AND THE ITT ANY BRETONS WRITTEN •MfDPICTVRED • BY GEORGE^HAIiaNEDmRDS Ip/I CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library DC 611 .B848K26 III llrittany and the Bretons 3 1924 026 384 473 1^1 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924026384473 Copyriglit, 1910, by George Wharton Edwards SAGE COUNSEL tittanv ana tke tetofid Ceozge vvkazton (s>dwazdd CyJooffat JJazd Sf (oompany mcMx Copyright 1910 by Moffat, Yard and Company New York All Rights Reserved Published, September, 1910 a3//o(6' Oo my deaz wife, bedt and modt delightful of cotnpaniond, my m,odt didcezniny yet m,odt lenient of criticd, without whode unflagging and enthudiadtic intex.edt thede noted of ouz dummet wandetingd in the bywayd of the land of the c/Stetond would never, have been chronicled, thid booh id dedicated, ^January 3i, i^iO. CONTENTS FACE I CHARACTERISTICS i Druidical Brittany — Land of Saints — Life of the Bretons — The Peasant — The Five Departments. II ST. MALO, ST. SERVAN 17 Houses of St. Male — The Walks and Bridges — The Regatta — The Gates — The Streets — The Ho- tel. III DINAN, RENNES 41 The Rue de Jerzual — Chateau of Saint Anne — A Dull Town — Church of Saint Yves. IV LAMBALLE, MONTFORT, MONTCON- TOUR 50 The River Gouessant — Saint Martins — Our Friend Pompon — The Porte of Montfort-la-cane — Saint Mathurin — The Men of Cornouaille — The Men of Vannes. V SAINT BRIEUC, ST. NICHOLAS-DES-EAUX, GUINGAMP 65 Remarkable Houses — The River Blavet — "The Woman of la Couarde"— The Church of St. Nico- dene — The Pardon of the Bon Secours — The Ancient Tower. vli viii CONTENTS PACE VI PAIMPOL — TREGUIER, LANNION . . 79 A Quaint Churchyard — The Cathedral — Saint Yves — The Hospitable Peasant — Playing the Bin- iou — The Blind Biniou Player — The Sea Coast — The Chateau of Tonquedec — Islets. VII MORLAIX — ROSCOFF — SAINT POL DE LEON lOO Souvenirs of Rachel — Superstitions — Morlaix — The Grande Rue — A Dreary Town — Magnificent Ruins — A Blue Cart — The Finger of St. John — A Town of Fountains — Festivities. VIII THE COUNTRY OF THE CALVARIES . . 123 The Calvaries — Saint Thegonnec — Innumerable Statues — Landivisiau and Bodilis — The Invocation. IX LANDERNEAU, LE FOLGOET . . . .135 The Pardon of Le Folgoet — The Chapel of the Cross — A Breton Hymn — Bourg Blanc — The Story of Oeil-en-Lune. X CHATEAULIN, MONTAGNES ARREfi, QUIMPER, DOUARNENEZ, POINT DU RAZ 149 A Ride in an Aged Omnibus — A Pilgrimage — The Pardon of St. Anne — The Cathedral of St. Cor- entin — The Old Quarter — A Monotonous Region — A Curious People — The Island of Tristan — Su- perstitious Fishermen — " Monsieur Pierre " — Point du Raz — Rumengol — The Legend of Noelli'ch. XI QUIMPERLf, CONCARNEAU, THE AR- TISTS AT LE FAOUET 180 My Chateau in Brittany — The Basilica of Saint Croix — The Forest of Clohars — The Chapel of Saint CONTENTS ' ix PAGE Bernard — The " Ville Close "— Madame Laurent — Among the Artists. XII LE FAOUET, PONTIVY 197 A Breton Market — The Feast of the Virgin. XIII JOSSELIN, PLOERMEL, QUESTEMBERT AND ELVEN 203 Ancient Houses — The Church of Notre Dame — Malestroit — Menhirs and Dolmen — The Tower of Largouet. XIV VANNES, MORBIHAN, CARNAC, THE PAR- DON OF STE. ANNE D'AURAY . . .214 The Chateau of La Motte — The Sea of Morbihan — The Isle D'Artz — Le Menec — Megalithic Re- mains — At the Pardon — Gayety After the Pardon — The Two Pipers — The Dancers. XV HENNEBONT (LORIENT), LANNENEC), iLE DE CROIX, PONTSCORFF . . . .239 A Quaint Corner — The Stone Boat — The Paris of Brittany — Julie — A Wedding Feast. XVI CHATEAUBRIANT ON THE LAKE OF LA TORCHE 253 History of Chateau Neuf. XVII GUERANDE, THE SALT MARSHES, THE PALUDIERS 257 Interesting Costumes — Piriac — Pauliguen. APPENDIX 267 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Facing Page Sage Counsel Frontispiece Type of Breton Farmer 6 The Chevaliers de Rohan 12 St. Malo 18 The Fishing Boats and St. Malo 22 The Solidor — St. Servan 38 Porte Jerzual — Dinan 42 Old Church — Dinak 44 Dinan 45 Ancient House — Rennes 48 Chateau of Queen Anne 50 The Cathedral and Chateau, Lamballe .... 52 Church of Saint Martin — Lamballe 54 The Gateway — Montfort 56 A Breton Piper 60 Montcontour 62 GuiNGAMP 74 Market Day — Treguier 82 Tomb of St. Yves 86 Market Place — Lannion 90 La Pere Eternal — Tregastel 96 Porte des Vignes — Morlaix 102 The Guimilian Calvary 106 The Kriesker — St. Pol de Leon no The Merry Go Round 114 Oratory of Plougaznon 120 The Old Bridge — Landerneau 136 At the Fountain — Folgoet . 140 Sardine Fishermen 146 The Pardon of Sante Anne de la Palude . . . .152 xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Facing Page Menez-Horn — Chateaulin 154 The Cider Press, Auray 156 The Little Bridge over the River — Quimper . . 158 Penmar'ch-Ossuary 160 The Bigouden's Sunday, Penmarc'h 162 Child of Pont L'Abbe 164 The Oldest Calvary in Brittany 166 BiGouDAN Mother and Child 168 Before the Church — Pont Croix 172 QuiNipiLY 174 In the Lily Beds 176 On the River — Quimperle 182 Porch of St. Michel — QuimperlS 184 St. Fiacre — Faouet 186 The Sunday Dress — Pont Aven 188 Fisher Boy — Concarneau 190 Women of Concarneau 192 Concarneau 194 St. Nazaire 196 Market of Faouet 198 Early Morning — Market Day 200 At the Fete — Josselin 208 Redon 212 Cancale 218 Dolmen of Kergavet — Carnac 222 The Menhirs — Giant of Kerzerho 226 Cap of L'Ile de Batz 230 Blind Biniou Players 234 "GuENN " 236 Early Morning — Hennebont 242 Boy of Lorient 246 Peasant of Guemene 248 Bride and Groom of Guemene — Sur Score . . . 250 Chateaubriant — Boulevard de la Torche . . . 254 Sabot Maker 262 zittam/ and the ojatetond (Bk azactezidticd jRITTANY; land of granite, of mighty oaks and of druidical remains; land of silence entwined with wild briar; of rocky moor- land and wooded dark heights, rent by vast chasms and watered by silvery trout-filled streams ; land of a terrible coast, dotted with myste- rious Celtic sphinxes; land of Calvaries, of dolmen, of cromlechs and alignments or Druidical Men- hirs; land of pardons and of peasants who pride themselves upon their ignorance of the French lan- guage; land of poetry and romance of the middle ages. . . . From the terrible rocky coast to the dim mountains Arree, this region is filled with legend and superstition. The sea, ever of sinister aspect, beating upon the rocks guarding the small hamlets in which dwell the people from whence comes the flower and pride of the French Navy; men tall, brown, with long hair falling to their shoulders framing faces of ascetic sternness, simple as chil- dren, and loyal and true to their belief— fanatical I 2 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS if you will — but brave and fearless as lions, men from the Bay of Trepasses (Lost Souls), the Point du Raz, the Enfer du Plogoff, or the "torch" of Penmarc'h — their one and only sin — alcohol. Ancient towns abound with the aspect of forgotten times, enclosing still within their walls the blind unwavering faith of the Royalists, ignorant seem- ingly, or maybe ignoring the fact of the Repub- lic's existence. The mossy walls of stone, festooned with wild briar rose and glossy dark ivy, surround old chateaux of exquisite design and crumbling towers on the brink of moats filled with dark water and covered with fragrant waxy pond lilies. . . . In small villages with ancient thatched towers and roofs, are pilgrims, kneeling before wayside chapels, chanting their prayers in unison, their eyes lifted to the gray skies. And in the market places are foun- tains sacred and of fabulous renown, of a religion interwoven with druidical tradition and pagan legend. Tall carved stone crosses, of incredible design, lend to the wayside an aspect of religious ecstasy and poetry. . . . Monumental stone Calvaries with rude, semi-life size figures, depicting the passion and crucifixion, will be found next to the humble wayside "Auberge" with its hanging bush over the door. A peasantry clad in the costume of their ancestors, the antique costumes of the land of the Breton, each piece of which has its significance. Tall stately men with long, black hair hanging on their shoulders, clad in colored and embroidered vests of dark blue cloth, and "bragou-bras," or breeches ending at the knee. CHARACTERISTICS 3 of baggy shape, made of sheepskin tanned, and worn with the wool inside, regard the tourist curiously. Women and girls of a certain beauty, clad in richly embroidered corsages, large snow white linen col- lars, and lace edged caps of innumerable shapes and variety, each one, however, of meaning and denoting the village or province of the wearer. Wayside beggars, of dreadful aspect, haunt the churches, ex- tending their crippled members to the passers-by, and idiots capering grotesquely along the highway, are regarded here as "Children of God" and thus holy ones, to be supported and fed by the people. Whether in diligence or railway carriage, as one penetrates this land of mystery, the aspect of the land changes rapidly after leaving Saint Malo, below which the new character is accentuated and the vil- lages and towns take on unfamiliar characteristics. "Francais, oui, mais Breton avant tout!" says the Bre- ton vehemently. The roads are lined with wild briar, tall trunks of deformed trees and blackberry bushes laden with delicious fruit, but the peasant would die of hunger rather than eat one of the luscious berries, which are supposed to be accursed because (they believe), the "crown of thorns" was made of the blackberry vine. As we approach the coast, wood succeeds wood, framing the tiny villages; there are deep ravines, and vast plains appear on which are flocks of sheep guarded by solitary figures of peasants, each with a watchful dog of somewhat savage mien, and troops of geese and small Breton cows calmly grazing, 4 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS watched by peasant girls and women in snowy coifs and collars. , . . Then the sea on the horizon, visible be- tween the immense granite bowlders, flashing blue, and sometimes black and green, under a cerulean cloudless summer sky. The coast from Saint Malo to the Cap Frehel in the summer months takes on the aspect of the Med- iterranean, the sea is so blue, the sands so brilliant under the rays of the sun, and the ruddy colored rocks flaming in the emerald and azure of the sea. The Treguier country, after the smiling fields and flashing rivulets, prepares one for real Finistere, and below the vine-clad hills and deep green-clad valleys about Morlaix, is a great surprise to the traveler. Here we are ushered into the region of mediaeval France and its traditions, the Calvary country, its plains dotted with prehistoric dolmen and menhir. Calvary and saint cut often from the living granite. Then follows the rock bound coasts of the country of Leon and Cornouaille, and here the land is cut by val- leys of profound depth, and the granite promontories are pierced by vast caverns where the dashing Waves, ever in motion, beat upon the rocky barriers. Here the horizon is of rude aspect and the elements are seemingly in perpetual warfare, the rain falling and the wind blowing often for days at a time. From the summit of these "falaises" the eye seeks to penetrate the obscurity of the depths of the tre- mendous fissures of savage and superb aspect, and the isolated rocks piercing the flashing, tumbling waters of the "rade" of Brest, upon which France has DRUIDICAL BRITTANY 5 lodged heavy ordnance for the defense of the coast. Farther down below the "Leon" country, even below rocky Cornouaille and the luxuriant fields of Quimper and Quimperle, the so-called region of Menhirs, one comes upon the mysteries of the little so-called sea of Auray and its collection of embossed islets, all of interest to the traveler and antiquarian and replete with remains of the ancient Druids. This is the ancient Morbihan region, dwelling place of the Celts whose ancestors lived among the dolmen, the cromlechs and the enormous stones in alignment, and ranged in irregular circles for no one now knows what ceremonies or purpose. The small Breton boy by the roadside will inform you gravely that these dolmen are the Roman soldiers turned into stone by good Saint Cornouaille. We are now in the very heart of druidical Brit- tany, and perchance the whistling locomotive is pass- ing over the buried bones of the tribes of old, in tumulus as yet undiscovered at Carnac, and amid the alignments of Menec, of Kerlescan, Erdeven and Locmariaker. Beyond is the He de Gavrinis (the Goat), covered with still undecipherable runic in- scriptions. Here was the headquarters of the savage Chouans, who camped upon the sands of Quiberon and on the fields about Auray. Then follows the Vannes district and the savage desolation of the Landes filled with feudal ruins, re- plete with legends, the nocturnal domain of the fa- bled Korrigans in which the Breton devoutly believes, then the limitless horizon of the Salt Marshes where dwell the Salliere's amid the white tent-like mounds 6 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS of salt crystals visible for a long distance, like an army encamped on the plain. For me, Brittany is neither sad nor desolate; it, on the contrary, presents a great variety of interest and amusement. The people are intensely religious of course, and they are never gay, even in their fetes, for religion is their passion and it flourishes, despite the efforts of the government to suppress it, and, so to speak, de-Bretonize them as a people; but this has only served to intensify their religious feeling and enthusiasm. The Breton peasant is hard-headed, obstinate to the last degree, and will resist to the death any at- tempt to alter his creed or customs. It may seem that the old Royalist loyalty of the Breton is of the past, but to my mind, it only sleeps, smolders, and is ready to burst into fanatical activity at the moment when opportunity arrives. At present he seems con- tent with the republic and will be quiescent just so long as the republic respects his beliefs and leaves him alone. This, then, is the character of the country. As to the people, how shall one picture them in words so that they shall appear to the mind's eye? I must fall back upon my sketch book for the purpose, but I shall tell some of their legends as related to me by chance acquaintances in the small inns, and in the watch towers by the sea where the coast guard keeps solitary watch over the peasantry and fisherman. Dean Church in his "Essays" says — "The old-fashioned Breton combs his long black hair and walks about unabashed in his 'bragou-bras,' TYPE OF BRETON FARMER LAND OF SAINTS 7 turns his back on the future and looks only to the past, on his dead ancestors and the cross and pro- foundly distrusts all improvements in this world, A grand, sublime, miraculous Past is contrasted in his mind with a poor, uninteresting Present, its mere appendix, and a Future without form or hope till the Last Day; the Past is to him the great reality of the world — the reality — not of dilletantism, but of life- long faith." Each town or village will have its own particular and special Saint, and to each of these is attributed some special virtue in the way of cures. For instance, Saint Gonery, who has his tomb at Plougre- scent above Treguier, is a specialist in fevers and the like, so the priests sell little cloth bags on tape strings to the peasants who devoutly wear them for a stated period, after which it is the custom to hang them upon or near the altar in the church. Then Saint Tugen exorcises mad dogs and renders their bites harmless, and Saint Mandez removes boils. But it is to Saint Yves that all prayers are directed in dire emergency; he was never yet known to fail the devout and be- lieving ones. "Sant Ervan ar Wirionez," as the Bretons say — that is Saint Yves the Truth-shower. Especially do the Tregorrois address themselves and their prayers to him, believing that no matter what is asked of him, he will grant his intercession. The Breton peasant is hospitable — when he knows you, or you have been vouched for by some one he knows — and no matter how poor the hovel there is always room near the fire, and a bowl of milk or cider will be set out on the table. "Duman e ty an 8 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS homm," my house is everybody's home, is his motto, and never is a beggar turned from the door. In fact, begging is encouraged by the people through- out Brittany, and Le Braz says that in all of Brittany he knows of only one parish where it is prohibited. In Brittany, the diligence is becoming more and more of a rarity, especially near the large cities. In the country districts it is still a feature of travel; generally speaking, it makes very slow progress, say five or six miles an hour, with stops at almost every "auberge" so that the driver may quaff a "chopin" of cider, or a "petite verre" at your expense, if you please. It is uncomfortable and dirty, but in trav- eling "en garcon" one will not mind that. The coupe contains the best seats, and the cost, of course, is proportionately greater than those of the Impe- riale or Banquet on the top, from which, however, the best view is had. The fare is low, but there is an extra charge for the choice seats and a more or less generous pourboire for the driver, over and above the "chopins" which you will have contrib- uted "en route." Now that the railway reaches into some of the most remote regions of Brittany where formerly the dili- gence was the sole means of communication between the towns, one would expect to find great changes in the peasantry. But the rushing trains no longer startle the solitary figures of the flock tenders on the plains and the Breton accepts stolidly the marvel of iron bridges and immense viaducts which now cross the deep chasms and valleys of this mysterious land. Of course there is little or nothing of what we call LIFE OF THE BRETONS 9 traffic excepting perhaps in the summer season and between the large towns, for the Breton is nothing of a traveler and thus there is little change in him in the last twenty-five years. On the northern coast the inhabitants come in contact with the "commis- voyageurs," or traders, whose influence is felt and seen in the abandonment of some of the costumes, but towards the mountains where the country is arid and poor, the people being more isolated, there the ancient characteristics are best preserved, and the cos- tumes are still worn with pride. There the features of the peasantry are very strongly marked, the result of privations of generations. Their life is hard and their pleasures few and simple, — an annual "Pardon," a blessing from the Priest followed by a dance on the village green before the church to the sonorous strains of a bagpipe (biniou), and then the dull round of hardship and labor begin again for him. The Breton peasant has been described and with some degree of truth, as barbaric, half civilized, rude, dirty in habit, living like pigs in cabins with earthen floors, eating chestnuts boiled in milk, and pork when he can get it. Isolated from towns by reason of his language (Gaelic) he has kept himself apart and distrusts all who are not Bretons, particularly the French. He is patient to a fault when you respect his religion, and his laborious, hopeless life has subdued even his affections. Even the landholder or farmer is in a state of stagnation, and although he can get better prices for his potatoes and artichokes than formerly when transportation was more costly, he has not kept lo BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS up with the times, his farm is run on old-time methods such as his father and grandfather used, and, except in isolated instances, he scorns new methods and modern plans for the betterment of his land. The farms are worked on a very small scale with the very least ex- penditure of money. The men and women labor early and late, and their gain is, of course, small. Not that there is a lack of thrift, the contrary is the fact, but they are penurious and take no pains to improve in methods. Knowing little and caring less about the great outer world, they drift along in their own way, paying strict heed to the teachings of the Church and giving generously to charities. They regard it all as an investment for the benefit of their souls in the hoped for hereafter. Beggary thrives throughout the whole region and mysticism and semi-idolatrous practices are perforce sanctioned by the Church which in vain has tried to correct the evils. If one goes beneath the surface the picture disclosed is certainly appalling, so perhaps it is best for one to view the country and the people from an artistic and poetic standpoint from which great profit may be derived. Poetic they are, these Bretons of to-day, even as they were in the past, and so I found them in my wanderings improvident yet hospitable, honest yet shrewd in a bargain, intemperate yet intensely religious. The annual fetes and Pardons are most picturesque and seem intended for the painter and poet, and to see the people on these occasions in their bright costumes, the beribboned young girls and their attendant swains hand in hand on the green sward, LIFE OF THE BRETONS ii dancing to the tunes played by the blind "binious" or bagpipe players, against the background of dark oaks in the sunlight, is a scene to be enjoyed and remembered. This is Brittany as I love to recall it. The inns throughout the country are only fair, and the traveler would do v^^ell to make his head- quarters in the larger towns, visiting the remote regions by carriage. This he can arrange by a little forethought and he would better travel in company than alone, for in some of the districts, the fastnesses of the Montagnes Arree, for instance, it is consid- ered positively dangerous to go alone and unarmed on some of the unfrequented roads. But, for the most part, there is