CHATEAU IN BRITTANY 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY J. ATKINSON 
 
 WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS 
 AND FRONTISPIECE 
 
 JAIVIES POTT & CO. 
 NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1910, by 
 James Pott & Co. 
 
 First Impression, September, 1910
 
 ®n tift mrmnry af ti^ut ant nf tb[v 
 tiaaari) brgonl)
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I PRELIMINARY 11 
 
 II THE TRIP DOWN 14 
 
 III THE CHATEAU 29 
 
 IV AT HOME IN DINARD 40 
 V SUBURBS OF DINARD 53 
 
 VI THE COUNTRY NEAR DIN'ARD 65 
 
 VII THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY 80 
 
 VIII EARLIEST BRITTANY 92 
 
 IX ST. MALO 113 
 
 X ST. MALO'S GOOD RECORD 130 
 
 XI ST. SERVAN 141 
 
 XII THE BRETON DUKES 149 
 
 XIII AURAY 164 
 
 XIV CARNAC 182 
 
 fvl
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XV QUIMPERLE 191 
 
 XVI FAOUET 204 
 
 XVII QUIMPER 216 
 
 XVIII AROUND MORLAIX 231 
 
 XIX DINAN 250 
 
 XX SOMETHING ABOUT DU GUESCLIN 267 
 
 XXI MONT ST. MICHEL 301 
 
 XXII LA CROCHAIS AND LA HUNAUDAYE 316 
 
 XXIII DUGUAY-TROUIN 328 
 
 XXIV THE GOOD PASTOR 351 
 XXV LEHON 359 
 
 XXVI THE EAST SIDE OF THE RANGE 374 
 XXVII GOOD-BYE BRITTANY 395 
 
 vi]
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 MARKET SQUARE IN ATJRAY Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 OUR CHATEAU 22 
 
 DINAN — RUE DE l'aPPORT 46 
 
 ST. BRIEUC SABOT MARKET 70 
 
 THE PORT OF DINAN 94 
 
 ST. MALO — RUE GRANDE 120 
 
 ST. SERVAN — TOWER OF SOLIDOR 144 
 
 THE OLDEST HOUSE IN AURAY 164 
 
 CARNAC 186 
 
 QUIMPER — A GROUP OF OLD HOUSES 216 
 
 MORLAEX — ANNE OF BRITTANY's HOUSE 238 
 
 CLOCK TOWER AT DINAN 260 
 
 DINAN — RUE CORDELIER 286 
 
 PONTIVY — MILK DEALER 308 
 
 THE BAY OF ST. MALO 330 
 
 PEASANT OF PONT l'aBBE 352 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE RANCE 374 
 
 vii ]
 
 A CHATEAU IN BRITTANY
 
 I. PRELIMINARY 
 
 THE attack of Europe by way of a fresh 
 point of entry leads to disillusion, and 
 the conviction that experience teaches 
 nine tenths of us very little. Forgetting how 
 scant a knowledge we have acquired of Dover, 
 Calais, Newhaven, or Dieppe, we await the rev- 
 elations of Cherbourg with an expectation that 
 speaks ill for our intelligence. No sooner has the 
 soul triumphed over the humiliating physical re- 
 volt at the freedom with which the waves disre- 
 gard our comfort, than it recoups itself by soar- 
 ing into imaginary realms where coming delights 
 wear a golden halo of mystery. In the event, 
 what actually happens is the usual and common- 
 place. There comes a night wherein affrighted 
 sleep flees before the jerky pounding of a donkey 
 engine. Flying feet along the corridors, drag- 
 ging noises and shuffling progresses above our 
 heads, quick sharp voices of command help to 
 hinder our capturing the shy fugitive, till worn 
 out in the fruitless effort we welcome the sum- 
 mons that calls us forth hours earlier than is our 
 wont. 
 
 [3]
 
 prelimtnar^ 
 
 On deck it is still the old story. The piled 
 ejecta of the disembowelled hold stand reared in 
 an opaque rampart landward, leaving, as consola- 
 tion prize, the skyey watery monotony of the 
 opposite expanse, which enforced contemplation 
 has rendered superfluous. Somewhere below, a 
 sneezing, snorting engine exerts itself, but the 
 nose is the organ that definitely locates the greasy 
 bobbing little tender that brings a spasm to the 
 heart of the most cosmopolitan traveller. Into 
 this parasite craft, with strains, creaks, and 
 shouts is gradually lowered the rampart, and 
 when the boat seems quite full, passengers are 
 sifted into the interstices, until there is formed 
 what with liquids is termed a saturated solution ; 
 then, perforce, in its own peculiar aroma that 
 no sea-breeze can vanquish, the jiggling vessel 
 carries us to the desired haven, to spue us forth 
 upon the hurley-burley characteristic of the 
 French quay. Criticism is here invidious, since 
 all turns out right in the end more frequently 
 than is the case in some quieter places; but to 
 watch a bow-legged little jumping-jack snatch 
 up a box, sprint once or twice around the crowd, 
 and in the end, dump his burden not far from 
 the spot from whence he swooped upon it; to 
 observe the supernumeraries of the force, whose 
 duties are apparently confined to hopping in zig- 
 zags to an accompaniment of chatter; to try to 
 follow in several directions at once various parts 
 
 [4]
 
 IPreliminariP 
 
 of possessions destined to a common goal; these 
 and other incomprehensible manifestations tax 
 faith and prove one's philosophy. 
 
 The train is waiting. It always is, and the 
 steamer is always late enough to bring upon the 
 passengers grieved remonstrances from the em- 
 ployees of the railway, so that, far from looking 
 about to spy what of new may be seen at a glance, 
 eyes that chance to be unoccupied are fixed upon 
 the impatient engine that sustains the warning 
 thin whistle that European engines have been 
 trained to obey. This high persistent trill is 
 sufficient to quench the last aspiration save that 
 towards itself. 
 
 The immediate experience after having safely 
 boarded the train is that of the dining-coach. 
 A course dinner, even when hurried, occupies the 
 greater part of an hour, so that although numbers 
 one to fifty may dine a trifle too early, it becomes 
 reasonably certain that the unfortunates who 
 hold tickets higher than the number two hundred 
 stand a fair chance of being very hungry before 
 their dinner-time arrives, even if the best fare 
 be not exhausted by that hour. 
 
 All roads lead from Paris. No matter what 
 may be the destination Paris enters into the 
 calculation, and for many voyagers, is the point 
 of departure. Some never get farther, but that 
 minority in time becomes more French than the 
 Frenchmen, since the natives have largely given 
 
 [5]
 
 ptelimtnar^ 
 
 up being Parisians. In the season of chestnut 
 bloomery it is not difficult to think that Paris 
 cannot be improved upon, but when summer 
 arrives it is just as hot and uncomfortable there 
 as in other cities, with the added discomfort of 
 our never being exactly sure how hot it is, since, 
 besides using a most rational and scientific ther- 
 mometer that no stranger can master, the French 
 with further good sense, when they wish to know 
 how warm they feel, hang the indicator in the 
 sun where they themselves are. 
 
 In winter Paris is abominable, and its greatest 
 admirer must admit the fact. Rain and drizzle, 
 drizzle and rain, a mud slipperier and more per- 
 vading than most, and stickier than any other. 
 No wonder the women of Paris have a neat pre- 
 cise walk that no foreigner can acquire. It is 
 pleasure that palliates appreciably the misery of 
 getting around the streets in their winter coating 
 to watch the dainty way in which the Parisienne 
 plants her always prettily shod foot. Where 
 others display one generous smear from ankle 
 down, she has mud on her sole alone; as for drag- 
 gled skirts! she trips along in evident ignorance 
 of what an English or American woman achieves 
 in that line. This admirable feat may be in part 
 a matter of inheritance but training has some- 
 what to do with it. A little French girl is not 
 allowed to retain or acquire clumsy habits. 
 
 We, a party of women, accompanied by other 
 [6]
 
 preliminary 
 
 pairs and groups of the same suspected sex 
 reached the gay city in the middle, or towards 
 the close of the night. 
 
 To us on this occasion Paris was a mere epi- 
 sode, a halting place to gather outlying members 
 of the party and discuss plans for the summer. 
 Many men, many minds. Although our hearts 
 were not set on a Parisian summer, so various 
 were the interests involved in the discussion that 
 we bade fair never to reach a conclusion. As 
 often happens, the upshot of the matter was the 
 unexpected, which came about in this wise. 
 
 Some trunks went astray, because wet weather 
 had had its baleful effect on the postage stamp 
 checks which guide their travels, and while we 
 were holding the necessary polite and animated 
 interview with the worthies of the baggage-room, 
 a friend spied us and came to the rescue in more 
 senses than one, since his spirited account of a 
 previous summer in Brittany carried all before 
 it, and before we had time to think of objections 
 to the plan we were sufficiently committed to 
 have appointed a delegation to go off prospect- 
 ing for us. 
 
 It was high time to bestir ourselves, so the 
 committee of two set out for Brittany on the 
 following day, leaving the rest of us to calm the 
 strain of suspense by a study of the two Salons 
 then open. 
 
 The exhibitions were pronounced by the know- 
 [7]
 
 IPreliminari? 
 
 ing to be below the average, but their criticisms, 
 as usual, were framed for the highly artistic only. 
 We, Philistines, found the Old Salon rich in 
 beauties, and the Champs de Mars a rude de- 
 stroyer of preconceived notions. To the un- 
 sophisticated, green cows feeding upon purple 
 grass necessitate a readjustment of ideas, and 
 suggest that preliminary training is requisite 
 to an intelligent comprehension of the colour 
 scheme. Still more confusing are those expanses 
 of paint wherein vivid tints seem to have been 
 thrown at the canvas from a distance, to be 
 spread later by hap-hazard dabs with the maul- 
 stick. Of course we did not observe them from 
 the proper point of view, but, for many of them, 
 any spot nearer than the top of the Eiffel Tower 
 would have been too close, and they did not seem 
 at best, worth the climb. 
 
 One of the most interesting affairs held in the 
 city just then was a bazaar that in the interests 
 of charity threw open to the public one of the 
 finest and most exclusive residences of the St. 
 Germain quarter. The inner circle of French 
 noblesse guards itself rigidly from intrusion, and 
 yet it is but human, and has ways and means of 
 securing its share of the pactolian stream poured 
 upon Paris by the horde of strangers that flock 
 into the city for the apparent purpose of throw- 
 ing foreign money into French purses. 
 
 Everybody attended the bazaar, and by 
 [8]
 
 preliminary? 
 
 "everybody" understand all the people who 
 might never hope to view this palace under more 
 personal conditions, ourselves of the number. 
 
 From a dull gloomy street of high stone walls 
 we passed through a carriage gateway, crossed 
 an inclosed stable yard and small garden to an 
 open door that introduced us at once into a vast 
 apartment that undoubtedly had been furnished 
 and decorated in the days of Louis XV. A 
 phalanx of lackeys, in gorgeous livery directed 
 and gently impelled the continuous train of visi- 
 tors through a second salon and so out upon a 
 broad stone terrace that ran before the entire 
 house on that side, and overlooked a great walled 
 garden laid out in a style corresponding to that of 
 the decorations already noted. Along each side 
 of the space ran an alley of clipped lindens meet- 
 ing above in dense foliage that formed a continu- 
 ous bower, through which were distributed the 
 various tables displaying articles for sale. At 
 intervals were placed tea tables presided over 
 by personages whose very names compelled the 
 visitor to linger and spend. At the extreme end 
 of the garden a high stone terrace provided an 
 outlook above the wall towards the Invalides. 
 Beneath the terrace in a charming grotto a foun- 
 tain plashed unceasingly, making a pleasing run- 
 ning accompaniment to the murmur of conver- 
 sation and laughter that rose from the gaily 
 dressed crowd. The most attractive view from 
 
 19]
 
 Iprelimlnar^ 
 
 the height, however, was back towards the 
 stately house, across the central lawns and set 
 flowerbeds, where statues and fountains pro- 
 claimed the nationality of the scene. The street 
 beyond the wall on one side, and the mansion on 
 the other, proudly simple, and impressive only 
 in virtue of its mass and rich solidity, were unlike 
 anything to be found elsewhere. Trees and 
 shrubbery, aged and moss-grown, studiously 
 clipped to prevent their exceeding certain con- 
 tracted conditions, proclaim an attitude of mind 
 in the owners diametrically opposed to that 
 of a people, who, in laying out grounds, place 
 the residence, and run the paths with reference 
 to any full-grown trees good luck may have 
 brought them, in order to calm the impatience 
 with which they watch the too-slow develop- 
 ment of their own plantations, by sight of some- 
 thing already matured. 
 
 Through the paths and alleys swayed the 
 crowd, gay and self-possessed as French crowds 
 are wont to be. The bearers of historic names 
 tendered wares of various sorts with a moral 
 compulsion too strong for democracy, though 
 the consciousness of bartering ignorantly with 
 one whom next morning's paper would recall 
 but indistinctly by means of details assuring us 
 that the very face we hoped to remember had 
 been barely scanned, beset our way with mis- 
 givings. 
 
 [101
 
 preliminary 
 
 Finally we were caught in the outgoing stream 
 long before we had seen enough, but the trend 
 was too strong to resist, and we found ourselves 
 involuntarily pressed through the gate of exit 
 out upon the lifeless quarter at the rear of the 
 property, so dull and dreary that it was almost 
 impossible to realize that nothing but the stout 
 gray wall separated us from so much gaiety. 
 This being shoved out of the back door was un- 
 expected and disappointing, for we had hoped to 
 make a well-ordered and leisurely retreat by the 
 way we had come, during which we intended to 
 study the paintings at which we had glanced 
 while under the masterly guidance of the host 
 of liveried lackeys. We held a short consulta- 
 tion, and the Artist suggested our doing it all 
 over again. As our cards of entrance were gone, 
 this was impracticable. Fortunately, for the 
 easing of our chagrin, a Parisian now joined us, 
 and named for us certain people who had most 
 attracted our interest. As we had chanced to 
 effect an occasional union between history and 
 curiosity, we noted the facts, and set forth for 
 home in a manner consoled. 
 
 Among other things we had a fine opportunity 
 to observe the celerity with which the Cook 
 flock accomplish their duty as travellers. We 
 had stopped at the Louvre one day to avoid a 
 shower, and were lingering among the antiques, 
 when outside arose a clatter that recalled Santa 
 
 [11]
 
 Ipreliminar)? 
 
 Claus in the *' Night before Christmas." A 
 char-a-banc rattled up, and had scarcely stopped 
 when over its sides tumbled out the occupants, 
 headed by Mr. Cook's too brisk deputy, who 
 scuttled his flock into the building with a speed 
 and skill worthy of admiration per se, at any rate. 
 In a few moments the horde was projected into 
 the gallery behind us, the deputy vociferating 
 continuously, and giving out wisdom like a run- 
 away phonograph, the hubbub being borne to 
 us from afar with suggestions of the stock ex- 
 change. At last the words "Venus de Milo" 
 fell upon our ears, the scurrying drove fairly 
 swished past us, slid along the polished floor, 
 slewed around a corner, and was lost to 
 sight. Barely half an hour later the clatter 
 without announced that these industrious sight- 
 seers had "done" the entire collection. The 
 imported energy gave us a guilty feeling, as 
 though we should apologize to Venus for loiter- 
 ing so long in her vicinity. 
 
 In our inquiries concerning the legendary lore 
 of the land we hoped to visit we were constantly 
 brought to bay by the statement, "Oh, every- 
 body knows that." and what "everybody 
 knows" nobody seems called upon to tell. At 
 first a false pride led us to give up the quest. We 
 felt that we were part of a disgraced minority, 
 and resolved to supply our deficiencies surrep- 
 titiously ; but inquirv among people by no means 
 ^ [12]
 
 IpreUminar^ 
 
 illiterate taught us that the number of those who 
 have escaped the deluge of legendary information 
 is very respectable, and that an audience not to 
 be despised remains to whom the tales that 
 "everybody knows" are likely to be welcome. 
 
 One half forgotten fact became prominent, 
 viz. the very recent consolidation of France into 
 a united kingdom. Richelieu but began the 
 work of forging together the strong powers nom- 
 inally subject to France, but whose princes were 
 often stronger than their so-called overlords, the 
 King of France. Of the headstrong races that 
 terrorized their nominal head, none seem to have 
 cherished a fiercer sense of independence than 
 the inhabitants of the inaccessible peninsula of 
 the northwest. The situation had probably 
 much to do with the strong love of liberty evinced 
 by the Bretons, but a natural temperamental tur- 
 bulence may not be left out of the reckoning. 
 
 [13]
 
 II. THE TRIP DOWN 
 
 BRITTANY! What a world of imagery 
 and romance the very name evokes! 
 Yet now-a-days the land is no longer 
 that remote unspoiled country that it was not 
 longer than ten years ago. The automobile has 
 changed all that, and we are sad; though what 
 right you or I have to forbid the world in general 
 to enjoy what we enjoy, it would be hard to 
 tell. We speak of tourists with pitying toler- 
 ance, or, if we wish to prove our own exclusive 
 superiority, with scornful intolerance, when, if 
 we were taxed for any justifying element in our 
 position, we should probably find ourselves puz- 
 zled to produce it. One says the scenes are 
 ruined for the artist, yet the offensive tourist 
 certainly carries nothing away with him but 
 his few trumpery souvenirs, and although his 
 enjoyment may have little artistic value, surely, 
 such as it is, he robs nobody in attaining it. 
 The beauty is there, it is a constant quantity, 
 if we cannot enjoy it because it also affords 
 enjoyment to others of lower powers of apprecia- 
 tion, perhaps our own appreciation is on a lower 
 plane than we had supposed. 
 
 [14]
 
 JLbc Urip lS>o\on 
 
 Still, all this is talk. We do feel aggrieved 
 to find Brittany overrun, and are glad that we 
 lived in our chateau just before the deluge, when 
 it was still rather unusual to have penetrated 
 far down into the heart of the peninsula. 
 
 The trip to Dinard, for that is where our com- 
 mittee had found a bargain that "must not be 
 missed," is an all day affair. It means early 
 rising and getting under way, with the many dis- 
 comforts and agitations of that condition. 
 French trains never start till five minutes 
 after schedule time, but as everybody calculates 
 on that allowance, its usefulness is destroyed. 
 French cabs too, that often have disconcert- 
 ing ways of seeming behind time, generally de- 
 posit the fare at the station in time to see his 
 traps properly weighed. The cabman's number, 
 which must be given when he makes his engage- 
 ment, holds him to the performance of his duty, 
 since it is easy to bring him to book for any mis- 
 deeds, and the law holds him responsible for the 
 well-being of his charges. 
 
 The most provoking people yet in the course 
 of a trip in France are the men who weigh the 
 baggage. With heaps of spoil staring them in 
 the face they never move towards it till the line 
 of apprehensive travellers has become long 
 enough to warrant a fear that the train will 
 leave half of them stranded, a misfortune in the 
 case of the trip to Dinard serious enough, since 
 
 [15]
 
 Zbc XTrtp H)own 
 
 there is but one seasonable train a day, and 
 being left behind with the weigher means an- 
 other combat with the numerous lions in the way. 
 But that too gets done, our share of the plunder 
 is switched on and off the scales, decorated with 
 paper stamps and pitched into a van, just in 
 time to spare us nervous break-down, and we are 
 off. With all the agitation one solid fact tends 
 to calm a traveller in France, and that is, that 
 every public employee is responsible to somebody 
 for something, so when misadventures occur it 
 is only necessary to particularise the precise 
 department to which this class of bad luck 
 belongs, to have, at least, the comfort of view- 
 ing promising activities promptly set in motion. 
 
 Who can express the vague pleasurable antici- 
 pations with which we finally settled ourselves, 
 and were soon speeding, at the rate by courtesy 
 called speed in France, for the land of our 
 dreams. 
 
 A silent company we were, for, with the excep- 
 tion of our guiding spirit, each wrapped herself 
 up in her fancies, of which the children alone 
 revelled in uncomplex forms. To them the coun- 
 try was the country, pure and undefiled; free- 
 dom untrammelled, dashed by no artistic, edu- 
 cational or mediaeval drawbacks. The eldest, 
 indeed, connected her childish thrills over Blue 
 Beard's summary domestic discipline, with Brit- 
 tany, and had read enough of King Arthur's 
 
 [16]
 
 TLbc TIrtp Down 
 
 Knights to suffer tarnishmeiit of her ignorant 
 delight through contact with the sophistication 
 of our occasional remarks, but not suflBciently to 
 diminish it. 
 
 What the others came forth to see must re- 
 main a mystery, though the Artist murmured 
 of cottages, towers and castles, tumbling into 
 ruin. My own conceptions were lamentably 
 narrow, and although it is certain that the Bar- 
 bizon School settled not in Brittany, I could call 
 to mind nothing more definite than the Angelus. 
 Brittany presented itself as an indefinite ex- 
 panse of sparsely inhabited farming land, wherein 
 peasants divide the time about equally between 
 digging potatoes and saying prayers. 
 
 On the whole the trip is tedious. Some trav- 
 ellers find beauties in northern France, but to 
 the ordinary eye the level reaches of the north 
 are monotonous. The two changes of train on 
 the way are so arranged that it is impossible to 
 see anything of the towns where they take place. 
 At Rennes, a fine covered station shuts off the 
 view, and at Dinan, the city proper lies at least 
 a mile away from the railroad. 
 
 Just beyond Paris the Chartres Cathedral 
 stands out clearly enough to make one wish the 
 slow going train would go still slower, since the 
 engine shows no pressing desire to get anywhere 
 very fast. But on and on it goes, and when the 
 beautiful building is finally quite left behind, you 
 
 [17 1
 
 remember to be thankful that you were not 
 whizzed past on the Flying Dutchman. 
 
 French local trains are of a deliberation, which, 
 as they penetrate the northwest of the land, 
 degenerate into sheer incapacity to struggle 
 against dead stoppage with anything like en- 
 couraging success. Here, however, to balance 
 matters the country becomes more attractive. 
 It has not the trimness of English farming coun- 
 try, and the amount of standing wood comes as 
 a surprise. Not that many municipal forests 
 lie near the track to lend variety, but there are 
 patches of woodland; indulged clumps of shrub- 
 bery ; lines of poplars strengthening the drainage 
 ditches, and looking like faithful sentinels; gorse- 
 grown dykes instead of walls or fences; and, from 
 the time the road enters Normandy, vast apple 
 orchards, source of wealth and of poverty to the 
 peasants whose staple industries are the manu- 
 facture and consumption of the celebrated cider. 
 Towards the close of the day, when fatigue 
 attenuates the capacity for appreciation, the 
 scenery becomes more picturesque, but by that 
 time all are too anxiously looking for the end of 
 the journey to take much note of its remaining 
 stages. 
 
 The part of wisdom would be to divide the 
 trip into many sections, Chartres, Mans, Rennes, 
 Combourg, and Dinan are all well worth a visit, 
 but the proportion of those destined for Dinard 
 
 [18]
 
 Ube Urip Down 
 
 who ever stop at these places is surprisingly 
 small. 
 
 Not until dusk of a long northern day, did 
 we emerge upon the platform of the small 
 Dinard-St. Enogat station which stands at the 
 end of its railway midway between the sister 
 towns. By map the distance we had traversed 
 appeared ridiculously short, but measured by 
 hours it had proved itself quite long enough, 
 inexplicably so. 
 
 With undisguised surprise and some unex- 
 pressed disappointment we surveyed the high 
 bare plain that extends between the two small 
 towns having common property in this modest 
 railway terminal. Could this really be old Ar- 
 morica! which as a name is, I imagine, contem- 
 poraneous with Albion. It is supposed to mean, 
 "shore of the sea," and to apply to the land and 
 not the people, but, just here, it may be w^ell to 
 say that supposition seems to be about the 
 strongest element in the elucidation of the ways 
 of ancient Brittany. Suppositions are so num- 
 erous, conflicting, and ingenious, that, in the end, 
 they bring one to the comfortable conclusion 
 that original theories are just as good as any, 
 and far more satisfactory. 
 
 By way of introduction to the land of caps, 
 costumes, thatched cabins, lop-sided churches, 
 and squat skewed towers, we saw% fringing the 
 wide dusty expanse before us, a row of low-class 
 
 [19]
 
 Ubc XTrip Down 
 
 brasseries, inviting to unlimited cider. From the 
 square in every direction stretched long lines of 
 blank stone walls that lost themselves in the 
 mists of the deepening twilight. These stretches 
 of uninspiring grayness defined converging high- 
 ways, depressingly empty and quiet. Further 
 along, occasional roof peaks indicated hidden 
 residences, but the prevailing impression was 
 that of malodorous disorder. 
 
