased with the infinite
variety of fantastic rocks, rushing waters, and hanging woods, which form
this charming scene.
The lead-mines of Huelgoat have been worked since the fifteenth century
for the silver which the lead-ore (galena) contains.
The right of working these mines and those of Poullaouen was given by
Louis XIII. to Jean du Châtelet, Baron of Beausoleil, and his wife. He was
at that time General of the Mines in Hungary, and inspector of the French
mines. They were accompanied by German miners, but their mysterious
researches caused them to be accused of sorcery and magic. Richelieu had
them imprisoned in the Bastille, where they both died, victims of the
fanaticism of the age, and the works were abandoned till the eighteenth
century. They are now no longer in operation, but it is said are about to
be re-opened.
Retracing our steps to La Grande Halte, on the Carhaix road, we turned off
to the left to see the cascade of St. Herbot. We left our carriage, and
walked up a hill covered with underwood, opposite the fall. The cascade is
formed by the little river Elez falling through a mountain gorge about 650
feet in length, filled with granite rocks of every shape and size, the
sides overhung with woods of oak. The height of the fall is 230 feet.
There was no water in the cascade. At the best, it must be only a
succession of small falls. The river tumbles from rock to rock, forming on
some of the ledges pools of water, filled with small trout, some of which
were caught by our party.
According to the legend, a giant of the country, wishing to clear the
fields of his friend, a Druid, from the rocks that encumbered them, rolled
them down the torrent.
We descended the hill to the road where we had left our carriage, and went
to the chapel of St. Herbot, a building of the sixteenth century, on the
side of a rushing brook. It has a high square tower opening into the
church, and a rood-screen of wood beautifully carved in the style of the
Renaissance, which forms three sides round the altar. Two angels are
represented with cups, the "sainte graal" receiving the blood of Christ.
The entrance to the church is up a flight of steps. It has a beautifully
sculptured south porch, with statues of the Apostles, and some fine
painted-glass windows. One part of the church has the windows with iron
bars, as if for defence.
[Illustration: 63. Carved Stalls, St. Herbot.]
Near the altar is the tomb of the anchorite, St. Herbot; his effigy
reposes under a Gothic canopy, upon a granite sarcophagus, represented in
his hermit’s gown, the hood thrown back, flowing hair, long beard, his
breviary suspended to his girdle, and his pilgrim’s staff by his left arm.
His feet repose on a recumbent lion. St. Herbot is the great patron of
cattle; the three days of the fair and pardon all the bullocks rest; and
when an animal is ill, an offering of his hair is made to the saint. We
saw a heap of horsehair and cows’ tails lying on one of the altars. These
are annually sold for the profit of the church, and the proceeds amount to
a considerable sum. Our guide gravely assured us that on the first of May,
day of the Pardon of St. Herbot, the cows "d’elles mêmes" walk three times
round the church.
[Illustration: 64. Carved Stalls, St. Herbot.]
We returned late to Carhaix, and left next day for Guingamp, passing,
about two miles out of the town, through the village of St. Catherine on
the Hierre, where the church has fleur-de-lisé windows, like that of
Penmarch. We here entered the department of the Côtes-du-Nord through
Callac, where we changed horses; the country was hilly and wooded. On the
left we saw the spire of the church of Notre Dame-de-Grâces, where repose
the remains of Charles of Blois; on the right appeared the cathedral
towers of Guingamp. At this last place we took the rail to Caulnes-Dinan,
and on, by diligence, to Dinan, whence we proposed returning by St. Malo;
but, finding the time of the boat’s sailing did not suit our arrangements,
we returned by Paris and Dieppe to London.