little or no real danger, only con- siderable inconvenience, especially if one does not happen to speak a little Gaelic or Breton; for, at times, the peasant in the more distant and remote spots will refuse to answer a question addressed to him in French. I have tested this many times in the mountains. As to the Pardons, Le Braz says that all are alike, but, to me, they are very different, perhaps because I was not born of the country as he is. The first one I was to see was that of Saint Anne d'Auray, in the last of July, and never shall I forget the scene, so strange was it. I shall describe it all at length in another chapter. Throughout Brittany one will find the various communes fairly supplied with what may be called primary farming schools, and the younger generation of farmers born peasants are, as a rule, conforming 12 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS to new theories and practices, and thus improving their systems of work. But, generally speaking, it must be said that the agriculture of Brittany is in a very poor and backward condition. For the most part, the peasantry cling tenaciously to their Ar- morican traditions, and, in the mountain districts, away from the sound of the railway whistle, will, as I have intimated before, refuse to speak, save in their ancestral Celtic, and are content to live in the most meager impoverished manner when, by a little study and thought, they might be fairly well off and com- fortable. But I question, from what I know of them, whether after all they would be any the hap- pier for new conditions. Some years ago an attempt was made, through annual agricultural exhibitions, to give them practical instruction, and a national school of agriculture under most excellent manage- ment, consisting of experts and a system called the Six-Ferme-ecoles, was established upon a farm of twelve hundred acres situated at Grand-Jouan near Quimperle, where practical irrigation and up-to- date drainage was taught. But I fear that the time is long distant in the peninsula when the new order of things will displace the old. One great drawback to advancement is the lack of sympathy between the landed proprietors and their tenants ; the former being, as a rule, absentees who wring from the tenants all that they can. Liv- ing among the distractions of Paris and the larger towns, they care little for the state of the land so long as the farm is in any way productive, and they thus leave all questions which might prove troublesome THE CHEVALIERS DE ROHAN THE PEASANT 13 to themselves to the agents who invariably grind the unfortunate tenants to the last sou. The Breton peasant certainly has a hard and most hopeless life. The average family consists of man, vfiit and two or three children, together with, perhaps the aged father and mother, who are generally una- ble to work. Thus, then, the man and wife are alone the wage earners, and upon their labors, the labor of two, six subsist. The daily income is very small and it is well nigh impossible for them to save any- thing. In the farm houses during the summer months the whole family are astir at about four in the morning. The cows must be attended to, milked and fed, and the pigs, quaintly called the Chevaliers de Rohan, driven out to forage for themselves along the road- side under the guidance of one of the children. The men harness the heavily built horses and then return to the house for breakfast which, as a rule, indeed almost invariably, consists of bowls of hot milk soup. They then work until ten o'clock, when they go home to a meal consisting of buckwheat and milk boiled together into a porridge, a food much esteemed and indeed nutritious. There is then a siesta until noon when at bell ring the work begins again, lasting until three in the afternoon, at which hour dinner, con- sisting of picked dried fish or buckwheat cakes and hot milk is served. From seven to eight is the hour for supper, the principal meal of the day, usually of bacon and potatoes, excepting the "Jours Maigres" or fast days, when fish alone is served and eaten. Cider is the drink in the season at supper, but it is 14 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS usually exhausted by winter as the supply retained for home use is limited and ends with harvest time. I am told that wages are very low and, witnessing the daily life of the peasant, I can well believe that they make as little as $32.00 to $38.00 per annum with board on the farm as above, but they are idle much of the time and must subsist upon such odd jobs as they can find. This seems a gloomy picture of this ancient province, but I must add that there are here and there instances of thrift and prosperity among the proprietors who are doing all they can to ameliorate the unhappy tendencies of the peasant to live from hand to mouth, and these are increasing so that their influence is making for betterment of agricultural conditions. But as a rule poverty and superstition is as evident here as on the west coast Ireland, where similar conditions of landlord absenteeism and its inevitable result prevails. On the coast the agricultural customs are most peculiar. One of the most so is the harvest of "vraic" or "varech" as the sea weed is called. The supply of this is, of course, almost unlimited, and thus thousands of loads are harvested each year. There are two kinds, "vraic venant," which is that washed ashore by the waves, and "vraic scie," that cut from the sides of the immense rocks upon which the Atlantic Ocean dashes itself. I am told that there are two periods of harvesting this latter each year. The first is the month of February after the first full moon, lasting six weeks, the second after the middle of June and ending arbitrarily by the first of September. The vraic is most valuable for THE FIVE DEPARTMENTS 15 manure and is applied directly to the plowed fields and allowed to rot. Some of it is burned and the resulting ashes are sold for some mysterious purpose or other. The answers to my inquiries were very vague and confusing. Indeed, one ancient, gray- haired Armorican, in immense balloon-like "bragou- bras" (knee breeches) of sheepskin, who seemed to be the overseer of the crowd of peasants whom I sur- prised at work among the rocks, snapped his fingers in my face and cursed me most eloquently 'and volu- bly, with a floriated detail concerning my forbears and descendants whom he specified with a pictur- esqueness that would have been quite embarrassing to one more sensitive than I, Afterwards I was told that he was named Yann Ar Scar, that he hated the English, indeed all foreigners, and was a sort of local poet and singer of great repute. I wish that I might have heard him sing, for most certainly he had a voice and no mean ability as an orator. I suppose I must give a few statistics, which the indulgent reader may skip if he be in no mood for them. There are five departments in Brittany as follows: Cotes du Nord, Finistere, Morbihan, lUe-et-Vilaine and Loire Inferieure. Of these Finistere is the most populace. The country is divided into two sections — upper and lower Brittany. The latter is the most unusual, for in this the tongue is Breton or Celtic and French is an acquired language. Upper Brittany is divided by the mountain chain of the Menez running from east to west, forming on the north the so-called Mon- 1 6 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS tagnes Arree and ending in the south in the spur called the Noires. In the north are rushing rivers through lovely valleys and deep ravines. These rivers are the Morlaix, the Gouet and the Ranee, the latter seeking the sea at St. Malo, and naviga- ble up to Dinan for steamers. The mountain ranges are not high, indeed the highest is Mont Saint Michel, vi^hich is only a little more than 1200 feet. The Menez-Hom is perhaps the most impressive, rising from the bay of Douarnenez, and I was sur- prised to find that it is short of 1000 feet in height. In the Ille-et-Vilaine district or department there are many large and small lakes, some of them fairly teeming with fish and ofifering fine sport to the de- votee of the rod. In the Morbihan department be- tween, what may be called, the basins of the rivers Arz and Claye, is the Lande de Lanvaux, an arid plain, which is something less than 350 feet high but most impressive and picturesque. The northern coast is bulwarked with immense rocky promon- tories such as Sizun, Penmarc'h, Crozon and Saint Mathieu. Below Penmarc'h these promontories cease abruptly and the character of the country changes, becoming vast plains cut by land locked in- lets of the sea. Here the sand dunes begin and the landscape, while wild, is not so sinister in character. Below this is the chain of islands forming the fine bay of Quiberon, and then we come to the mouth of the Loire and the end of Brittany. ^aint cJIOaLo, /''^^'^^HE cumbersome 'bus, plying between the ^-yO-^ railway station and Saint Male, was al- \^ most full ere I could claim my luggage, clamber in and settle myself forcibly be- tween two corpulent French "trippers" arrayed won- derfully in costumes of English plaid of loud pat- tern, with field glasses slung from their shoulders by straps across their chests, and innumerable bun- dles and baskets and fishing paraphernalia bestowed between their knees. 'Tis thus that "Monsieur" travels "Au Campagne" or "A la Mer," as the case may be, under the impres- sion that he resembles a fashionable Briton, and he is ever as gay in spirits as were these two who ex- changed impressions across my person, gesticulating so wildly at times that I feared they were to come to blows. It has been said, that if one were to place a couple of Indian clubs in the hands of a Frenchman of the bourgeois class and ask his opinion of the weather, 17 1 8 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS the latter would get exercise enough in his attempt to answer that would last him for some time, and I believe it. I was so taken up with my endeavors to keep my hat on my head in the bumping 'bus, that I did not see the towers of Saint Malo until we were quite close to them, on the narrow neck of dusty land that separates the town from the mainland. On this is a road called "Sillon" running along between tawdry, ugly, second rate lodging houses and poor looking shops, and, at the right, one sees the huge hotels of Parame and a glare of sand, be- yond which lies the sea. The dust, stirred by the galloping horses' feet and the wheels of the 'bus, rises in clouds, but at length we reach a clean stretch of roadway and Saint Malo is seen in all its picturesqueness. Saint Malo, the Corsair city! — embattlemented, and with a tall, slender spire rising mastlike from its center. Over its high machico- lated walls appears a long row of many windowed houses of gray stone with high pitched roofs from which rise countless stacks of chimneys. The 'bus passes through a high gateway flanked by massive towers, and, turning to the right, draws up before a somewhat modern looking hotel, fronting which are many small tables at which officers in uni- form, and a rather gay looking gathering of civilians of both sexes are talking and laughing, eating and drinking, while a military band is playing in a Kiosk under the high wall, and the scene is both animated and amusing. Three or four well paved streets, crowded with ST. MALO ST. MALO 19 people and lined with good looking shops, lead from the Port Notre Dame to the church. All the life of the town is concentrated in this central spot. The streets are narrow, lacking in places a footway, and the houses are literally sky-scrapers. Owing to very primitive sanitary ideas, an extended stay is not to be recommended. Dinard, the town across the Ranee, will be found more comfortable and quite convenient. There are not many streets in the town of St. Malo and it is soon all explored, but it is certainly worth while, even for the pleasure seeker, while the student and antiquary will find much to interest and repay him. The high buildings overtopping the rampart are the houses built by the rich old East India mer- chants, especially those which look down upon the moat. They were erected some one hundred and fifty years or more ago, are of granite, the roofs are pitched very steeply, and the chimney stacks, on closer scrutiny, seem veritable towers. Most of the houses have an interior court-yard in which are bright flowers, a fig tree or two, and they are rented in flats. There are, here and there, noble staircases leading to these floors, and on sev- eral of the houses are statues of the Virgin cut in the solid masonry, on the outer corner of the first floor. Saint Malo was the chief port of the India Mer- chants, but it is alleged, and with strong reason, that its great prosperity was- due, not to the fleet of India men, but to the bands of Corsairs, the pri- 20 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS vateers who successfully preyed upon English com- merce. Entrenched behind its then impregnable ramparts, and guarded from attack by the exceedingly danger- ous rocks and shoals of the surrounding waters, Saint Malo was able to successfully resist all eflforts of the English to capture it, although they approached and destroyed all its shipping, even under the guns. There is a legend, not properly belonging to Saint Malo, however, that the English planted their mines before the grand porte of Saint Malo, but were pro- tected — it is gravely alleged — by the statue of the Virgin enshrined over the gate, who motioned mirac- ulously with her hands, pointing out the exact posi- tion of the mines to the Bretons, who, having faith, dug into the spot at which she pointed, found the mines, and thus saved the city. Since that time, this particular statue of the Virgin has always been venerated and daily supplied with fresh flowers. Saint Malo is not available for large warships, because the harbor silts too much. They are thus forced, when they visit the porte, to anchor in the mouth of the Ranee near Dinard. After the Malouins had built their city upon the small islets, and fortified it with its massive towers, so secure did they feel from attack that they entrusted the defense of the sandy spit of land, joining the city to the mainland, each night to a band of very large and fierce dogs. Afterwards they adopted these dogs as coat of arms of the city. It is rare to find an American at Saint Malo, and THE HOUSES OF ST. MALO 21 except an occasional artist, in search of the pictur- esque, I have rarely seen one. English people there are, but it is not, I fancy, the quest of picturesqueness that brings the Englishman; it is rather the question of economy, for one may live hereabouts delightfully, and at very small cost. In the summer there is much gayety and life to be seen, its "Plage" is filled vi^ith amusing French bathers, and there are races and regattas attended by throngs of fashionable looking French people. As I have said, Saint Malo is clustered around a steep apex, where is still to be seen a piece of the Virgin rock outcropping at the chapel of Saint Aaron, but the place w^here all roads center in this, the city of Corsairs, is at the former Cathedral, and here are situated many of the most interesting houses. That most venerated by the Malouins is the old vs^ooden one with remarkable projecting upper floors, on one of which the great naval hero, Duguay- Trouin, was born. The windows of this house are glazed with quaint little diamond panes of glass, and the whole top story is one long divided window, somewhat like those in Canterbury, All, save the ground floor, is of very dark paintless wood, stained by time and ornamented with a few rude carvings. Passing under an archway and into a small court on two sides of which are some quaint old houses fronted with small balconies decked with bright geraniums and nasturtiums, there is a washing shed which towers overhead in a most picturesque manner. At the end of this street, which stands on the site of an arm of the sea and at the corner of the Rue de 22 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS Canale de Bonne Mer and included within the walls, is a most strange little seventeenth century house. The little shops below, filled with vegetables, rich orange carrots and dusty golden- green melons and bright green salads, are quite delightful to look upon. The shop-keepers seem to understand how to pile these bright colors against the dark stone arch with considerable artistic taste. There are beautiful rosy Breton apples, huge yellow and red pumpkins, orange and green-striped melons, luscious plums of red and yellow, blue and green, huge bunches of purple grapes and delicious looking peaches and apricots, as well as the strange looking pale green artichoke, all festooned and displayed to the best advantage. It is said that the oldest house in Saint Malo is that of the Bishop, and whether this be so or not, it is certainly a very fine specimen. It is now a Mont de Piete, or pawn shop of low degree, and enjoys the distinction of having a portion of the original rock enclosed within its walls. The small sixteenth century turret in the Rue de Chapillon is that of the Duchesse Anne, much vener- ated throughout Brittany. The house is now let in tenements and is very shabby in appearance. Whoso wishes to study the timber houses will find the best of them in the Rue de I'Harpe, and in the Rue de Boyer. The two gayest streets are the Grande Rue and the Rue Saint Vincent with their lofty gabled, seventeenth century, gray granite houses, and these are filled with color and life. Here in the shops are gay Breton embroideries. THE FISHING BOATS AND ST. MALO THE WALKS AND BRIDGES 23 the beautiful coarse modern china of Quimper, and certain "curio" shops, which the astute voyager will do well to shun. There are bright geraniums and nasturtiums in the windows above, and the streets are thronged with peasants from lower Brittany in their fine costumes and enormous white winged caps, numbers of slouchy looking soldiers in red and blue uniform, and arriving and departing tourists. A vehicle in the streets is somewhat rare, as they are so narrow that there is hardly room for more than one at a time to pass through. During the day, and especially in the season when the races and regattas are going on, the beautiful shaded walks beyond the battlements, from the Porte Saint Vincent to the Porte Dinan, are thronged with the gayest gathering of French people imaginable, who come from their summer places and the lodging houses of dusty Parame, Saint Servan, Saint Enogat, Dinard and Saint Lunaire. Crossing between Saint Malo and Saint Servan is a queer looking, spidery bridge on wheels, running on a track across the harbor entrance and towering to some thirty feet in the air. It was built, it is said, by a resident of Saint Malo, who put all his money into it. Certainly it is one of the most unique bridges in the world. At the horse races on the beach of fine, hard, gray- ish sand, there is a grand stand policed by youthful looking soldiers of small stature, in gay red and blue uniforms, and looking very slouchy and ill kept. The officers, on the other hand, are as spruce in appearance as one could wish. They are, of course. 