 The array of vehicles presented for our patron- 
 age did little to relieve this first chill of dis- 
 appointment, and with many misgivings we 
 surveyed the most complete assortment of debili- 
 tated traps and knock-kneed horses to be found 
 in all France. After much comparative calcu- 
 lation we selected those that seemed most likely 
 to hold together long enough to deposit us un- 
 harmed at our goal, but we grieved the drivers 
 by refusing to take the chances of letting them 
 pile our luggage above us. We offered a personal 
 affront when, induced by unspoken qualms, we 
 negotiated with another man for the transporta- 
 tion of the traps. Nothing relating to travel is 
 done very quietly in France, and the amount of 
 explanation necessary to pacify our overconfident 
 charioteers, and get the procession well under 
 way consumed much valuable time, but at last 
 we were fairly off and on the road to our new 
 home. Our progress seemed to startle the na- 
 tives, who stared at us from doors and windows, 
 
 [20]
 
 XTbe XTrip Down 
 
 as well they might; we had two carriage loads of 
 people, followed by several wagons piled to 
 perilous heights with our abundant and miscel- 
 laneous store of goods. 
 
 A great flourish of whips gave vent to the 
 exultation of the chosen jehus rather than inter- 
 ested the horses in the slightest degree. We 
 were given to understand that for Brittany our 
 pace was brisk, though to us, the jogging past 
 littered vacant lots on the border of the town, 
 with ample opportunity to study the squalid 
 stone huts and blank walls, seemed slow enough. 
 Over the walls tree tops nodded and waved sug- 
 gestively, whether in welcome or scornful de- 
 rision we could not tell. So far the promised 
 paradise proved but a grievous deception. 
 
 Finally the cortege came to a halt within the 
 semicircular recess in the face of a long white- 
 washed wall some eight feet high. Between 
 stout stone posts standing a foot or two higher 
 than the coping of the wall a great wooden gate 
 like a barn door at once began to open before us, 
 and through the aperture we left our doubts and 
 entered upon the domain of our dreams. Before 
 us lay a straight driveway bordered by beeches 
 that met above and canopied the route along 
 which the rising moon, sifting through the dense 
 leafage, flecked the road with silver, and revealed 
 at the further end of the alley a plain, old- 
 fashioned doorway set low upon the ground. At 
 
 [21]
 
 XTbe Xlrtp H)own 
 
 the right of the entrance, danghng from a heavy 
 spiral spring fixed beneath an upper window, and 
 swaying in the evening breeze a yard or more be- 
 yond ordinary reach, we discovered an anti- 
 quated bell-rope that calmed any apprehensions 
 we may have felt as to the rococo note of our set- 
 ting. We found later that a very slack wire, sag- 
 ging along the branches of the beeches, connected 
 the spiral of the bell with a knob appertaining 
 to a small door within the outer gate. This was 
 supposably for the benefit of the locked-out, 
 but the skill required to pull the slack wire taut 
 enough to produce any effect upon the bell was 
 attained by none of us during our stay. 
 
 At one side of the severely square stone man- 
 sion straggled off a succession of gray walls, old 
 barns, and outbuildings of various sorts. These 
 were in all stages of repair from soundness to 
 utter ruin, and occupied a large share of the 
 gentle slope here dropping away to the deep 
 curve of the road beneath. 
 
 The German equivalent of castle is Schloss, 
 but the French, is chateau, a very different affair, 
 though when the ordinary mortal thinks of a 
 castle it is the German Schloss that possesses 
 his imagination; a sort of huge cellar poked 
 through the top of a high hill to air in an atmos- 
 phere of legend and romance. Such interesting 
 piles occasionally occur in France, but, in the 
 main, a chateau is a fairly well preserved build- 
 
 [22 1
 
 Ube Urlp 2)own 
 
 ing of definite plan and more or less artistic 
 unity, even in ruin testifying to the taste of the 
 nation to which it belongs. But the word 
 chateau is of wide application, and includes any 
 house belonging to people of gentle blood, though 
 it be but a mere farmhouse. Of this latter class 
 is our residence. Its absolutely simple lines are 
 relieved by but one decorative feature, a crene- 
 lated border of darker stone at the corners 
 matching in color and design the flat window 
 copings. The house is covered with the light 
 stucco so generally favoured in Europe, and is a 
 type of other buildings scattered over the face 
 of the country. Some are larger, some smaller, 
 but this rectangular ground-plan; this sharply 
 peaked roof pitching down from the ridge-pole 
 in four directions, and apparently kept from 
 sliding off entirely by two huge end chimneys 
 that shoot high in air; this light stucco with its 
 darker crenelations by way of trimming; this, in 
 all, represents the architectural imagination of 
 the Breton architect of the eighteenth century. 
 The walled lawn before the building is cut by 
 eight parallel rows of smooth barked beeches, 
 while here and there fig trees, lilacs, and other 
 shrubs relieve the formality of the design, and 
 offer attractive recesses wherein tea tables snugly 
 fit when tenants are minded to sup in open air. 
 Yvonne was our first truly Breton experience, 
 an elderly peasant retainer of our noble hosts, 
 
 [23]
 
 Ube XTrip Down 
 
 let with the place to guard the interests of her 
 hereditary superiors, and curb destructive ten- 
 dencies on the part of wild foreigners. She stood 
 at the open door, and welcomed us as wandering 
 and possibly wayward children, thereby defeat- 
 ing our intention of experimenting with the 
 swaying bell-rope. With her benignant face 
 framed in the stiffest and whitest of caps, she 
 presented quite the picture we had hoped to see, 
 and in time proved herself to be quite what she 
 seemed. Though gentle, and in a degree toler- 
 ant, she let us distinctly understand from the first 
 just how far we might go, and instilled in us a 
 clear notion of what was due to herself and her 
 masters. Yvonne had secured our servants, 
 and made everything ready for our reception, so 
 all we had to do was to walk in and let her, like 
 the general she was, assemble her Breton host 
 from unknown quarters to grapple with our be- 
 longings. 
 
 The rough flagstone flooring of the entrance 
 hall gave us the first sense of really being resi- 
 dents of a chateau. We would have gone on 
 into the salon occupying the entire west end of 
 the building, but Yvonne called halt, and con- 
 strained us to attend at once to the meal await- 
 ing us in the opposite direction. In passing we 
 caught such glimpse as we might of a bewitching 
 garden in the rear, where waving branches, 
 seductive perfumes, and glorious shifting moon- 
 
 [24]
 
 Zbc Urip 'Bown 
 
 light suggested desertion of the ranks, but 
 Yvonne's firmness overcame rebellion, and we 
 soon found ourselves gathered around a heavy 
 black oak table on which milk, eggs, and fruit, 
 those staples of French fare, were displayed in 
 frugal moderation rather unconvincing to a 
 famished company. The energy and complete- 
 ness with which we disposed of the feast, and 
 the confidence with which we demanded more 
 transformed Yvonne's air of hospitality into a 
 stare of blank astonishment. Fortunately we 
 were well enough acquainted with the customs 
 of the country to realize that she had provided 
 what she considered just enough and no more, 
 so to spare her too great indignity we forbore 
 to press our claims, and gave ourselves up to a 
 study of the room, which having formerly been 
 the kitchen presented many peculiarities. In 
 the interests of tenants the present kitchen oc- 
 cupies a new wing fitted with appointments more 
 recent that those of 1735. 
 
 Our next summons was to the spiral oaken 
 staircase neatly tucked into one corner of the 
 oblong hall, treads and balluster undisguisedly 
 axe-hewn years ago. The wax and wear of 
 generations had wrought such glossy uneven- 
 nesses upon the former, that, throughout the 
 season, the stairway proved a glassy man-trap, 
 responsible for many bruisings and batterings 
 of our bodies that were occasionally chuted from 
 
 [25]
 
 Ube tCrlp Woven 
 
 some treacherous knobby knot above to the safe 
 level of the floor below, where the slide was 
 stopped perforce by the opposite wall. 
 
 Yvonne now had her own troubles, for, to 
 establish luxurious superfluities in a Breton 
 chateau, where heavy oak presses take the place 
 of closets, and furniture is reduced to very 
 simple elements, takes time and much delibera- 
 tion. The rooms on the main floor were soon 
 assigned, and it began to look as though some 
 of us must desecrate the salon, when Yvonne 
 turned towards the spiral stairway, and led still 
 higher to what we imagined must be the attic. 
 But we had miscalculated the space within the 
 high roof, for, although we found sloping walls, 
 hooded windows, heavy beams standing free 
 from the sides of the house, and, in the servants' 
 rooms real Breton beds, the ceiling was flat, and 
 above it still remained unexplored spaces to 
 nourish and keep active a sense of mystery, since 
 they were destined to remain forever closed to 
 us. 
 
 By some unrevealed principle of choice Yvonne 
 selected me as tenant of an upper chamber to 
 which I followed her with some mistrust, but 
 on glancing from the window over the bay at 
 one side and the wide landscape on the other 
 which our own trees screened from observation 
 at any less elevated position, I became convinced 
 that the choice was a mark of signal favour on her 
 
 [26]
 
 XEbe TTrtp 2)own 
 
 part; and not a day passed during our whole 
 term of occupancy that I failed to bless her when 
 I looked upon the miles of rolling country that 
 stretched beyond the confines of our lovely gar- 
 den, to the left the open sea, and from that past 
 craggy coast and over alternating field and 
 forest set with hamlets in hiding indicated by 
 slender spires. 
 
 The night was far gone before we were ready 
 to repair to our baronial couches, and even then 
 the unwonted emotions of the day invaded also 
 the hours that should have been devoted to 
 sleep. One grievance we all shared, and that was, 
 that our boasted chateau when viewed with crit- 
 ical eye was a substantial stone farm house, and 
 it was nothing more. The name, " Beaumanoir " 
 went far to keep up the fiction of feudal associa- 
 tions, but was it not rank deception to date 
 letters home from "Beaumanoir" without ex- 
 plaining that of turrets and towers and secret 
 stairways to fit we were utterly bereft? After 
 writing, too, that we were to spend the season 
 in a real castle, and having let imagination set 
 it forth with every accessory! We cannot in- 
 dulge in fanciful association with feudality, for 
 Breton builders of the centuries too far away to 
 be modern and too near to wear the halo of 
 antiquity, had a fashion of carving the date of 
 their buildings to be set up in some conspicuous 
 place, and over our back — or front, maybe, — 
 
 [27]
 
 Ubc Urip Down 
 
 door we have in unmistakable figures the year 
 1735, which from almost any point in the garden 
 visibly robs us of the comfort of belonging to 
 ages ancient or even middle. 
 
 The Romans used to call this land the First 
 Lyonais, later it was known as the Second, and 
 finally as the Third Lyonais. In prehistoric 
 ages it is supposed to have been connected with 
 Cornwall, Wales, and Ireland, broad marshes 
 then lying where the separating waters now roll. 
 The earliest inhabitants of which we have any 
 knowledge ranged a land of dense forests, and 
 were divided into six independent tribes that, 
 in time, formed a rude confederacy when each 
 chief dwelt in his own capital city. Three of 
 these cities, save for disputed remains, have been 
 lost; but Condates became Rennes; Diaorig, 
 Vannes; and Condivic, Nantes. 
 
 [28]
 
 III. THE CHATEAU 
 
 THE ease with which we accustom our- 
 selves to new conditions, no matter how 
 unusual they may be, is surprising. We 
 had not been a week in our interesting Breton 
 home before we all began to feel that we were part 
 and parcel of the establishment with a tie of rela- 
 tionship to the numerous ancestors that gazed 
 fixedly upon us from the walls of the salon. We 
 were soon on speaking terms with the neighbour- 
 ing peasantry, and in the many tales of tragedy 
 relating to the fishermen our sincere sympathy 
 was early enlisted. No charitable soul need sigh 
 for occupation in a land of fisher folk, and about 
 Dinard our humbler neighbours betrayed a child- 
 like confidence quite winsome. Even the poor 
 half-witted woman whom the authorities con- 
 sidered a disgrace to the community, and who 
 wandered about the roads at her own erratic 
 will, apparently without let or hindrance from 
 any relative, became an object of compassion 
 with us, and haunted the kitchen door. 
 
 The chateau soon had us all in the grip of its 
 many fascinations, one of the strongest being its 
 cheapness. Here were the house, three beautiful 
 
 [29]
 
 Xlbe Cbateau 
 
 old-timy gardens, gray stone structures of un- 
 usual kind in profusion, old wells, that might 
 have been dug by the druids, wrapped in shrub- 
 bery to match, and numerous odds and ends 
 whose original purpose nobody could discover; 
 all for a mere song, compared to the prices 
 demanded at our ow^n summer resorts. But 
 even the modest rent asked in Dinard is high 
 when confronted by the offers made by owners 
 across the bay, where eight or ten hundred francs 
 will secure for the year property more extensive 
 and buildings more pretentious than "Beauman- 
 oir." The truth is, that the foreign Colony is a 
 plague to any spot on which it settles, prices go 
 up, comforts decline, so far as they imply inde- 
 pendence as a component element, and, as for 
 local colour, it receives so thick a wash, that it 
 recalls the dim peering forth of original decora- 
 tions in restored churches. 
 
 It is sad, of course, that the Breton noblesse 
 has fallen upon evil days, but since it has, it is 
 perhaps just as well for its members that the 
 outer world has stepped in to the rescue. 
 
 Poor Brittany ! Its staunch royalism has cost 
 it dear, for republicanism has exacted payment 
 to the last penny. To aggravate the impover- 
 ishment, the dependence of the peasantry upon 
 the lords of the soil seems here to have retained 
 something of its early significance, and the nobles, 
 with an almost feudal sense of responsibility, 
 
 [30]
 
 Ube Cbateau 
 
 fulfil obligations towards their retainers that 
 often tax sorely their declining fortunes. 
 
 Our proprietors, clinging with desperation to 
 the far too heavily mortgaged cradle of their 
 race, rejoice in a name of several sections strung 
 together with the significant de. This chain-like 
 possession may be jangled in the face of too 
 presumptuous nouveaux riches to their confusion 
 when the native arrogance of such tenants gets 
 to be unbearable; the house their money will 
 secure, but a name like that is a matter for mat- 
 rimony only, and even then the fact that it 
 could not have come by inheritance leaves a 
 canker in the bud. The fact is our hired name 
 comes nearer fulfilling requirements than does 
 the chateau. 
 
 About the garden though there is no mental 
 reservation ; such a wealth of venerable vegetable 
 profusion must be seen to be appreciated. The 
 central garden stretches from the mansion to the 
 brow of the hill overlooking the bay, and occupies 
 the wide space between a walled kitchen garden 
 and another opposite that gradually blends with 
 the farm land. In the main, ours is like all the 
 others throughout the land, of which the principal 
 features are straight gravelled paths, trim — sup- 
 posably — borders, ingeniously designed over- 
 grown bowers, weather-beaten fountains and sun- 
 dials, and a semi-tropical looking shrubbery. 
 Our box has grown to the size of trees, and we 
 
 [31]
 
 Zbc Cbateau 
 
 have it both trimmed and untrimmed, twenty 
 or more feet high. When we first looked upon 
 the enchanting domain, the Hlacs were in full 
 bloom on bushes that resembled apple trees. 
 Holly, laburnum, and a host of glossy leaved 
 shrubs that defied the botanical acquirements of 
 the entire party, fairly wrestled with one another 
 in an exuberance of growth born of the mild 
 moist climate. 
 
 The moss-covered walls played a great part 
 in the impression of gratifying completeness that 
 we received. Upon them in all parts stretched 
 long arms of much pruned grape, plum, peach, 
 and apricot branches, likewise moss-grown and 
 venerable. The promise of future feasts then 
 presented to our confiding fancy was remorse- 
 lessly broken by the unusually hot dry summer 
 that followed, but we could not charge this de- 
 ception to the trees. Everything must have 
 been planted when the house was young, and 
 time has greatly softened the original severity 
 of the design. The bower in which terminates 
 the path from the door has become a nest of 
 wild natural beauty, through the dense foliage 
 of which the sun has hard work to flicker. The 
 stone parapet to the seaward has partly crumbled 
 and here a cutting away of the tangled branches 
 reveals a leaf framed view of the water, or per- 
 mits a look down into the cut along which w inds 
 the road far below. 
 
 [32]
 
 Ubc Cbateau 
 
 From this side our chateau really does look 
 like something distinguished, for it has the 
 stately perron, beloved of the French, across its 
 entire width, and that suggests, in a way, the St. 
 Germain mansion, certainly a model adequate 
 to requirements of utmost architectural rigour. 
 
 The central entrance here opens immediately 
 into the apartment behind the hall-way, which 
 ought to be the dining-room, and isn't. In sim- 
 plicity the interior of the building vies with its 
 outer plainness. The rectangle of the ground 
 plan of the main portion is divided from front 
 to back into three equal parts, i. e. the partition 
 walls so run, and transversely a wall cuts the 
 centre of the middle division to form the hall and 
 the room opening upon the garden. Could any 
 design be more inartificial ! The original dining- 
 room just behind the hall has become a mere 
 lounging place between the security of the house 
 and the emancipation of the garden. Its fine 
 fireplace and elaborate mantel serve now no 
 especial purpose, and the prettily carved closet 
 in the corner we could well dispense with, since 
 it has become a sort of catch-all for miscel- 
 laneous rubbish that everybody would like to be 
 rid of, yet nobody has the strength of mind to 
 give away or destroy, a variety of impedimenta 
 but too familiar to the average household. 
 
 The ceiling of our hall is decorated with a stout 
 iron hook that hangs directly in front of the en- 
 
 [33]
 
 Ube Cbateau 
 
 trance to our really aristocratic looking salon. 
 It is no ornamental detail in elaborate wrought 
 iron, not a bit of it. It is a good honest iron 
 hook such as often appertains to the upper en- 
 trance of a feed loft, and is safe to lift a ton if 
 necessary, or possibly greater weight. Certainly 
 it adds nothing to the attractiveness of the en- 
 trance, and for some time it did not connect 
 itself in our minds with the wooden trap just 
 below it, probably because we had concealed 
 the trap beneath a heavy rug. Even then we 
 wondered why our painted gentry in lace and 
 ruffles of the apartment just beyond should 
 have set the thing in the very face of their own 
 retreat. Then we bethought us of a narrow 
 terrace against the inner face of the front wall 
 close beside the great gate, and this, in turn, re- 
 called a thin slit through the stone work there, 
 the slant of which, though we had not at first 
 observed it, permits a gun to command the en- 
 trance. Then by putting two and two together, 
 and remembering that when the house was 
 young privileged piracy received the euphonious 
 name of privateering, we concluded that if the 
 old hook could tell stories we might be sure that 
 its account of its services would be interesting. 
 Then too, in a rebel land, a well guarded cellar 
 probably stored safely much that the revolution- 
 ists would have given a great deal to lay hands 
 upon. 
 
 [34]
 
 Ube Cbateau 
 
 The salon occupies the west end of the house 
 and on the opposite side of the hall is the Breton 
 kitchen which some furbishing and rearranging 
 has made into a dining-room. 
 
 The salon is the living-room, and there, by a 
 generous distribution of cushions, rugs, and bric- 
 a-brac, we have transformed Breton simplicity 
 into irrational complexity, to the deep annoy- 
 ance of Yvonne who trembled to see her world 
 submerged, and waves of drapery cover the 
 waxed polish of her cold woods. The room has 
 a ceiling disproportionately high and a broad 
 front window that just fits one strip of beech- 
 divided lawn. No charm of irregularity dis- 
 turbs the severity of our surroundings, the back 
 window is the counterpart of its opposite sister, 
 but its outlook is over the garden. The great 
 stone chimney alone breaks the long stretch of 
 side wall which is the end wall of the building. 
 
 This apartment is entirely panelled in wains- 
 coting finely carved and painted white. To the 
 colour we did not object until visits to similarly 
 wainscoted rooms in other chateaux of the vicin- 
 ity taught us that beneath the paint is to be 
 found dark well-seasoned oak, and now we are 
 dissatisfied with the room and with our ancestors 
 in a body, since we cannot determine which one 
 spoiled the graining we might have enjoyed. 
 
 The ancestors hang all round the four walls, 
 drawn high to keep them out of danger. We 
 
 [35]
 
 Zbc Cbateau 
 
 have all kinds from armoured to ruffled and be- 
 wigged, in oils of more or less merit. There is 
 no doubt about it, from ancestors emanates a 
 subtle influence that compels descendants to live 
 up to their level, and to this we have succumbed. 
 
 In the furniture we read the tale of fallen for- 
 tunes. 
 
 On the side wall opposite the ornate chimney 
 piece hangs a rare Venetian mirror. A million- 
 aire might seek in vain to find a frame so heavy 
 in which the graceful gilt filagree and glass were 
 so elaborate. This was brought home by a red 
 coated gentleman in the corner when he returned 
 from the grand tour. The high-bred face still 
 seems to turn with pride towards his purchase. 
 
 Beneath the mirror stands a heavily carved 
 chest or armoire, a true Henri III and the larger 
 chairs, the heavy tables are fit companions for 
 the chest. Though poor, the owners do not 
 think of improving their state by parting with 
 any of these objects so endeared by associations. 
 The whole re-echoes the impression gained down 
 in the bower where the wooden seats are half 
 decayed, the trees so old that they threaten to 
 fall on the intruder, and the hard gravel floor 
 has become a nursery of hardy, struggling growth 
 of many kinds. Everywhere is thrust upon our 
 notice the charm and the decrepitude. 
 
 The dining-room is sui generis. Like the hall- 
 way it has a rough flagged floor which we have 
 
 [36]
 
 Ubc Cbateau 
 
 inharmoniously softened by means of a rug. At 
 one side an extraordinary cavernous fireplace is 
 royally raised upon a dais. This is fitted with 
 crane and bar, while ragged spots on the near-by 
 wall show where the clockwork of the old spit 
 has been rudely torn away. Within the depths 
 of the fireplace a little grate of stove is quite 
 lost, and more than half the heat it furnishes on 
 raw mornings flies aloft. The stone floor con- 
 denses moisture in remarkable quantity, but per- 
 haps it does not favour rheumatism. The ceil- 
 ing is raftered, and painted a brilliant yellow, too 
 far above us to affect us by its buttery aspect. 
 Clumsy iron latches, hinges, and window fasten- 
 ings are fitted to balk a siege, if only the be- 
 siegers would teach the besieged to fasten them, 
 and then wait till they were fixed. The china 
 closet is made of a carved Breton bed, and on 
 the other side of the room a black oak dresser, 
 old enough to please the most exacting, disposes 
 of the rest of the table ware. 
 
 The most curious feature of the architecture 
 is a small servant's chamber projecting half over 
 the room as if built on a shelf. This odd little 
 bed-room opens upon the staircase midway of the 
 first flight, and its wall above the dining table 
 consists of sliding wooden shutters. It must have 
 been a sort of opera-box whence the chief cook 
 might superintend the scullions and oversee the 
 meals. Breton servants of two centuries ago 
 
 [37]
 
 Zbc Cbateau 
 
 must have needed a good deal of watching, for 
 there is a square peep-hole in the butter-coloured 
 ceiling, through which the eye of the mistress 
 in the room above also might make observations. 
 The hole has a neat plug which conceals it from 
 ordinary gaze, a small bevelled square of wood 
 with finger notches at the sides by which to lift 
 it. The chatelaine there gave orders or looked 
 down upon the spitted roast, to see how the 
 coming meal was progressing, or keep the serv- 
 ants from cutting off choice bits. 
 
 The Breton beds in our attic are the simplest 
 of their kind, mere wooden closets with a drawer 
 below. Above the drawer a bed, fitting exactly 
 the bottom of the closet, is laid, with no springs 
 or other attempts at modern devices for comfort. 
 In peasant cottages, the fronts of such beds are 
 often elaborately carved. In front, below, runs 
 a long chest, usually designed to hold linen, but 
 serving incidentally as a stepping stone to the 
 bed high towards the ceiling, and as a convenient 
 stand for the cradle when in use. On a shelf, 
 within, rests the mattress where, behind closed 
 sliding shutters, the worthy peasants manage 
 to sleep in comfort during the night, with no 
 disturbing theories about microbes and ventila- 
 tion. As they daily emerge unasphyxiated and 
 apparently none the worse for their airless repose, 
 it is to be inferred that modern ideas on those 
 subjects are not fitted to Breton requirements. 
 
 [38 1
 
 Ube Cbateau 
 
 From the numerous relics that bestrew our 
 grounds it is easy to see that at some remote 
 time the land appertained to the long gone priory 
 of the Montforts. The deep well in the corner 
 of the west garden still bears traces of a carved 
 curb, and a niche at the back has undoubtedly 
 lost a saintly occupant. Several huge stone 
 watering troughs lie around with no obvious 
 raison d'etre, and on these figures are still to be 
 traced although almost effaced by the wear of 
 time. Of the huddled outbuildings a few have 
 fallen from higher estate, one, in particular, con- 
 taining an elaborate chimney-piece, remains of 
 a fine staircase, and suggestions of past grandeur 
 in ruined door and window cases. Nobody 
 seems to have had sufficient curiosity to learn 
 anything of the building in its prime. The only 
 use to which it has of late been put is that of 
 playground for children, or lodging for harvesters 
 in the busy season on the farm. 
 