24 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS of the nobility, or, at least, the aristocracy — and they certainly look it — ^well groomed as they are to the last degree. Only three or four horses as a rule compete in the races, which seem very tame to one used to English or American tracks, but the Frenchman who is out for a good time means to have it too, and enjoys himself hugely, if in a childish manner. One pays I f. or 2 f. for a seat on the grand stand, but the crowd is vastly more entertaining than the races. There are shows of moving pictures, dioramas of vivid colored battles, trained dogs, bears, and other animals; a fat woman, a so-called wild man, and plenty of fried sausages, — cooked while you wait, in sizzling grease, by hard-featured loud voiced women. The scene is animated and characteristic, and if one goes with the crowd, instead of sitting in the grand stand with what they call the "noblesse," one will have much more fun, for the crowd of good- natured peasantry will number at times people from the coast in wonderfully embroidered costumes of yellow braided, blue fustian, denoting the province of Finistere, and even distant Morbihan. Inside the walls, before the Hotel de France, which occupies the house in which the great Chateaubriand was born, is generally gathered a throng of people, as on the day of my arrival, occu- pying a score of rows of iron chairs, listening to the band concerts, (the music of which, by the way, is very good) , given by the band of one of the regiments of the "ligne." THE REGATTA 25 The people are not very "smart" looking, be it said, for Saint Malo is not yet "ultra" fashionable, yet there is an attempt at dressing for dinner in the evening at the hotels. Better than the horse racing is the regatta. The Breton sailor is very skillful, and gets a great deal out of a puff of w^ind; so the regattas are good fun. At the end of the "mole" a grand stand is built, and here the band plays during the intervals. The chief events are blindfolded sculling, in immense painted masks, after a figure w^ith a bell which is rowed ahead by a couple of sailors amid great excitement; some good swimming by experts from a boat, anchored out in the water in full view ; and a novel sort of a chase after a duck, loosed for the purpose, by a whole regiment of fine swimmers. This last is one of the finest sights of the season, for frequently the duck swims for a mile or so before being caught. The tides at Saint Malo are very high at the equinoxes, when there is a rise and fall of, I am told, forty-five feet — the figures are not mine. At ordi- nary times they are twenty to twenty-five feet. The view from the promenade around the walls is inspiring, but if one wants to see Saint Malo in all its beauty one should go out on the sands to the grave of Chateaubriand on the Grand Bey, and there see its gray walls and its surrounding spire rising from the flashing blue water. The city was enlarged in the years 1701, 1712, 1720, 1734, 1754. The Cathedral was built by Saint Malo, but burnt by the soldiers of Charlemagne in 811. It was 26 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS rebuilt in 813 by Helocar, the third Bishop, and dedicated to Saint Vincent. There are eight gates, the former Porte de Bon- Secours no longer existing. Its place is taken by the Porte des Beys, or, as it is now called, Porte de Notre-Dame, situated at the end of the Rue du Boyer and giving access at low tide to the island of Grand Bey, from which start steamers for Dinard at low tide. Here is the tomb of Chateaubriand. There is a small gate called the Poterne des Champs Vauvert, leading to the sandy beach round the base of the Tour Bidouine. The Porte de Dinan, formerly called the Porte de la Marine, is nearest to Dinan and opposite to the Porte Saint Malo at Dinan. The Grande Porte leads from the Grand Rue to the Quay, from whence sails, or steams, the English boat. It is imposing, — flanked as it is by two mas- sive mediagval towers, and quite satisfies one's ideas. Almost out of sight, at the back of this tower and be- hind a window, is the statue of the Virgin, formerly at Rennes, I am told, which saved the town on October 3rd, year 1536, by pointing out the spot mined by the English. The Porte Saint Louis, near the Ponte Roulant, was opened in 1874, ^^^ is therefore modern. It was found in opening it that the walls were so solid they could be broken only by means of dynamite. The Porte St. Pierre in the bastion, so called, was opened in 1871, to give upon the sands of Bon Secours, and the old gate of the latter name was then walled up. THE GATES OF ST. MALO 27 The Porte Saint Thomas, just to the north of the castle, gives access to the bathing beach. It was called the Porte Saint Vincent during the Revolu- tion, The Porte Saint Vincent is the principal city gate, and from it starts the street of that name. During the Revolution it was called the Porte (or Cortine) des Sans-Culottes. Of the many small islands outside the town, most are fortified, and visitors are formally forbidden to trespass. One alone may be visited, the Grand Bey, containing as I have said the tomb and ashes of the great Chateaubriand, the most illustrious Breton author, who, in a letter dated September 3, 1828, craved that the town grant to him on this rock enough space to contain his coffin. He wrote: "I shall re- pose on the shore of that sea which I loved so well. If I die out of France, I request that my body may not be brought back to my native country until fifty years have elapsed from its first inhumation. . . . Dry and mouldering bones are easily trans- ported. They will feel less fatigue on that last journey than when I dragged them hither and thither, burdened with the load of my cares." Chateaubriand was born in a room in what is now the Hotel de France, overlooking the rampart and the sands. "The apartment in which my mother was confined," he wrote, "looks upon a deserted por- tion of the town walls, and through a window of this chamber can be seen the sea, which spreads away breaking upon a rocky coast till lost to view. . . . I was almost dead when I came into the world. 28 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS The roar of the waves, precursor to the autumnal equinox, prevented my cries being heard." The beach is said to be the finest in France, ex- tending as it does for some three kilometers. It is hard and gray in color rather than yellow^. It is called the Grande Greve, and in the season is crowded with bathers and onlookers. At high water there is only a very narrow strip between the sea and the ramparts left for the bathing cabins. The Greve de Malo is behind the rocks of the bastion of the Porte de la Reine and to the west of the Grand Greve; it is shut in at the far end by jutting rocks from the Tour Bidouane. This is the second class beach, cheaper than the Grand Greve, and, from here, one can walk out across the sands to the tomb of Chateaubriand on the Grand Bey at low tide. Every house and every street is full of historical interest. From a little book published some twenty- five years ago in France by M. Harvut, Secretary to the Mayor of Saint Malo at that time, and long since out of print, the following is translated and greatly abridged : 'Of the streets, the Rue Saint Aaron contains the chapel of the Hermit Aaron who built a small chapel in the sixth century, which stood until the seven- teenth century, on the rock jutting through the soil, and the highest point of the ile d' Aaron, now the peninsula upon which Saint Malo stands. 'The Rue Saint Benoit, (during the Revolution called the Rue de Thionville) is one of the most interesting streets in the city. In the lower part of THE STREETS 29 it there are many old houses. Number 16 has a fine carved door and doorway of the seventeenth century. Number 15 has also a carved door, a funny little courtyard and two tourelles. Number 7 is all tower; it was part of the gateway of the Abbey of the English Benedictines, now occupied by a gov- ernment tobacco factory. It has still one of the gables of the Abbey and a gargoyle, and bears the grooves of the gate. The Grande Boucherie was formerly in this street. 'The Rue du Boyer (Rue de Pelletier during the Revolution) runs to the gate of the Beys, opening on the western rampart. It was long called the Rue de Bey, because it was in a straight line with the island of that name. Its present name is very likely a corruption. It contains two of the most interest- ing houses in Saint Malo. One known as the "House of the Bishop" is unique and, like Hard- wicke Hall in England, "more glass than wall." It is attributed to the twelfth century, but its super- structure at all events bears a date of the seventeenth century. The building is very large. The ground floor, which looks very ancient and forbidding, is occupied by a marine store dealer; the upper floors are probably like most other large houses in Saint Malo, let in tenements. It has cellars, possibly of great antiquity and grilled with most formidable iron gratings. The house has certainly a great air of mystery.' The fine and well preserved house opposite with a pointed gable, of which an illustration is given, is probably older as it stands, and is said to contain 30 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS a tall spike of the island rock projecting up into the middle. The Rue et Place Broussais is called after a cel- ebrated doctor of Saint Malo ; it was formerly called the "Place of the Pillory." M. Harvut says there are some beautiful rooms in number 4 with curious carvings, but I was unable to gain entrance. There is a very fine knocker of the seventeenth century on a door of the same period, and in the court at the back a beautiful well surmounted by an arch. In the same street is a house with a quaint cistern for rain water inscribed in half obliterated letters "I'eau de dels." In the Rue du Canal de Mer Bonne, there is a bit of the orignal rock of Saint Malo cropping out, and a mutilated tourelle. The Rue de I'Epine was formerly known as the Rue Terre-neuve, not, as one would think, after New Foundland, but because the street here was leveled. It received its last name from a poor widow who lived in the street. She possessed a thorn which she claimed had belonged to the Crown of Thorns brought her by her son from the Holy Land, and which enjoyed such great repute among the pious of Saint Malo that the widow lived on their charities. The Grand Rue, which runs in a straight line from the Grande Port into the Rue Porcon de la Barbinais, has borne this name from the very foun- dation of the city. M. Harvut says that in the twelfth century the fair which was called by "our ancestors" La Foire Aux Sublets, was held in this THE STREETS 31 street on Micareme Sunday. Only whistles and such things were sold at this fair. "A kind of instru- ment which has in all ages been the joy of the small boy." To-day the "Assemblage," or Foire de la Mic- areme, is held on the promontory of the cite at Saint Servan, and is known as the "Assemblee des Brigots" after a shell fish found on the Breton coast. A fire which consumed two-thirds of the city, it is said, started during one of these fairs in 1661. The Rue de la Harpe from the Rue Vielle Bou- cherie, is named for a great iron grille or "harpe" which closed its western end at night during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. It has one of the finest wooden houses in Saint Malo, with a front nearly all of which is glass, somewhat like the house of the Bishop in the Rue de Boyer. It is shingled with wood and has a very picturesque gable. Un- derneath is a dark cellar-like place used as a cafe. Elsewhere in the street is a stately mansion with fine oaken doors. The Rue du Pelicox, running from the Rue Andre Desilles to the cour la Houssaye, was named from an ancient family possessing a mansion there. It was formerly known, says M. Harvut, as the Rue du Pot d'Etain, from the pewter pot which is, in Brit- tany, the ancient sign of an inn. Of the little street leading from it — the Ruelle du Pelicott, M. Harvut states, "The Revolution gratified this little street with the name of the Rue de I'Humanite," The Rue Saint- Phillippe, which ,runs from the Porte du Dinan around to the Rue d'Estrees, re- 32 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS ceived its name from the Bastion Saint Phillippe. Ttie magnificent old East India houses in this street are, M. Harvut remarks, "Veritable palaces of granite, which in centuries past could stand their share of a cannonade and were a second rampart for the defense of the city." The Place Duguay-Trouin was formerly the gar- den of the Bishop. It stands opposite the "Sous- prefecture" and was long called the Place Grande Commone. It takes its present name from the statue in marble of the celebrated Duguay-Trouin by Molchmecht. The Grande Placitre (signifying waste land) con- tains some of the most interesting ancient houses of the seventeenth century. The Rue Porgon de la Barbarais is the principal street of Saint Malo, and was named for Pierre Porcon, Sieur de la Barbanais, a native of the city who was captured in Algeria by pirates when Louis Quatorze blockaded Algeria. The Bey sent him, under oath to return, to the king of France with proposals of peace. These were rejected, where- upon, on his return to Algeria, the Bey, not appre- ciating his chivalry, promptly beheaded him. In the Rue Traversiere, at the corner, will be found the Maison de la Singe, so called from the stone monkey which ornamented the gable, says M. Harvut, until 1820, in memory of a she monkey belonging to an old sailor. This monkey had car- ried a well known pilot of Saint Malo when an in- fant, from his cradle to that gable and nursed him there, returning him to his cradle in safety. THE STREETS 33 The Sillon, which runs from the Porte Saint Vin- cent skirting the sands formed before the construc- tion of the Quai Daguay-Trouin, the only commun- ication with the mainland, was often covered by water at high tide, being a mere isthmus of sand, guarded during the night by a savage band of dogs. The Rue Saint Vincent is one of the principal streets. It contained formerly, says M. Harvut, two famous taverns, the "Diacrerie" and the "Crevaille;" he says, "the Crevaille is a repast where one piques oneself in eating too much." One of these had a sign board, on which were represented a woman and a cat, with these words, "To Malice." It is well worth while to go under the archway at number 8, to see the back of the washing shed, with its open sides perched on the face of the Virgin rock, and the tall plaster rain-water cistern. The court- yard through which you go has, moreover, pictur- esque outside stairs and galleries, usually full of bright flowers and gossiping women. The Rue des Cordiers is called after the rope sellers and sail makers, who were established in it from its neighborhood to the port. It was formerly known as the Rue de la Herse. At the northerly extremity is an old timber house in an excellent state of preservation. The Rue des Grand-Degres and the Rue des Petits-Degres are named for the picturesque flights of stone steps in them leading down to the level of the Port; the former, during the Revolution, was called the Rue Civique. The Rue Andre Desilles, called after the hero of 34 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS Nancy, was afterwards named the Rue du College in honor of the seminary of Saint Malo, founded in 1806. The college has rather an imposing portal, and there are some very quaint old houses opposite. Descending a flight of stone steps one comes upon a typical laundry under an open sided, ornamental looking shed. The visitor is warned that the women and girls have a most unpleasant habit of emptying pails or pitchers of evil smelling water upon the heads of too inquisitive strangers hereabouts, and photographers are not liked; but if one were to ask permission to inspect any of the houses, I am sure the same courteous treatment would be accorded to them that I experienced. Indeed I am convinced that the tales I have heard related of rudeness at the hands of the natives are entirely due to some fault, real or fancied, on the part of the sufferers themselves. On my second visit to Saint Malo, I was induced to try one of the smaller hotels, by a chance acquaint- ance made in the railway carriage, and it was with misgivings and doubt that I followed him up the street, by the quaint malodorous fish market, to the rather dirty entrance of this hotel. As a rule, all entrances are dirty in Saint Malo, but this one was even dirtier than some of the others, and the street likewise seemed narrower, and the opposite house fronts nearer. My chance friend had extolled the cooking with uplifted eyebrows, pursed up lips, and barely touched finger and thumb held up before me, thus denoting the exquisite fineness of every- thing, to properly describe which words quite failed THE HOTEL 35 him. We found the hotel crowded, for it was in August and the height of the season. The dinner was being served when we arrived ; there was a loud clattering of dishes and knives and forks, amid much talking and laughter from the assemblage, and the passageway to the dining-room reeked with the smell of cooking, past and present, and other unpleasant odors. Places at the table were at last found for us, and never have I been among such boors as at this name- less hotel at Saint Malo. Even in Flanders, at the roadside inns or "estaminets," the peasants were courtiers beside these which now elbowed us, suck- ing their knives, and bellowing out uncouth pleas- antries. Where they came from I know not, but may I never see such a lot again. The food was not so bad, however; there was veal and ham for the chief dish, a good puree, and a vol au vent with mushrooms, an omelette souffle, and all the wine, both red and white, that one could decently drink. The price, for bedroom, candle, breakfast, petit dejeuner and dinner, was just six francs per diem. I was almost reconciled to the accommodations until — Grande Dieu! — I saw some of the "arrange- ments" off the dining-room. I paid my bill in haste, to the extreme disgust of my chance acquaint- ance, and the landlady as well, who took my depar- ture as a personal insult — and I fled to the hotel on the "place." The moral is this — the best is none too good — especially in Brittany. A dear and good friend, an eminent professor in 36 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS America, when he heard we were to explore the out- of-the-way corners of this fascinating province, warned us against the dangers of typhoid, and made us promise to drink a small glass of green mint after each meal, and just before going to bed. To this remedy, so pleasant to the taste, I am convinced now we owed our continued good health while exploring. Water we never drank, that is, none save the tire- some and tasteless Saint Galmier, but quenched our thirst with copious draughts of the thin sour Breton cider of which we became extravagantly fond. This I can recommend to the traveler as both good and wholesome, as well as cheap. As for sanitation, Saint Malo is impossible; the most ordinary decen- cies are ignored in the town, and it is to be wondered that some dreadful epidemic has not long since broken out and depopulated the whole place. Walk- ing through certain of the smaller streets is to be avoided, as some of the inhabitants have an un- pleasant habit of emptying malodorous liquids upon the heads of passersby, especially if they fancy them to be English. These are the drawbacks to living in Saint Malo, but, on the other hand, how pictur- esque, how incredibly picturesque it all is! To see it is a delight, to have missed it would have been a calamity, and thus I have re- turned to it time after time in my wanderings, find- ing upon each occasion new delights as well as new faults in the survival of a mediaeval stronghold. According to the historian, the castle of Saint Malo was commenced in 1475, but the old keep was then already in existence. Probably Duke John SAINT SERF AN 37 would never have been excommunicated by the Bishop of Saint Malo, nor the Duchesse Anne have met with such opposition had not this castle, stand- ing at the entrance to the causeway, had the town at its mercy. When the haughty Breton princess was told that she would offend the Malouins by the construction of the citadel, she replied loftily, "Quic eu grogne ainsi sera c'est mon plaisir" — whoever growls at it, it shall be, it is my pleasure, — and had the words cut on the tower adjoining the gate of Saint Thomas. The northwest tower is called "Qui-qu-en-grogne" to this day. La Chatois, who wrote his memoirs on chocolate wrappings with toothpicks, was imprisoned here in the year 1765. At present the castle is used as a barracks, and contains as well various offices and bureaus, and the salle de Police. One may go to Saint Servan by boat or train, as one prefers. It is beautifully situated at the mouth of the river Ranee and faces Saint Malo. There is a large English colony living there all the year round, supporting a club and several good hotels. The colony has been in existence since 18 15, and hereabouts may be hired comfortable and con- venient houses at surprisingly small rentals. I will not give the figures here, but they may be had by addressing the English chaplain at Saint Servan. Nearly all the houses are old-fashioned with well stocked gardens surrounded by high walls, liberally studded with broken glass bottle ends for the dis- couragement of nocturnal intruders. 38 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS There is not much of note to see in Saint Servan except the remarkable Tour de Solidor, situated at the landing stage from which start the Dinard boats. It was built in and dates from the reign of Duke John of Brittany. Its walls inside are covered over with names of English prisoners confined during the Napoleonic wars and it is still, I believe, used as a prison. There is a rather remarkable Breton fair held here in the middle of May, and the processions in the streets on Corpus Christi day in June, and on Assumption day in August, are of great interest. The traveler should so time his visit as to witness the sight of the altars set up in the streets, which are rush strewn, and sometimes hung with linen sheets. Saint Servan is a good place to rest on one's re- turn from lower Brittany. There are many most delightful small hamlets and villages in the neigh- borhood within easy reach by foot or by carriage, and the roads are capital, though very dusty. A word of warning and advice to the intending house holder may not be out of place here. On hiring a house one should have all agreements in writing, specifying, first, who is to furnish table and bed linen, secondly, who is to pay the furniture tax (mobilier.) The law is that under tenancy of one year or upwards this tax is paid by the tenant; if for less time, by the landlord, and the agreement must be stamped (on papier timbre.) All rents are pay- able in advance. The other taxes are a poll tax (cote personal) and a door and window tax, which is trifling, but, if not promptly paid, subjects the unfor- t *• ^, .rf* i,_:..:,3> iiMiw iiii»Tt«ii - 11 mg^v^ ^^ Xf 1 ■ ' "■ terse. 