 [39
 
 IV. AT HOME IN DINARD 
 
 A LTHOUGH our kodaks have wrought their 
 /-\ best upon the glorious scenes that dazzle 
 us by their unlimited profusion, nothing 
 but disappointment comes of black and white 
 reproductions of the glittering polychrome al- 
 ways beneath our gaze. The sparkle of the 
 multi-coloured waves, the vivid greens of the 
 varied foliage, the restful gray of huddled ham- 
 lets that peep from among the trees in every 
 direction; and all bathed in the limpid pearly 
 light of this moist atmosphere no photograph 
 can give. Across the broad bay, St. Malo, with 
 stout walls and high roofs dominated by the 
 graceful spire of the cathedral, is reflected in the 
 dancing waters that advance and recede across 
 the wide yellow sands above which it stands; fur- 
 ther back towards the mouth of the Ranee, St. 
 Servan, less picturesque, yet forming a congru- 
 ous extension of the sister city, leads the eye 
 down the shore till the heavy tower of Solidor 
 arrests attention, almost the last mediaeval relic 
 remaining to the oldest settlement of this coast. 
 Between the two towns projects a fortified rock, 
 used as a military station, and before this the
 
 Ht Dome in Dinars 
 
 white tide gauge of the government is placed. 
 Rock and island dot the waters as far as the eye 
 can see. 
 
 Along the horizon a misty line, looking as 
 though it ought to define the position of Jersey, 
 is really the hills of the Chauseys but half as 
 far away, and, if the day be dark, even the Chau- 
 seys are hidden. Forming a natural gateway to 
 the harbour stand two rugged islands, the Great 
 and the Little Bey both crowned by decaying 
 fortifications of Vauban. At his own request 
 Chateaubriand was buried on the crest of the 
 Great Bey looking towards the open sea, and the 
 lonely tomb, half covered by straggling weeds, ap- 
 parently pinned to the inhospitable rock by the 
 contracted rectangle of iron fence which is its 
 only protection, is the first landmark sought by 
 the St. Malo fishing fleet as it returns to winter 
 at home. 
 
 The landscape at the rear of our property is 
 scarcely less superb. Beyond the flower-bor- 
 dered lawns, framed by walls and barns, a slope 
 of farming land falls off to a grove below. Across 
 the hollow rises rapidly a varied rolling country, 
 over which, as seen from above, the eye roams 
 for miles in every direction, free from the obstruc- 
 tion of the dense foliage of the garden, which 
 screens our own strip of sandy bathing-beach 
 from any post of observation at the house. 
 
 One day, with a great refurbishing of disused 
 [41]
 
 Ht l3ome in DinarO 
 
 debilitated French, we sallied forth to call on 
 Madame, our chatelaine. According to con- 
 tinental custom it rests with strangers to make 
 the first call, and put themselves upon trial. 
 We set out with some distrust of our ability so 
 to manage the conversational medium as to 
 carry this very significant and formal rite to a 
 conclusion worthy of the land whose social honour 
 lay in our hands, for the theory of the French 
 does not include any linguistic concession to 
 foreigners. Outside of Paris, in which city con- 
 siderations of a baser nature have modified the 
 national practice, it is assumed that everything 
 lovely and of good report, either originates in 
 France, or must, if imported, receive the appro- 
 val of Frenchmen. To expect natives to meet 
 strangers on the ground of their language is to 
 expect an abandonment of their principles and 
 moral convictions. 
 
 We knew that the lady in question lived 
 somewhere along the narrow, curving, deep-cut 
 road straying off towards the beach below, but 
 nothing faced this road but high irregular walls 
 that seemed linked to the barns and huge water- 
 ing troughs on our own land. The walls were 
 evidently the much patched relics of some large 
 monastic establishment. There were traces of 
 fiUed-in gothic apertures; chipped denuded old 
 gargoyles springing forth in unexpected places; 
 with every characteristic but their native ir- 
 
 [42]
 
 Ht Ibome in S)inar& 
 
 remediable ugliness washed away; and dis- 
 jointed projections of heavy arched mouldings, 
 the reiteration of the old tale of departed gran- 
 deur. If Yvonne's shock-headed niece had not 
 stepped from one of two moss-grown barn doors, 
 set like green eyes in the scarred gray face of 
 the wall, we should have turned back baffled, 
 but the girl directed us to knock at the other eye, 
 and soon this was opened for us by a neat serv- 
 ing woman who ushered us across the pretty 
 garden before the humble cottage now housing 
 the descendants of our own gold-laced gentlemen 
 and Pompadour ladies. The upper drawing 
 room in which we awaited our hostess might 
 have been a room of the chateau, so closely did 
 its mixture of ancient elegance and modern sim- 
 plicity correspond with that which awaited us 
 on our arrival. Everything heavy, worthy a 
 place in a museum, everything bought to supply 
 deficiencies, of quality so poor and flimsy that 
 the rich peasants would scorn to use it. 
 
 Our reflections and observations were cut short 
 by the entrance of a frail slender gentlewoman, 
 no longer young, whose manner allied her un- 
 mistakably to our ancestors, so unaffected was 
 its refinement and courtesy, and so French. 
 Our hosts, too, had quitted their task of trim- 
 ming the moss covered branches upon the garden 
 walls, to acknowledge our attention, and, al- 
 though to outward appearance they were but 
 
 [43]
 
 Bt Ibome in Binarb 
 
 hard -worked farmers, bent and toil worn in the 
 never-ending struggle with adverse fate, they 
 were quite above any consciousness of the incon- 
 gruity that weighed upon our spirits, and un- 
 doubtedly would have resented as impertinence 
 the pity and sympathy roused in our hearts by 
 their lowly condition. 
 
 Evidently such portraits as were especially 
 dear to the family had been put out of harm's 
 reach by being transported, for from the walls 
 of the modest apartment other gaily attired 
 gentry smiled and "looked cheerful" upon us; 
 ancestors w^e did not know we had; and above 
 the mantle relatives in miniature invited close 
 examination, our great-grandmother especially, 
 for she was the sweetest prettiest young thing 
 in her line that we had ever met. 
 
 The conversation circled mainly about early 
 Dinard in the days when our high-born family 
 had affairs pretty well in its own hands, and had 
 not dreamed of being discovered by outlanders; 
 when the domain of "Beaumanoir" extended 
 over most of the territory occupied by the pres- 
 ent town, and the family presented the Church 
 with land whereupon to build the sanctuary. 
 
 We learned that by looking farther to the 
 north than the Chauseys on a clear day we may 
 discern Jersey itself with a good opera glass, an 
 accomplishment that none of us have realized. 
 
 As tenants, we were even interested in the 
 [44 1
 
 at Ibome in 2)lnar& 
 
 history of the patched and broken transom of 
 coloured glass above our garden entrance, mainly, 
 I suppose, because it is so covered with patches 
 of paper that we have held many discussions as 
 to what the curious pastoral scene of the design 
 originally represented. 
 
 When we left, our hosts left too, doffed their 
 Sunday best, and unconcernedly returned to 
 their gardening. 
 
 Being out, we concluded to see the only two 
 antiquities of brand new Dinard, whither those 
 who sigh for historic association should not wan- 
 der. Even in its newness Dinard is not so pretty 
 as it should be. Dwellings that present a charm- 
 ing aspect from the water rise blankly from the 
 edge of the ill-kept footpaths, plain flat fronts 
 with plain doors and windows. In many cases 
 along the street that follows the coast line, a roof 
 behind a sort of area way is all that is visible 
 from the road, and the house is entered by way 
 of the garret. The Boulevard with its clipped 
 lindens and begardened residences is the best 
 part of the city, but, somehow or other, gravel 
 is too much in evidence, there are gritty sugges- 
 tions even there. 
 
 Dinard is awake only about six weeks in the 
 year, for the flock that arrives in mid July leaves 
 in September; but for that six weeks the com- 
 munity is galvanized into feverish energy. Shops 
 carry on flourishing trade, booths are set up by 
 
 [45]
 
 Ht Ibome in H)inar& 
 
 Parisian houses, salesmen of every variety cater 
 to the prevailing extravagance, and then every- 
 thing stops. Many shops and booths close en- 
 tirely, and those that remain open to purvey to 
 local needs make a practice of laying away the 
 finer grade of goods to await the better prices 
 of the next social high tide, so that even shop- 
 ping, that great resource of the idle, is out of the 
 question. 
 
 The chief sight in Dinard is the old priory, 
 and in the search for that you come upon more 
 old wall, more plainest of deal doors serving as 
 gates, more charming inclosed garden land, and 
 much more crumbling stone ruin. The priory 
 is so well hidden that it takes some persistence 
 to find it, but when found the roofless over- 
 grown space between slowly decaying walls 
 amply repays one for the trouble of arriving. 
 At their altar, now represented by a shapeless 
 heap, the monks worshipped as long ago as 1324, 
 when the monastery was founded by Oliver and 
 Geoffrey of the noble house of Montfort. The 
 order was vowed to the ransom of captives taken 
 in war. Two sadly chipped and weather-beaten 
 armoured gentlemen in stone still recline in op- 
 posite niches to guard the spot where they were 
 probably priors when in the flesh. At the east 
 end of the inclosure a crude statue, far from 
 beautiful, of the Virgin peers through the leafage 
 of a thrifty fig tree that has rooted itself and 
 
 [46]
 
 at Ibome in H)inar5 
 
 flourished upon the mound of debris that prob- 
 ably covers her shrine. The inner window cas- 
 ings of the north wall retain much of their grace- 
 ful moulding and carving, but, for the rest, the 
 chapel is a hopeless wreck. 
 
 Across uneven hillocks of grass-covered stone, 
 and past barns and sheds, each preserving some 
 token of relationship to the priory, we picked 
 our way back to the outer road, and proceeded 
 to hunt up Dinard's second show place down the 
 tortuous Grand Street which follows the coast. 
 This is a towered house that looms above adja- 
 cent roofs so plainly that it would seem impos- 
 sible to miss it. On we walked till we suddenly 
 became conscious of the fact that the tower no 
 longer reared itself before our eyes, and turning 
 back in surprise there we saw it some distance 
 in the rear. They say that the Black Prince 
 once slept beneath that tower, but when or why 
 nobody seems to know, which robs the tale some- 
 what of convincing force. 
 
 That does not make any difference, though. 
 The Black Prince and Anne of Brittany seem to 
 have been provided by fortune with tenacious 
 weather-proof halos warranted to cling and not 
 wear off. One nap suflBces to make the fame 
 of the house. This one stands rather back from 
 the surrounding buildings, and, as the tower 
 rises from the rear, it is quite easy to pass it by. 
 A very stably odour pervades the space before 
 
 [47 1
 
 Ht fjome in Dinarb 
 
 the archway leading back to the tower, and the 
 much worn tracery about the windows scarcely 
 attracts attention, which is more than can be 
 said for the rather noisy Httle wine or cider shop 
 occupying part of the ground floor. We picked 
 our way through a very muddy passage, and then 
 climbed some steps into a small vegetable garden 
 at the back, whence we gazed upon the fairly 
 preserved and well whitewashed building. The 
 tower itself is a sort of double construction in 
 which a smaller sized companion bulges from 
 the main trunk just above its establishment of 
 the desired rotundity. Architects have a name 
 for it the little parasite, but to ordinary gaze it 
 has the appearance of a baby tower clinging to 
 its father's portly back. 
 
 The streets in the main conform to the charac- 
 ter of the cliffs. They straggle along in untidy 
 pretentiousness till brought to bay by some sheer 
 rocky descent, adown which the discouraged 
 pavement gives place to toilsome, tortuous foot- 
 paths, which mark a more or less perilous way 
 on the face of the steep ragged bluffs. From the 
 quay one such path has been ameliorated by a 
 stone stairway that leads in distracting zigzag 
 straight upwards for an exhausting distance, 
 so that even this scarcely deserves the name of 
 easy road. In compensation, however, each cliff 
 presents its own glorious outlook over the sea. 
 
 The great bathing beach is a scene of varied 
 [48]
 
 Ht Dome in 2)inar& 
 
 activity. A large portion of its hard flat ex- 
 panse serves to harbour the wonderful bathing 
 machines insisted upon by English custom. The 
 question is still debated whether these awkward 
 wheeled boxes are designed to shelter the sensi- 
 tive modesty or screen from criticism the inde- 
 scribable costume of the virtuous Englishwoman, 
 who considers it "fast" to wear stockings in the 
 water. 
 
 Paris is not far from Brittany but Brittany is 
 a long way from Paris. Although the tourist has 
 swooped down upon the upper corner of the land, 
 and has done his best to carry progress and en- 
 lightenment in his train, the worthy natives are 
 quite able to withstand the assaults of the spoiler. 
 They have their own idea of historic values, and 
 what Julius Caesar is to the rest of the world, 
 Anne of Brittany is to them. John, Anne's 
 great-grandfather was a powerful ruler, but his 
 place in the Breton heart is many degrees lower 
 than hers. Throughout all Brittany, anything 
 touched or loved by Anne is hallowed. As she 
 had a taste for royal progresses such cherished 
 spots occur frequently enough to assure every 
 Breton a chance to nourish his superstitious de- 
 votion to the great lady's memory, a woman 
 who certainly achieved much, considering that 
 she taught her turbulent nobles who had counted 
 on managing the province to their own satis- 
 faction with a Duchess thirteen years old on the 
 
 [49]
 
 at t>ome In Dinar^ 
 
 throne, that if they thought they could play 
 pranks with her, they had made a miscalculation 
 that she would correct for them. 
 
 Anne was daughter of Francis II and Margue- 
 rite de Foix. On the death of Francis she became 
 coheiress with a sister Isabelle in 1488, but 
 Isabelle's early death left Anne single handed to 
 cope with the question of the Salic law, not 
 native to Brittany, but foisted upon dukes 
 Francis I and Peter II by France in the treaty 
 of Guerand, made at a time when there was no 
 impending likelihood of failure in the male line 
 ducal. When, however, the last heir proved to 
 be an heiress, her worthy Bretons ignored a 
 compact that tended to throw them into the 
 waiting arms of their strong neighbour, and set 
 up their duchess without dissent on the part of 
 her subjects. 
 
 That they acted wisely soon became apparent, 
 but the wisdom was of a sort not anticipated. 
 Our modern notions of chivalry had little to do 
 with their defence of a women, their main idea 
 was to take advantage of a weak administration 
 to advance their own individual interests. The 
 completeness with which they were undeceived 
 is amusing, for although their lady exercised her 
 power in high-handed fashion very often, it was 
 always with the real good of her land at heart. 
 Had not her methods been swift and effectual 
 she must have uncommended died, and her 
 
 [50]
 
 at Ibomc in Dlnart) 
 
 duchy would have been rent with the internal 
 dissentions that had so often desolated it. 
 
 That Anne was always rather duchess than 
 queen, is a fault for which no Breton condemns 
 her, though her two royal spouses, Charles VIII 
 and Louis XII doubtless often wished it other- 
 wise. It became impossible for her when queen 
 regnant to spend much time in her own beloved 
 state, but she made frequent visits and never 
 wearied of testifying her preference for her 
 Breton subjects. 
 
 But, after all, Anne was a disillusioned 
 thwarted woman. The sons from whom she 
 hoped much died in childhood, and of the two 
 daughters that reached maturity, she earnestly 
 desired the elder, Claude, to marry in a way to 
 secure independence for her inheritance; but 
 Louis XII, quite as zealous for the interests of 
 France, insisted that the girl should marry his 
 own successor, that Francis who was gallant to 
 all but his neglected wife. Anne died just before 
 the marriage occurred, but with the knowledge 
 that in all human probability nothing could pre- 
 vent it, and a well grounded apprehension that 
 Francis would prove but a cruel mate for her 
 gentle devoted daughter. 
 
 The definite union of France and Brittany 
 took place in the reign of Francis I, 1532, thus 
 terminating the autonomy of a sturdy patriotic 
 people, faithful to its nation, religion, and laws; 
 
 [51]
 
 Ht Ibomc in 2)inar& 
 
 firm in adversity, dauntless in peril, never com- 
 pletely subjugated, and the most desired by 
 France of the great dependencies. 
 
 Anne's second daughter, Renee, became that 
 amiable, generous Duchess of Ferrara who pro- 
 vided a city of refuge to the oppressed Huguenots 
 of France, till the church discovered what she 
 was about, and hunted her proteges forth. Calvin 
 first fled to Renee in 1534 where, too, went 
 Clement Marot and others prominent among 
 the reformers, but the coterie was soon broken 
 up, and its chief member then proceeded to 
 Geneva. Renee's daughter was that Leonora 
 whose heartlessness wrecked Tasso's life. 
 
 Hospitality seems ever to have been the virtue 
 of the Breton rulers. Henry VII of England 
 and Louis XII of France were but two of a long 
 list of guests who found shelter at the Breton 
 court from threatening perils. It is said, with 
 much show of truth, that Anne's second marriage 
 was a love match that resulted from her early 
 interest in the misfortunes of the exiled prince 
 Louis. 
 
 It is due to FrauQois de Laval, to whom Anne's 
 education was intrusted, to say that her pupil, 
 in an age conspicuously corrupt was a woman 
 of scrupulous morality and high integrity, pro- 
 ficient in all womanly pursuits, and at the same 
 time strong and capable in the execution of her 
 important duties. 
 
 [52]
 
 V. SUBURBS OF DINARD 
 
 THE social pace at Dinard is set by exiles 
 from England who, in general, exhibit 
 the faults of both countries untempered 
 by the virtues of either. To a full assortment of 
 the foibles imported from their island home, 
 these estrays are prone to add not a few of their 
 own invention, but they all square accounts 
 weekly by attending service on Sunday in the 
 English chapel, where they genuflect with much 
 twisting and turning under the eye of a parson 
 redolent of secularity. Those who cannot escape 
 the sermon yawn or sleep through it, and the 
 hebdomadal obligation is discharged. The over- 
 vaunted independence of American women is a 
 quality strictly reserved for home consumption. 
 Abroad they exhibit slavish subservience to 
 English mentors, and attempt with such success 
 as may be, to reproduce in all its latitude the 
 outlandishness, as it may literally be called, of a 
 set so long removed from criticism it respects, 
 as to have, in some degree, lost self-respect. 
 
 Americans often neither begin Sunday with a 
 faithful discharge of their religious duties, such 
 as that which forms the fitting preface to the 
 
 [53]
 
 Suburbs of 5)(nar^ 
 
 French period of rest and rational relaxation; 
 nor cut from gambling, golf, or tennis the hour 
 before dinner, in which the English preserve the 
 significance of the day. The Massachusetts 
 Sabbath is left as a Puritan invention in the 
 land to which it was transported a babe in arms, 
 and the giddy Yankees justify their course by 
 stating airily that in France they must do as the 
 French do. Their actual observance of this 
 rule results in performances at which the well- 
 bred French stare aghast. It is quite certain 
 their own mothers would fail to recognize some 
 of these transplanted daughters. 
 
 The truth is, that upper class nomads form a 
 caste of their own, no matter what may be their 
 nationality. This caste has well-known charac- 
 teristics, and usurps social immunities that none 
 of the members would dare claim in their res- 
 pective homes. No one would dream that the 
 national beverage of America is ice-water, for 
 pure water is much too flat a drink abroad. 
 More or less diluted, Scotch whiskey is the 
 choice, and, at each cover at the hotel table, 
 stands the honest bottle, needing no apology, and 
 at balls the consumption of wine exceeds belief. 
 
 On the other hand, the well-bred French- 
 woman is propriety incarnate. As a girl she 
 never left her mother's side. She was taught 
 to stand, to sit, to enter and leave a room 
 properly; and to bear herself towards superior, 
 
 [54]
 
 Suburbs of H)(nar^ 
 
 equal, and inferior with fitting courtesy. The 
 arrogance and self-assertion now so much af- 
 fected by Anglo-Saxons has no place in French 
 society. The very vocabulary of the French- 
 woman has been hedged about with prohibitions. 
 Many quite proper expressions are forbidden to 
 woman if masculine or unmusical in sound, and 
 so neither the language nor the manners of the 
 stable are borrowed by her to testify to her 
 emancipation. At table she is temperate, con- 
 spicuously so with respect to wine. Stronger 
 drinks are not considered seemly. In no par- 
 ticular is demonstrated more completely the 
 exquisite artistic sense of the French than in the 
 training of their girls. A native instinct of the 
 eternal fitness of things has produced the woman 
 who may still be considered the finest of her 
 kind. From the beautiful finish of the best 
 English manner, abstract the underlying shy 
 stiffness, and add ease and vivacity; to the 
 readiness and self-assurance of Americans join 
 grace and restraint; to the domestic efficiency 
 of the Germans, supply also business ability and 
 more intelligent comprehension; then you will 
 have in part the incomparable character of the 
 cultured Frenchwoman. 
 
 This contrast may account for the fact that 
 there is little social mingling of the native with 
 the foreign elements in Dinard. The French 
 summer colony keeps itself mainly to the high 
 
 [55]
 
 Suburbs of Dinars 
 
 rocky bluff that projects into the sea just below 
 the town to the west, and is known as the 
 Malouine. Entrance to this exclusive quarter 
 is by way of a forbidding wrought-iron gate 
 hung between tall stone posts. One almost 
 inclines to ask permission to enter the park-like 
 inclosure, but, in point of fact, the road is free to 
 all well-behaved visitors, and the locality the 
 prettiest in the entire countryside. To our eyes 
 French domestic architecture seems weighted 
 down with an excess of ornamentation, but peer- 
 ing out from the thick foliage of the Malouine 
 the inconsequent brick turrets, bright tile cor- 
 nices, erratic iron work, and uncalled-for bal- 
 conies produce a picturesque ensemble that dis- 
 arms criticism. Instead of Dinard's set streets 
 we find rambling roads turning in and out 
 between hedges and bowers. Gardens tip over 
 the edge of the precipice seaward, and clothe the 
 jagged peaks with a garment of bloom. Through 
 every break in the over-spreading glossy leaved 
 shrubbery gleams the ocean, and an air of com- 
 fort, if not of luxury rests upon the scene. All 
 is decorous and restrained up here, but Dinard 
 knows not the Malouine, nor the Malouine, 
 Dinard. 
 
 St. Enogat is the mother city of these newer 
 settlements, and, although from the station it 
 looks like a place apart, one completely built-up 
 street unites them all. 
 
 [56]
 
 Suburbs of H)inar& 
 
 Often as we hear of the amazing thrift of the 
 French, the actual fact comes upon one as a 
 surprise. On this same road to St. Enogat, we 
 had occasion to reahze what French thrift may 
 accomplish. Half way up the street there is a 
 baker's shop conducted by very respectable 
 people. It is no confectioner's with moulds of 
 cream and pastries, but a simple bakery catering 
 to the peasant, where the chief commodity ap- 
 pears to be flat round loaves of brown bread of 
 the pumpernickel variety, in size something like 
 small cart wheels. The place is neat and clean, 
 but has by no means the appearance of the abode 
 of wealth. It happened that the baker's eldest 
 daughter was married while we were there to 
 see. The girl had a completely appointed wed- 
 ding and a trousseau unexpectedly fine. The 
 bridal gown and veil were of the best, though 
 not pretentious, but, in addition to the outlay 
 necessitated by these rather elaborate acces- 
 sories, there was a dot of ten thousand francs 
 paid down. As the bride was the eldest of three 
 or four daughters, Brittany being the province 
 that goes furthest toward maintaining the birth 
 rate in France, the parents, it may safely be 
 inferred, expected to do equally well by each 
 daughter in turn. And yet, these people were 
 not miserly in order to attain the degree of 
 wealth necessary for their purposes, for among 
 the families of the poorer fishermen were many 
 
 [57]
 
 Suburbs of Dinars 
 
 whose accounts were generously carried along 
 through the season, to be quite remitted in case 
 the sea refused to return the absent breadwinner. 
 