1 b-!St./av., THE SOLIDOR — ST. SERVAN SAINT SERVAN 39 tunate delinquent to all sorts of absurd notices on various colored papers at intervals, and visits from uniformed personages armed with portfolios and ledgers, who, with great show of importance enter voluminous notes and figures, all of which is at the cost of the aforesaid delinquent; so it pays to settle up promptly, and note! Do not fail to salute the tax man. Politeness works wonders with these individuals. On my first visit, I must confess I was overcome by the austerity and deadly loneliness of Saint Servan, with its silent, dusty streets and somber high walls. Across the river all is brightness and gayety, throngs of people, laughing, shouting children, and the blaring notes of discordant organs. Here is a profound calm. The streets are well nigh deserted, the squares empty. The houses are gloomy looking with their unshuttered windows and dusty looking doors. It would seem that the inhabitants of these ancient buildings of sinister aspect are of a past age and live without interest in anything happening out- side the high vine-covered walls. The silence is really startling. No cries of children playing come from behind these blank walls. Many of them seem to enclose convents, and the deep shadows of the houses across the narrow streets really seem to deaden the footfalls of the chance passerby. The sweet tone of a bell, ringing somewhere behind the walls, fairly startles one, and, occasionally, a small door will open stealthily, and without sound, and a silhouette- like figure in black will emerge and glide in and out of the shadows, showing maybe the white or blue cap 40 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS of the "religieuse," or, maybe, the long black cloak marking the widow of some sailor lost on the "Grand Bankes." But, if one seeks further, one will find other streets more lively where the walls are not so high, and behind which one may get charming views of lawns and summer houses and groups of well dressed, happy people among the magnolias, enjoying the summer sunshine and the soft airs from the sea. Jjifiari. cJiDeaned /^""^INAN is as unique as if it were the only w/ ) walled town extant. Mont Saint Michel oi^^ has its incredible, almost unreal, pictur- esqueness, as if it were a painted theatrical scene and one expected the curtain to drop, and the lights to turn up ; but Dinan is as if Saint Michel, Saint Malo and Saint Servan were squeezed into one by some giant hand, and so remained. Passing through the rocky islets at the mouth of the Ranee, supposed to be the hilltops of a lost land swallowed, like Tristram's Kingdom of Lyonesse, by the sea, the steamer carefully cleaves the deep blue waters of the river, which is full of swift and danger- ous currents. At the Gothic tower of the Chene Vert it narrows, and its color changes to a bronze brown tone as river meets the sea. There are some queer looking boats met with on the way, bearing loads of wood and having square sails colored brown and soft buff. Now appear lofty wooded banks and lovely park-like spaces be- 41 42 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS tween the trees, which disclose chateaus and pros- perous looking chalets. Then the Annse de Troctin, the point de la En- gorgerie, which name was given to an isolated house during the Revolution when a whole family per- ished during the night at the hands of the peasants, and all of a sudden the steamer rounds a bend in the river, and before one is Dinan, crowned by the ivy-clad tower of Saint Saveur, and below at its feet, the hoary aged, dusty village on the quay. Here, on landing, one is confronted by houses three or four centuries old, and one of the very oldest harbors an inn kept by a singular individual, I was told by a fellow traveler, who gives food and drink but balks at credit, claiming that thus he keeps his friends. I did not see this man, however, although I made it a point to buy a bowl of cider at the counter. One follows the road to the ancient gateway and up the quaint Rue de Jerzual, the crowning curiosity of Dinan. This gateway is, no one now apparently knows, how many centuries old. It has one low, narrow, pointed arch, and the deep grooves in its massive sides show that it was once guarded by port- cullis and heavy gate. The upper part is now filled with long bunches of willow branches and is occu- pied by a basket maker, whose handiwork hangs in festoons at the sides. Passing beneath this gateway up a narrow, steep streetway paved with large, round cobblestones, on both sides of which are quaint houses looking as unreal as if painted for the setting of some historical PORTE JERZUAL — DINAN THE RUE DE JERZUAL 43 play, one at length reaches the promontory high above the river, some 225 feet, I am told, and enters the town proper. Dinan, the town, is walled around on all sides, save that on which the railway station stands, and of the original castle three gates remain, together with part of an ancient cistern. A modern house now occupies its site. Fifteen of the original twenty-four towers it is said are still in existence, although in a more or less ruinous condition, and portions of the wall which dates from the thirteenth century may still be found, if one is interested enough to take the trouble. The expectations formed by the entrance to the Rue de Jerzual is more than realized when one reaches the town above. Dinan has a great deal to offer to the visitor. Old houses with Gothic porches, sculptures, exquisite iron balconies and quaint towers embowered in magnificent trees, and an interesting and polite peasantry. To the col- lector of antiquities, the town offers a mine of wealth, such as furniture and china. Many of the houses are set up on curious stone pillars with arcades be- neath occupied by rather dark shops, and with their upper stories of many windows quaintly projecting as they mount, until, at the top, the roofs are broken up into a variety of bizarre forms and towers that quite defy description, so that, in spite of the material which I gathered in my sketch book, I quite regretted that I had never learned to use a camera. The Rue de I'Horloge, with its fringe or frame of mediaeval houses, is dominated by a curious belfry — 44 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS a square tower with no pretention to elegance or grace, but of great picturesqueness, and capped by an octagonal "clocher" of bizarre form, broken in its center by a sort of ogival campanile surrounded by a gallery, from which is hung the municipal bell which Anne of Brittany in 1507 presented with the clock to her loyal subjects of Dinan. The bell is of good tone and may be heard a long distance. The Church of Saint Sauveur is partly Roman- esque, partly flamboyant, inclining to Renaissance, and the central slated tower is singularly beautiful in outline and proportion. A chapel contains the heart of the great Du Guesclin, reposing in an ornate shrine. Under the chateau is a beautiful stone wall leading to a Chalybeate spring in a deep valley, along the line of the ancient moats, under ancient trees and walled with ivy. Here is a spot in which to tarry. There is solitude and silence under the trees in deep shady ways, broken here and there by vivid shafts of golden sunlight across the roadway, the dusty beams showing, amid the dim shadows, like powdered gold. Farther on by the roadside, I came upon a wandering gypsy family, their wagon cor- nered to the road, and an old, lean horse nibbling at the rich grass. Some dilapidated linen was hang- ing on a line, and a half dozen handsome, swarthy children were rolling half naked on the grass before a small fire, over which a black iron pot bubbled sus- pended from an iron hooked rod stuck in the ground, while the father lay on his back, his hands clasped upon his breast, asleep under the wagon, guarded by a savage looking dog. OLD CHURCH — DINAN CHATEAU OF SAINT ANNE 45 One meets many such as these on the Breton roads. Ancient Bohemian carts with wobbly, shaky wheels, and the gaudy paintings on their sides washed and faded by the alternate rains and suns of all the provinces, and drawn by veritable skeletons of horses; poor, perambulating shelters which these hapless creatures call homes. The gendarme watches them closely, and one does not begrudge them the occasional hare which they poach. Apart from this they are quite harmless, and they certainly add a bit of color to the landscape. Naturally, one makes for the "donjon" or Chateau of Saint Anne, or Anne of Brittany, who is variously styled Princess, Saint and Queen, as the fancy strikes the historian. This is the tower built by the Duke of Bretagne, commenced, the guide books say, about the year 1380, and now used as a local prison. It is quite satisfying to the eye and well worth studying as a monument. There is at the base a small stone "enciente" attached to the rampart, and from this rises the tower of original form, isolated and majes- tic, communicating with the "Coetguen" and the Chateau by a small arch. Dinan is an ideal spot for the householder. I am told that most comfort- able houses may be rented furnished by the year, including a clearing, garden and plenty of fruit trees, for two hundred and fifty dollars, and some even cheaper, while domestic servants, according to my informant, are easily to be had, and at correspond- ingly low rates. Dinan is one of the earliest English colonies on the continent, and it is said that the descendants of 46 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS families who emigrated here during the last century- still live in the town. Americans would find it a most comfortable spot in which to locate for the sum- mer. All about are magnificent promenades and vistas, and shady zigzag paths lead under noble trees to the fine stone aqueduct across the valley to Lanvallay. The district is renowned for its cider, but the first taste of it is most disappointing; it im- proves upon acquaintance, however. About a mile from Dinan are the ruins of the Chateau La Garaye, the Chateau of La Conninais, built in 1493 by Oliver Chastel (Dinard Route) and the old church and chapel of Lehon, all well worth visiting. At Saint Esprit, not far from Lehon, is a fine cross of granite called "La Croix de Saint Esprit." The remarkable sculptures on the cross depicting the nativity, the annunciation, and the crowning of the Virgin Mary, are of the fourteenth century, and cut with great character. From Dinan many delightful walks may be taken, such as to Plouer about four kilometers away where there is an ancient Menhir (Breton, long stone) called La Pierre de Saint Sampson by the peasants, and endowed with certain curious, miraculous powers which are not to be described in print. This will be found near the Chateau of La Piemlilais. At six kilometers is La Hisse, a very charming walk to where the sea tide ends. At Tasen will be found the neglected tombs of the Count and Countess de la Garaye, who, at their own request, were buried DINAN A DULL TOWN 47 in the churchyard among the poor to whom they had devoted their lives : "Oh! loved and reverenced long that name shall be, Though crumbled on the soil of Brittany, No stone, at last, of that pale ruin shows Where stood the gateway of his joys and woes, For in the Breton town, the good deeds done Yield a fresh harvest still, from sire to son." {The Lady of Gar aye.) Trigavou, between this place and Pleslin, has a series of alignments of Druid stones which the peas- ants, disregarding all warnings, have been demolish- ing and removing. In the church, on a beam, is a quaint carving representing a hare pursued by hunt- ser, which took refuge in the church at some remote period — the custode either did not know or would not tell me any more about it. Rennes, to which I went simply because I thought I must visit all the towns, has the distinction, it is said, of being the most stupid and the dullest town in Brittany. It is certainly, I think, the very ugliest. Anciently the capital of the Duchy of Brittany, it is composed of two towns, separated by the river Vilaine. On the right bank is the upper town. Rennes was burned in 1720, and was rebuilt in the ugly fashion of the period, principally in gray granite. The embanked river is carried in a straight course through the town and spanned by several unpretentious, characterless bridges. There are no fine buildings to be seen. The Cathedral is hideous 48 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS in style. Inside are eight enormous red marble pillars sustaining the heavy vault on either side of the clerestory. Their bases are barely six feet apart. Not even the richly decorated, gilded walls and altar can blind one to the clumsiness of the whole arrange- ment. One of the original gates, the Porte Morde- laix, still stands, and there are a few old houses to be found here and there, but its wide, featureless streets have no interest. There are no crowds of peasants in picturesque costumes, the shops are not particularly good, and there is little to be found worth seeing, except the ruined church of Saint Yves. The Church of the Abbey of Saint Melaine has been restored out of all semblance to its former self, and, by the addition of an absurd dome and lantern, is entirely disguised. The cupola is surmounted by an enormous gilded statue of the Virgin Mary, and in the transept is a wax statue of Saint Severina whose bones, transferred by a pious priest from the cata- combs of Rome, are enshrined here in the altar. Rennes does possess well filled museums and sev- eral excellent libraries, and the Galerie des Beaux Arts contains a large and good collection, some of the modern school, and several paintings by such masters as De Crayer, Jordaens and a Paul Veronese. There are several old wooden houses worth visit- ing in the town, if one is inclined to stop; the first is quite a remarkable "tourelle escalier" in the rue du Four du Chapitre, built of wood and winding upwards very picturesquely, clinging to the wall of a tenement. I wonder that some architect has not discovered and appropriated it long since. It ANCIENT HOUSE — RENNES CHURCH OF SAINT YVES 49 would quite make his reputation. The other is a sort of balcony gateway, mounted by a winding stair at each side of the entrance giving access to a second floor, and the whole as unbelievable and fantastic as I have seen anywhere in Brittany. In the heart of the old quarter one can still see the remains of an exquisite Gothic structure, the ancient church of Saint Yves, which has a beautifully designed door- way and a high ogival window, and a facade exqui- sitely sculptured with armorial bearings and shields. The church, alas ! is now given up to a vulgar shop, its lovely window walled up, and on the whitewashed front is painted in large black letters the sign "Quincaillerie, clouterie." With this evidence of her disregard for the beautiful before one, Rennes may be dismissed. J^arribaLLe, cJloofitjotU cJloontcofitouz /^AMBALLE is, perhaps, at its best on a / market day. At daybreak the peasants, <:^v»ID both men and women, begin to arrive in the small market place, their wagons laden with nice looking fruit and fresh vegetables, their small patient donkeys and horses plodding along the dusty roads beneath heavy loads of melons and arti- chokes. They are all headed in one direction, and soon after arriving they begin the noisy erection of stalls and the clattering of preparation for the business of the day. Everything is, of course, on a small scale, and the talk and excited gesticulations are most entertaining and ludicrous. Sitting in the doorway of a small shop one may study the scene at leisure, for the purchase of a bowl of cider entitles the buyer to a seat as long as it lasts. As if by magic, long rows of colored glazed pot- tery appear on the pavement; pottery of various shapes, always good by the way, and of lovely glazed orange, green and terra cotta. In the market place 50 CHATEAU OF QUEEN ANNE THE RIVER GOUESSANT 51 one of the first things that strikes the eye of the trav- eler is the curious pinnacle or ornament of terra cotta which ornaments each housetop, called here a "flamme." The designs are innumerable, sometimes simple, ornamental forms, again most ornate figures of men and women, no doubt made from ancient mod- els, but of modern manufacture. A short street leads down the shaded road, and across to the Church of Notre Dame rising from the midst of dark trees above the walls, and here a small river gurgles under bridges and about the roots of tall trees, which hang over its banks. It is called the Gouessant, and seeks the sea some distance from the town through profound black gorges and pic- turesque cascades, which are, I am told, fairly alive with fish, and where good sport may be had. In places in the town, the river is in a very un- sanitary condition, owing to the tanneries which here abound. The odors are quite unbearable to the stranger, but, strange to say, the natives do not seem to notice it. I came upon several women washing clothes in the stream at a point where bundles of rot- ting hides were soaking — the water was of dark brown color and the smell noisome, but the women beat the wet clothes with wooden paddles and gos- siped animatedly, while I fled. Instinctively one turns one's gaze to the Church above, on its crenelated base or pedestal, which has a somewhat military or fortified air as one approaches it. Framed as it is in verdure, and surrounded by the irregular lines of tanneries, small houses with over- hanging stories, and ivy and moss-covered walls, it 52 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS presents a charming picture. On the summit of the height, approached by an easy road, is a parklike space planted with immense trees, from which a good view is obtained while leaning on the stone parapet. The Church of Notre Dame is a magnificent struc- ture, and well repays the closest examination. At- tention is immediately attracted to the little flam- boyant screen and the richly red and green painted, carved and gilded, Renaissance organ case with fold- ing doors above it in the aisle south of the choir. It is in very bad repair and some of the carvings are rot- ting away, but it is still an object of great interest. The most ancient parts of the church are the north transept, with beautiful lancet windows, the fine and most impressive gateway, the west frontry, and the arcade of the Nave. The vaulted choir and south transepts were erected by Charles de Blois. The clustered pillars and the piers upholding the central tower seem quite remarkable, from an architectural point of view. Lamballe was the ancient stronghold of the Pen- thievres descendants of Conan Mariadec, who de- rived their name of Pentreff, or Prontrieux, from a point of land on the other side of Saint Brieuc, and who had feudal alliances with the villages of Gouet, Saint-Brieuc, Guingamp, Chatelaudren and Mont- conteur, with many formidable castles and strong- holds. Lamballe calls to mind a vision of the un- fortunate princess during the Revolution, and after her cruel murder, the afRxment of her lovely head upon a pike thrust from an iron grilled window of the Temple in Paris. THE CATHEDRAL AND CHATEAU — LAMBALLE SAINT MARTINS 53 At the other end of the market place there are many very curious houses, and near the Church of Saint Jean, around the Place de la Croix-aux-Feves, and in the rue Courte-Espee, are also many interest- ing dwellings, built of large gray stones with over- hanging upper floors upheld by heavy, sculptured beams, with hanging pipes leading down from the high pitched and slate tiled roofs, which are pointed and finished by their curious ornaments of glazed terra cotta, giving it all a venerable and most orig- inal aspect. A hospital with an ancient chapel at the head of a little bridge, the silent winding streets, paved with large rough stones irregularly set, and a sort of fau- burg in which one comes upon another ancient church clad in green mosses and embellished with a Norwegian looking porch with carved and red col- ored quaint monsters of evident antiquity, called Saint Martins, and we have seen all of Lamballe, Even if Lamballe were not one of the most pleas- ant of towns in which to linger, it would be remark- able for its associations with a small fox terrier by whom we were adopted. The days were so pleasant and balmy that we invariably took our meals out-of- doors under the chestnut trees before the small hotel near the ralway station, and here, amid the drone of the bees, we were wont to linger over our morning cafe au lait. The second morning after our arrival, feeling a touch at my knee, I looked under the table, and there, casting up timid eyes at me, was a small fox 54 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS terrier, with a black spot on his haunch, who quickly moved out of reach, looking back at me and slowly wagging his tail. I threw him a piece of bread with a liberal spread of unsalted butter on it, which he ate and then came and laid down beside my chair. Soon a small Breton boy came and dragged him away, but at luncheon he was back again beside my chair. A. . . . took him upstairs with her af- ter luncheon, and it was a different dog which re- turned with her — a dog clean and brushed, with a lovely blue ribbon about his neck, who frisked and romped about, with tail and ears erect, and eyes brighter than ever. As we went out to explore the neighborhood Pompon, as we christened him, ran on ahead, looking back at us as if to say, "Come with me, friends, and I will show you the sights." So we let him be our guide, and it was he who took us to some of the most charming spots about Lamballe, particu- larly a walk by the river, over a vine-clad, mos'sy bridge, and a secluded country lane where we met a procession of peasants carrying a statue of the Virgin, the men barefooted, making a pilgrimage to some distant chapel. We promptly knelt by the roadside until they passed, and Pompon gravely sat on his haunches beside us. We had the pleasure of his company for four days, and then he came no more, for his owner, a boy of about nine years, had given him a good beating and shut him in a stable — so the landlady informed me, and one day I thought I heard his sharp little bark from behind a wall as we passed along the road, but I could not be sure. The morning of our departure from Lamballe, there was CHURCH OF SAINT MARTIN — LAMBALLE OUR FRIEND POMPON 55 our friend Pompon awaiting us as we came down to breakfast, his ribbon sadly bedraggled to be sure, but still on his neck, and he in a great state of excitement, running from each of us in turn to where our lug- gage awaited the porter for transferance to the sta- tion, as if he knew that we were leaving. I coaxed him, but he would not be still, and, finally, when we went over to the railway station, which was close at hand. Pompon was at our heels determined not to lose sight of us. I gave the porter a tip to take him where he belonged, and