 Just before reaching St. Enogat, its little 
 tangled graveyard attracts attention, quite un- 
 like those to which we are accustomed, and yet, 
 so modified by foreign occupancy, as to depart 
 noticeably from the conventional French model. 
 The dead here have been left to the kindly care 
 of nature which has wrapped the graves in pro- 
 fuse, neglected growths of weed and briar. Many 
 English lie here, their graves distinguished by 
 the absence of those beaded tokens of grief and 
 remembrance which in all stages of repair cum- 
 ber the resting places of the French. There is 
 something particularly lonely about an English 
 grave. The very fashion of leaving the dead 
 far from his home and kindred repels us, while 
 the resulting neglect of the grave intensifies a 
 depressing desolation. The glittering French 
 designs, "To a dear father," "In ever loving 
 memory," staring up in sunlit glass from more 
 or less damaged frameworks of wire are often 
 unsightly enough, but it is impossible not to 
 respect the faithful remembrance when the date 
 on the slab beneath proves that the dear ones 
 have long been gone, far longer than many of 
 the apparently forgotten foreigners have slept 
 near them. 
 
 St. Enogat enjoys high favour with the English. 
 [58]
 
 Suburbs of Dinars 
 
 Browning once spent some time there, though 
 what he found of interest more than might have 
 been furnished by any one of the larger villages 
 of the land it is hard to see. The place is a mere 
 expansion of the ordinary gray stone hamlet. 
 There are narrow, muddy, unpaved roads; an 
 uninteresting modern church; a calvaire also 
 modern, in striking contrast to the curious an- 
 cient ones commonly found in the country; and a 
 pervading air of dull stagnation. At the edges 
 of the town are occasional picturesque bits, old 
 farmsteads with inclosed barnyard-approaches 
 larger, muddier, and more populous than ordi- 
 nary. Here and there are houses with rough stone 
 outer stairways leading to an upper story hiding 
 itself away under the ponderous overhanging 
 thatch. 
 
 A royal princess of Great Britain elected to 
 pass some time at St. Enogat which shows that 
 the place possesses some sort of fame. The 
 princess came incognito. With her suite she 
 occupied a villa beyond the town, and on several 
 occasions was seen in Dinard looking about. One 
 thing may be said in favour of the English, they 
 exercise a fine courtesy towards their royal 
 family. In America a person of note dwelling 
 in a well known and accessible house would have 
 been besieged by curious sight seers. The prin- 
 cess was recognized by a number of her brother's 
 subjects, but her wishes were respected, and she 
 
 [59]
 
 Suburbs of 2)inar^ 
 
 was permitted to enjoy her outing in peace. 
 One isolated trespass upon the royal lady's 
 privacy occurred, and, as might be suspected, 
 the impertinence proceeded from an American 
 woman. An English lady learning of the fact 
 indignantly exclaimed with simple dignity, " That 
 is not the manner in which we treat royalty!" 
 Still, the Englishwoman ought to have reflected, 
 that since America has no royalty, its daughters 
 can scarcely be expected to know precisely 
 what's what in dealing with it. 
 
 The high road after leaving St. Enogat be- 
 comes monotonous and uninteresting. It dips 
 down off the rocks and follows the lower coast. 
 The land is sterile and wind swept. Here and 
 there stand semicircular walls of brick or stone 
 brilliantly whitewashed to serve as beacons, 
 warning small craft sailing in the shallows be- 
 yond. As far as St. Lunaire nothing more 
 interesting appears, but at this point a wide 
 grassy point of land lies to the right, and there 
 the golf club has fixed itself with house and 
 grounds. In St. Lunaire village the people have 
 built a brand new church of which they are very 
 proud. The disused old church looks from the 
 outside as though it might be worth seeing, but 
 the windows are boarded up and the doors fast 
 locked. Experience with the churches of the 
 vicinity made it seem to us unwise to put forth 
 any great effort to get into the ruinous building, 
 
 [60]
 
 Suburbs of S)lnarb 
 
 though its position on a hillside gives to the 
 exterior a very effective appearance. 
 
 St. Briac six miles from Dinard has a church 
 in which the steeple, or rather belfry, is sur- 
 rounded by two little balconies one above the 
 other. It must have been an original inspira- 
 tion of some Breton architect of not very remote 
 times. It is quite uncanonical and audacious, 
 but the effect is attractive. If anyone wished to 
 go up into either balcony to view the country it 
 would require some courage to step out upon the 
 frail narrow ledge, for, seen from below, the orna- 
 mental projections have a very open crumbly 
 appearance. They can hardly have been built 
 for any use, and must be considered pure flights 
 of aesthetic fancy. A curious frieze of sculp- 
 tured fish is preserved in this church, a relic of 
 the earlier Sanctuary that occupied the site. The 
 frieze symbolizes the fact that St. Briac, who 
 must by no means be confounded with St. Brieuc, 
 is the special guardian of the fisher folk. 
 
 Behind Dinard where the Ranee enters the 
 bay lies the Vicomte, a bold bluff of great 
 natural beauty whereon the land is cut into 
 building lots and barred off with roughly-cut, 
 straight streets in a way familiar enough. Be- 
 sides a sea front there is here at one side the 
 wild beautiful river valley, fortunately with 
 banks too steep to be cut into lots and hence 
 preserved in its pristine tangle of tree, shrub, 
 
 [61]
 
 Suburbs of S)inar^ 
 
 and creeper. The bare empty streets-to-be 
 have the raw crudeness of what we well know as 
 "unimproved property" for, as yet, few people 
 have ventured to settle on the bleak summit, but, 
 in time, it must arrive, as the French say, and 
 some day will rival the Malouine. Already the 
 church has secured the finest position, and has 
 built a monastery. Although on the sacred 
 spot women are taboo, an obliging caretaker 
 just before the building was occupied permitted 
 two of us to look into the cells facing the long 
 upper corridor. They were bare and uninvit- 
 ing enough. As luck would have it, we were 
 spied by one in authority who chased us away, 
 and put the caretaker through a course of such 
 violent instruction that we realized sharply our 
 guilt in having tempted him from the path of 
 strict obedience. From the point of the bluff 
 you look down on stout old Solidor opposite at 
 such short range that it seems as though a good 
 jumper with a determined spring might easily 
 land on either of the cone peaks without over 
 exerting himself. 
 
 A little further on is the beginning of a long 
 alley of great old trees leading to the manor 
 house that but recently stood alone in its glory 
 in the midst of this wide domain of fertile rolling 
 fields. The straight road is bordered by tangled 
 thickets alive with the twitter of birds, and made 
 gay with many a wild flower upon which the 
 
 [62]
 
 Suburbs ot H)inar& 
 
 full light of the sun has never fallen, so dense is 
 the arched foliage above. The imposing entrance 
 to the chateau, seen down the long shaded vista, 
 seems neglected and disused. Very likely some 
 peasant caretaker is the only inhabitant now of 
 the once stately home. 
 
 The peasant custom of receiving domestic 
 animals as boarders in the home exercises on 
 them a civilising effect quite striking. They 
 have no immunity from the sudden and severe 
 domestic storms which seem necessary for the 
 proper Breton moral training of both animals 
 and children, but they have apparently achieved 
 a philosophy that counteracts rigour, for the con- 
 fident air of comradeship betrayed by Breton 
 dogs and horses, has a quality unapproached by 
 our live stock. 
 
 Old peasants naturally tend towards the occu- 
 pations of nurse or cowherd, and their charges 
 have the best of them. To see a cow lead an old 
 crone by her cord is a sight that excites amuse- 
 ment and sympathy for the victim in about equal 
 proportions. In our neighbourhood browsed 
 a cow named Bobinette. What the old dame, 
 who sat all day on the green slope where she 
 probably knit the family hose for the year, called 
 herself we never knew. The cow called her rnoo 
 with effect every evening, when an invariable 
 dialogue preceded Bobinette's departure. Gath- 
 ering up her work the old woman would approach 
 
 [63]
 
 Suburbs of 2)inar& 
 
 the calmly grazing cow with the conciliatory- 
 remark: "Ah! Bobinette, thou knowest that thy 
 milking time is arrived." Till the caretaker had 
 attained and grasped the long rope that Bobi- 
 nette wore for the adornment of her head, and 
 trailed beside her with snake-like glides or jerk- 
 ing contortions, the cow disdained to respond; 
 but the moment she felt the feeble pull designed 
 to lead her in the way she should go, without 
 raising her muzzle from the feast below, she 
 would give a low moo equivalent to a contrary 
 minded no. Thereupon ensued a wandering 
 see-saw over the face of the field, ending when 
 the cow chose to decide for home, or felt con- 
 strained by such persuasions as : " But, Bobinette, 
 thou hast no sense, thou art not good." "Hast 
 thou forgotten the good barn and the hay.'^" 
 "What behaviour is this that thou shouldest not 
 be obedient? Thou hast no thought, no man- 
 ners." In the end Bobinette would be seen 
 loitering down the road, with many pauses for 
 refreshment, answering with her imperturbable 
 moo the still voluble questions and reproaches 
 of her old friend and guardian. 
 
 64
 
 VI. THE COUNTRY NEAR DINARD 
 
 ANY voyage of discovery or hunt after 
 Breton interiors of the ancient type 
 ^ necessarily begins for us at our own gar- 
 den where the staple crops seem to be snails and 
 apricots. The fig trees give a delusive semi- 
 tropical appearance, but promise no great abund- 
 ance of fruit. As it turned out, the unusually 
 dry season which came near exhausting even the 
 ancient well in the vegetable garden, reduced 
 our apricots to their lowest elements. An Eng- 
 lishman described the apricot as a cross between 
 peach and turnip with too much of the latter. 
 Judged by the specimens we raised, he cruelly 
 slandered the useful turnip, for the Beaumanoir 
 apricot was like nothing in the world but dry 
 sponge, uncrossed by anything. 
 
 There is little danger of straying beyond the 
 summons of the dinner bell, which is sister to 
 the substantial door-bell, and jiggles from a 
 spring just below one of the bedroom windows 
 at the back of the house. The bell-rope dangles 
 before the window of the dining-room, and, in 
 wet weather, its gyrations design fantastic ara- 
 besques on the glass against which decoration 
 
 [65]
 
 Ube Coiintri? near H)inar^ 
 
 the maid bears active spite. The clang of the 
 bell is rich and conventual, extending to the 
 nearby villages, where the cottagers receive due 
 notice of all our meals, since the waitress thor- 
 oughly delights in her pre-prandial exercise with 
 the rope. Our repasts follow closely those of 
 the neighbouring convent where there is a bell 
 that vies with ours. The convent fixes its meals 
 by the noon peal and angelus at the church so, 
 at least three times a day, we are enlivened by 
 chimes worthy of Bruges, that city where bells 
 ring forever. Our neighbours, the sisters, eke 
 out a livelihood by taking summer boarders of 
 either sex, provided the pay be forthcoming, 
 thereby manifesting a breadth of view rather 
 confusing to those acquainted only with con- 
 vents in America where men are held in abhor- 
 rence. 
 
 No sooner had we well established ourselves 
 at Beaumanoir than we discovered that art with 
 a very big A had to be reckoned with. The 
 gigantic umbrella mushrooms that display them- 
 selves hideously throughout the grounds locate 
 the position of aesthetic friends, who, in virtue 
 of their superior talents, consider our sketchery 
 theirs to command. In Brittany, art is part of 
 the anticipated programme, and without it our 
 satisfaction would be incomplete; but, as fre- 
 quently happens, the looked-for blessing assumes 
 an aspect not entirely soothing. Art personified 
 
 [66]
 
 Ubc Countri? near S)inar& 
 
 makes itself coolly comfortable at the expense of 
 the ungifted, and artists leave behind them at 
 home the fine reserve considered ornamental to 
 the closest companionship. This emancipation 
 from conventionality has for us the trying result 
 of denying us any rights that Art is bound to 
 respect. The garden is beautiful, hence it is a 
 proper subject for pictures. The hall and home- 
 like room adjoining lead to the garden, therefore 
 they become a highway for sketchers. As for 
 the pretty closet eii route, designed to hold the 
 porcelain and napery of a century ago, it is so 
 full of dauby traps and wet canvases that no 
 one but a born artist dare open it. Our parasols 
 and umbrellas may lodge where they may. 
 Although with one exception we do not claim to 
 be able to paint pictures, the defect does not 
 strike us as a valid reason for being exiles from 
 our own castle, nor do we understand why our 
 dwelling should be degraded to the level of a 
 mere gateway to the garden ; still, no one has the 
 courage of his exasperation in the matter of pro- 
 test. 
 
 It is rather surprising that the attention of the 
 invaders has not been turned in the direction of 
 a towered farmhouse some distance further 
 along the road. That has few fliowers, to be sure, 
 but it does possess the stout round tower that 
 we lack to our sorrow. A tower, be it known, is 
 a most significant feature of Breton architecture, 
 
 [67]
 
 Zbc Country near S)inar& 
 
 for in the old days only families of a certain 
 rank were permitted to build towers. The 
 presence of that feature in the farmhouse afore- 
 said proves that it set out in life as a chateau. 
 The place possesses trees, barns, and haystacks 
 in superfluity, and ought to "compose" well 
 enough to satisfy the most exacting artistic re- 
 quirements. The gateway is far more imposing 
 than ours, the stone posts higher and thicker, 
 and topped with fat balls which wear has likened 
 rather to boiled puddings than to cannon balls. 
 Inside the gate delusion ends, for the usual 
 spread of swampy barnyard muck extends be- 
 tween that and the door. The interior of the 
 building in no wise repays one for making the 
 dubious passage, since whatever of elegance or 
 interest the house may once have held, has been 
 swept away to give place to the simple white- 
 washed bareness of the farmer's home. The 
 winding staircase of the tower, a heavy axe- 
 hewn spiral, leads to ruin and a brand new roof, 
 from which hangs a stout hempen rope to serve as 
 baluster. But a swinging hand-rail freely sway- 
 ing down a central well lends to the uninitiated 
 faint sense of security when clambering around a 
 twist-about of glassy oak treads hollowed and 
 uneven. 
 
 Back of our garden we may take to the fields 
 which are here prettily divided by lines of bloom- 
 ing gorse. In England the ragged beauty and 
 
 [68]
 
 XTbe Country? near Dinarb 
 
 broad encroaching base of these ridges would not 
 be tolerated, but they certainly add to the gen- 
 eral picturesque effect of the scene. Probably 
 the foundation of these flowery lines is stone, but, 
 when in good repair, they show only heaped 
 earth set with bush, tree, and bramble like a 
 dropsical hedge. Many of the dykes are so old 
 that the trees rooted upon them are full grown. 
 Many of them have fallen into a decay quite in 
 keeping with the tumble-down cabins inhabited 
 by a majority of the peasants. Over all run 
 blackberry trailers in profusion, but the berries 
 are left to dry on the stems for the peasants 
 believe that of blackberry was made Christ's 
 crown of thorns, and, therefore, they hold the 
 plant accursed. They tell you that blackberries 
 produce fever and other maladies, so for that 
 reason untold quantities of possible jam dry up 
 and fall to the ground unheeded. 
 
 In any direction walking in Brittany is a 
 pleasure that in sunnier lands it commonly is 
 not. The sky is usually gray or, if clear, the 
 sun shines with a comfortable, pale, lemon- 
 coloured light that neither raises the road-bed 
 to oven heat nor sears the eyes with its fierce 
 glare. 
 
 Cross-roads must be attacked with circum- 
 spection, for the fact that they have a fair be- 
 ginning does not prove anything regarding the 
 outcome. Occasionally instead of leading into 
 
 [69 1
 
 Ube dountrp near Dinars 
 
 a road beyond, they fetch up suddenly in the 
 impassable mud of somebody's barnyard, and a 
 cart track or two on the opposite shore indicates 
 the only way of exit ahead. 
 
 On every road is seen the donkey, for the 
 donkey-cart is the chosen vehicle of the peasant. 
 The amount of goods the owner succeeds in 
 piling behind one of these patient slender-legged 
 beasts is a matter for wonderment. The diminu- 
 tive donkey trots along merrily dragging behind 
 him what looks like a small mountain, upon the 
 treacherous slope of which, the stolid peasant 
 contrives to fix himself beyond danger of sliding 
 off. That he is able placidly to puff at his pipe 
 in this coign of unstable equilibrium, shows the 
 sound results of generations of careful experimen- 
 tation, and a robust vigour of the nervous sys- 
 tem. 
 
 On every hand stretch broad apple orchards 
 producing the hard, bitter, unpalatable fruit used 
 in the manufacture of cider, much of which, 
 labelled Norman goes to Paris, though the Breton 
 product as sold in this vicinity is sour and bitter 
 with no clear apple taste such as makes the bever- 
 age in our own land beloved of the small boy. 
 The Bretons do not consider cider fit to drink 
 until it is very old, which perhaps accounts for 
 the peculiarity of flavour. By rare chance fresh 
 cider is sometimes obtainable, and is then a 
 trifle more drinkable than the older brands; but, 
 
 [70 1
 
 XTbe Countri? neat Dinart) 
 
 on the whole, it is safe to assume that a real 
 taste for the Breton beverage is of those called 
 acquired. Good wine may need no bush but 
 cider seems not able to dispense with that sig- 
 nificant emblem, and fully one half the cabins 
 throughout the land display above the entrance 
 the mop of mistletoe or sprawl of holly inviting 
 the drinker to test the especial brand of draught 
 provided within. Intoxication is considered a 
 legitimate entertainment on all occasions, and 
 the Breton like his Celtic kindred of other lands 
 entertains himself liberally. 
 
 Breton villages are all made upon one pattern, 
 a pattern common to the more remote districts 
 of Scotland and Ireland also. These hamlets 
 are sprinkled along the roads on every hand with 
 a profusion surprising to visitors from less popu- 
 lous lands. Scarcely is the rank Celtic odour of 
 one haphazard cluster of gray stone cabins left 
 in the rear, than the next is scented from afar. 
 These insignificant aggregations seem hardly 
 worth naming, yet, on the map, each is set 
 down with a title inversely proportioned in 
 length to its size. 
 
 Along the road behind Beaumanoir, which 
 approximately conforms to the coast-line east- 
 ward, villages are strung like gray pearls most 
 skilfully matched. Upon the cliff the highway 
 holds its own till suddenly running against the 
 blank wall of cabin or church, it is forced into a 
 
 [71]
 
 XTbe Countri? near Dinar& 
 
 tortuous wriggle between huts, sheds, barns, and 
 wine-shops, till it worms its way through to the 
 opposite end of the town. Buildings are set 
 down in any direction, according to the fancy of 
 the builder, and it is not unusual, to find the 
 road almost squeezed quite out of existence 
 between opposing corners. The oldest cabins 
 invariably present a side to the high-road, and 
 in this side and its continuation of high wall, 
 the only opening is a gateway through which 
 may be seen stretching off at right angles to the 
 high-road, the long line of dwellings of which the 
 village is composed. These cabins, though usu- 
 ally rectangular are of all heights and sizes, yet 
 each thatched roof seems intent upon hitching 
 itself to its neighbour. The result is a sky line 
 wavy and toppling, in which the older thatch, 
 weedy and moss-grown, patched by bright yel- 
 low renovations, presents an alpine view in 
 miniature. On nearer approach the cabins show 
 very plainly where one generation fits itself into 
 crannies vacated by those gone before. Almost 
 any of the more ancient walls bear distinctly 
 marked diagonal streaks telling where the stand- 
 ing corner of an abandoned ruin has been built 
 upon and pre-empted at a later date, still remote. 
 It is not uncommon to find traces of three or 
 four successive stages of restoration, proving 
 that as many generations were willing to bolster 
 up the place into habitable shape. 
 
 [72 1
 
 Zbc Country? near 2)inar^ 
 
 A large proportion of the houses are built 
 with a niche for a saint's statue above the front 
 door, sometimes the patron saint of the family 
 or village, but most usually that of the Virgin, 
 the especial patroness of fishermen and sailors: 
 of all, in fact, who go down to the sea in ships. 
 The sundial, too, is prominently placed on some 
 important wall, frequently, as are many of the 
 little saints, it is protected by a glass pane, for 
 the moisture of the atmosphere is inimical to 
 unprotected saints, and soon denudes them of 
 external beauties. These numerous adornments 
 add greatly to the picturesque effect of the settle- 
 ments. 
 
 Down the alleys abutting on the road may be 
 seen the real daily life of the people. These vistas 
 are muddy and littered but populous. Old 
 women sit at the door and spin, younger dames 
 wash, sew, or care for their children with a free- 
 dom from restraint quite European, and through- 
 out the entire space tumble babies, cats, dogs, 
 and pigs till you receive the impression that the 
 climate is as stimulating to animal as to vege- 
 table life. Parrots are in great favour, and few 
 cabins fail to show before the windows a large 
 parrot cage, whence continual chattering in- 
 creases the abounding confusion. 
 
 Fine Breton interiors are not to be found in 
 Upper Brittany near the line of travel. In fact 
 the line of travel has a destructive effect on 
 
 [73]
 
 Ube Country near 2)inar^ 
 
 interiors, though the substantial bright brass 
 utensils, that pass from generation to generation 
 of Breton housewives as part of their dowry, may 
 be seen gleaming from almost any hearthside. 
 These may be bought for ridiculously low prices, 
 and make for the artist his most cherished models 
 for still life. There are occasional unfrequented 
 cross-roads a few miles out from Dinard where 
 may be found specimen cottage interiors, but 
 even in these, modern beds are elbowing out 
 picturesque closets, and Yvonne told us once 
 that if we had ever had charge of a patient 
 dangerously ill, we would soon appreciate the 
 advantage of having him off his inclosed shelf, 
 and in the open where he could be properly 
 cared for. Only one cottage did we ever find 
 where change of no kind seemed to have dis- 
 turbed the old ways. Here everything was 
 waxed and polished to the highest lustre, but 
 the woodwork was destitute of carving. On the 
 chest in front of the bed, the family baby in its 
 cradle was being slowly rocked by a little sister, 
 a maid of perhaps ten years, though, who can 
 fix with any certainty the question of ages where 
 all faces are equally smooth and vacant, and 
 all costumes identical! Mama was evidently 
 abroad cultivating the strip of farm. Baby 
 stared up at us gravely with calm round eyes, 
 and Sister, after being assured of our good inten- 
 tions, displayed the furniture we had walked so 
 
 [74]
 
 TTbe Countri? near H)lnar& 
 
 far to see, and conversed with the solemnity of 
 a grown woman in church. Viewed from the 
 back, the child's full skirt, short bodice, cap, and 
 sabots gave the impression of a woman seen 
 through the wrong end of an opera-glass. 
 