as I was talking to him, up came the small boy who owned him, and drove poor Pompon away with stones and abuse. The train was not to leave for some ten minutes, but we entered the carriage, and, after bestowing the luggage in the rack, I chanced to glance from the window — and lo ! there was our faithful Pompon on the platform standing stock still, his head held on one side and one pink ear elevated, listening with all his might for sounds which, to him, would identify his friends. Poor little Pompon! At the instant he caught sight of me in the window of the compartment, and with a joyous yelp bounded for- ward. The train started, and the last I saw of our faithful and admiring friend was a small, white ob- ject, with a black spot on its haunch, leaping along the track in the bright morning sunlight, far behind the train, and then I lost sight of him. The little village of Montfort (officially Mont- fort-Surmen, but to the lovers of old legends ever Montfort-la-cane) is renowned for its miracle of the "cane" (wild duck), dating from the fifteenth cen- 56 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS tury. Chateaubriand ("Memoires d'outre Tombe") relates the story as follows : " A certain Seigneur captured and imprisoned a young girl of great beauty in his chateau of Mont- fort. Gazing from her barred window high in the tower, she espied among the trees, at a distance, the tower of the Church of Saint Nicholas. To this Saint she addressed her fervent prayers for succor and release, her eyes streaming with tears, and, sud- denly, she was most miraculously transported out- side the chateau ; but here she fell into the hands of the servitors of her captor, who menaced her with ill usage, such as they believed she had already suf- fered at their master. The unfortunate girl, seeking help, saw nothing but some wild 'canes' (ducks) on the lake of the chateau. Renewing her prayer to Saint Nicholas, she begged him to permit these crea- tures to be witness of her innocence, and if she should die before accomplishing her vow to Saint Nicholas, that these birds carry it out for her in their own manner. By divine permission she escaped from the soldiers without suffering, but she died the following year. Thus, on the ninth of May, on the day of the fete of Saint Nicholas, one may see a wild 'cane' accompanied by its young, flying into the Church of Saint Nicholas, and, circling the statue, it pauses, beating the air with its wings for an instant, after which it departs, leaving one of its young at the altar as an offering. Some time after this, it is gravely stated, the young one 'disappears.' "During three hundred years or more, the story naively continues, the 'cane,' always the same one, THE GATEWAY — MONTFORT PORTE OF MONTFORT-LA-CANE 57 returns, at the day fixed, with its covey, to the Church of great Saint Nicholas de Montfort, without any one knowing she has remained in hiding the rest of the year." This whole countryside is filled with charming legends like the foregoing, for which space is wanted here. The entrance to this really delightful spot is at the Porte of Montfort-la-cane, a most picturesque gate- way which serves as ''hotel de ville," a large tower, square at one side and rounded at the other, gar- nished with a collar of ivy which almost hides its decaying and crumbling Machicolis. The tower, so gray and mossy, serves as a belfry and clock tower for the village. A modern church, in the poor Italian style, has been built in the town — the church and its square campanile in two stages have no relation whatever to the town or its traditions. Below, a high cylindrical tower is seen in the midst of splendid trees and sur- rounded by a high wall grilled like the Bastille — it serves now as the prison. This is about all of inter- est at Montfort, and after visiting some old "loge- ments" in the small streets and the square pavilion of an old manor-house, showing near the tour de I'Horloge, we may leave Montfort-la-cane. About ten miles from Lamballe, in the heart of a superb region, with dim, misty, forest-clad hills marking the horizon, is the small and ancient town of Montcontour, perched upon a walled, rocky, moss-clad promontory, like an island, and crowned by a charming tower and pinnacles. 58 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS It is not seen from afar very plainly — one comes upon it rather suddenly, really at the foot of its very walls, the road continues around the escarpment, and passes between masses of rock, small houses and ram- parts clad in verdure, and all in some confusion, but impressive for all that. After encircling the curious roadway encumbered, as it is, with old wagons and the debris of a black- smith who seems to have the right to store his an- tiques all along the way, leaving barely space for the diligence to pass, the village is reached, and one sees with delight the quaint, window-pierced towers of the houses, the walled gardens with overhanging ver- dure, and above, against the soft blue of the sky, the tower of the Church of Saint Mathurin with its quaint lantern and the hooded windows beneath, and, lower down, the bizarre balcony and pedestals. Formerly there was a gate at the ramparts after the first terrace, but this has long since disappeared. A small postern gate gives access on the other side, and the stairway descends among the small peasant houses, and the mills watered by the thin streams. Montcontour, with its fifteen hundred inhabitants, has nothing of the aspect of a village. It seeks, rather, to pose as a town, a town composed of three or four short streets, but flanked by grand, large, old houses. Lying far away from the whistle of the lo- comotive, it is really living two hundred years in the past, and nothing occurs here to mar the impression of antiquity save, perhaps, the arrival of the daily mail, or the visit of the ferocious looking whiskered gendarme, who wants to know why M'Sieur has SAINT MATHURIN 59 come to Montcontour, from whence, and where does he intend to go afterwards? The streets are very silent. One hears plainly in the inn the squeak of the mill wheel turning far be- low the walls. Ancient figures, clad in decent black garments, visit each other behind blank looking doors, and the closely curtained windows of the sad looking houses ; and there are quiet shops that one really fears to en- ter, for fear of intrusion, and antique looking groceries, and an inn or two. Elsewhere, in small, narrow streets, are charming corners, doorways of houses which are open hospitably, habitations of the poorer classes, where, from beflowered window to window, pass neighborly conversations, conveying to the loiterer details of the daily life of the little town. Wandering idly about, one comes upon a small shrine at a corner in a niche in the wall embowered in flowers, and containing a faience statue of the Virgin and this inscription: "Si 1' amour de Marie Et ton coeur est grave En passant ne t'oublie: De lui dire un Ave. .1775." Montcontour possesses a holy patron, famed and venerated throughout Brittany, Saint Mathurin, who, the legend has it, "enjoyed in Paradise among the Saints such a reputation for superior wisdom, that little by little he had gained such an important place that one day, God the Father, in despair over 6o BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS the cares of the government of the Universe, desired to abdicate, and cast his eyes upon him as the one most worthy to receive the scepter. Saint Mathurin, pressed to accept, says the legend, asked time to re- flect, and weighing well the advantages and disad- vantages of the position then said, he preferred to remain Saint Mathurin at Montcontour!" Enclosed in a massive silver reliquaire reposes the skull (Chef) of Saint Mathurin, and every year at Pentecost there is here a great Pilgrimage to the Church in his honor. The Bretons of Pontivy and Guemene, and even further, arrive in procession with "binious" or pipes, and drummers, who accompany the "cantiques" in the church and outside, and the dances which follow the ceremonies on the esplanade of the Chateau des Granges. Here the peasants of Briochin, and the Lamballais gather in crowds, all singing: "Saint Mathurin de Montcontour, Donne du ble neye a nous!" The fete continues far into the night, and long after the bell in the tower gives the signal to disperse, and the little inn has closed its doors, one can hear from the roads below, leading out from Montcontour to the forests and to the hamlets by the sea, the squeal of the binious (Breton bagpipes) and the chanting of the crowds of happy pilgrims homeward bound. There is a most astonishing variety of dress and type in this small corner of France. To see them collectively one should go down to Rumengol on Copyright, 1910, by George Wharton Edwards A BRETON PIPER THE MEN OF CORNOUAILLE 6i some fete Sunday, say on the day of Trinity. From a sort of grassy mound near the church yard, with my back against the little chapel of the good saint, I have seen the multitude come and go in the slant- ing sunlight. Here are some fine fellows from the fastnesses of the Mountagnes Arree, all dressed in brown wool fashioned by their women folk beside the huge log fires of winter, when the winds bend and sway the huge pines and oaks about the heavy stone walls of the farm houses. They are of hand- some, graceful mien, great, fine lads, with Roman noses and straight, black hair, who have the high cheek bones and small eyes of the Celt. They jostle against the somewhat smaller and red-cheeked, clean shaven, blue clad men of Cornouaille, whose taste runs to heavy yellow embroidery and gorgeous red and green handkerchiefs whose hues set the teeth on edge. They are the most boisterous of all the Bre- tons, these men of Cornouaille, the most drunken, too, I am told, although I do not detect any great lapse from sobriety among them to-day. They are, however, very shy when separated from their kind, I note. I am interested in a gathering of men clad like Mexicans in bright colors, with large felt hats on their heads, much embroidered jackets of yellow felt or wool, and singularly cut trousers that swell out or flare over the shoes. They are said to be very "sporty," these huge, red-bearded fellows ; they come from Pont I'Abbe and are called "Tran'c Doue." Each one has a bottle either sticking out of his pocket or firmly grasped in his hand. They are standing stolidly at the wayside regarding the crowd 62 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS about them apathetically, hardly turning to look at a procession of pretty girls, all ravishingly pretty, too, and clad in snowy white dresses, each one carry- ing a small wax taper in her white cotton gloved hand, and marching in procession headed by a young damsel carrying a banner. They even. block the way of a huge cart laden with red-cheeked women in snowy, stiffly starched coifs from the Gwenediz or Vannes district, for the Cornouailles and the Van- netais are ancient enemies, as Le Braz tells us so graphically. Following the cart is a group of men and women from the Tregorrois country, who seem not to look to the right or left, but nothing escapes those bright, piercing, blue eyes set far back beneath their bushy brows. These are poorly clad in dark, dull blues and rusty blacks, the coifs of the women alone being distinctive. I notice the last two of the group, a nice, fresh looking young fellow hand in hand with the young girl beside him, and that each holds the other by a hooked little finger, and they swing them to and fro in tune with the dull beating of a distant drum and the scream of pastoral pipe. They are followed by an old, old man from Minihy, whom time seems to have forgotten ; on his head is a large, flapping, felt hat with long, rusty black velvet rib- bons hanging down behind ; his face is so seamed with wrinkles that his mouth and eyes have disappeared ; his long, gray hair hangs upon his shoulders, and the hand holding his staff is like a bunch of bones cov- ered with yellow parchment — he lingers painfully — he must have walked the whole distance. MONTCONTOUR THE MEN OF VANNES 63 And now more Gwenedours or men from Vannes, with smooth, sallow faces, roughly cut, and straight black hair, who in turn give way to peasants from Scaer clad in black close jackets trimmed lavishly with satin and velveteen, who seem to fraternize with the fellows from Elliant in their stiff collars. As they pass I can see the sign of the Holy Sacrament embroidered in yellow braid on the shoulders and backs of their short jackets. Then peasants from Fouesnant, Erque, and from Kerfeunteun, both men and women, some withered with age and labor, oth- ers fresh as dew, or flowers, the white stiff wings of their belaced and starched caps and collars envelop- ing their attractive young faces. And now a band of young soldiers, who are al- lowed two days' leave to attend the pardon, all clad in heavy leggins and clumsy red breeches, on their heads the foolish caps with which France disfigures her unfortunate infantry, their collars bearing the number of their various regiments. They do not seem happy, yet the peasants regard them with some show of interest, especially those from the mountains. One of these I afterwards asked to join me in a bowl of cider by the roadside, and as we sat he talked freely of himself. He was from below Carnac, he said — the long road to Loc Maria Ker — ah! — I knew it then? Did I know the third house on the right beyond the dolmen? Well, that was where he was born — a poor place, yes ; many stones and lit- tle crop ; yes, that is so, many stones and little crop ; but a country dear to me. Monsieur, you see — my country! And he went on to tell me of the large 64 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS family and their struggles — of his father who was drowned at fishing four years ago "come next par- don" ; since then he had labored at the gathering of Vraic, or sea weed, for the farmers' use on the fields. He had an aunt, oh, so old, too, he said, who could not live much longer. She was rich and would give him a farm holding for himself when his time was up as a soldier; two years more must he serve, and then he would settle, yes, he would marry. "Of course," he answered me, "of course, she would marry him, did she not carry his ring knotted in a handkerchief in her bosom — but, then you see, his word was given to her." And then he fell silent and would say no more. That is the way with these Bretons, one minute all confidence in you, and loqua- cious, then, all at once, something like a cloud of suspicion — or distrust comes over them, and then you will get no more out of them. So I paid the four sous for our two bowls of thin cider, and with a nod, the young soldier took himself off, and, although I stood watching him as he passed among the crowd of peasants, he did not look back. ^aint-cSzieuc, W^aint loiclioLad-ded-dDaux, yuingamp /7AINT-BRIEUC, capital of the Depart- {^^p^\\ ment of Cotes-du-nord, is situated on the v„>/ Gouet to which a long descent leads, and where will be found the tidal port. The city is a Bishopric and an important center, contain- ing a cathedral of heavy and somewhat disap- pointing exterior and a large number of quaint and interesting old houses and towers. The only re- mains of the thirteenth and fifteenth century church will be found, I am informed, in the wall of the apse to the transepts, which has been pierced to ac- commodate the chapels. The antiquary will find much here to interest him, but the ordinary tourist, in search of entertainment, will find the town rather dull, and will hie him to the picturesque ravine of the Gouet, or to the Port Legue about one mile to the north, not far from which will be found the ruined tower "De cesson" built in 1395. The town is celebrated in the annals of the Ven- deen war, by the rescue of the Royalists in prison under sentence of death, by an incredibly coura- 65 66 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS geous attack of the Chouans, and every foot of ground in the streets is of historic interest. James the Second of England is said to have taken up his abode in the house called "L'Hotel des duos de Bourgogne" w^hen he came to Saint Brieuc in 1689 to muster his troops. According to history, Saint Brieuc, or Brioc, was the son of an Irishman and a Saxon w^oman, and was brought up by the Amorican Saint Germain, nephew of St. Patrick, who afterwards became Apostle of the Isle of Man. Brioc was driven from Wales with a large number of the Irish, and set sail with them to the mouth of the Gueb, where he found shelter with a relative Rigual who had already settled in Brittany, and who gave him the land upon which Saint-Brieuc now stands. In the Rue Saint Jacques, a street in which almost every house possesses some interesting history, will be found one particularly remarkable. On each side of the richly ornamented doorway is now a tawdry shop or drinking place. The house is a timbered one with projecting upper floors, and the beams are richly sculptured and ornamented with carved vines of great beauty of detail, and the most grotesque figures of warriors, clowns, kings and queens and grotesque masks, all more or less mutilated. At the side of the entrance is a fragment of a figure crowned, an unfortunate king, of which nothing remains but the head. On the opposite side is the effigy of Saint George in armor of the fifteenth cen- tury, with upraised hand from which the lance or sword is missing. REMARKABLE HOUSES 67 This house, if one may believe tradition, belonged to the infamous Guy Eder de la Fontenelle, whose terrible cruelties gave him renown throughout Brit- tany, and gained for him the title of the Brigand de Cornouaille. Another remarkable house will be found in the rue Fardel, dating from the middle of the sixteenth century, showing two richly ornamented panels of carved wood, between heavy sculptured walls, and on the roofs, stone lions of considerable artistic value. Here, it is said, dwelt for some time un- lucky James the Second of England, after his flight. The Cathedral is low and flat in appearance like a fortress, which indeed it was for a time, for the right tower still shows a machicolated range and loopholes for bowmen, which are now blocked but still visible. Historians deem it singular that a town so im- portant as Saint Brieuc must have been, from its position and number of inhabitants, was never for- tified or walled, as was the case with many other towns throughout Brittany of much less note and size. Hearing the sound of chanting from the half open small door beyond the grating, as we were examin- ing the tower, I cautiously opened it and we en- tered the semi-darkness of the vestibule. When our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we found the interior not without a certain dignity, and between the Romanesque pillars, the altar and stained glass, it seemed at first very fine; but, examination proved the glass to be modern and poor, and the mural 68 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS decorations somewhat mediocre. The chanting we heard came from the choir, and there behind the grill we peeped at some twenty priests, seated in the stalls with open books before them, and three of their number, arrayed somewhat differently as to vestments, were accompanying the voices of the sing- ing priests with large brass instruments like horns and trombones. I had never seen such a sight be- fore, in a church abroad, and I judged that we had happened upon a rehearsal for some important cel- ebration, for the leader seemed at times out of patience with the others, and made them go over again and again the tune of the mass, or whatever it was. One of the priests, a very stout, red-faced man in a resplendent lace garment, who was nearest the pillar behind which I was ensconced, shirked his task most delightfully, making a great show of sing- ing and moving his head from side to side keeping time, but never making a sound with his lips. At times he took a huge pinch of snuff, which he placed upon the back of his left hand, and, striking it with his right just under his nose, inhaled it with great satisfaction, a mode I had never before seen or heard of. They never knew that we were watching them, and we gained the street without making our presence known, and, as we left Saint Brieuc within the hour, whatever the ceremony was to be, we heard nothing more of it. From Saint Brieuc to Saint Nicholas des Eaux is some fifty odd miles by train, but the route is not very uninteresting, and as the company will furnish one on demand with an excellent lunch of cold THE RIVER BLAVET 69 roast chicken, bread, butter, salt and pepper, and a fair bottle of wine, the trip is endurable. The route is by the way of Pontivy, and crosses a section of country of great interest. The inhabitants are of pure Celtic origin, and the language they speak is akin to that spoken in Wales. They often pride themselves, particularly the elders, upon their igno- rance of the French tongue, refusing at times, partic- ularly in the interior as I have said before, to answer when so addressed. Upwards to a million of these people retain their language and picturesque costume, and can be seen to great advantage on fete days and the "Pardons," or church festivals, which are held here during the summer months, a list of which, with dates, will be found elsewhere. Superstitions and legends of in- credible character abound, and there are added at- tractions in the many druidical monuments in the district, particularly those at Carnac and Loc Ma- riaqner, which I shall describe in another chapter. Saint Nicholas des Eaux is a picturesque little place on the river Blavet, and from here one may take many trips of great interest and profit. The river makes a great loop around a neck of land which it is said was occupied by a walled town named Sulim or Sola; remains of the ancient walls and pavements of which have been found. One can ascend the height to the chapel of La Trinite by a rather hard scramble, and the labor is well worth while. Saint Gildas, coming here from Rhuys in the year 530, founded a colony of monks in what is now the hamlet of Castannec. He discovered 70 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS that the people were given over to idolatrous prac- tices, and that they worshiped a gross image of Venus. One night, the story goes, he, in company with his disciples Budic or Bieuzy, rolled it quietly over to their monastery and concealed it in the walls they were building. Thus the image remained in concealment even after the Northmen arrived and destroyed the monastery. It was not until long years after that the workmen employed in removing the old Priory came upon the image. It was at once venerated by the peasants of the district, who styled it in the Breton "Groak en Goard, The Woman of la Couarde," and set it up over a large fountain cut out of granite, and here the women came to bathe at night, invoking the aid of the Venus of Courade, and practicing certain incantations and phallic ceremonies which became the scandal of the clergy, who besought Count Claude of Lannion to destroy the idol. He publicly rolled it down the hillside into the river, and forbade the peasants to touch it afterwards upon pain of imprisonment, but to no purpose, for the fanatical Bretons rescued it from the river and once more set it up at the foun- tain. The Bishop of Vannes was appealed to, and, at his earnest solicitations, the Count sent troops to upset and smash it to pieces, but they, in secret sym- pathy with the peasants, only broke off one arm and one of the breasts and once more threw it into the river in a deep spot. In the following year, Pierre de Lannion, who succeeded his father as ruler of the province, in order to propitiate the inhabitants, rescued the "THE WOMAN OF LA COUARDE" 71 Venus from the river and conveyed it to the Baud where he had built the chateau of Quinipilli, where it now stands. Scandalized by the anatomy of the figure, the priests induced the Count to employ a mason to cut and remodel the statue, so that it now presents a widely different appearance to that it had in olden times. Even now the peasants, particu- larly the betrothed, will visit the fountain secretly by night, and, in the darkness, perform certain rites and ceremonies which are unexplainable in print. The figure, which is of granite, seems about seven feet high, and on a band about the forehead may be described the letters I. I. T., the meaning of which is unknown. Whatever it is, it is certainly not a Venus, and some antiquarians think it was brought hither by the Roman soldiery, who occupied the walled city of Sulim. After inspecting the statue during which we were covertly watched by some children, who lay in the grass under the trees which are covered with mistle- toe, here called "la herbe de la croix" and which, it is believed, has lost none of the powers ascribed to it in Pagan times, I got one of the children to show us the way to the Chapel of Saint Trinite and the Hermitage of Saint Gildas. This holy man, it seems, retired at intervals to a sort of cave under one of the rocks by the river, especially during Lent, and this was the origin of the chapel. It consists of two parts in a very quaint spot under the rock to which the bell is attached. There are two altars inside divided by an arch. In one of the chapels there is a sort of pedestal on which is a slab of 72 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS diorite stone, and by means of a pebble, this stone, called by the peasants "the bell stone of St. Gildas" is struck and gives forth a ringing sound. The custode informs us that the stone-bell is rung at mass on the day of the Pardon (Whitsun Monday). There is also here, beside the principal altar, a curi- ous Bread stone, so called, used by the officiating priest at the Pardon for the distribution of the ''pain benit" (blessed bread) among the pilgrims. At the village of Bieuzy, a short distance away, vi^hich should on no account be slighted, there is a church of the Renaissance order with ancient choir and nave (some say sixteenth century) with three magnificent, stained glass windows, showing scenes connected with the passion of our Saviour, which are worth a day's journey to see. The windows and doors are all flamboyant Gothic. The sculpture of the leaves and branches here, on a blind doorway, is worthy of reproduction in a museum. Archi- tects will be interested in the character of the well heads, and cylinders for the chains above them, which are scattered through the town. The Holy Well, so styled, is not far from the village, and shows a figure of a saint. It is said that the water from this well, if used prayerfully and with entire faith, will restore their minds to the insane. The Chapel of Saint Nicholas des Eaux, which is in a very tumbledown condition, is a cross-shaped structure of heavy stone, dated 1524, and possesses a notable double door ornamented with most beau- tifully carved leaves and vines. It has, however, suffered great mutilation. CHURCH OF SAINT NICODENE 73 The Church of Saint Nicodene is pointed out, by authorities, as the most beautiful existing structure of the kind in all Morbihan. I was most interested, however, in the fountains dedicated to Saint Gaen- aliel, who appears with an ox beside him attended by a biniou or piper, and to St. Nicodemus and Abibo, who are accompanied by a human-headed ox, or bull, and a horseman. The chapel has a curious minstrel gallery of stone, and there are a couple of sculptured oxen on the chancel wall in honor of their patron Saint Comely. The great pardon held here, on the second Sunday in August, is one of the most famous throughout Brittany, and, at the fair, the girls come to sell their hair, which is bought by merchants from Paris, and brings sometimes large sums of money. Often, however, the girls are swindled by unscrupulous dealers with imitation jewelry and cheap finery, al- though as a rule the Breton girl is very shrewd, and well able to hold her own. The young girls who have sold their hair wear caps of black cloth, and not the snowy coifs usually worn, and the scene at the fair is one that should not be missed by the trav- eler. On the Sunday following the fair is the celebra- tion of the pardon, which takes the whole day, during which the peasants fast and pray and carry evil smelling candles, of not very clean looking wax, in their hands, and stick them on curious spiked hooks in the crowded church when they manage to get in. In the evening the figure of an angel is let down on a wire from the gallery of the church spire. 74 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS and by means of a torch saturated with petroleum, which the priest lights before the figure is launched, sets fire to a huge pile of inflammable brushwood and fireworks, lighting up the fields all about, and the watching faces of the devout peasants who then, with great shouts, take their departure for their dis- tant homes in the dim forests beyond. In order to continue our journey, we returned to Saint Brieuc by train, and thence continued along the northwestern shore, for in this way we followed the pardons from town to town. Guingamp boasts of a most notable pilgrimage, or pardon, that of the Bon Secours on the Saturday before the first Sunday in July, and it is inaugurated by a torch light procession in the evening and strange rites only half seen in the dark. It would be well for the traveler to hire a window, as we did, some place along the route, from which much can be seen in comfort and safety, for the peasant, be it said, has not much patience with the stranger or unbeliever during these days of his sacred devo- tions, and is likely to take offense often when no offense is meant orx)ffered. There are long lines of pilgrims advancing from the shadows along the roadway, their faces showing pale and their eyes flashing. The sight resembles nothing one has seen before, and a hollow rumble is heard of voices praying in unison, and a vast shuffling of feet, audible long before they come into view. Then it is seen that each peasant holds a sort of wreath in one hand, and a burning candle in the other. The Bretons wear their hair long — down GUINGAMP PARDON OF THE BON SECOURS 75 on their shoulders — and often their faces are almost hidden by the long black locks. They wear no beards. They seem to take their cue in praying or chanting from one of their number, whose voice rings out sonorously above the noise of the shuffling feet. So they pass, and one can hardly repress a shudder when the last of them disappear from sight around a bend in the road. For long afterwards, during the night, the glare shines in the windows from the market place about the fountain and one hears the monotonous, hoarse, voices chanting the "Madame Maria Bon Secours." Daylight is certainly the best time, or at least the safest, in which to study the pardon, for then the Breton is less fierce towards the stranger. From the garden of the Hotel de France, one obtains the best view of the town, charmingly situ- ated on the banks of the little river Trieux, There is a little, old stone mill on the river bank, which quite lingers in one's memory. The market place is of extreme picturesqueness, with quaint, old, over-hanging houses faced and tiled with gray slates, and there are many fine trees, and a curious and rather ornate fountain cast in lead, said to be the work of a sculptor named Carlay, and dated 1743. Several of the towers of the chateau are shown with great pride, and the walls are overhung with vines and verdure. Until I showed my sketch book, the people were inclined to be almost uncivil, but thereafter they vied with one another in their politeness to us, and I was somewhat mystified until I found that Madame at 76 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS the hotel had informed the gendarme that "Mon- sieur was an artist, and both he and Madame were Americans, not English, and that Monsieur had a painting in the salon in Paris." This shows the in- terest of the people in art, even in such an out-of-way spot as the little town of Guingamp. Following a superstition, the snails found here- abouts are much sought during a certain period of the year by the peasantry, who believe that if they wear them in festoons beneath their clothing, they will be protected from contagious diseases. I en- deavored to obtain some idea as to how long the fes- toons were to be worn, but my question, addressed to a dear old dame who was knitting before the door in the morning sunlight, only brought a suspicious gleam into her shrewd old eyes, and, after regarding me for an instant, she would only shake her head at me and ejaculate "Mais, Monsieur, va faire du blague!" The Church of Notre Dame de Bon Secours is an imposing edifice, with a most singular mixture of the ogival and Renaissance styles. The lateral facade, with the houses which accompany it, form a most picturesque whole on the Rue de Guingamp, where a large porch, or really a separate chapel, generally occupied by many kneeling peasant women, opens directly on the street. A high iron grill, of ancient design, closes the large "ogive" door or opening. This chapel, in which during the whole day the peasants are coming and going before a statue of the Virgin "du Halgoet de Bon Secours," is one of the most renowned in all Brit- THE ANCIENT TOWER 77 tany. On the left of the porch of Notre Dame du Helgoet, is the heavy ancient tower surmounted by an iron "fieche." The interior is sufficiently re- markable and majestic to attract even those not interested in architectural problems or purity of style. There is a chill in the air, and the odor of burnt v^ax and wicks, and on the altar, in the midst of the emblazonment of gold and crimson and blue, shines one small red light like a star. In the center, on the immense columns supporting the central tower, are large heads, rudely sculptured, of gro- tesque knights, one of which is grimacing with pro- truding tongue, and there are some tombs, notably that of the Sieur Locmaria, the Seneschal of Charles of Blois. Peasants are kneeling all about near the walls, and there is a strange whispering noise of half muttered prayers, and the clink of coin dropping at intervals in the tin spouts of the offering boxes near the door. The principal ornament of the triangular square is the leaden fountain already mentioned, to which the peasants, on the night of the pilgrimage and Grand Pardon, after their devotions in the Chapel of Notre Dame du Helgoet, repair, and, surround- ing it, wash themselves in its splashing waters for all real or imaginary ills. Woe to him who ques- tions its efficacy! From this square the streets descend to the lower town on the banks of the Trieux, where are found curious old houses and mossy vine- covered walls, and still busy mill wheels near which are long lines of white-capped, voluble, washer- women, kneeling in boxes in the stream, noisily beat- 78 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS ing the soapy wet clothing with wooden paddles. The people must be clean here, for no matter upon what day one visits the river bank, save Sunday, one finds the women at work. The stranger is ad- vised to keep away frorn these women, both here and in other towns of Brittany. They have sharp tongues, are "ever ready to "scrap," and, invariably, are victorious. I have heard tales of les Anglais" who were taken in hand by these for fancied affronts, cast bodily into the river, and arrested by the gen- darme and fined afterwards by the sympathizing ''Chef de Police." Zloaimpoi, (ozeguiez, cJo anmon |N the twentieth day of February each year, Paimpol, the gray village, is in a great state of excitement, for on this day the Icelandic fleet of fishing vessels and their hardy Breton crews start for the fishing banks in the polar seas and the grand banks of Newfoundland, and the blessing of the fleet takes place with the most elaborate solem- nity, just before it departs. Some two hundred fishing vessels, of fairly large size, leave the port and the other smaller towns on the Bay of Saint Brieuc upon this day, and the scene amid the snow-clad hills which surround the port, the flag decked vessels, the richly clad clergy, the altars erected on the quay, and the hundreds of peasant women in costume of the province, make up a sight worth traveling a long distance to see. Paimpol after this day sinks into lifelessness, and has nothing to offer to the tourist but a good inn where one may rest, and from which one may make excursions to many points of interest, by diligence 79 8o BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS or carriage as one prefers. The former is quaint, of course, but not as comfortable or as convenient as a carriage, and the cost of the latter is small comparatively, vi^hile for the automobilist the roads are generally all that can be desired. About five miles northward and a mile or so off the coast, is the He Brehat, which is reached by a small sail boat, but only in fair weather. It is a spot of great picturesqueness, the Adamless Eden, as I have called it elsewhere, where no men are to be seen, only women of large stature, and consider- able personal comeliness, who do all the work of the small farms and gardens, and seem to be very happy in their isolated state, the men being away with the fishing fleets on the Icelandic banks. The houses are small, the grass is green, and all about is the flashing blue sea. The costume of the women is very somber, of black and white, and is not as quaint as the isolated island would lead one to expect. Here, in the little inn of the "Gray Parrot," we enjoyed great content, due to the care of the hospitable hostess. One cannot praise too highly the whole- some food, or the cleanliness of the house. The air is as soft here as the Mediterranean, the sea as blue, and the sunlight as perfect. There may be days of storm and fog, but I had none of them on this perfect island. The artists who have visited the island from time to time, have painted each other's portraits on tumblers which the hostess has arranged on shelves and displays to the infrequent visitor with great pride. We left it with great regret, and on A QUAINT CHURCHYARD 8i returning to Paimpol for the night, the town seemed all the grayer and more somber by contrast with the gem-like little island which we had just left. Paimpol has a Grand Place with heavy, gray stone houses, surrounding it, from which dark streets branch here and there. In a deep, stone doorway, perchance, one will see the furtive, lounging figure of an ancient mariner, or a "Douanier" in uniform, walking slowly along a quay, his hands behind his back, alternatingly appearing and vanishing behind huge piles of rope and coiled chain, rusty anchors, windlasses, old upturned boats, and the thousand and one impedimenta of a marine port. The sad looking, gray stone houses bear signs such as "Vente et achat des articles de la grande peche," and over all is the fragrant odor of pitch and rosin. This is where Pierre Loti wrote his romance "Pe- cheur d'Islande," and the little port of Ploubaz- lanec, from which one reaches Brehat, is named in the book. The diligence leaves the corner just op- posite the hotel, where hangs a very well painted sign of some running horses, done by a traveling artist of fine ability; a name is signed to it, but I could not make it out, nor could any one tell me by whom it was painted. There is a most quaint and typical churchyard at Paimpol upon which we chanced quite by accident the morning after our arrival, and in a retired corner of this pathetic "God's Acre," among the vines and rose briar, is a full length figure of "L' Abbe Jean Vincent Moy," for many years cure of the parish. The figure 82 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS is carved in the dark green Kersauton stone used throughout this region, and is polished in places as if rubbed by loving hands. At its feet is a cup of Holy Water, kept filled by a picturesque and polite old peasant v^^oman M^ho spends all her time here caring lovingly for the tomb of her beloved cure, and incidentally collecting all the spare sous of the trav- eller, but she does it in such an agreeable manner that one submits M^illingly. Here under the fine elms in orderly rovs^s sleep the ancient "habitants" of Paim- pol, but on some of the black crosses hung v^^ith w^ire wreaths of immortelles one reads the pathetic legend: "To the memory of Jean Marie Louis, w^ho vi^as drowned at sea off the Grand Banks of Newfound- land; pray for him." Alas! there are many such graves here in this quiet corner. Touching tributes of affectionate remembrance of those who went forth bravely, with priestly blessings, in the fishing fleet, never to return. The old woman who stands beside us leaning on her stick, points out other graves on which we read, "Marie, Mathilde, Eugenie, Hortense G — , aged re- spectively eighty-four, eighty-eight, eighty-two, and eighty-nine" and tells us that she herself is much younger. She did not say how much, but she cer- tainly looked to be at least ninety, and when I told her so, she smiled and really seemed to think that I had complimented her. Treguier, named the "bonne ville de Saint Yves,", and the birthplace of M. Renan, is happily as yet untouched by the tourist, and the journey by way of Lezardrieux, a small port on the Trieux, is a short MARKET DAY — TREGUIER THE CATHEDRAL 83 one by the diligence or carriage, but very interest- ing. One can get a great deal from the peasants if one is polite to them. Soon the tower of the Cathe- dral of Treguier appears over the trees on the other side of a small river — a picturesque agglomera- tion of roofs and chimneys and trees and w^alls, over which, piercing the sky, is the beautiful spire, about which clouds of rooks are flying. The Cathedral is really all there is to Treguier, which is little else but a large seminary surrounded by a few houses. Great stone walls confront one and continue down to the port, where are two small streams, the Guindy and the Tandy. From this point of view, Treguier is most picturesque, not to say monumental, and the severity of the blank stone walls is softened by the dark, glossy green of trees and verdure. In the almost deserted streets are seen decrepit, ragged old peasant women of pitiable aspect, sitting on the steps or beside the dusty roads, begging pit- cously of the passerby. Of the three towers on the transepts of the Cathe- dral, two are Gothic. That on the south carries a pinnacle of stone, and the center one is simply capped with a slate tiled, flat, pointed roof. The tower of the north transept is Roman in style and very old. According to the legends. Saint Tugdual was in the habit of flying through the air on a snow white horse of fierce mien — but this is not consid- ered incredible or remarkable here, for all Bretons were great travelers and favored extravagant methods of accomplishing their journeys, as witness the feat of 84 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS Saint Howardon de Kanderneau, who sailed the sea "in a boat cut out of stone" — and, during the dark years of early Christianity, descended here in the Trecor country, where, it is said, he established the first chapel on the site of the present cathedral. On the Norman invasion, the Vikings, headed by a chieftian named Hastings, fell upon this poor set- tlement and ravaged it. Finding the situation at the confluence of the two rivers easy of defense, the Normans established themselves here, and later, when the former cathedral was in construction, the workmen uncovered the remains of the Norman for- tification, and it was from this that the great tower is called the "tour d' Hastings." The cloister is in an admirable state of preserva- tion, and shows a beautiful gallery of ogival arches, divided by a fine column into two arcades, trefoiled. In the church will be found the tomb of Saint Yves, in what is called "la chapelle au due." It is a work of considerable merit, and is lavishly flori- ated in the Gothic style. In the center can be seen, through the glass sides of a magnificent casket, the skull of the Saint encased in a cap, and before it are chairs by the dozen in which the peasants kneel and pray. Saint Yves de- throned Saint Tugdual and replaced him in the affections of the people. Many are the deeds of this most wonderful and powerful Saint, who was patron of "avocats et procureurs" ; born under the walls of Treguier, he pursued his studies in Paris, and returned to his native town "Official de I'Eveche." Defender of the weak, he consecrated SAINT YVES 85 his life to his people, and became one of the great saints of Brittany. Legends by the score are recited by the peasants in which he is venerated, and these, if gathered, would make a small library. Le Braz has written entertainingly of many of them. Advo- cate and canonized, the Breton canticle, sung on the day of the Pardon, describes, somewhat irreverently the honors he won: "Avocat et non larron, chose digne d'admiration . . ." and, near the church one sees over the door of a small inn the sign "aux trois avocats." According to the archives, "Eugen, Ewen, or Yves Heloury, was born October 7th, 1753, of the noble lady Dame Azon du Quinquiz and her hus- band, Tansik Heloury de Kervarzin, who, it is said, accompanied Pierre de Dreux, Duke of Brittany to the Seventh Crusade" (Life of Saint Yves by the Abbe France.) The Bretons of this district of Treguier call him Saint Ervoan ar Wirionez — that is Saint Yves the Truth-Shower. And they will tell you, if they talk to you at all, that he is the superior of all Saints, and that no matter what your trouble or sorrow may be, pray to him and he will grant you relief. I saw on the riverside, one small, miserable look- ing fishing boat which seemed on the point of drop- ping apart, her rigging a mass of ragged ravels almost, and her mast hardly able to bear the weight of the patched brown sail. A quaint, cadaverous looking old man, in a faded red beret, was daubing her sides with pitch, and, as I approached gave me a "bon jour" with sidelong nod. The stern of the 86 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS boat bore the name "Saint Yves" in rude white letters with a cross between the words. "Yes, M'sieur," said the old man, seeing me read the name, " 'N'hen eus en Breiz — N'hen eus ket unan, N'hen eus ket eur San — Evek Sant Erwan. . . .' which is to say, 'There is not in all Bretagne, there is not one. There is not a Saint like our Saint Erwan,' and that, M'sieur is why I name my boat thus, for when I was younger, and my boat was new, I was fishing and was blown down the coast by a storm, down to Saint Anne was I blown, I all alone in my boat. 