 Conversation with the natives, although to be 
 eschewed on account of the vicious accent, is 
 full of interest, and in one respect, at least, en- 
 lightening. The local ''sais paw'' that does 
 service for "Je ne sais pas,'' bears convincing 
 relationship to Sawco, Chicawgo, Walawmette, 
 Arkansaw, and dozens of other aws, brought to 
 Canadian shores and left by natives of northern 
 France to be disseminated through the United 
 States. At intervals along the roads, and at 
 almost every crossing stands the calvaire testi- 
 fying to the fact that, however sceptical may be 
 the peasantry of other parts of France, Brittany 
 remains devoted to the church and its teachings. 
 Indeed, to claim relationship with an ecclesiastic 
 of any order is to the Breton peasant almost 
 equivalent to a patent of nobility. Half the 
 serene self-respect possessed by our good Yvonne 
 arises from the fact, proclaimed early in the 
 course of our acquaintance, that she has one 
 sister who is a religeuse. The faith proclaimed 
 by the Breton crucifix may be rudimentary, but 
 it is sincere, and the variety of these tokens is 
 so great, the antiquity and grotesqueness of 
 many of them so striking, that Napoleon III, 
 
 [75]
 
 TTbe Country near H)inar& 
 
 during a tour through the province, was suflB- 
 ciently impressed by their quaintness to enter- 
 tain a design of having them all restored and 
 put in order. The preliminary report on the 
 subject showed that their number ran into the 
 thousands, and he soon realized that the drain 
 on the public coffers would be too great, so, with 
 regret, he was compelled to abandon the scheme. 
 But if village calvaires are attractive, nothing 
 so praiseworthy can be said of the churches, 
 which are as uninteresting as one can well imag- 
 ine. The newer are severely plain both inside 
 and out. The weather quickly lends a spurious 
 appearance of age to the exterior, but, within, 
 even the older buildings have been scraped and 
 whitewashed into meaningless cleanliness, and 
 the only noticeable features are the votive ships 
 that, suspended by a wire from the ceiling, slowly 
 sway with their freight of dust and cobwebs 
 before the shrine of the favouring saint. One or 
 two belfrys piercing the thick foliage beyond 
 our borders present architectural features that 
 seem promise of better things, but so far as dis- 
 covered the promises are not kept. The little 
 ships, however, testifying gratitude for perils 
 safely overcome are often marvels of ingenious 
 workmanship. Sometimes they signify that the 
 sea returned to shore some loved one dead, who 
 was thus assured of the rites of Christian burial. 
 Breton churches are rarely empty. Old men; 
 
 [76 1
 
 trbe Country near H)inar5 
 
 women whose black shawls prove them to be 
 widows; burden bearers resting body and soul; 
 religiously trained children whose restless eyes 
 rove about as they cross themselves, finger their 
 beads, and murmur the prescribed words; all 
 these come praying for the safety of dear ones 
 far at sea. There are few young men among the 
 worshippers, for the coast is emptied of young 
 vigorous manhood during the summer months. 
 On the coast road the tide with its inward rush 
 or far away withdrawal provides an ever attrac- 
 tive study. A double flow thrust into the nar- 
 rowing channel accounts for its extraordinary 
 height. One influx comes along the French 
 coast from the south-west while a second straight 
 in from the open sea piles upon it and is met by 
 an opposing wash from the North Sea. In the 
 narrow gullies along the coast the force and 
 rapidity of the rush is terrific at times, especially 
 in the spring and autumn when the flood makes 
 a daily variation averaging forty-five feet, and 
 is sometimes raised still higher by strong winds. 
 At low water fully a mile of flat sand and clay 
 lies exposed below our little bathing beach, and 
 out beyond the harbour dozens of rocky islands, 
 hidden when the water is high, dot the scene, 
 which is full of life. People drive out in carts 
 on the level expanse to gather sand or driftwood; 
 children with baskets or nets collect prawns or 
 shell fish, very abundant about the isolated, 
 
 [77]
 
 Ubc Country near H)inarb 
 
 jutting rocks; while pleasure seekers clamber 
 over the jagged cliffs, hunting the marvels of 
 sea life, so rich in this locality. There are many- 
 points of rock where it is quite easy to be caught 
 by the quiet sea of the rising tide. No heavy 
 surf warns the climber, at most, a queer, little, 
 lapping sound, easily overlooked by one inter- 
 ested in the anemones and curious shells, an- 
 nounces the turn of waters that rise insiduously, 
 and flow in on all sides of every rise of ground. 
 Never does sea water take on greater variety 
 of colours! Not only is the water itself bright, 
 beautiful green, but as the tide goes out, and 
 it grows shallow over the sands and sea-weeds, 
 there appears a scale of purples. The changing 
 skies reflect all their shadings upon this sea, and 
 the sun turns it into liquid fire between the long, 
 dark masses of shadow from the irregular shore. 
 There are no tints of blue, green, gray, purple 
 and gold that are not mirrored forth at some 
 time. Perhaps, it never has the clear, light 
 glass green of the water off Biarritz. There it 
 foams through the rocks so pure that the stones 
 below are as visible as in open air, and the colour 
 shades from the opaque white of froth to a tint 
 as faint as the greenish cast seen in the edge 
 of broken glass. In point of variety, however, 
 the sea off Dinard is unrivalled. Under a cloudy 
 sky the dull gray reflections are as changeable 
 as the brighter tints in the sunlight, and at sun- 
 
 [78]
 
 Ube Countri? near H)inar^ 
 
 set, when the blazing windows of St. Servan 
 reflect long streaks of red across the waves, the 
 whole expanse of the bay is of burnished gold. 
 
 The town crier is an institution that came 
 upon us in our walks rather unexpectedly, for he 
 wheels over the face of the land and toots a horn 
 in masterly style that the world may collect to 
 give ear to his tale. The sound of his horn at 
 first suggests a coach, but in time it becomes the 
 welcome herald of an animated personal column, 
 unprinted for lack of a local paper. At set 
 points the man dismounts, and, if on the spot, 
 anybody may hear a full account of coming 
 functions, lost children, casualties of various 
 kinds, and such happenings as seem to him 
 worthy of note. He, at least, talks French, which 
 is more than can be said for most people with 
 whom we come in contact. Of all fallacies, that 
 of living in France to speak the language is the 
 greatest. In Paris every Frenchman talks Eng- 
 lish or does his possible, not to mention the fact 
 that the streets affected by the foreigner are 
 crow^ded with English-speaking people. In Di- 
 nard the speech of the native is to be avoided, 
 and, moreover, the upper servants are generally 
 English. The English colony is omnipresent, 
 and thus English in its native or American form 
 becomes the language of the city. 
 
 79]
 
 VII. THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY 
 
 MOST countries have certain days when 
 the occasion demands bell-ringing and 
 to spare, but the continuous chime that 
 Dinard can supply to celebrate the falling of the 
 Bastille surpasses in that line most performances. 
 To begin with, dawn, the time usually conceded 
 to be proper for opening the exercise comes 
 promptly in midsummer, and sunset which 
 marks the close of the performance is shoved pro- 
 portionately into the background. The long 
 hours intervening are given over to church bells, 
 convent bells, substantial dinner-bells favourably 
 located like our own, and a number of odd munici- 
 pal bells of varied ordinary application. These 
 jangle merrily together or solo till the unsur- 
 passed resources of the town reveal unsuspected 
 possibilities in the way of peals and clangs and 
 tinkles. To round the carnival of noise came 
 isolated booms of cannon, intermittent volleys 
 of musketry, and comparatively feeble crackling 
 of fireworks throughout the day. The account 
 may not sound pleasant or inspiring but we 
 caught the spirit of the people and enjoyed their 
 mirth. 
 
 [80]
 
 XTbe ifourteentb of 3ul^ 
 
 As a matter of fact, the Bastille was no worse 
 than some other prisons to be found throughout 
 the length and breadth of France. The dungeons 
 and oubliettes of Vincennes and the Chatelet 
 were known to be more dreadful than anything 
 the Bastille had to show, but the last named 
 fortress occupied a commanding position, and 
 was a fine example of its class. When in the year 
 1789 the people stormed and demolished it they 
 did a good job, and put on record a protest that 
 all nations must forever regard. 
 
 By evening Dinard took on tones of brilliance. 
 A detachment of war-ships stationed in the har- 
 bour played its searchlights up and down the 
 coast, bringing out ghostly pictures all along the 
 shore. The great beach was the scene of a dis- 
 play of fireworks, tame, perhaps, but appreciated, 
 and the modestly lighted grounds about the 
 Hotel de Ville were thronged with happy folk 
 delighted with the strains of a mediocre band, 
 and fascinated by a very intermittent and 
 placid display of pin-wheels, rockets, and Greek 
 fires. The crush was a trifle too pressing, for 
 though amiable, the peasant en masse is, in spite 
 of his trim appearance, somewhat too odorous 
 for close association. 
 
 The day would have been a failure with the 
 children if they had not been allowed to go to 
 the grounds of the Mairie to see the fireworks 
 and hear the music; so there we went, and for 
 
 [81]
 
 Ube jFourteentb ot 5ulp 
 
 some time squeezed and crowded a passage for 
 them through the mob. At last we gave over, 
 and Jet ourselves be carried around the inclosure 
 with the slow-moving living rotary drift. This 
 soon convinced our small charges that our own 
 terrace was airier, sweeter, and better adapted 
 for sight-seeing, a happy opinion which took us 
 all home in mutual amity. 
 
 The real occasion of the presence of so many 
 war vessels in the harbour was a projected visit 
 of the President of the Republic, which occured 
 in due time shortly after the Fourteenth. 
 
 Brittany, it is well known, is inclined to royal- 
 ism, therefore a little well applied flattery on the 
 part of the democratic powers can do no harm, 
 and may come handy. Gold braid, sashes, 
 medals, and arms are not likely to be taken amiss 
 in any part of France, so on this occasion the 
 President made a progress as nearly royal as 
 consistency would permit. 
 
 The flutter of the Americans over the pros- 
 pective visit seemed to exceed that of the natives, 
 though why this should be so, it is hard to tell. 
 Perhaps they felt that, on general principles, 
 the honour of the cause of democracy lay in their 
 hands, and that by loyal support they might 
 further the propaganda. Our neighbours spent 
 days in devising decorations for an American 
 arch, destined to span one of the highways, and 
 it was expected to be the finest arch exhibited 
 
 [82 1
 
 Zbc jfourteentb ot 3n{^ 
 
 for the presidential approval. Everybody who 
 could paint and some who made no pretensions 
 in that line went to work at coats of arms, since, 
 after much deliberation, these were pronounced 
 to be the most dignified elements of ornamenta- 
 tion for a civic demonstration. It is astonish- 
 ing what a number of separate coats Brittany 
 can furnish from two or three emblems, but in 
 point of variety they certainly fall short. What- 
 ever their deficiencies may be, however, they 
 play a far larger part in the ornamental economy 
 of this country than they seem to in any other 
 known locality. As to France the tri-colour, so 
 to each Breton community its particular varia- 
 tion of the ship-ermine-stag device upon which 
 local patriotism effuses its ardour. 
 
 The American arch was complete in its display, 
 that we can vouch for, since the books of refer- 
 ence and all the artists employed on the collec- 
 tion were gathered at one time or another under 
 the hospitable roof of Beaumanoir. 
 
 The city really blossomed as the rose, being 
 generously plastered from one end to the other 
 with tri-coloured posters announcing the line of 
 march, before which, for days, the peasants from 
 the surrounding country gathered in crowds to 
 make sure just where the coming procession 
 might be best seen. 
 
 Of the three arches erected, the American was 
 on all sides conceded to be most appropriate and 
 
 [83 1
 
 XLbc ifourteentb of ^ul^ 
 
 imposing. Every coat that Brittany boasts 
 grouped about the French arms seemed to satisfy 
 all tastes, and a touch of the stars and stripes 
 signified the nationality of the donors. After 
 all the fuss and preparation, the main part of the 
 President's visit to Dinard was made in St. 
 Malo and nearby towns. When he finally tore 
 himself from the hospitalities en route and reached 
 the city of his ostensible destination, there was 
 a little orating and a greater portion of collating 
 at the Mairie, but for the general public, the 
 great man's progress from the wharf towards the 
 scene of these functions constituted the whole 
 visit. All the world lined the streets, the crowd 
 concentrating in the vicinity of the grand rustic 
 double-arch spanning the divergence of the two 
 main thoroughfares; peasants in holiday attire, 
 shop-keepers, gentry, passing and repassing, 
 greeting and bowing, crowding and chattering, 
 all in a cheerful agitated bustle of happy antici- 
 pation. Over all the sun shone brilliantly. 
 
 Each Dinardais appeared to take the presi- 
 dential visit as, in some degree, a personal honour, 
 but as the welcome guest reached the wharf at 
 ten minutes after three, intending to take a train 
 at ten minutes before four, the allotment of 
 time did not look as though Dinard occupied 
 any very great place in the Presidential calcula- 
 tions. 
 
 The most favorable post of observation was 
 [84 1
 
 Ube jfourteentb of 5uliP 
 
 the high enclosure before the Club, so, in order 
 to make sure of a seat in front of all society 
 wishing front seats along the stone terrace over- 
 looking the deep-cut street, we were forced to 
 occupy our chairs more than an hour before the 
 procession was billed to pass. The tedium of 
 possession was considerably lightened by the 
 view of the peasant crowded road. The caps 
 and aprons of the entire countryside were on 
 exhibition below us, while the greetings and little 
 happenings in the good-natured smiling throng 
 were entertainment in themselves. Still, by the 
 time, somewhat belated, that the detectives 
 made the preliminary tour in search of possible 
 bombs or firearms, the regulation introduction 
 to any European procession, and now, alas! also 
 to our own, we were half tempted to withdraw 
 without sight of the dignitaries to follow. Soon, 
 however, increased stir among the people, rising 
 murmurs of anticipation, and the distant noise 
 of applause revived the flagging interest. Now 
 appeared the police elbowing back the crowd 
 with peremptory severity to make a clear road, 
 and then the carriages began to file past towards 
 the '' Mairie."" The hero of the hour could not 
 possibly be mistaken for anybody else, although 
 every man driving was bedecked to the utmost. 
 There were attendants before and behind, at 
 the sides were guards with firearms, but the 
 President, hat in hand with incessant saluting, 
 
 [85]
 
 TTbe jfourteentb ot 3ulp 
 
 looked as if he had stepped down and collected 
 himself from his generally distributed portraits. 
 The pageant did not last long, but what there 
 was of it seemed to be satisfactory to all. 
 
 Hard water is a grievance common in Europe, 
 and ours in Dinard is no exception to the rule, 
 though perhaps the rills that trickle through the 
 bosky hollows back of Beaumanoir, to end in 
 fanlike silvery expansions on the beach below, 
 furnish a more amenable element, since their 
 course is marked for miles by a succession of 
 linen clad thickets, having the appearance of 
 popped armoires. From one washing pool to 
 the next meanders the soapy overflow, till the 
 lower reaches of all streams attain a thick cloudy 
 grayness, attenuated only by the weekly cessa- 
 tion of slapping, wringing activities on Sunday. 
 At last the sand drinks all, soap, soil, and sedi- 
 ment. 
 
 To look at a washing pool makes one admire 
 the skill that from a shallow puddle with mud 
 bottom and w ater that seems pretty dubious as 
 to cleanliness should come clothes that show 
 white on the bushes, at any rate. The officiat- 
 ing priestess spreads a garment to its widest, 
 gives it a scientific preliminary flourish, and then 
 brings it down on the surface of the pool with a 
 sounding slap. The article is next swayed about, 
 still on the surface of the water, and finally 
 withdrawn to the smooth stone washboard, 
 
 [86]
 
 Xlbe ifourteentb of 5ulp 
 
 and then soaped, flopped, squeezed, and be- 
 laboured with a beef -bone, till the wonder is, that 
 it doesn't become paper pulp. A little study of 
 methods leads the traveller to regard his weekly 
 return of rags with respect. The washing pool 
 under our immediate gaze was perhaps twelve 
 feet square at the side of the high-road behind 
 Beaumanoir. The slanting coping of the sides 
 serve as washboard for as many women as choose 
 to cluster around it. The exiguous stream that 
 feeds it becomes a mere dribble into the upper 
 corner during the height of summer, so that the 
 opposite corners of the pool are green with mould 
 the greater part of the year. The water, too, 
 renewed so sluggishly, becomes so heavy with 
 sediment that it looks too dirty for use; yet, 
 even here the clothes come out fairly white. 
 
 As the warships remained in the harbour some 
 time, and the public received a generous invita- 
 tion to visit them, we decided to accept, but 
 wind, weather, and circumstances turned against 
 us and we gained the side of the Admiral's ship, 
 only to learn, with such softening as polite cir- 
 cumlocution could effect, that, as preparations 
 for a ball were in progress, the ship was closed 
 to the public for that day. We tried coaxing, 
 to the astonishment of the Frenchman, whose 
 fiat had been pronounced, and we had it anew 
 impressed upon our minds, that we must wait till 
 we reached home before trying to utilize the pro- 
 
 [87]
 
 Ube jfourteentb of Jul^ 
 
 found bows and graceful flourishes of exterior 
 courtesy. It does sometimes seem as though 
 it need not be too injurious to the self-respect 
 of the average European man to expect him to 
 swerve aside from his chosen course enough to 
 let a woman pass him without stepping into the 
 gutter to do so; but they may have good and 
 sufficient reasons for their own way of doing. 
 
 While in our disappointment we railed during 
 the homeward trip we met a wedding party 
 trudging towards the Mairie, a rather doleful 
 looking train, though there is probably more 
 festivity about the affair than appears to the 
 outsider; as much, in fact, as appertains to wed- 
 dings in general, where the groom clinches his 
 teeth to see it out, the bride makes it a point of 
 pride not to weep, and her mother, disregarding 
 conventionalities, lets the honest tear course 
 adown the wrinkle by her nose. Our procession 
 was of course headed by the bridal pair, wearing 
 gloves as the crowning elegance of costume de- 
 manded by the occasion. The groom, appar- 
 ently younger than the bride, had already im- 
 bibed courage in the liquid form of cider till his 
 progress held circular possibilities. Following 
 the leaders came the parents and elders doing 
 their best to instil into the somewhat awed 
 company a jollity befitting the occasion. The 
 girls, paired off with youths who made the body 
 of the train, were doing their best to recall the 
 
 [85]
 
 Ubc jfourteentb of S\xl>g 
 
 minds of their escorts from visions of unlimited 
 gratuitous cider, with but meagre results. The 
 exhibition as a whole seemed a depressing com- 
 mentary upon marriage as a Breton institution, 
 still, a spontaneous festivity certainly develops 
 at some period of the affair, for, from the tavern, 
 which is the scene of the last stages of proceed- 
 ings, sounds of revelry ring far into the night, so 
 boistrous and loud that the entire neighbourhood 
 must lie awake to listen. 
 
 To have the chattering birds announce day- 
 light around three o'clock when getting up is 
 strictly regulated by the movements of a white 
 capped maid who appears at the bedside with 
 coffee and rolls to strengthen resolve in the mat- 
 ter, has some disadvantages. Of us, there were 
 sturdy workers who protested against this way 
 of doing, and made a brave beginning by invad- 
 ing Yvonne's dining-room in the morning, but 
 the reception accorded to them by that discom- 
 fited devotee of tradition threw them back into 
 the ranks of the "lazybones." Every experi- 
 enced person knows how insidious are European 
 customs in the matter of breakfast. Our blatant 
 energetics sing now very softly, and, to all out- 
 ward appearance, take breakfast in bed quite as 
 comfortably as the rest of us. 
 
 The fixed disapproving gaze of the elevated 
 ancestors beneath which we move and have our 
 daily being is unduly stimulating to the imagina- 
 
 [89]
 
 Zbc jfourteentb of 3ul^ 
 
 tion. We are not ordinarily prying, but a keen 
 curiosity concerning their lives and doings is 
 but natural under the circumstances, though it 
 meets with little encouragement from Yvonne 
 or the family. The largest canvas suspiciously 
 resembles Louis XV, and opens a wide field for 
 the vagrant fancy in which we can scarcely ex- 
 pect the descendants to guide us. A particularly 
 valiant warrior in the corner, so incased in armour 
 that he looks like a tin turtle, doubtless ended his 
 warfare centuries ago, yet, if he were to return 
 to earth to-day, and hide his glittering glories 
 beneath well worn overalls, I am sure we should 
 take him for our proprietor and never know that 
 we had met a ghost. 
 
 The earliest spring blossom about Dinard is 
 codfish. With the first ray of a drying sun the 
 fences in all directions are trimmed with the 
 flattened salted store of the fisher folk, and the 
 world may know that the new season has begun. 
 
 So many people make Dinard their permanent 
 home, that the world is never entirely stranded 
 at social ebb tide. Still, early spring gives little 
 warning of the whirl that engulfed us during 
 *'the season." To the elders the round was as 
 monotonous as it always is in a small place, but 
 the young people were of the age when naught 
 bearing the stamp of gaiety comes amiss. 
 
 The Casino, with its tireless little horses and 
 firm bridge, by means of which the impecunious 
 
 [90 1
 
 Zbc ifourteentb of 5uli? 
 
 daily strive to acquire plasters that shall heal 
 the gaping wounds of their fortunes, and the 
 pecunious strive equally to add tissue to theirs; 
 the dances, where people in full dress continue 
 the conversation broken off in golf costume at 
 St. Lunaire or over tea cups at the Woman's 
 Club; the luncheons and dinners at which with 
 the same people is aired the same reckless criti- 
 cism and scandal that seem to develop naturally 
 in expatriated communities; the walking; the 
 automobiling; the driving; the whole rush catches 
 surrounding life in a waterspout that swings it 
 higher and higher, and at last throws it out upon 
 Paris, London, or transatlantic steamers, ex- 
 hausted enough to appreciate the misprized rest 
 possible only in a big city. 
 
 The event most enjoyable of the gay season 
 proved to be tableaux, perhaps, because that 
 designed by our particular Artist at Beaumanoir 
 was conceded to be the most effective. It came 
 near falling through for want of a peacock, that 
 bird of ill luck being too great a hazard for the 
 superstition of the community, but perseverance 
 conquered the peacock stuffed, and much glory 
 came therewith. 
 
 [91]
 
 VIII. EARLIEST BRITTANY 
 
 SEEK wisdom where she may be found, and 
 that is among the stalls of the rive gauche. 
 We found her in a yellow dress, and on 
 that peculiar rough paper that proclaims cheap 
 French literature, but till we were settled had no 
 time to pursue her. 
 
 The book is a fat little History of Dinan, pub- 
 lished in that city in 1857 and written by the 
 curator of the small museum there, Luigi Odorici. 
 Wherever the author's history coincides with 
 our own acquisitions, it is noticeably inaccurate, 
 but as legendary history need not be accurate, 
 and as he prefaces his work with much that we 
 have never found in English, it may not be amiss 
 to quote him. As the saints whose odd or un- 
 pronovmceable names are scattered broadcast 
 have been so long gone that no one knows their 
 stories, so these legendary kings come to us 
 from pre-historic times shorn of but a poor rem- 
 nant of their stirring actions. 
 
 Gratian of Rome, as we all know, preferred 
 hunting to ruling, so in Albion and the Third 
 Lyonais he left Maximus to his own devices. 
 Now a praetor, or what not, who has a fine prov- 
 
 [92]
 
 jearliest JSrittans 
 
 ince fairly thrown at him, can hardly be blamed 
 for seizing the real power, which in Albion the 
 natives were but too willing to give him, and in 
 the Lyonais he secured it with the assistance 
 of a native prince, Conan by name, at which 
 time came over those Bri tains that have given 
 the peninsula its name. 
 
 Conan, a refugee from Albion, having had op- 
 portunity to observe the ease with which in the 
 year 383, Maximus threw off the Roman yoke, 
 apparently decided that he would practise a 
 similar policy. With his more than willing clans- 
 men he revolted on his own account, and suc- 
 ceeded in establishing himself, King of Brittany, 
 first of a line of sovereigns, all but one of which 
 were Celtic. 
 
 As for his methods they were treacherous 
 viewed in the light of to-day, but that was a time 
 when treachery and war belonged together. As 
 kings go, Conan was good, and kept peace be- 
 tween the indigenous tribes and their newly im- 
 ported kinsmen, so that fusion began which 
 resulted in the later Breton race. 
 
 It is probable that the land, worn out and 
 harried by the exactions of the Romans, was 
 ready to accept with little adverse criticism any 
 rule which promised protection from outside 
 interference. Certain it is, that Conan received 
 the title of Meridec, or Great King, and from all 
 accounts he must have been truly patriotic. 
 
 [93]
 
 Barliest Brittany 
 
 His character comes down to us as strong, able, 
 and upright in all relating to his usurped govern- 
 ment. 
 
 The early history of Brittany falls into three 
 distinct periods, one royal and two ducal. 
 Conan's line ruled as kings in their own right 
 quite aside from France and its interests. A 
 line of native dukes succeeded the kings. These 
 were often allies of the French monarch, but in 
 no wise acknowledged his supremacy. In time, 
 however, the politic and far-seeing neighbour 
 sovereigns furthered matrimonial connections 
 between the two ruling houses, so that on the 
 extinction of the line of native dukes, their 
 natural successors were also of the royal family 
 of France, and thus as head of the family, if not 
 as overlord, the King of France claimed the 
 allegiance of the latest Breton princes. 
 
 Awaking to the situation, the Romans, too 
 late, stirred up the people of Aquitaine to help 
 them drive out Conan, but Conan did the driving 
 himself. He pursued the Aquitainians into their 
 own capital, Avaricum, which he seized, and 
 later established his court at Nantes, from which 
 city he promulgated wise laws for the regulation 
 of navigation, the erection of proper defences, the 
 establishment of religious houses and churches, 
 and the maintenance of good municipal govern- 
 ment in his cities. The religious affairs of Brit- 
 tany had always been in the hands of the Bishop 
 
 [94]
 
 ^Earliest ^Brittanp 
 
 of Bourges, but Conan achieved the independ- 
 ence of the bishopric of Tours, by which the 
 Bishop of Tours became Metropohtan of Brit- 
 tany. It was St. Martin of Tours who died 
 rejoicing that largely through his personal la- 
 bours almost all Gaul had become Christian. 
 
 Having by his sagacious rule consolidated his 
 power, Conan died about 421 A. D. After the 
 fashion of the time he left the kingdom to be 
 partitioned among his sons, but the people sup- 
 ported the claim of his great-grandson, Salomon, 
 whose reign was brought to a sudden close by his 
 assassination in 434. 
 
 The summary disposal of Salomon left the 
 way clear for the accession of the famous legen- 
 dary hero, Gradlon or Grallon, Count of Corn- 
 ouaille, or Cornwall. Tales and legends innum- 
 erable have for their subject Grallon's piety, his 
 wicked daughter, his founding the Abbey of Lan- 
 devnec. Even the indefatigable poet Botrel, 
 who has spent years in ferreting out the old 
 ballads of Brittany, has not come to the end of 
 this theme. The bards of the market place 
 begin early to sing of Grallon and hold a rapt 
 audience all day. In the evening they appar- 
 ently make a note of the stanza where they left 
 off, and the next morning go on from where they 
 got to the night before. 
 
 The next king, Audren, was contemporaneous 
 with Atilla, in the wholesome fear of whom, the 
 
 [95 1
 
 i£arliest Brittany? 
 
 difference between Breton and Roman was for- 
 gotten. Audren waited for no second invitation 
 to get beneath the miUtary wing of Aetius, and 
 Erech also, elected in 464 pursued the same 
 policy. The disorder and confusion of this time 
 undoubtedly account for the appearance of a 
 Roman name next in the royal line, though of 
 this Eusebius little has come down to us, and 
 that little is bad. Possibly, like the Carthagin- 
 ians, he suffers in reputation from having been 
 sung by hostile bards by whom he was considered 
 a cruel alien despot. The Bretons brand him as a 
 monster, but he had a fierce mixed race to master 
 and, that he managed to keep them under con- 
 trol and in a certain degree of order, seems to 
 indicate that of ability he was not lacking. He 
 could not, however, live in peace and hold his 
 court at Nantes, so he formed a separate prov- 
 ince of Lower Brittany, under the name of 
 Domnonee, and made Vannes his capital, send- 
 ing Budic, the second son of Audren, into exile 
 in Britain. 
 
 After some years the Bretons succeeded in 
 driving the usurper from the throne. They re- 
 called their own prince Budic, and set him on 
 the seat of his ancestors. 
 
 The nation to which young Budic returned 
 differed in many respects from that ruled by 
 Grallon. The recent upheavals had resulted in 
 much displacement of races. New Gaulish 
 
 [96 1
 
 ^earliest Btittanp 
 
 tribes had sought refuge in the mountains of 
 Brittany, and the Teutonic invasions of Britain 
 had driven fresh hordes of refugees from that 
 island. These with the older inhabitants formed 
 three distinct peoples. 
 
 The Gauls swarmed on the frontiers, the Bri- 
 tons occupied the coasts facing their late home, 
 while the indigenous Celts, true to their fate, 
 were pushed before the invading hosts down into 
 the extreme end of their tongue of land. 
 
 Fortunately for Budic, a strong outward pres- 
 sure tended to weld his subjects into national 
 unity. Clovis had set his heart on extending his 
 sway over the Bretons, and self-preservation 
 forced all Brittany to work together to keep 
 Prankish ambition at bay. 
 
 Throughout the life of Budic the Bretons suc- 
 cessfully withstood Clovis, but when, in 509, 
 their brave king died, the Frank obtained tempo- 
 rary foothold in the province, drove its young 
 prince, Hoel, in later years called the Great, into 
 exile, and fondly fancied that Bretagne had been 
 permanently conquered. 
 
 Hoel bided his time in England, and was well 
 received at the court of King Arthur. When he 
 had attained to man's estate, the noble Arthur, 
 touched by the tale of his misfortunes, furnished 
 the young prince with troops and bade him win 
 back his kingdom. 
 
 In 513, Hoel set sail, and on landing on Amori- 
 [97]
 
 lEarllest Brittani? 
 
 can shores was joyfully received by his devoted 
 subjects. He immediately attacked the Franks 
 with such vigour that they were forced to retire 
 to the Seine. Then he also went to Paris and 
 extorted from King Clotaire the confirmation of 
 all his powers. 
 
 Side by side with the temporal advancement 
 of the kingdom went its spiritual well-being, if, 
 indeed, this did not outstrip the political pace. 
 Of great men in the church Brittany has always 
 produced more than its due proportion, and in 
 these early times its saints and bishops were al- 
 ready men of world-wide fame. In the reign of 
 Hoel a further division of the ecclesiastical power 
 took place, and Dol became the metropolitan 
 bishopric of Brittany which removed the country 
 from the jurisdiction of Tours, and made it 
 spiritually as well as politically independent of 
 France. 
 
 Although in the end, Hoel was succeeded by 
 his son, Hoel II, Brittany for a long time under- 
 went all the miseries resulting from the partition 
 of power among many sons, that royal custom 
 that remained so long in force, and led to so much 
 unnecessary bloodshed. In the approved fash- 
 ion Hoel II gradually disposed of a wide family 
 connection, but still, in spite of his ability as poi- 
 soner, murderer, and robber, he was not power- 
 ful enough to secure for himself a peaceful reign. 
 As for Hoel's successor, his son, the weakling 
 
 [98]
 
 Barliest Brittanp 
 
 was content to pass an aimless life at the court 
 of Clotaire, nominally king, but flattered and 
 wheedled out of any real desire to act the part. 
 By the incapacity of this man, Alain I, called 
 Judual, the limits of the kingdom were restricted 
 to the county of Rennes, while his relatives made 
 themselves masters of the other provinces. 
 Theodoric took the greater part of Cornouaille; 
 Connobert was Count of Nantes; Comor, whom 
 we know well as the redoubtable Blue Beard, was 
 Count of Leon; and Waroch, son of the famous 
 Macliau, called by the Romans Maclovius, 
 whence Maclou and Malo, made himself Count 
 of Vannes. We can see from this list that dis- 
 tracted Brittany at this time, produced some of 
 its most celebrated men. 
 
 Of all claimants for power, Waroch was by far 
 most formidable, as Chilperic discovered, when, 
 advancing with his army as far as the river 
 Vilaine, with the intention of seizing the country, 
 he met the warlike Waroch, and suffered entire 
 defeat. 
 
 Waroch's pious father had made him enter a 
 monastery. From being monk the son had be- 
 come bishop, but a bishopric was by no means 
 the office to content him. He desired to become 
 prince, and being certainly the strongest and 
 ablest of the contending nobles, the Bretons, 
 weary of incessant fighting, gladly flocked to his 
 standard. He recognized the feeble Alain as 
 
 [99]
 
 Barltest Brittany 
 
 overlord, which satisfied the nation, always true 
 to its king, and left him free to pursue the terrible 
 course of warfare, by which, at the time of his 
 death, in 594, he had ridded Brittany of all in- 
 vading foes. 
 
 Thanks to Waroch's thorough execution, 
 Alain's son, Hoel III, ascended his throne with- 
 out encountering any opposition to speak of, and 
 managed also to keep away the grasping French. 
 This Hoel is said to have had twenty -two chil- 
 dren, all cenobites. 
 
 In 612, Hoel III was succeeded by his fourth 
 son, Salomon II who wrested the crown from 
 his elder brother, whom he relegated to a con- 
 vent, and reigned with great wisdom for twenty- 
 five years, during which he contrived to get 
 along peaceably with the neighbouring kingdom, 
 and found time to establish abbeys and religious 
 houses of one kind or another in sufficient number 
 to ensure pardon for whatever might be amiss 
 in his personal career. 
 
 No sooner had Salomon gone the way of all 
 flesh than the defrauded and forcibly monasti- 
 cised brother, who had nursed his wrongs in 
 seclusion for twenty years, amid surroundings 
 favourable to the well-being of his body, and inci- 
 dentally, of his soul, came out, and reassumed 
 the crown as Judicael. The good king Dagobert 
 kept an eye on Judicael, and his realm which he 
 hoped some day to get for himself. He made a 
 
 [100]
 
 Barliest Brittany 
 
 flattering treaty with the monkish king, and 
 invited him to visit the court of France. Simple 
 Judicael was only too happy to display his pomp 
 and magnificence while Dagobert and his court 
 praised and admired without stint, but, all the 
 time, the churchmen were busy working upon 
 his superstitions, and the result was, that Judi- 
 cael, worried about having turned his back on 
 religion, abdicated in favour of Judoc. 
 
 Unfortunately the plotters had chosen too 
 weak a tool, for Judoc flatly refused to be a 
 king, and Judicael was obliged by his people to 
 go on reigning since they had no notion of giving 
 Dagobert a foothold in the land. 
 
 At last the priests scared Judicael too thor- 
 oughly, — for in that day they had the art of 
 stirring souls at their fingers' ends — so he broke 
 away, and ran off to the cloister, leaving the 
 kingdom to the perils of an interregnum. 
 
 The heir Alain II was a little child, and even 
 when he became a man he proved to be an inca- 
 pable faineant who never fairly emerged from 
 obscurity, and whose reign is a blank so far as 
 he is concerned. His death was one of the 
 mysterious takings off so common to mediaeval 
 royalty, and his son, Grallon II found his claim 
 to the crown contested by a host of descendants 
 from the younger line of Budic. These had 
 held high holiday of late, and, by the time Gral- 
 lon appeared to claim his rights, they were power- 
 
 [101]
 
 lEarlieat Brittany 
 
 ful enough to limit sensibly his power in his 
 hereditary fief of Cornouaille. From 690 to 
 818 Brittany was practically a republic rent by 
 strife between contending nobles, with France 
 standing ready to take advantage of every mis- 
 step. France seized church lands, exacted trib- 
 ute, and pushed its own exasperating claims. 
 A quarrel for the possession of Cornouaille be- 
 tween Grallon's nephew, Daniel, and a certain 
 Budic, attracted the perilous interest of Charle- 
 magne who put an end to the strife by calmly 
 taking to himself the province, a proceeding 
 stoutly resisted by the natives who gave the 
 great king trouble enough. 
 
 Immediately after Charlemagne's death, Mor- 
 van, the rightful heir of Cornouaille, stopped 
 paying tribute, and assumed the title of king. 
 But Morvan was no match for Louis le Debon- 
 naire, and before long he was forced to flee to 
 the forests, where he kept up the losing fight till 
 he died arms in hand, leaving to his compatriots 
 an inspiring example of indomitable bravery. 
 
 For two years longer the French were able to 
 hold the Bretons at bay, but then Wiomarch 
 headed a general insurrection, and for a while 
 kept out the usurpers. Louis bestirred himself 
 actively, and after a stoutly contested struggle, 
 re-established the former order of things in forty 
 days after Wiomarch 's uprising, but to do so it 
 was necessary to kill the native chief. An assas- 
 [ 102 1
 
 Barliest Krtttanp 
 
 sin, Lantbert by name, surprised and murdered 
 Wiomarch, thus depriving the Bretons of the 
 leadership that had secured their temporary vic- 
 tory. 
 
 So, at last, we reach the great Nominoe, cele- 
 brated in song and story. This ruler is distin- 
 guished by his deeds rather than by his birth, 
 though, since the liberation of his native land 
 necessitated the destruction of some abbeys 
 which were hotbeds of French resistance, the 
 priestly chroniclers give him a sorry character, 
 and would have us regard him as an unscrupu- 
 lous tyrant. 
 
 In the beginning of Nominoe's career Louis 
 of France, recognising his prudence, valour, and 
 ability, made the fateful mistake of appointing 
 him governor of Brittany. 
 
 With a vivid memory of Maximus and Conan, 
 and a warm appreciation of their course, No- 
 minoe lost no time in attempting to deliver the 
 land from bondage. In this endeavour he was 
 heartily seconded by the people who cordially 
 hated their conquerors, so before many months 
 had passed, Nominoe was king of all but Nantes, 
 which remained in the hands of Lantbert, styled 
 Count of Nantes; but as the hireling Lantbert 
 twice surrendered his city to the recently arrived 
 Northmen, his subjects, resenting piratic amen- 
 ities, drove out the Count, and put themselves 
 under the protection of Nominoe. The latter 
 [103]
 
 lEarliest 36rittanp 
 
 ruler was actively keeping up a brave fight 
 against the French, who carried war and deso- 
 lation over the face of the land. Driven to ex- 
 tremities, and perceiving, as many a ruler before 
 and since has had occasion to, that the church 
 was a tower of strength to his enemies, Nominoe 
 resolved upon the course which ruined his repu- 
 tation with his monkish chroniclers. He dis- 
 posed of a round number of refractory bishops, 
 and set in their shoes ecclesiastics of his own 
 choosing, who were naturally more capable of 
 intelligently grasping his ideas of government, 
 a measure which worked d merveille, and soon 
 settled the French question. That these changes 
 might be sweeping enough for his purposes the 
 king invented two new bishoprics, Treguier and 
 St. Brieuc, which made now nine in all Brittany: 
 Nantes, Rennes, Quimper, Vannes, Dol, Leon, 
 and Aleth being the others. 
 
 Such arbitrary activity on the part of one 
 whose power was by right of sword only, rendered 
 the more conservative and superstitious of his 
 subjects mistrustful, but the not too scrupulous 
 Nominoe, on observing this effect of his states- 
 manship, in defiance of much opposition, caused 
 himself to be consecrated in the cathedral of 
 Dol, with a high-handed disregard of precedent 
 quite in keeping with his earlier measures. He 
 laughed at the protest of the evicted dignitaries, 
 turned a deaf ear to the angry remonstrances of 
 
 [104]
 
 Earliest Brlttani? 
 
 the Archbishop of Tours, snapped his royal 
 fingers at the Bishop of Nantes, who refused to 
 recognise the ceremony, and was deposed for 
 not presenting himself at it. Nantes was im- 
 mediately provided with a new bishop more 
 appreciative of coronations. 
 
 Meanwhile Charles the Bald saw with chagrin 
 that Brittany was slipping from his grasp, and, 
 with a hastily collected force of Franks advanced 
 to meet the resourceful Breton whom he found 
 quite ready to receive him, well intrenched near 
 the Vilaine where it washed the walls of the 
 monastery of Ballon. The French fought their 
 best for two days without being able to dis- 
 lodge Nominoe, then he assumed the offensive, 
 sallied forth, and drove them on a tight run to 
 Mans, which place of refuge they reached just 
 in time to escape falling into the power of the 
 enemy. 
 
 From this time, 846, the French gave up their 
 hopes of outwitting their strong neighbour, but 
 the leisure afforded by independence gave No- 
 minoe too much time in which to review his past 
 course. A doubt seems to have assailed him as 
 to the constitutionality of certain proceedings, 
 and the disapproval of his spiritual superiors 
 had a chance to sink to the proper depth in 
 his soul. At this time we see him making un- 
 usual efforts to square accounts with the higher 
 powers. He made large grants to the Abbey of 
 
 [105]
 
 learltest JBrtttani^ 
 
 Redon, and founded St. Magloire at Lehon, the 
 parent house of St. Magloire at Paris. 
 
 Nominoe died in the midst of an expedition 
 against Chartres, which he undertook after 
 reducing Vendome, and his son, Erispoe, 851, 
 ascended the throne. Salomon, a nephew of the 
 late king, instigated by Charles of France, im- 
 mediately contested the succession, and in less 
 than a year, succeeded in wresting from Erispoe 
 the county of Rennes. In this cession was laid 
 the foundation of the later decided French 
 influence in Breton politics, since in losing a 
 third of his kingdom, Nantes, for which Erispoe 
 did homage to the French king, attained undue 
 prominence in Breton affairs. Then, too, re- 
 newed attacks of the Northmen so occupied 
 Erispoe through two critical years, that Charles 
 and Salomon between them found an excellent 
 opportunity to confirm themselves in usurpation. 
 
 That he might win over the Breton people, 
 Charles proposed a marriage between his own 
 son and Erispoe's daughter. Salomon, however, 
 took this proposal in high dudgeon, since his 
 own power might suffer from the projected alli- 
 ance, so, to make sure of having no further 
 trouble in that direction, he caused his cousin to 
 be assassinated before the high altar where he 
 had fled for refuge. By taking action thus 
 promptly, Salomon, son of Nominoe's eldest 
 brother, Rivallon, aided also by the convenient 
 [106]
 
 jearliest Brittany 
 
 disappearance of minor claimants, came to the 
 throne as third of his name, in 857. 
 
 As might have been supposed, the new king 
 from the first, was the subservient tool of France. 
 The allied monarchs made the Northmen yield 
 Angers which they had seized, and for his sup- 
 port Salomon received from Charles, besides 
 material rewards not to be despised, a series of 
 honours nicely calculated to flatter his barbaric 
 pride. He was permitted to array himself in 
 royal purple at court and to wear a gold ring, he 
 might have his own archiepiscopal coinage, and, 
 more desirable than all else, he should take pre- 
 cedence of the other kings. These marks of 
 favour were to be hereditary in his family. 
 Charles gave him Coutances, and a part of 
 Avranches and Cotentin. In the overflowing 
 satisfaction of his soul Salomon at once im- 
 proved on his ancient title, and proclaimed him- 
 self, "Prince of all Brittany and Part of France." 
 
 As had been the case with his predecessor, 
 seven years of undisputed sovereignty gave 
 Salomon too much time to think. The irregular 
 act which had brought such rich reward began 
 to assume a hue of crime, and the comfort of 
 his evening meditations was alloyed by anxiety 
 to patch up some sort of peace with the saint 
 whose altar he had been obliged to desecrate. 
 As the time drew near in which, if things went 
 well with him, he bade fair to be thrown into 
 [107]
 
 Barliest Brittani? 
 
 the immediate society of the worthy saint him- 
 self, and in all probability would need his good 
 oflSces, Salomon went at building monasteries 
 and relieving the wants of the poor with a 
 frenzied zest that seems to have been largely 
 wasted, and as a last resort betook himself to a 
 cloister to see what prayer would do for him. 
 
 Not alms-giving or devotions availed to quiet 
 the criticisms of the more censorious among the 
 nobles, and the king was constrained to issue 
 from retirement temporarily that he might call 
 an assembly of the nation to confirm his abdica- 
 tion and the peaceful succession of his son. Two 
 bishops and two counts were the sum total of 
 lords spiritual and temporal rounded up by the 
 royal threats and commands, all others having 
 previous engagements in conspiracies against the 
 throne. Perceiving this suspicious coolness to- 
 wards his interests, Salomon and his son betook 
 themselves without delay to the refuge offered 
 by the altar of St. Sauveur of Plelan, where the 
 traitors speedily followed and found them. He 
 might have remembered that his own example 
 was prejudicial to regard for the sanctity of 
 altars. The nobles apparently thought his way 
 good enough for them, for after slaying the son in 
 the sacred place, they tore out the father's eyes 
 and further injured him so that he died the next 
 day, losing the crown in the way he had gained 
 it. The power now became divided between 
 
 [108 1
 
 Barliest JBrittan^ 
 
 Gurven, Count of Rennes, and Pasquiten, 
 Count of Vannes ; an arrangement which, as may 
 be imagined, did not wear well. Charles of 
 France immediately bombastically proclaimed 
 himself king in default of direct heirs, but found 
 the claim easier to make than to keep. Gurven, 
 Erispoe's son-in-law, had already endeared him- 
 self to the people by a spirited defeat of the 
 Northmen. Abandoned by his cowardly allies, 
 Gurven had encountered Hastings and his ravag- 
 ing Danes on the Loire to their complete dis- 
 comfiture. This roused Pasquiten's jealousy 
 and led him to make common cause with the 
 Northmen in a descent on Rennes; thus he un- 
 wisely destroyed his last chance of rivalling Gur- 
 ven in the affections of the nation. Gurven, 
 although at the time sick unto death, appeared 
 in the field and was once more victorious, but 
 the effort cost him his life. A few days later, 
 Pasquiten was treacherously assassinated by the 
 very Northmen for whom he had turned traitor. 
 Each man left heirs and the two crowns became 
 hereditary in their respective families. 
 
 Pasquiten as Count of Vannes was succeeded 
 by Alain III, the Great, while Rennes fell to 
 Gurven's son Judicael, whose mother was a 
 daughter of Erispoe, which made him Nominoe's 
 great-grandson. Renewed attempts of France 
 to conquer Brittany caused these two princes to 
 forget their differences, for their hereditary 
 
 [ 109 ]
 
 Barliest Brittani? 
 
 enemies had aided a descent of the Northmen on 
 the Morbihan coast. Judicael imprudently at- 
 tacked the French without waiting for his ally 
 to come up, and lost his life in the encounter, 
 though his forces gained the victory, killing, it 
 is said, fifteen thousand Northmen. 
 
 Alain now became sole ruler, and for thirty 
 years the land rejoiced under his beneficent rule. 
 His only child, a daughter, was wife of Mathue- 
 doi, Count of Poher, but on Alain's death in 
 907, instead of proclaiming the Countess Queen, 
 an interregnum of thirty years was maintained, 
 during which the Northman Rollo ravaged the 
 coasts unchecked. Mathuedoi's son and the 
 chief nobles sought the ever grateful protection 
 to be found in England, till they learned that 
 Charles the Simple, taking advantage of their 
 desertion of their posts, contemplated sending 
 an army into Brittany to accomplish the long 
 desired conquest of the country. This news 
 brought the Bretons home in haste in 937, only 
 to be driven again into exile by the Northmen. 
 
 The Northmen just at this time were having 
 everything pretty much their own way, and when 
 Alain got back to England, what was his surprise 
 to find there Louis IV, son of Charles of France, 
 in no better case than himself. The two princes 
 condoled with each other equally grateful for 
 the hospitality they were enjoying. 
 
 A year later Alain IV, Twisted-beard, returned 
 [110]
 
 ^earliest Brittanp 
 
 to better purpose. He appeared unexpectedly 
 on the coast near Dol, cut the barbarians to 
 pieces, and recovered successively Dol, St. 
 Brieuc, and Nantes which had been reduced 
 to a mere heap of ruins. Alain lost no time in 
 restoring the city, and before a great while made 
 it again his capital. 
 
 On the death of Alain, in 952, the counties of 
 Nantes and Vannes went to a natural son, Hoel 
 IV who created his brother, another natural son. 
 Bishop of Nantes. For twenty -seven years, in 
 the face of domestic treason, plundering incur- 
 sions of barbarians, who were incited by the 
 intriguing Conan, son of the Count of Rennes, 
 and minor difficulties, Hoel clung to the royal 
 power; but, finally, pursued into the depths of 
 the woods by one of Conan's mercenaries during 
 a chase, the king was perfidiously done to death, 
 and left with the spear of the enemy run through 
 his body. Favoured by night the murderer fled 
 into the heart of the forest and made off. 
 
 At the news of this treachery the doughty 
 Bishop of Nantes threw aside his sacred regalia, 
 and determined to revenge his brother's death. 
 Foulkes of Anjou was only too glad of a chance 
 to join in the fight, and dispute on his own ac- 
 count Conan's right to the title of chief of Brit- 
 tany. The warrior bishop and his willing ally 
 met the enemy on the plain of Conquereux in 
 a bloody though indecisive battle. 
 
 [Ill]
 
 JEarliest Brtttani? 
 
 The bishop, Guerech by name, was poisoned 
 in 990. He left a minor son who shortly died, 
 removing at a most convenient season, the most 
 serious obstacle to Conan's supremacy, ac- 
 knowledged by the nation as a whole. But in 
 ascending the throne the new king failed to take 
 into account the deadly hatred of Foulkes of 
 Anjou who forced him to give battle on the very 
 site of the earlier combat, and there Conan met 
 his death, ending in a Conan the line of sover- 
 eigns begun by a Conan. 
 
 [112]
 
 IX. ST. MALO 
 
 WHEN times are dull in Dinard there is 
 always St. Malo by way of tempered 
 gaiety, and, for a spice of peril, the 
 hackneyed tale that the ferry boats are con- 
 demned channel steamers, bought at a bargain, 
 and patched up to do service here. In fair 
 weather that aspersion does not count, but when 
 waves swash clear across the decks, when foaming 
 crests bat and break high on the plunging smoke- 
 stacks, when the small tub gyrates so boisterously 
 as even to shuttle the classes together; then the 
 mind reverts to the patches. 
 
 The classes are, of course, fenced apart, but 
 such is the thrift of the gay world of Dinard, 
 that it usurps the airy deck appropriated to the 
 seconds, till peasants who desire seclusion must 
 go "first." 
 
 The fare is modest enough at highest to meet 
 the approval of any class. Wooden benches 
 under a narrow shed aft cost five sous, — the 
 single trip, but the far more desirable seats 
 around the open forward deck are offered at the 
 same price for the trip and return. Besides 
 these airy positions, there seems to be some sort 
 
 [113]
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 of third arrangement which permits the humbler 
 voyagers to form part of the freight in dim 
 interior regions. In the sheltering gloom he and 
 his family may be descried sitting on the bread 
 or lying at length on the flour bags, but the com- 
 posite odour of the retreat protects him from 
 prying observation. 
 
 A quarter of an hour usually suffices for the 
 passage from Dinard to St. Malo, but times go 
 by turns most variably, and the captain alone 
 knows, or hopes to know, the hour of landing. 
 The pent-in sea rages violently in stormy 
 weather, the little vessel strains and wrestles 
 like a living thing, and an hour or more of serious 
 struggle to reach the desired quai is no unusual 
 happening. Viewed from the shore the sight 
 of the St. Malo boat in a gale is an inspiring 
 sight, it plunges so gallantly, and makes so brave 
 a fight; but one survey from on board satisfied 
 our Fairy Godmother that her future trips across 
 should be taken by railroad via. Dinan. Land- 
 ing is effected as the tide permits. When the 
 waves wash up around the walls, the boat lands 
 at the main wharf before the Porte de Dinan. 
 The lowering waters expose the ragged reef that 
 connects the Great Bey with the shore, and there 
 passengers are set dow'n to stumble over rocks, 
 and keep the partial causeway as far as the beach 
 upon which opens another city gate. At ex- 
 treme low tide the reef shows further out, till 
 
 [114]
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 the Little Bey is linked to the land, and then 
 there is about a mile of slimy slippery rock to 
 follow, enough to dishearten all but fanatics in 
 the matter of sight-seeing. They say that no 
 one ever becomes sea-sick going from Dinard to 
 St. Malo, but susceptible subjects would do well 
 to make fair weather trips if they have an inter- 
 est in keeping up a reputation. 
 