'Tis true, I was a good sailor 'with the sea about my heart,' but, as the storm grew and my boat flew before it, I thought I was lost. I could not see the shore for the black sky and the flying spray, and I kneeled down in the bottom among the fish, and I prayed to good Saint Yves, vowing a five pound candle for the altar. Yes, M'sieur, I called aloud to good Saint Yves, and 'tout au coup' the wind fell, the waves became like oil, the sky brightened, and I saw that I was off Perros-Guirec and but a short distance from shore. I was saved, M'sieur." "And did you give the five pound candle to Saint Yves?" "I did, M'sieur. I made the journey from Perros- Guirec barefoot, lighted candle in hand, by night to Treguier, fasting, for did not good Saint Yves hear TOMB OF ST. YVES SAINT YVES 87 the prayer of a poor 'pecheur'? And that is why I have so named my boat." Throughout the Treguier district, the beggars even have a sort of clique, or society, called the "gens de Saint Yves," and so far is it from disgrace to beg, that it is looked upon as a most reputable occupation, and woe to any one abusing these hap- less beings, "Saint Yves will punish" they cry, and cite evidences of their faith. The smallest hut by the roadside will welcome the "Chercheur du pain" and set before him what- ever may be on the fire at the moment, and on the day of the Pardon the roads are lined with these beg- gars, legless, eyeless, armless, mere trunks or frag- ments of humanity, some carried on the backs of lusty fellows, others in curious boxes on small wheels, and those able to walk insistently thrusting their rattling tin cups before the passerby, and wailing out their demands in the name of good Saint Yves. Heading the procession, on the day of the Pardon, is a magnificent reliquary of gold and crystal containing the skull (chef) of Saint Yves in a velvet case, borne by the priests, clad in lace, bareheaded, between the long lines of kneeling peasants, and followed by nine choir boys, clad in sable and gold, the Saint's colors, and each bearing an escutcheon on which is emblazoned four black- birds on a shield of gold, the arms of Hervarzin and Heloury. Then follow the banners of the Saints of Tregor, Berget, Trenieur, Gonnery, Try- phene, Coripaid and Libouban, headed by the clergy of a score of parishes, and the bells peal 88 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS loudly over the rolling fields and country, and over all is the blazing sun in a cloudless sky, for, it is said, the rain never falls on Saint Yves, his day. Lannion is in the very heart of a district which, for interest, is not equaled in all of Brittany, and there are villages by the dozen, in all directions, filled w^ith chapels, calvarys and megalithic remains, which may be easily reached by carriage provided by the hotel on the quay. We are now in the midst of a wild country where the Druids held court, and covered with dolmens and menhirs. Across the little valley is a curious stairway of stone leading up to the church of Brele- venez, occupied on one side by steep, roofed houses, and gardens filled with vines and bright flowers. The streets mount gently to the Grande Place, and the town has a sufficiently antique air to satisfy one, even though the noisy locomotive is evident on the other side of the bridge. There is, however, a theat- rical air over it all — to me, it is really too astound- ingly picturesque! The buildings are so full of gables in unexpected places, and windows thrown haphazard on the roofs, overhanging stories curved outwards over the street and supported on heavy wooden beams, the ends of which are sculptured with monsters, animals, knights, and scrolls, all in such bewildering lavishness as to suggest unreality and the resources of the stage. It is all genuine fifteenth and sixteenth century, how- ever, but I am sure that if I had lived here a little while I would be quite spoiled for any other less picturesque locality. THE HOSPITABLE PEASANT 89 We used Lannion as a center from which to make our pilgrimages to the little nearby coast villages, poor villages most of them are too, — mere collec- tions, often, of thatched huts v^ith bare earthen floors and smoking fireplaces — dim interiors in which we sat for many an hour on the carved oaken settees, black with age, pretending to drink the cider, or sour milk, or whatever it was the hospitable peasant set before us, for my sketch book is an open sesame at all times, and in all countries. I think that the peasant finds a sort of connection between the vocation of the artist and that of the ballad singer, so dear to the Breton. At any rate, never yet have I been denied a place at his meager fireside, or a bowl of cider, when I have craved shelter from the furious rain storms that ravage this dark land. This day, I was walking over a bare, gorse-covered country lying between the Tandy-Guindy rivers and the sea coast. Farm houses, some of them of fair size, dot this district, and there are occasional rich sections which show golden fields of ripe wheat, and where the mellow ring of the whet-stone against the sickle blade is heard mingled with the song of the meadow lark. But the road dips after this, running between high banks, and the shadows are dark here, under the gorse-grown sides, and huge, gray, bare rocks crop forth here and there, which may be over- turned druidical dolmen, for ought I know to the contrary. It was late afternoon when, in one of these depres- sions or dips in the road, I came upon a most extraor- dinary figure of a man walking along, with head 90 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS erect, staring up into the sky, a huge staff in his hand, and on his head a large, felt, flat hat with rusty black velveteen ribbons hanging dovv^n over his long, gray hair, and clad in the "bragou-bras" of sheepskin; under his arm he carried the [biniou] pipes. I greeted him in the Breton tongue, of which I happen to have a stock phrase or two that an- swers admirably to open conversation with the peasants. This time I said, "Enhano Sant Er- wan," that is, "in the' name of Saint Yves," and then we sat down beside the road to rest, while I offered him a cigar, which he smoked clumsily, holding it like a pencil, but with a certain en- joyment, and so we sat for a time, until he was ready to speak — for one must not hurry the Bre- ton. Above us, in the clear light, a bird flew hither and thither, beating the air with her wings. I fancy we were too near her nest for her comfort, but, finally she seemed to understand that we did not mean her harm, for she alighted near us and remained quiet. Afar off I thought I saw some- thing like a dog, gray, large, bounding and leap- ing in the grass. I heard the call of a farm boy, and, over the swelling land, undulation succeeded undulation like petrified, green ocean waves, and in their hollows I knew nestled small, thatched houses — dolmen — ^wayside crosses and forgotten chapels in ruins. . . . In the distance are slender trees with feathery foliage, and beyond lies the barren, windswept coast, with its piled up savage granite barrier apex which the sea is ever beating. . . . The old ■^'s'^f^Mijih.. i MARKET PLACE PLAYING THE BINIOU 91 Breton seemed to wake from a spell, for throwing aside the butt of the cigar, he turned to me and said, "Yeched ha Joa," "Health and happiness to you," and would have gone on his way, but I stopped him. Play for me "Armor" (Breton), I urged, and he unslung the bag from his shoulder, and, fill- ing it well with his breath, his dark, piercing eyes upon me, his fingers sought the vents, and the chant of Saint Meriadak began in the flourish of the pipes over his shoulder, while his right foot marked the time. The song tells how the Saint in dire peril, through temptation by the evil one who promised him all of his heart's desire whatsoever it might be, suddenly cast the cross he wore at his neck full into the evil one's face and turned him into stone, and is in some some twenty verses; but Breton ballads consist mainly of reiterations, and this one was no excep- tion to the rule. The old biniou was stone blind I found to my surprise, for one would not have guessed it, and was walking from the coast villages to Treguier, entirely without fear. "What had he to fear?" he asked me, and I could not answer, for the biniou is in high esteem — no fair or pardon is held without his services. Many times I have come across these men — they are usually blind — sitting on the tops of casks be- side mossy walls, sometimes two or three of them playing together, while the peasants, men and girls, hand in hand, dance round and round in never tir- ing circles, and before the binious is always a cask, topped with a board, on which is a jug of cider and 92 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS a huge section of bread, "all he can eat and drink, and money besides for the pocket," said the Breton slap- ping his thigh and shouldering his biniou, the bag of which was now empty air. I watched him as he trudged away up the road, his face upturned to the sky, his right hand out- stretched tapping the ground with his staff — "A true descendant of the wandering bards of old," I said, half aloud, as he disappeared over the hill- top. The raindrops began to patter on the dusty road, and, as it often rains furiously on these moorlands, I sought shelter in a small, straw-thatched, stone house under the hill, in the open doorway of which two children and a black, narrow-backed ill-tem- pered pig were disputing over a pot of boiled po- tatoes. Inside, in the gloom, I could just make out the black, fireless hearth, the double-decked, Breton, walled bed closet, with its beautiful carved spindles and rosettes, and the large oaken table. The floor on which I stood gave forth no sound; it was of beaten clay. Forth, from the shadows, came a woman in a white coif, nursing a fat, red-cheeked child. She bade me welcome with native dignity, and wiped a corner of the bench with her apron, motioning me to be seated, and brought forth a jug and a bowl which she filled with cider and set before me. Her man? "Ah, yes," she said, drawing the back of her hand across her mouth; "he is away at the fishing since yesterday and will return, God willing, on the morrow. Did I meet the biniou in the road? Of THE BLIND BINIOU 93 a surety I It was Yves Gannik, blind Yves!" Here she crossed herself piously. "M'sieur, then, of course, was a stranger in these parts, and did not know the story of Yves Gannik? Ah, yes! It was when I was a little girl, but I remember well. I lived at Tregastel — M'sieur knows the Calvary- well, after you pass it— the house at the end of the lane. It was there I was born and lived until I was married. It happened when I could not have been more than eight years old. I was born on Whitsunday. I remember Yves coming ashore in the boat, and alone, Yves alone, and the whole village saw him come and go; how the rain fell, and the wind it blew as never before or since, I think. I was with my mother when Yves came ashore, and I could have touched him when he passed us. AH the people shouted out to him, 'where's Jean?' But he made no answer, only ran, in his water- soaked clothes, up the hill, and every one — every one of us, M'sieur, saw the gray wolf bound after him, where it came from I don't know — it just bounded and leaped after him, and so it has been ever since, wherever he goes, there goes too the wolf beast the 'loup garou.' M'sieur must understand, did I not say that Jean and Yves were half brothers born of the same mother — ^Jean was ever, they say, the better man — and Genovefa loved him from childhood, and Yves loved Genovefa too, but Yves was tall and thin and dark like his mother, but Jean was fair and blond, and had the melting blue eyes of the north, and the skin of whiteness, and the cheeks of a girl, and there was ever trouble between 94 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS the brothers over Genovefa — and she? Oh! she only laughed and laughed. . . .! And so the time went on until the storm, and then there was no longer laughter in the voice of Genovefa, and, then, one day, Yves met her at the Calvary. What passed between them I know not, save that they say Genovefa, after speaking with him for a mo- ment, suddenly threw herself upon her knees at the Calvary and cursed him, her head raised to the Saint, and at that Yves called aloud in agony, his hands tearing at his eyes, and then ran from her, and the 'loup garou' joined him at the end of the lane, and together they fled across the country. Genovefa died that night, and the priest gave her absolution. . . . Yves, blind Yves, roams the countryside — ^yes, just as M'sieur has met him to- day. The rain it falls upon him, and the sun it shines, but for Yves there is only darkness . . . and the companionship of the 'loup garou' . . ." I surreptitiously left a franc upon the heavy table as I stepped to the doorway. Overhead the gray clouds rolled in heavily from seawards, the wind blew and the trees bent before it. I had a good three miles to walk to the town, and it behooved me to start, but the roads were heavy with mud, and I had difficulty in keeping close to the high banks where the turf was solid. I was chilled by the story of blind Yves and "loup garou," as well as by the gusts of rain blowing across the moorland, and not at all sorry to be overtaken by a farmer boy in a covered cart, with whom I rode comfortably into town to a good dinner at the inn. THE SEACOAST 95 The whole seacoast below Lannion, offers to the stranger an almost unbelieveable prospect — the ends of the rough roads are blocked with huge granite bowlders which seem to have been strewn about by some giant hand in all directions. Here will be found, among the mighty bowlders, strange collections of bizarre huts and cabins inhabited by an uncouth, wretched population of fishermen and their families, piled in and among the chaos of rocks are old, dismantled boats, and the floatsam and jetsam of the sea. Some of the immense rocks are balanced in air on other flat ones, and in and around these are the butts built, so that, at first, one sees nothing resembling the habitations of human beings, until at length the eye, becoming somewhat accustomed to the debris, sees rude chimneys smok- ing, and occasional black doorways from which chil- dren and women are furtively peering. At one side, at some distance away, is what seems to be a magnificent statue of the Saviour, with up- lifted hand, placed upon the top of one of the bowl- ders, and, evidently, as seen from this distance, of great size, quite twenty feet high, I conjecture, and of such proportion and dignity of pose that it seems a masterpiece. ... I find on nearing it, that it is formed of rough stone, piled up and cemented or held together. I know not by what means. This strange region is flooded by the sea, which beats and rolls in and out among the stones and bowlders, and dashes its foam at the rude statue of the Saviour, so that one turns in relief from it to the little port of Perros-Guirec, a pretty village 96 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS along the promontory above a charming harbor with scattered islets. The chapel of Notre Dame de la Clarte rises from among gray walls some distance further on, from the summit of level plain which dominates the Plomanach and Tregastel region. The way is mapped by a road which zigzags and climbs up and down, with ways that seem almost like stair- ways, so steep are they. A great pilgrimage takes place here each year, for those afflicted with blind- ness and other afflictions of the eyes. Farther on is the chaos of Ploumanach, I can call it nothing else, a territory so savage, a desert, yet more terrible in its character of desolation than any desert could be, with its collection of wretched fish- ermen's hovels, hardly distinguishable from the piled up masses of broken and scattered rock. . . . I can only describe its effect upon me as weird and dispiriting, the whole place resembling the result of the Deities' wrath visited upon the region. Some small openings in the land here and there, between enormous blocks of rock, form shelter for the fishing craft, and in one of these is a small chapel containing a statue of Saint Cuirec or Quieric, as it is variously called, who is patron of Perros, raised upon an altar. This little chapel is simply a roof built upon four stone columns, and young girls are said to come here secretly to stick pins into the statue, and perform other mysterious rites to get them husbands. I spent an hour by this little chapel, but none came LA PERE ETERNAL — TREGASTEL THE CHATEAU OF TONQUEDEC 97 near, although I did certainly see some women at a distance who seemed to be watching me. Here the sea dashes itself on a stormy day, its foam gemming the Saint's garments and scattering the screaming sea birds that find shelter under its roof. A most formidable-looking Frenchman, whom I encountered at the table d'hote, and who wore in his buttonhole the red ribbon of some order or other, vehemently urged me to visit the ruins of the Chateau of Tonquedec, which he described as a "Cadavre d' fine fortresse," and I am glad that I took his advice, for the time was well spent. It is but a short drive from Lannion and is sit- uated on the east bank of the Leguer, on a height in a beechwood, and it is in such a sad state of ruin, that one can only conjecture what it must have been. It belonged to the Vicomte de Coetmer, who fought against Jean IV. The place lives in my memory, because I lost a fine box of colors in the pool there, and all because I thought I was about to be bitten by a huge spider, which I discovered on the back of my hand while I was sketching the ruin, which made me spasmodically throw out my hand, and away went my fine W. and N. box of colors into the depths of the pool. I paid the surly individual from whom I hired the lumbering carriage, fifteen francs for the whole day, and gave him two francs besides, in the at- tempt to overcome his ill-nature, but to no purpose. He drank the numerous bowls of cider, to which I treated him, with an injured air, as if I had imposed 98 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS upon him somehow, and answered me only in mono- syllables. Afterwards I discovered, when too late to reach him, that in changing the bank note which I gave him, he had given me in return "change" of such variety that I lost considerable in the attempt to get rid of it. One has to be on one's guard with these fellows, who will impose upon the trustful stranger whenever possible, and it would seem as if all the spurious coin in Europe had been sent into Brittany. In this collection I found Swiss, Papal, Greek and Italian pieces long since withdrawn from circulation but all appearing genuine to the Amer- ican not accustomed to examining his loose change too loosely. However, I induced the good Nun at the hostelry of Tregastel to accept the silver at a very liberal discount, and I presume, therefore, it is still in circulation. The nuns keep this large hotel in a very com- fortable manner, and the luncheon, or really it was a dinner, was well served and well cooked. When I told the Nun at the desk that we were Americans, she seemed surprised, for I saw her afterwards point us out to a most placid looking, red-cheeked lady, in the habit of the order, and I distinctly heard her say, "Americans! It is incredible — and they so white!" The sandy beach here is extraordinarily level and beautiful, and the rocks piled up in wonderful forms are of an orange red in color, when the sun is shin- ing, and with the sea of dark greenish blue dashing ISLETS 99 up between and around them, the picture is most attractive and unusual. There are, too, seemingly numberless small islets, and the Nun pointed out to us the famous Sept Isles, L'isle du cerf, Rouzic, L'isle Plate, Bonneau, Melban, la Pierre, and the gleaming lighthouse on the l'isle aux Moines. Driving afterwards along by the shore, a charm- ing, winding road, we saw the mysterious island of Avalon, "the blessed isle" "where falls not hail nor rain nor any snow," and where, as the Breton legend has it. King Arthur is buried. The island is small and wooded, looking cool and green from the shore. There is nothing to be seen upon it, but I am sorry that I did not get a boat and row over to it, just to say that I had set foot upon that hallowed ground. c/fvozlaix, c/oodcoff, (^alnt HdoL Jje Joeori i^'''~>'^HE personage in the hotel bedecked with ^/^ the red ribbon, alluded to in the last V^^ chapter, I find is a retired naval Captain, "Capitaine de Vaisseau," and he has im- proved vastly upon acquaintance. He it was who further advised our going on to Morlaix by carriage, and I am glad we took his advice. On the way we passed through a region said once to have been cov- ered by a dense forest in which the Druids had a temple, but now as bare, in places, as one can im- agine. Legend connects King Arthur with the region, which is supposed to be the "Grove," or wasteland, on which he encountered and slew the dragon. Lanmeur is in the "grandes landes," the ancient spot on which stood Kerfeuntenn, (Breton, the vil- lage of the fountain, "Ker," a stone) . In the crypt is the miraculous fountain which, it is solemnly stated by the authorities, will over- flow some Trinity Sunday and destroy the edifice. 100 SOUVENIRS OF RACHEL loi Not far from the village the celebrated menhirs of Kermerch'ou and Ru-Peulven, and the tumulous of Tossen-ar-Chonifiet are pointed out, by a bent, old woman, afflicted with a huge "goitre." This is suspended from her neck in a sort of net work, but, strange to say, the sight is not offensive, so cordial in her manner and so good-humored is her smile. Morlaix is situated in a deep valley between two high hills spanned by a fine viaduct high in the air over which the railway passes, and through the town meanders a sluggish little stream, on its way to the sea. On descending from the railway train and pass- ing through the station, one is confronted by a curi- ous panorama; at one's feet lies the town proper, and the best and most interesting way down to it is by way of the narrow, winding street at the left, and on foot. On the way our progress was retarded by numerous children, who seemed to find us inter- esting, but the Breton children are never offensive, like some of those in Holland. The small hotel is kept by a relative of the great Rachel, who shows a cabinet full of souvenirs and interesting bijouterie of the renowned actress, and the dining room, on a higher level than the rest of the floor, is furnished in Breton style, the walls of carved wood. The food is good, and, what is better still, is well cooked, and one is made most com- fortable, — no small item indeed, to chronicle in a land so wild as Brittany, and I mention it here, be- cause one would do well to make Morlaix head- quarters. 102 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS Mons Relaxas was the Latin name of the town, or rather its fortress in Roman times, and it is said that Drennalus, the disciple of Joseph of Arimathea, here preached the gospel to the Bretons, and that Mary Queen of Scots, who spent some time here soon after her marriage, worshiped at the Church of Notre Dame du Mur, now demolished. My note book farther chronicles that the Church of Saint Melaine, dating from 1480, has a beautiful organ and baptismal font, and there are a number of re- markable gargoyles caricaturing the monkish vices of the time. Some fifteenth century houses, styled "maisons a lanternes," which have curious covered inner courts, are of great interest, and the present owners most hospitably threw open their doors to us when they heard we were Americans and appreciative. Some of the staircases in these houses have ex- quisitely carved newels, over which I spent an hour making sketches. In the rue des Nobles will be found the house of the Duchesse Anne, erected in 1500 and well worth a visit. Morlaix is the center of superstitious Brittany, and from it the towns of Saint Pol de Leon, Roscoff, Saint Jean du Doigt, Huelgoat, Saint Herbert, Saint Thegonnec, Guimiliau, Plougastel and the Folgoet are easily reached. I mention these towns in detail because they each present some character- istic necessary to the complete understanding of the district. Cambry in his "Voyage dans Le Finistere" says (I translate) "The people of to-day are living and PORTE DES VIGNES — MORLAIX SUPERSTITIONS 103 breathing in the shadows of the past, their imagina- tions incessantly arriving in a world of chimeras and phantoms, as for example — the bird singing in the hedge (the cuckoo) responds to their questionings, marks the years of their life, the date of marriage; a strange noise repeated three times to them means bad luck; the howling of a dog announces a death; the long drawn murmur of the ocean, the sea rote, or the whistling of the wind heard in the night, are the voices of the drowned demanding the peace of the tomb. . . . Treasures long buried are guarded by giants and fairies. . . . Each county has its folly — Brittany has all of them. In the cantons environing Morlaix they believe in genis called Jans. These called in the Breton tongue "Jens-ar-pouliet" will present themselves in the form of a dog or cow, or any other domestic animal. All the work of the household is often done by them. They tell of the "Cariguel-an-ancou" (the chariot of death). It is covered with a white cloth, is con- ducted by skeletons, and when the noise of its wheels is heard, some one is dying. . . . Under the Chateau of Morlaix there are little men, one foot in height, living under ground, walking and tapping on the basins. They are counting their gold. He who extends his hand to them modestly will receive a gift of the precious metal, but whoso brings a sack with the intention of filling it, is soundly beaten and ejected. The night singers (Breton) "ar-carinerez-nos" are those who invite you to help wring their linen, 104 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS who will break your arms if you help them with bad grace, who will drown you if you refuse them, and who, if you assist them willingly, "Vous por- tent a la charite!" But the town of Morlaix itself contains enough of interest to repay one even without wandering far afield, and it is called by poets the Chief Jewel in the Breton Crown. To get the best view, one must go up to the viaduct which crosses the valley and the rivers Tarlot and Quefflent which unite here in the Dossen or river Morlaix, on its way to the sea. From this height the effect is strange in the extreme — really I cannot find words to describe it ade- quately, these towns quite defy accurate description — and, if not careful, one is apt to become inco- herent in the attempt. I was, upon my first visit, quite unable to "di- gest" the picturesqueness, if I may use the term, and even now, when I am trying to write so as to present a picture to the reader's mind, I find it necessary to use considerable restraint. Looking down into the valley I see a collection of roofs, chimneys and towers, gardens and wind- ing streets all glistening in the rain, and up from this is the charming tower of the church, about which the rooks are flying. Smoke is coming up from the myriad of chimneys, for Morlaix, despite its beautiful picturesqueness, is quite a manufactur- ing town, numbering some 15,000 inhabitants, who are engaged in various manufactures of a humdrum order, such as the preparation of tobacco and scrap. Before the viaduct is the Grande Place with the MORLAIX 105 Hotel de ville, a modern building, and opposite commences the rue du pave de Morlaix, the cele- brated, between two lines of ancient, high houses, and everywhere the picturesque — I can find no other word, overworked as it is — openings of streets, with sculptured beamed houses on either hand, the over- hanging windows artistically placed, the figures of saints quaintly carved in wood between them, and, on every side, wherever the eye falls, antique fagades offering some distant beauty, and each of which should be in some museum. Morlaix abounds in charming, unexpected cor- ners; small gardens behind walls over which the ivy and vinery falls ; ancient lodges half hidden be- hind trees, peeping out of somber streets; venerable houses of past ages, still strong and habitable. Solid walls and grand looking houses with towers, but a step from the shops and warehouses, all furnished in the style of the fifteenth century, and over all this is the great viaduct of pale, yellowish gray stone, on which the train from Paris is rapidly passing — its white steam falling like an immense ostrich plume, bending towards and melting into the misty blues and violets of the wet roofs far below. Viewed in the clear morning light, Morlaix is no less mysterious and elusive to me. The great viaduct, high in air, has just caught the early morning, rosy sunbeams, and below all is still hazy and gray. Against the greenish color of the sky the fabric is beautiful, pale and evanescent like the color upon the wing of a lunar moth, and a passing train appears and disappears like a phan- io6 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS torn. As the sun mounts, new beauties are disclosed, and the rosy glow travels down the arches, and gilds and glorifies the pinnacles, the chimneys, and the upper windows of the hoary, venerable build- ings, some of which were already aged when the Huguenots fled to America. The streets began to bustle with the noisy foot- falls of the sabot-clad peasants on their way to work, and the market place and the "Port" before the Hotel de ville is busy with the life of the new day. It is here, in the open space before the Hotel de ville, the Port of Morlaix begins, — at the ending of the arm of the sea, or fiord, into which the little rivers discharge, — and, naturally, this is the busier part of Morlaix. Here are the newer warehouses and basins where the vessels load, but amid all the bustle of business, there remains on the quay an an- tique pile of houses, battered by the ages and black- ened by time. These are the "lances" or porched houses of Treguier, ancient dependencies of the Bishopric. Elsewhere, in the rue du Pare, or, as it is simply called, le pare de Morlaix, were formerly many beautiful, decorative facades. The timbers and beams were lavishly sculptured from top to base, with saints, knights, demons and fair ladies. These fagades have now been demolished, and there are, at present, left, of all these former artistic treasures, only two corners of the "Pare," on which are shown a "binniou" player, and a fantastic head opposite — the rest, I understand, were carefully taken down and removed to Paris. THE GUIMILIAN CALVARY THE GRANDE RUE 107 The entrance to the Grande Rue is like nothing one has ever before seen, so unreal is it. The houses are of overlapping, upper stones, very heavily timbered, and supported below by massive stone pillars, between which are dark caverns, occupied by shops and green groceries. There is barely room for a cart to pass, and the broken pavement is ditched in the mediaeval manner. In traversing this street, one would do well to keep a watchful eye aloft for certain emptyings which follow the warning cry from the windows, as in the time of Shakespeare. In the "Venelle au son" is a little restaurant, kept by one Bodeur, facing a house of really unbeliev- able design. Here I sat and made sketches, while the loquacious proprietor pumped me dry as to the "who and what and where" of me, finally, with a sigh, reluctantly directing me to the house of "Queen Anne," as they style her here. The exterior is richly sculptured, but, of course, weatherbeaten, and is occupied by a shop below. It has a sort of central court with a columned stair- case, and is styled "lantern" — that is, its interior is occupied by the staircase giving access to the floors around the court, and the whole is then covered by a separate roof with a huge skylight. The central pillar is lavishly sculptured and floriated with saints and knights holding escutcheons, and bishops with their croziers. It is all covered with dust, and, while kept as a sort of show house, is not too well taken care of. In the Grande Rue, at number thirteen, is a house io8 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS of great beauty, a really superb example of the "lantern" style, and there is another near the "Ven- elle." These three give one a perfect understand- ing of this most unique style of architecture. The student of history will be interested in the "Fountain des Anglais," on the right bank of the river, marking the spot where six hundred English soldiers, who had embarked to attack the town in 1522, were surprised asleep and killed, I am in- formed that the castle called "Le Taureau," at the north estuary on the island, was afterwards con- structed to guard against another such invasion. One of the curious sights of the Morlaix is the long line of laughing, talking women in the rue des Lavoirs, with their backs turned to the river, wash- ing huge piles of linen in large stone troughs, but warning: do not laugh with or at them as you may pass. They have little patience with the stranger, or with any sort of ridicule, real or fancied. I am told tales of hapless, Parisian dandies who were seized and thrown into the troughs by these amazons, for fancied affronts, and they closely watch the stranger. That a prophet is not without honor in his own country is proved by the fact that one of the streets of Morlaix has been named for the author Emile Souvestre, who has collated in several volumes the manners and traditions of Brittany of the past. Leaving Morlaix, on the way to Roscoff, the whole character of the country changes rapidly. The river, after the Anse of Dourds, ceases to charm by its gentleness, and becomes simply an arm of the sea with all its characteristics, and, in view of the ROSCOFF 109 formidable looking chateau du Toureau, is filled with innumerable small islets and half submerged, pointed rocks surrounded by strips of gray sand at low- tide. Away off at the left, one at length sees the little town of Roscoff, almost an island, and looking, in the mist, something like a man-of-war at anchor. The coast is gray and sad looking. To the right there are verdant valleys, and behind Plougaznou is the village of Saint Jean du Doigt, renowned for its remarkable yearly pilgrimage and pardon, and for its sacred fountain. One need not fear to stop at Roscoff, for the Inn is a good one, and the time may be pleasantly employed in getting acquainted with the people, who are quite civil to the stranger, and in exploring the vicinity. One would think that the town would be given up to fishing, but, on the contrary, it is a great vegetable center where artichokes of astonishing size are grown, the fields stretching for miles and of great fertility, and the peasants, engaged in caring for and carrying them away in the carts drawn by the little Breton horses, are generally met with on the roads. Good-hu- mored creatures are these peasants too, greeting one civilly always, and ever ready to guide one. There is here an immense fig tree of great celeb- rity, growing in the queer old church yard of Notre Dame de Croaz Baz, which has two remarkable "os- suaries," or bone houses. In these "ossuaries" the bones of the peasants were thrown, after lying for stated periods in the ground purchased from the priests — the heads or skulls being removed, and en- shrined in a curious box, shaped like a small, gabled. no BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS toy house, in which openings were cut that it might be seen. These boxes were painted rudely in col- ors, with emblems, and bore inscriptions, such as Priez pour lui, for example: "Herein is the skull of Yves Gannik, pray for him!" The boxes were then placed on the top of the stone wall around the church, or ossuary — I have seen them thus by the hundreds, soaked in the rain and dried by the sun, through the long winters and summers of the harsh Breton climate. The custom is not now followed save in the more remote districts, and it is through these districts that I am conducting the reader. Afar off, rising above the level plains, are the twin spires of Saint Pol, but quite dominating all is the exquisite tower of the Creizker, the boast of Brittany, and celebrated in Breton song and leg- end. I found the town to be the saddest, the most de- serted and melancholy spot in all Brittany. When we walked the clean, narrow streets, we saw only one old woman in a black, hooded cloak, who furtively glanced at us from its depths, and hurried on her way. A frightened, black cat scurried across the road before us, and all the windows of the small, two storied, stucco houses were tightly closed and barred. Even at the Inn, which has a pretty gar- den at the back, there was not a soul to be seen but the proprietor, a sad, morose looking man of few words, who resumed his bottle washing after show- ing us to our room above the salle a manger. There were no other lodgers in the Inn, and, after an early meager supper and a walk through the deserted THE KRIESKER — ST. POL DE LEON A DREARY TOWN in town, we retired early, with the resolve to leave on the morrow for a gayer place. Night descended upon this sinister spot with a cloak of appalling blackness, with not a ray of light anywhere in the town that we could see, and this, coupled with various mysterious noises outside dur- ing the night, rendered sleep well nigh impossible. But the morning sun on the sparkling water beyond, and the brilliant sky overhead, quite dispelled the gloom of the night. After a brief visit to the Cre- isker, where, for some reason, we were denied ad- mittance, we went over to the cathedral where we saw the skull, the hand, and the bell of Saint Paul in shrines in the chapel, that is, we saw the boxes which enclosed them. We might have seen the relics of Saint Jennenon, Joevin, Houradon, Ternec, Gouesnon, Guinger and Goulven also enshrined here, but we somehow refrained. There are a remarkable series of Episcopal Tombs in the church, with figures, some lying at full length, and others kneeling. On the top of the choir screen, and elsewhere on the tombs, are dozens of the little boxes containing the skulls of the devout, appropriately inscribed and ornamented, some of them in velvet and silken caps, — pathetic, if not gruesome, relics of the past. In one of the chapels is a curious painting, repre- senting the Trinity in one figure with an arrange- ment of three faces, one full, and the others, on either side, in profile, with a sort of banderole be- neath, on which is inscribed in large, Gothic letters, the words "Ma Douez" (Breton— God) . The Cre- 112 BRITTANY AND THE BRETONS izker, (Kriez, the middle of, Ker, town) is, accord- ing to the legend, the work of "le vieu Guillaume," the Breton name for the devil, who, with his evil spirits, carried the stones here and erected the whole church and exquisite spire in a single night. He sought, so the legend says, to build a church which would eclipse any other which had ever been de- signed and consecrated to "le bon Dieu" by man, "but, when the "coq" was placed upon the top of the spire. Saint Pol came with the holy water, threw down Satan from the tower, and confiscated his handiwork." It is from this legend that the church is sometimes called "la tour du diable." Not far away from the ancient castle of Pont- plancoet, in a field, is a great rock, called a "pue- Iven" by the peasants, which they say the devil flung at Saint Pol. The cemetery is one of the most remarkable in the country and has a calvary, an immense wooden cross, and row upon row of the little skull boxes before described, and shrines depicting the crucifix- ion and entombment. It was in the late afternoon when we visited this spot, so lonely and so depres- sing, yet it was awe inspiring to realize that we were among a strange people, half wild, half savage, as one might term them; that we were alone, out of reach of the authorities and of help, if in need; and as the sun was setting, we hastened back as fast as we could, through the silent, deserted streets of the town, in which we did not loiter, and, from our windows in the silent inn looked over the pretty gar- den to the sea where the great burnished copper MAGNIFICENT R UINS 1 1 3 disk of the moon shone in the violet sky. I remem- ber being awakened, first by the melancholy song of the whip-poor-will, and, later, by