 A near approach does not rob St. Malo of its 
 beauty, the gray wall, backed by houses, higher, 
 but equally stern and forbidding; a sombre sim- 
 plicity of facade, topped by high peaked roofs 
 set with rows of dormer windows; square stone 
 chimneys like towers, form a picture not to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 St. Aaron, of pious memory, in the year five 
 hundred and something discovered on this island 
 a nice habitable cave which he at once fitted 
 out with the modern improvements of his day. 
 It made him a very tolerable home, from which, 
 during his long life, he proceeded on thankless 
 labours for the well-being of a people quite satis- 
 fied with paganism and savagery. Years after 
 St. Aaron had given over the fight, St. Maclovius 
 came that way. For short the rather Hibernian 
 name of this good man was turned into Maclou, 
 and, as time went on, for shorter, Malo. Mac- 
 lovius spied the cave, and seeing what a good 
 job of it Aaron had made, perceiving no doubt 
 the strong saintly odour still clinging to the walls 
 
 [115]
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 he pre-empted the property, furbished it anew, 
 and settled to the task of continuing dubious 
 experiments in the spiritual irrigation of this 
 most arid soil. Thus grew apace the tradi- 
 tional holiness of the spot. 
 
 In the ninth century Bishop Helocar thought 
 that St. Malo ought to have its cathedral, so he 
 began one. As the edifice seems to have been 
 a-building pretty much ever since, the good Helo- 
 car would probably be puzzled to point out any 
 of his own work, even if the restorer has spared 
 it, which is doubtful. 
 
 In spite of appearances St. Malo, save for the 
 donjon of the chateau and one or two other 
 buildings, is not old enough to possess the true 
 flavour of ripe antiquity. The chief interest of 
 the town centres about the seventeenth century. 
 For anyone who can resolutely banish from his 
 mind Aaron, Maclovius, Helocar, and all their 
 works, and content himself with more modern 
 heroes of the pirate type, St. Malo abounds in 
 suflSciently moving tales by sea and flood, with 
 hairbreadth escapes and reckless daring. For 
 such a visitor the tight little town is a pocket 
 edition of the work he crossed the ocean to study. 
 Though there are here more inhabitants than 
 are claimed by wide-spreading Dinard, they are 
 so compactly squeezed within the walls that it 
 is quite possible comfortably to tread the whole 
 ground, and prowl through every street. 
 
 [116]
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 The walls are consolingly complete, and, with- 
 out break or patches needing apology, make a 
 snug circle about the piled up interior buildings. 
 If the subject be pursued far and critically 
 enough, the portion of new wall may be con- 
 sidered rather excessive, but it culminates in so 
 fine an old chateau that the whole effect is per- 
 haps as good as it ever was, and, maybe, better. 
 
 A distinct gratifying impression of antiquity 
 falls upon the visitor the minute he enters any 
 one of the well preserved gateways. The heavy 
 iron barred doors, the rusted portcullis and grat- 
 ings with such machinery as the inconvenient 
 barriers demanded, seem ready to shut out the 
 inventions that have cast discredit upon them, 
 or to tumble down upon the head of the scorner. 
 
 Once through the gate and out upon the other 
 side, the long narrow street, lined with apparent 
 sky-scrapers done in smudged and dingy gran- 
 ite, clambers up towards the cathedral at its 
 end. There are many walled cities and other 
 deep, narrow streets, but for trim, finished com- 
 pactness St. Malo is a gem by itself. The 
 traveller loiters aimlessly, and by the time he has 
 entered well the network where the high sombre 
 dwellings are jammed tightly together and thrust 
 towards the roadway, to the prejudice of the 
 occasional attempts at a footwalk, the twentieth 
 century loses something of reality, and its 
 wonderful inventions seem scarcely important 
 
 [117]
 
 St» /IDalo 
 
 enough to repay us for the piratic swash-buckling 
 state of affairs they have here supplanted. 
 
 When it comes to pavements, St. Malo's best 
 begins with the main street, but the concession 
 to modern notions becomes narrower and nar- 
 rower the further it thrusts itself into the con- 
 servative heart of affairs. Just before entire 
 extinction, it runs as a mere curbstone before 
 the doors, just high enough to catch the unwary 
 toe and throw^ the stumbling shopper into the 
 midst of wares he would purchase. The middle 
 way's the best through St. Malo, except when 
 the prominent gutter does not usurp that cobble- 
 stoned dip. As surface sewerage is the system 
 of the town, it is well to concede to the vagrant 
 gutter every advantage it exacts. 
 
 The seventeenth century houses are generally 
 dated, in the fashion of our chateau, though 
 wind and weather have so damaged the figures 
 above the richly ornamented doorways that they 
 are frequently no more than crumbling layers 
 of scaling stone. Comparative architecture be- 
 comes a study in itself under the impulse given 
 by the few dates still recognisable, though in 
 this department there is proof of the compara- 
 tively short period of St. Malo's greatness. 
 
 The Cathedral, now reduced to the rank of 
 church of the first class, seems to stand on the 
 highest spot within the walls, but in point of 
 fact, the summit of the rock is some distance 
 
 [118]
 
 St. ^alo 
 
 beyond, and is occupied by the small church of 
 St. Aaron, opened but once a year for service. 
 Ostensibly, however, the larger sanctuary domi- 
 nates the compressed city, and the tall spire cer- 
 tainly stands higher than any other structure. 
 At a decided angle the principal streets lead up- 
 hill to it, so that it forms the central point of 
 almost any good intramural view. The spire, 
 by the way, is new. Napoleon III in his en- 
 thusiasm for Brittany gave orders to build a 
 spire for St. Malo, meaning the church of St. 
 Malo at Dinan. Quite fortunately, it would 
 seem, the architect mistook the emperor's inten- 
 tion, and erected the spire in this place, far more 
 prominent, where its artistic effectiveness is 
 unrivalled. 
 
 The fagade of the Cathedral is renaissance of 
 mediocre quality, but, in spite of the uninspiring 
 exterior, a most attractive series of styles pre- 
 sents itself within, where columns of many ages 
 stand ranged for instructive comparison, some 
 undoubtedly dating from the earliest days of the 
 building. As cathedrals go, this is not very 
 large, but for the size of the town it is notably 
 vast, with a heaviness of pillar and breadth of 
 transept disproportionate to the length of the 
 nave which ends abruptly back of the altar in 
 an oblique flat wall indented with shallow 
 chapels. The end conforms in direction to the 
 street behind the church, and has every appear- 
 
 [119]
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 ance of having been cut to fit. The suspicious 
 heat with which Malouins repudiate this asper- 
 sion, and insist that the street was laid out long 
 after the church was finished, does not go far 
 towards quieting the suspicion that here religion 
 has been curtailed in the interest of commerce. 
 Sanitation does not seem to be much studied 
 in St. Malo. The inhabitants thus far must 
 have escaped the prevailing microbe cult, and 
 do not bow down and worship the powerful 
 bacillus. By all known rules, St. Malo should 
 be the hotbed of pestilence, but it is so swept and 
 purified by ocean breezes that germs have no 
 fair chance to prosper. The sun has very hard 
 work to find its way as far down as the rough 
 cobblestones that lie in a perpetual smeary bath 
 of vile, oily mud. In the poorer portions of the 
 city each house has alleviated the domestic stress 
 by attaching adown the front wall an ample 
 drain pipe. From the main trunk of this verti- 
 cal sewer, smaller branches start out at every 
 story to carry off the contents of round pail-like 
 sinks beneath windows presumably lighting the 
 kitchens of the various apartments. This, to 
 any but Malouins, seems like flying in the face 
 of Providence, for the miasmas of drainage are 
 thus brought under the very noses of the popu- 
 lace. The visitor scarcely dares to breathe till 
 he discovers that no part of the city is really 
 far enough away from this primitive system of 
 
 [120]
 
 St. Malo — Rue Grande
 
 St. /IDalo 
 
 drainage to insure safety, and to live at all in 
 St. Malo one must breathe as do the Malouins. 
 
 A systematic survey of the town should begin 
 with a walk around the walls where there is a 
 good and sufficient stone walk walled breast 
 high on both sides. In our own case we attacked 
 the place blindly, and, inspired by the light of 
 nature and a curious doorway, we struck into 
 the lower town, and first stumbled across the 
 two streets, that, like Neapolitan importations, 
 masquerade as staircases most of their length, 
 and which would have done better if they had 
 extended the staircase feature a little farther 
 down, thereby sparing weary feet an uphill 
 struggle towards the restfulness of broad flat 
 steps. No wonder that the class doomed to 
 walk encases its feet in sabots, for it requires 
 just about an inch thickness of good solid wood 
 to withstand the rigours of the average European 
 cobblestone. 
 
 The narrower via scala here is little more than 
 a passage between walls and dilapidated tim- 
 bered houses, most of which present open shop- 
 fronts in the lowest story, with wares so heaped 
 upon the bench-like counters that they threaten 
 to spill their overflowing burden out across the 
 steps before your feet barrier-wise. Behind the 
 piles of goods is carried on the family life of the 
 section. As in Naples it abandons itself in con- 
 fiding security to unfettered variety of action, 
 
 [121]
 
 St. (fbalo 
 
 firmly relying on the protection afforded by the 
 screen of merchandise and the veil of obscurity; 
 or, possibly, serene in the consciousness of up- 
 right intentions. The side glimpses obtained in 
 gaining the heights above are occasionally aston- 
 ishing. 
 
 The walk about the walls offers so great a 
 variety of outlook, it would be quite easy to pass 
 a whole day in the endeavour to compass all 
 the beauties spread below. Towards the South, 
 the inner harbour, far fuller of shipping than one 
 would at first suppose; beyond this, the many 
 ship and lumber yards of St. Servan; off at one 
 side, quite alone in the fields, an unfinished 
 church which presents a most imposing front, 
 its portal flanked by two square towers, but 
 which proves on nearer inspection to be a 
 small and very disappointing architectural de- 
 ception. 
 
 Though now so neatly and firmly joined to 
 the mainland by moles and bridges, St. Malo 
 began its career as a distinct island, one of the 
 many that fringe this coast. The present con- 
 necting causeway that makes the town practi- 
 cally one with St. Servan lies in plain sight behind 
 the harbour. Far away, stretch undulations of 
 field and woodland, threaded by the marked 
 depression that traces the course of the Ranee. 
 
 Before Dinard, clinging to the opposite crags, 
 and extending from the gray bare rock where a 
 [ 122]
 
 St. /iDalo 
 
 life-sized statue of the Virgin looks upon the 
 outpouring of the waters of the Ranee, spreads 
 the broad bay, that two or more miles ahead 
 past the rocky Beys unites with the open sea, 
 here treacherous beyond its wont. 
 
 From the coast line at the left, arm after arm 
 of rocky headland thrusts itself out towards the 
 host of jagged granite islets in the perilous sea 
 beyond, as if striving to point out to the mariner 
 the warning buoys and lighthouses set so liber- 
 ally in these much-travelled waters. Far below 
 the lesser promontories, the misty outlines of 
 Cap de Frehel reach out beyond the rest holding 
 a beacon high over the waves. Turning sea- 
 ward, and looking straight ahead, we follow the 
 w^avy outline of the Chauseys or with a glass 
 search for a trace of Jersey. Near at hand, on 
 the right, the wide gleaming sands of the Parame 
 beach curve towards the rocky headlands of 
 Rotheneuf. Off in that direction stand several 
 islands so like to St. Michel in appearance that 
 it is difficult to realise that the historic abbey is 
 really just here out of range. 
 
 Wherever in the view townward the walk 
 brings you before the principal streets they are 
 seen to cut across to the opposite wall straight, 
 deep, and long like gray canons. The bright 
 gleams at the extremity of the narrow defiles 
 indicate the position of the terminal gates where 
 the outer water serves as a mirror. 
 [123]
 
 St /IDalo 
 
 As you pass northward in the circuit the level 
 of the city rises, and the mouldering courts and 
 gardens of the poorer quarter of the town lean 
 against the stone rampart as if they had not 
 strength to stand alone. Old shops and sheds 
 are down there, the roof tiles so covered with 
 moss and lichens that their original tint is lost 
 in curiously shaded greenish grays, brightened 
 with patches of vivid yellow. Fig trees, so shut 
 in that they have never seen the sun, incline 
 piteously towards the lightest corner, the foliage 
 sparse, and the stunted limbs tufted with black 
 parasitic growths. 
 
 Gradually the level of the town rises to the 
 height of the wall, and at this point a gate be- 
 tween two buildings opens upon a crooked 
 twisted way leading into the city. It is useless 
 to continue the walk along the wall, for the cha- 
 teau, but a short distance beyond this gate has 
 been closed to the public ever since the govern- 
 ment took it for a barracks, and the way there 
 into the street leads down a long stone staircase 
 that ends in one of the most unsavoury districts 
 St. Malo. By passing through the inconspicu- 
 ous gate one comes near the chapel of St. Aaron, 
 and if minded to see the interior must hunt the 
 custodian and produce something in the way of 
 gratuity. A short street of steps in the vicinity 
 comes out by la Maison du Cheval Blanc, into 
 which Anne is said to have ridden on a white 
 
 [124]
 
 St. /iDalo 
 
 horse on the occasion of her sole visit. In look- 
 ing over this denuded palace of the past one is 
 forced to confess that of comfort the princely 
 lady had little according to our modern ideas, 
 and the laundresses who seem to be the present 
 occupants probably fare better in many respects 
 than did the doughty queen. Of the castle 
 nothing is left but one rough tower and a portion 
 of the adjacent rooms. These stand in the rear 
 of a court in which the washing of the tenants 
 goes on, and tubs of soapy water are tipped over 
 the cobblestoned pavement with an incalculable 
 freedom that daunts inquisitiveness, and prom- 
 ises to float strangers forth upon the surrounding 
 squalor faster than they went in. 
 
 Following this street towards the unusual 
 Duguay-Trouin house, there is to be seen a curi- 
 ous court backing upon the living rock which 
 just here rises like a wall, bearing on its height 
 other buildings and streets. A washing pool 
 is said to be above there, but if so, we did not 
 succeed in finding it. 
 
 The Duguay-Trouin house has lost most of 
 the old panes in the glass that stretches across 
 the upper stories between the narrow bands of 
 sculptured woodwork, but the style of the build- 
 ing has not been injured by the substitution of 
 cheap, common glazing. The finest specimen of 
 this style of building in St. Malo is the, so called, 
 Bishop's House, fully twice as large as that of 
 
 [125 1
 
 St. /iDalo 
 
 Duguay-Trouin, with a front almost entirely of 
 glass. There are others in the poorer parts of 
 the town, but an especially beautiful example, 
 formerly in the Rue de la Harpe, has had its 
 front torn away recently to be replaced by an 
 ordinary commonplace stucco fagade. 
 
 Years ago St. Malo was rich in beautiful carv- 
 ings both within and without the dwellings, but 
 the mischievous dealer has robbed it of nearly 
 all its treasures of graven wood. One doorway 
 in rue Broussais not far from the cathedral re- 
 mains to show the elegance that once abounded, 
 though how long its curious and intricate work- 
 manship will escape the snare of the prowler is a 
 question. 
 
 The home of the corsair, so plain and severe 
 in exterior, was a depot for the wealth and luxury 
 of the world. The slender remains of former 
 magnificence now to be traced within some of 
 the old houses lends convincing force to the store 
 of legends telling of the life then led. Rich 
 stuffs, princely furnishings, carved woodwork, 
 painted ceilings; nothing was too rich or rare 
 for the families of the gallants who preyed upon 
 the world's wealth at sea. These things poured 
 into St. Malo in an inexhaustible stream. To- 
 day most of these grand old houses are cut up 
 into dingy offices, which, despoiled of all that 
 could be removed, still bear traces of earlier 
 elegance. In a few streets the buildings have 
 
 f 126 1
 
 St /IDalo 
 
 been remodelled into apartments, now occupied 
 by the present gentry of the place, but there is 
 no wealth there to-day that can compare with 
 that of the old sea rovers who were patronised 
 by royalty, and were able to make terms with 
 the government. 
 
 Opening before the Hotel de Ville there is a 
 park-like square unexpectedly large considering 
 the limited resources at hand. Adjoining this, 
 the paved plaza before the cathedral adds to the 
 effect of space, while the prominent buildings 
 lend an aspect of dignity to the spot. Amid set 
 flower beds stands the statue of the hero who 
 throws both Chateaubriand and Jacques Cartier 
 into the shade, not to mention Lamennais; the 
 notable sea warrior Duguay-Trouin. From the 
 base of the statue one may look with him out 
 over the wide waters that were his element, and 
 realise how natural it is that St. Malo should 
 have produced the greatest seaman of France. 
 As a spot in which to rest and review in calm 
 quietude the many impressions received in an 
 aimless ramble, this park commends itself to 
 weary and foot-sore sight-seers. 
 
 The castle is fast closed, even to unmilitary 
 woman who might carry a kodak or prove to be a 
 spy. It is impossible not to bear a little grudge 
 against the powers that permit nothing further 
 than the sight of its thick, squat, round towers 
 and massive walls from without, though it is 
 
 [127 1
 
 St. /»alo 
 
 easy to imagine the crude roughness of the inte- 
 rior. About the chateau, also, there is a great 
 deal of "restoration," but the little donjon was 
 in existence in 1378 and no one knows how long 
 before that. It is a pity that the striking tower 
 built by Anne, and still known as "Qui qu'en 
 grogne," should have lost the inscription she 
 caused to be engraved upon it. It ran; "Qui 
 quen grogne, ainsy sera, cest mon jplaisir." which 
 may be freely translated, "Whoever wishes to 
 grumble, grumble away, but I intend this to 
 stand as I choose. Now you know what to 
 expect." Let no one who does not understand 
 French be deceived. That is not exactly the 
 way Anne put it. 
 
 Anne's only visit to St. Malo must have 
 caused her Malouin subjects to dread a rep- 
 etition of the honour. A contumelious clergy, 
 having joined forces with a rebellious faction, 
 presumed to lay a ban on her project of enlarg- 
 ing the existing castle. On the principle that to 
 have a thing well done see to it yourself, down 
 came the Duchess in hot haste to supervise and 
 protect her work. She gave the priests to under- 
 stand that they would do well to confine their 
 attention to matters spiritual, and that until 
 she asked it she had no need of their advice in 
 temporal affairs. The building, under this im- 
 pulse went on bravely, but to show that the 
 matter still rankled, Anne gave, as a finishing 
 
 [128]
 
 St. ^alo 
 
 touch to the tower, the contemptuous legend by 
 which it is still known. 
 
 The house where Chateaubriand was born is 
 now a hotel, or possibly, the hotel occupies the 
 site of an earlier building, but this mark of dis- 
 tinction St. Malo has obtained by merest chance. 
 The Chateaubriands were not citizens of the 
 place, but were making a visit there in September 
 1768, or as some say 1769, when somewhat pre- 
 maturely the child entered upon his renowned 
 career. 
 
 [n9]
 
 X. ST. MALO'S GOOD RECORD 
 
 THE history of St. Malo forms a small 
 chapter of its own, because from the 
 earliest times it has been the fief of the 
 church, and yielded obedience to the general laws 
 of Brittany only when that course commended 
 itself to the clergy. 
 
 St. Malo had little chance to make a great 
 figure till the ravaging Normans came to a stand- 
 still in their province of Normandy. It took till 
 the latter part of the eleventh century thoroughly 
 to repair the damage it had repeatedly sustained, 
 but from that time on the city prospered, and 
 by 1090 in conjunction with Aleth (St. Servan) 
 the foundation of its future glory were laid, when 
 its fleet rendered material aid to Brittany and 
 Normandy which had joined in support of Rob- 
 ert's cause against his brother William Rufus. 
 
 About this period the Alethian bishops, 
 Hamon III, Daniel I, and Benoit II fixed their 
 residence for some months of the year at St. 
 Malo, which thereafter became in a sense an 
 episcopal see. In 1108, Benoit ceded the Rock 
 of St. Aaron, the church and its dependencies to 
 the order of Marmoutiers, but when in 1143, 
 
 [ 130 ]
 
 St. /IDalo'6 Goo^ "Kecor^ 
 
 Jean de Chatillon became Bishop of Aleth, he 
 found the monks so troublesome that he resolved 
 to rescind the grant, and made several journeys 
 to Rome with this object in view. But for the 
 timely concurrence of St. Bernard he might have 
 failed of the victory he finally achieved over 
 the insubordinate Benedictines. Such, however, 
 was the reputation of St. Bernard, that saintly 
 persecutor of the noblest Breton of them all, 
 that even the pope had to give way and revoke 
 the act of Benoit. 
 
 Jean should be considered as the real founder 
 of St. Malo's fortunes. No sooner had he rid 
 himself of the wranglings of the monks, than he 
 transferred the see permanently from Aleth, 
 which had become a mere suburb of the sister 
 city, whereby Helocar's church became a cathe- 
 dral, and the episcopal seat enjoyed all the privi- 
 leges and dignities appertaining thereunto. Jean 
 surrounded his city with the stout walls within 
 which the temporal and commercial interests 
 of the community found a security favourable to 
 their growth under the undisputed authority of 
 the bishop and chapter, with which neighbouring 
 powers treated as equals. The rule during 
 Jean's administration was firm and just. He 
 established an admirable municipal government 
 with efficient oflScers, obtained right of refuge 
 for his cathedral, and sent forth fleet after fleet, 
 well manned and equipped. 
 
 [1311
 
 St. /IDalo'0 (5oo5 IRecort) 
 
 In 1230, in settling certain diflSculties with the 
 Bishop of St. Malo, Mauclerc, Duke of Brittany, 
 signed an act in which he promised to indemnify 
 the vassals of the seigneury for losses suffered at 
 Bordeaux or elsewhere during these differences, 
 that he would promise them protection except 
 in their own port of St. Malo, and would stop 
 fitting out merchantmen till the bishop's vassals 
 were contented. This clearly demonstrates the 
 line drawn between the Bishop's vassals and the 
 other Bretons, and acknowledges the church- 
 man's right to rule his own port. 
 
 It was a Malouin fleet that accompanied St. 
 Louis on his second crusade, and in the numerous 
 conflicts between French and English before 
 Bordeaux the chief dependence of the navy was 
 the St. Malo contingent. In the days of Philip 
 V it was the Bishop of St. Malo, Raoul Rousse- 
 let, who in the church of St. Denis placed in 
 the hands of the king the sacred oriflamme, 
 and blessed his march against Robert of 
 Artois. 
 
 In the long strife between the houses of Blois 
 and Monfort, the walled stronghold did a little 
 trimming, by which judicious course it managed 
 to steer clear of trouble with England. Its sym- 
 pathies were with Monfort, but not strongly 
 enough to make it take a stand prejudicial 
 to commerce. Doubtless England was willing 
 enough to avoid conflict with St. Malo, for she 
 
 [ 132]
 
 St. /IDalo'9 Ooot> lRecor^ 
 
 had enough on hand without stirring up what 
 was a veritable wasp's nest. 
 
 John de Monfort had no sooner estabhshed 
 himself upon the throne of Brittany than he 
 became embroiled with Charles V of France, and 
 invited the English over to assist him. The earl 
 of Salisbury entered the harbour of St. Malo on 
 the thirteenth of March, 1373, with a fleet of 
 forty large vessels followed by a great number of 
 transports, and, without regarding the immunity 
 of the harbour, as belonging to the ecclesiastical 
 seigneury, burned there seven Spanish ships. 
 
 John drew upon himself the hostility of his 
 subjects who drove him from his possessions. 
 During his absence, St. Malo submitted to 
 Charles V who, for the very valuable assistance 
 the city gave him, confirmed its right to acknowl- 
 edge the rule of the lords spiritual only. 
 
 The English having heartily espoused the 
 cause of the exiled Duke John, sent Lancaster 
 to besiege and take St. Malo, but the attempt 
 ended in ignominious failure, and Lancaster and 
 his troops were covered with disgrace. 
 
 The next year the Bretons, themselves, re- 
 called John, who at once set about his darling 
 scheme of subduing St. Malo; but the Malouins 
 in self-protection placed themselves under the 
 rule of Charles VI who confirmed anew their 
 rights and port privileges, July fifth, 1395. 
 
 After the terrible defeat at Agincourt, Charles, 
 [133]
 
 St. /IDalo's (Boo& IRecor^ 
 
 on account of the valiant services rendered to his 
 cause by the Duke of Brittany, made over to 
 him, in spite of the remonstrances of the church, 
 the city of St. Malo with its rights and appurte- 
 nances. 
 
 In the darkest days of the reign of Charles 
 VII, William de Monfort, the Cardinal Bishop 
 of St. Malo, armed a fleet to repulse the English. 
 Standing on the prow of a vessel, the Malouin 
 prelate harangued the members of the expedition 
 of which he was the soul, and so inspired all by 
 the fire of his speech that they sailed against the 
 enemy, and, after a fierce contest, came out vic- 
 tors. This brilliant victory was one of the few 
 bright spots upon this dark page of French his- 
 tory, and it aroused the sluggish king from his 
 lethargy suflBciently to extract from him an 
 edict by which Malouin vessels were exempted 
 from port dues for the space of three years. 
 
 When John V of Brittany came to die he 
 longed to be at peace with all the world, and so 
 he promised the English that their ships alone 
 should have free entry into the port of St. Malo, 
 and that the Bretons should no longer provision 
 the French garrison stationed at Mont St. 
 Michel, where, all during these troubled times, 
 the French standard had been kept flying. But 
 John's successor, Francis I was an ardent friend 
 of Charles VII. With the assistance of the 
 Malouins and the people of Dol he cleared the 
 [134]
 
 St. rtialo's (3oo& IRecort) 
 
 coast of the English. Four years before his 
 death, Francis I confirmed the franchises of St. 
 Malo, and forbade his Farmer-general to exact 
 more than former dukes had justly required of 
 the town for work on the fortifications then in 
 progress. It was at this time that the great 
 donjon of the castle was erected. This prince 
 died on the seventeenth of July, 1450, overcome 
 with remorse for having killed his brother. 
 
 Louis XI was so impressed with the municipal 
 franchises enjoyed by St. Malo that he took 
 them as models for those granted to Paris, hop- 
 ing thereby to augment the population which 
 his frequent wars for the public good had seri- 
 ously reduced, and when the English Henry of 
 Lancaster was pursued by the emissaries of 
 Edward IV his life was saved by the inviolability 
 of the cathedral's right of refuge. 
 
 The title of Admiral, borne by the Duke of 
 Brittany was at first purely nominal, since till 
 the year 1487 a military marine could be pro- 
 cured only from the merchant, but when the 
 King of France became the husband of the 
 Duchess of Brittany, the Malouins, in return for 
 confirmation of their extraordinary privileges, 
 readily lent themselves to his plans and equipped 
 a fleet for the sole purpose of harassing the Eng- 
 lish merchantmen. They also entered heart and 
 soul into the expeditions of discovery then so 
 general, and the waters of Canada and the shores 
 
 [135]
 
 St. /IDalo's (5oo^ IRecorb 
 
 of Newfoundland became an open book to 
 them. 
 
 A marked year was 1494 in the annals of the 
 city, for the burghers, realising for the first time 
 their own civic strength, rose against the ecclesi- 
 astics, and insisted on the establishment of a 
 government of their own, with the consequent 
 separation of temporal and spiritual power. 
 
 The citizens refused to present themselves at 
 the assembly of the canons, and from a safe 
 position managed affairs municipal after their 
 own notions. This unacknowledged rule was 
 maintained with many hitches and pauses until 
 the year 1513, when, by their sheer obstinacy, 
 the burgesses, secured possession of the City Hall 
 and it remained for the canons to get them out. 
 This was the year that saw the birth of Jacques 
 Cartier in their town, an event they were far 
 from recognising as of greater importance than 
 the getting rid of church rule. Francis I of 
 France came to hear of the spirited fight for 
 power carried on by the Malouins, and the tale 
 pleased him so well that he travelled to the city 
 out of pure curiosity to see what they were at. 
 
 As may be supposed, the fleets were in their 
 element during the quarrels between Francis and 
 Henry VIII, and the pope Paul III selected the 
 Malouin bishop as bearer to Henry of the sen- 
 tence of excommunication. When Henry II suc- 
 ceeded his father on the throne of France one of 
 
 [136]
 
 St. /IDalo'0 Goot> lRecor^ 
 
 his first acts, in 1547, was to recognise the ser- 
 vices rendered by the Bretons by sea. He was 
 so much pleased at the amount of damage done 
 to EngHsh shipping by Malouin privateers, that 
 he granted St. Malo the right to fit out as many 
 vessels as it chose, armed as it thought best, with 
 full power to inflict upon English commerce all 
 the injury it could. 
 
 Charles IX was moved to inspect the plucky 
 stronghold, so in 1570, accompanied by Catherine 
 de Medicis, his brother, and his confessor, Wil- 
 liam Ruze, he made a visit. William Ruze 
 although Bishop of St. Malo had never seen his 
 cathedral nor did he ever visit the city again. 
 The party reached the town by way of Dinan. 
 The people rejoicing in this mark of royal atten- 
 tion sent a fleet down the Ranee to escort the 
 august visitors to the harbour in all honour. The 
 king and suite first debarked at Solidor where 
 there was a sumptuous dinner provided at an 
 hour which would make the meal a breakfast of 
 to-day. After this, returning to the ships, the 
 guests proceeded to their destination and were 
 received at St. Malo with every demonstration 
 that gratified loyalty could devise. On the fol- 
 lowing day. Fete de Dieu, the king attended ser- 
 vice in the cathedral, where it is to be hoped 
 William Ruze embraced his one and only oppor- 
 tunity of celebrating Mass in his own cathedral; 
 and after this the court party witnessed an elabo- 
 
 [137]
 
 St. /iDalo's (Boot) IRecorO 
 
 rate naval sham combat arranged for its enter- 
 tainment. The citizens fairly loaded their king 
 and his companions with gifts, which, consider- 
 ing that they were probably originally stolen at 
 sea, was not so onerous a tax on their hospitality 
 as it might seem. Having done St. Malo thor- 
 oughly Charles returned from this profitable 
 jaunt by way of Dol and Cancale. 
 
 The proper equipment of a pirateer demanded 
 heavy preliminary investment, since no munici- 
 pality stood ready to furnish gratis the guns, 
 irons, cutlasses, and ammunition going to the 
 outfit of a first rate ship, though they took good 
 toll on the plant. Still, in spite of disaster by 
 wind and wave, this was as about as secure a 
 repository for capital as could be wished, since 
 in good seasons the dividends were enormous, 
 so that, no matter how high the premium, pirate 
 stock was always in great demand, and the ex- 
 pensive tools of the trade were, as likely as not, 
 dissentingly furnished by those least interested 
 in St. Malo's prosperity. 
 
 In the terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew 
 St. Malo took no part, but in the days of the 
 League it threw itself heart and soul into the 
 Catholic cause, though, finding the opportunity 
 too good to be neglected, it refused allegiance 
 in political matters, and, for a time, was practi- 
 cally an independent republic. The order to 
 acknowledge Henry IV as king was received with 
 
 [138]
 
 St. /IDalo's Ooo^ IRecorC) 
 
 significant silence. The absence of the Bishop 
 allowed the Syndic to summon a meeting of the 
 citizens in the episcopal palace, and there 
 harangue them with a direful explanation of the 
 grave dangers to which their holy religion would 
 be exposed from the rule of a heretic king. The 
 people armed themselves, barricaded the streets, 
 and swore to die in defense of the Roman Catho- 
 lic Church. The city was so powerful, that, 
 with its vessels, it was able to provision all the 
 neighbouring towns that held out for the League. 
 Its help was given all the way from Avranches 
 as far down the coast as Morlaix. Henry's 
 change of faith, however, ended the opposition, 
 and St. Malo's weight was such that all the other 
 rebellious Breton cities were forced to follow her 
 lead, even Dinan itself. 
 
 Later, when lack of funds prevented Henry 
 from coming to chastise a rebellious and insolent 
 Duke of Brittany, the Malouins offered to fur- 
 nish the king with all the necessary ammunition 
 for the expedition, and as much money as he 
 should desire. 
 
 The local historian Charles Cunat, being a 
 naval oflBcer has not considered the literary sons 
 of his city as falling within his province, so his 
 book, published like that on Dinan in 1857, quite 
 neglects Chateaubriand, Lamennais, and the 
 lesser and more recent light, Hippolyte Michel 
 de la Morvonnais. 
 
 [139]
 
 St. /lDalo'6 (Boot) "Kecort> 
 
 For the first, a walk in the town convinces one 
 that no local historian can do much for him that 
 the people have not already done. His name is 
 displayed in every conceivable position, a jam 
 with which the St. Malo slice is only too thickly 
 spread. Lamennais was truly a Malouin, and 
 the fine large family mansion belonging to his 
 race, the place in which he first saw the light, 
 still stands in all the severe solidity which is the 
 distinguishing feature of Malouin domestic archi- 
 tecture. La Morvonnais enjoys a reputation 
 almost entirely local. He was born in St. Malo 
 in 1802 and died there in 1853, leaving many 
 works of poetry, and a prose romance entitled, 
 "The Manor of the Dunes." The act which has 
 most endeared him to his compatriots was his 
 building a church on his estate du Val and under- 
 taking the support of the new parish. 
 
 [140]
 
 XI. ST. SERVAN 
 
 THAT a town so bare and uninteresting 
 should rub shoulders with that granite 
 girt gem, St. Malo, we resent with a feel- 
 ing quite without echo in the mind of the native 
 inhabitant. The Frenchman admires the bright, 
 convenient, and novel, and is amused at our 
 zeal in the search of all that is musty and old. 
 St. Servan puts its best foot foremost, and the 
 prominent position of old Solidor gives delusive 
 promise of more of the same, when, in fact, hav- 
 ing passed Solidor and a group of ancient bits 
 on the neck of land at its rear, very little not of 
 the nineteenth century presents itself. Solidor, 
 itself, was built by the great John in 1382, so it 
 is probable many of the most ancient buildings 
 and walls in its immediate vicinity have to do 
 with that time, but there is nothing besides their 
 age to recommend them. It is rather comforting 
 to know that Ruskin assures us that age in itself 
 is the element most worthy of respect in things 
 old, for the restless hunt after old stones, which, 
 when discovered, lay no claim to beauty or any 
 architectural value, stands greatly in need of 
 sanction by one in authority. We had hoped 
 
 [141]
 
 St. Servan 
 
 much from the visit to St. Servan, but these 
 glowing expectations only intensified the dis- 
 enchantment that followed. 
 
 The crowded quarter of the town is as dull 
 and monotonous as St. Malo is delightful. The 
 great, gray mansions no longer have the har- 
 monious setting of deep, narrow street and 
 walled fastness, but stand at intervals, con- 
 nected by strings of cheap little business houses. 
 In these, however, you really can buy many 
 things far cheaper than at St. Malo or Dinard, 
 one antiquity shop, in particular, being a mine 
 of rare treasures, so, on the whole, perhaps, it 
 is well to have one spot where prices do not 
 aspire to keep pace with the artistic associations 
 of the vicinity. 
 
 The " pont-roulant " from St. Malo deposits 
 its passengers near the foot of the long, almost 
 straight, main street of the place, a modern- 
 looking business street. To us the "pont- 
 roulant" is an entirely novel contrivance. A 
 tall, spidery, derrick-like structure, fitted below 
 with small wheels, rolls upon car tracks lying at 
 the bottom of the narrow passage connecting 
 the outer w^ith the inner harbour. The square 
 platform on top is furnished with a little cabin, 
 some outside benches, and a firm outer railing. 
 At low tide, w^hen the rails are exposed, it seems 
 a very simple affair to be drawn over them by 
 rattling chains running over tw o drums in plain 
 
 [142]
 
 St. Serx>an 
 
 sight. The very constant and ample vibrations 
 of the machine are a natural and not entirely 
 unpleasant feature of the ride. But when the 
 whole working gear lies buried beneath twenty- 
 five feet of water, the surface of which plashes 
 just below^ the platform, and the jerky chains 
 that drag you along are far from sight, there is 
 a sense of insecurity about the method of loco- 
 motion that makes the clanging bang with which 
 the mongrel bridge hits its moorings as musical 
 a sound as the situation can produce. When 
 the station gates are thrown wide open passen- 
 gers escape through them with a subconscious- 
 ness of danger evaded. 
 
 The long uninteresting main street leads to a 
 square upon which debouches the Route de 
 Rennes, a charming country road embowered 
 with double rows of great trees, and set along 
 with handsome places; an alluring stretch 
 whereon a short stroll only is necessary to console 
 one for the disillusions provided by the common- 
 place city. 
 
 So many French towns seem just to lack the 
 je-ne-sais-quoi, and to do so in exasperatingly 
 intangible fashion, that some comprehensible 
 theory of the cause of the deficiency would surely 
 be thankfully received by the cogitating strang- 
 gers who seek one. 
 
 Possibly the fondness of the French for wide 
 expanses of gravel may in part account for the 
 
 [143]
 
 St» Scvvan 
 
 impression of bareness imparted by many city 
 squares. Whether French grass is tenderer than 
 Enghsh or not remains a question, but, at any 
 rate it is not so generally encouraged in public. 
 It may be that the downtrodden product, 
 not only tolerated but admired, in Hyde Park 
 and Kensington Gardens would offend French 
 taste, and decorative " Keep-off -the-grass "-es 
 would affront "Liberty, Equality, Frater- 
 mty. 
 
 St. Servan boasts a fine brand-new Court- 
 house, a so-called boulevard, even more abortive 
 than that of Dinard, and a park. Furthermore, 
 by way of open space, a gravelled dusty parade 
 ground is set round with pollarded lindens. On 
 a warm day this ground gathers and redistrib- 
 utes heat in a way that makes it a positive 
 insult to perspiring humanity. 
 
 But rents in St. Servan! Therein lies a virtue 
 that clears St. Servan's score and leaves it to 
 the good. The German lady who comes to 
 Beaumanoir to help our Schiller and Goethe, 
 pays for a pleasant apartment of seven rooms, a 
 yearly rental that in most large cities would 
 barely keep her in a modest flat of the same size 
 one month. Nearly every place on the bowered 
 Route de Rennes stands begging some foreigner 
 to make himself at home, permanently or pro- 
 visionally at a price cheap beyond anything he 
 before ever dreamed of. 
 
 [144]
 
 St. Servan 
 
 Leaving the square in a direction opposite the 
 Route de Rennes, you wend your way tortuously 
 towards the wharf, by the side of which Solidor 
 tower rears its gloomy, massive walls. The 
 church and the old part of the town, occupying 
 a jutting bluff of their own, back of the exten- 
 sive barracks and fortifications, are found in this 
 quarter. A poor, old house, not far from the 
 church, bears a sculptured tablet, telling that 
 here resided in 1840 Marie Jamet, founder of the 
 order of "Little Sisters of the Poor." She was 
 a poor working girl, with absolutely no further 
 means of dependence than her daily toil. At 
 the age of eighteen, aided by a friend but sixteen 
 years of age, she began to devote herself to the 
 care of the weak and aged about her. By faith- 
 fully sacrificing her youth and powers to this 
 one, noble object, she laid the foundation of one 
 of the greatest charities in the Roman Catholic 
 Church. When her work in St. Servan seemed 
 accomplished, she removed to Rennes, where 
 she enlarged her plan of operation and accom- 
 plished more, even, than had been done in her 
 birthplace. She became Sister Superior of the 
 rapidly growing order she had established, and 
 took the name of "Sister Mary -Augustine of 
 Compassion." 
 
 There is little to attract one in the old quarter, 
 called "La Cite." One or two doorways; a 
 beautiful bulging turret, hidden down a miry 
 
 [ 145]
 
 St, Servan 
 
 lane, and whitewashed like a cellar wall ; and the 
 original church, or rather a chapel occupying 
 what remains of the old building, the apse; are 
 about all the most inveterate lover of the gray 
 and hoary can find to glow over. 
 
 Life here seems at a standstill. A whole day 
 spent in sightseeing produced in the way of 
 traffic two wagons, one carriage, and on a narrow 
 road, just where most appalling, one of the broad- 
 bodied carts peculiar to the region, heavy of 
 wheel and clumsy of manipulation. It was laden 
 with brushwood that overhung in every direction 
 so far that it scratched and scraped the walls on 
 both sides of the way. The great Norman 
 horses, harnessed in the usual fashion, three 
 tandem, zig-zagged and lolled over the rough 
 pavement this way and that with an all-overish 
 freedom paralysing to contemplate. The driver 
 kept his long whip flying, and produced a terri- 
 fying succession of sharp cracks which the horses 
 supported with philosophy, having learned by 
 experience that the exercise was intended to dis- 
 play the driver's skill rather than to urge their 
 progress. For the world afoot nothing apparently 
 remained but a turn about and wild run ahead 
 of the equipage, when the brushwood w^as 
 brought to a stop before a gate in the wall, and 
 after some fumbling with bolts and bars, the 
 driver, still cracking his whip, worked the outfit 
 through the rather straitened aperture. 
 
 [146]
 
 St. Servan 
 
 The parish church, a modern structure, gives 
 greater evidence of the care that wealth alone can 
 assure than any other in the vicinity, and it 
 wears an air of religious prosperity that is a re- 
 lief to the soul, surfeited in this neighbourhood 
 with crude interiors. 
 
 Country walks in the land of high stone walls 
 are not always beautiful, but people who have 
 come to know the security they afford are will- 
 ing to support the disadvantages. 
 
 The original reason for establishing a bishop 
 at Aleth lay in the obstinacy with which the 
 earliest inhabitants clung to the rites of Druid- 
 ism. It seemed that there was no course left 
 but to make the city a Christian centre, and so 
 proceed from within against the false cult. 
 
 The old "Cite" is by far the most ancient 
 settlement on this coast, but all these places are 
 so closely connected by tramways that they form 
 practically one loosely spread town. 
 
 In taking the trams for the country beyond, 
 the first stage of the trip is disappointing. It 
 leads past unsightly lumber and ship-yards, but 
 once beyond these, the road skirts the beautiful 
 beach of Parame, and then takes a turn inland. 
 
 The French love Parame on account of its 
 aggressively new villas and staring white casino ; 
 the English frequent it because of the unequalled 
 bathing facilities; and Americans go, when they 
 do, for their customary reason, because other 
 
 [147]
 
 St. Servan 
 
 people go. In the height of the season the beach 
 here is the gayest place in the vicinity and draws 
 guests from all the surrounding resorts, its large 
 casino being admirably adapted for social pur- 
 poses. The fusion of the different elements of 
 the animated mass becomes fairly complete, for 
 bathing is the real business, and salt water does 
 much to soak away stiffness. In the sea all men 
 and most women are equal, and a mile of beach 
 affords ample space for the exercise of Christian 
 charity. 
 
 [148]
 
 XII. THE BRETON DUKES 
 
 WHEN the last king of Brittany died, of 
 the numerous claimants for the throne 
 his son Goeffrey, ancestor of England's 
 murdered prince Arthur, was strongest, and 
 making the best of his hereditary title as Count 
 of Rennes, he styled himself Duke of Brittany, 
 retaining the title till his death in 1008. He had 
 married Radegonde of Penthievre and their son 
 succeeded as Alain V, a strong capable man. 
 
 Alain confirmed the succession to his own pos- 
 terity by annihilating the claims of his younger 
 brother Eudes, to whom, by way of compensa- 
 tion he granted a small province and recognised 
 him as head of the cadet branch of the house. 
 So well had Alain settled this matter that he 
 scrupled not to confide to the care of Eudes his 
 five months old son. The charge was faithfully 
 fulfilled, and the child followed his father as 
 Conan II. 
 
 The Bayeux tapestry tells the tale of Conan's 
 attack upon William the Conqueror in one of the 
 border fights. Conan, forced to flee to the priory 
 of St. Malo at Dinan, was here besieged by Wil- 
 liam, conquered, and obliged to acknowledge 
 
 [149]
 
 Ube IBreton Duhes 
 
 William as overlord. In the year of the Battle 
 of Hastings Conan was opportunely poisoned, 
 and as the suspected poisoner a son of Eudes, 
 accompanied the Conqueror, the inference is 
 obvious. 
 
 The dukedom now passed to the son of Conan's 
 sister who had married Alain Caignart, Count of 
 Cornwall, a natural son of Conan being passed 
 over. The new duke was insignificant, but his 
 son, Alain Fergent (1084-1112) defeated Wil- 
 liam's army at Dol and married his daughter 
 Constance. 
 
 The country had become so impoverished by 
 incessant war that Alain devoted himself to 
 domestic affairs. So oppressive had feudal obli- 
 gations become in Brittany that Alain, at the 
 first call for crusaders, was glad to avail himself 
 of this escape from his embarrassments. On 
 his return from the Holy Land, having reigned 
 twenty -eight glorious years, he retired to a mon- 
 astery at Redon, leaving the crown to his son, 
 Conan III. 
 
 Now it was, that Louis the Fat dealt the first 
 blow to feudalism by giving charters to the cities. 
 Conan gained the ill will of his nobles by follow- 
 ing the royal example and reorganising municipal 
 affairs in a way that left the bourgeois and clergy 
 banded against the nobles. Pierre Abelard was 
 born near Nantes towards the close of this 
 reign. 
 
 [150]
 
 Ube Breton S)uF?es 
 
 Conan disavowed a pretended son Hoel, but 
 Hoel upon the death of his reputed father im- 
 mediately contested the claims of Bertha, 
 Conan's only legitimate child. The conflict was 
 long, but in the end Bertha established her right, 
 and, with the assistance of her uncle Eudes, 
 made her son Conan IV seventh duke of Brittany. 
 Bertha had married Stephen, another of the 
 Penthievre family, and through his father the 
 boy duke was also Duke of Richemont. 
 
 Some of the discontented Breton lords formed 
 a conspiracy against their new ruler, and so 
 frightened him, that, forgetting all consideration 
 of honour, he sold himself and his country to the 
 English. The victorious Henry II presented 
 himself before the walls of Dinan, and demanded 
 to be received as rightful lord. The Dinanais 
 had other ideas on the subject, and refused to 
 let him in, whereupon, to get even with them, 
 Henry pillaged and burned the adjacent village 
 of Lehon, sparing only the buildings appertaining 
 to the priory. For this disgraceful work Conan 
 was compelled to retire in ignominy to Guingamp, 
 1165, where he died despised, in 1170, leaving to 
 his daughter's husband, Geoffrey Plantagenet, 
 his claims, and.ending the race of native rulers. 
 Conan had nominally ruled since 1156, but, when, 
 on Geoffrey's death, the widowed Constance 
 claimed the title Duchess of Brittany and Coun- 
 tess of Richemont, her so-called subjects indig- 
 
 [151]
 
 XTbe ^Breton DuKes 
 
 nantly objected that by his cowardly behaviour 
 her father had forfeited his rights. 
 
 The story of the unfortunate Arthur is but 
 too well known. After the death of the de- 
 frauded boy, his mother's second husband, Guy 
 de Thouars usurped the power with the title 
 of tenth duke. Since he had a daughter of the 
 true line, Guy was permitted on suffrance to 
 hold the reins of government during her minority. 
 Guy's incessant endeavours to make Brittany 
 absolutely independent of France at last irri- 
 tated Philip Augustus to the point of marching 
 in person to Nantes, where he declared the youth- 
 ful Alix duchess in the place of her too patriotic 
 father. Philip also took it upon himself to 
 settle the matrimonial affairs of the princess, 
 and brought forward a suitor for her hand, Henry 
 d' Avaugour, heir of the allied Penthievres, but 
 for one reason or another the Bretons put off 
 the marriage time after time till Philip lost all 
 patience, and, although the Penthievre contract 
 had already been drawn up in Paris, he clinched 
 matters by marrying Alix out of hand to Pierre 
 le Dreux, a cadet of his own family, thus begin- 
 ning the line of French dukes. 
 
 The Bretons must heartily have regretted 
 their obstinate intractability, for Penthievre was 
 by far the most fitting mate for their duchess, 
 since he was descended from Gurven a relative 
 of their own king Erispoe, and was a direct des- 
 
 [152]
 
 Ube Breton H)ul?e9 
 
 cendant of the great Nominoe. It is hard to 
 see why they should have made the stand they 
 did, for their plea on the score of the youth of 
 the parties was for that period a most laughable 
 subterfuge. 
 
 From the reign of Pierre, called Mauclerc, the 
 history of Brittany has been more or less part 
 of that of France. Pierre went to the crusades 
 with St. Louis where he died of a wound, leaving 
 his son John I le Roux, to succeed him. This 
 John was followed by his son John II, who met 
 with a most singular death. 
 
 Philip the Fair, of France, desirous of doing 
 honour to the pope of his own choice, summoned 
 the chief nobles of the realm to witness the in- 
 vestiture of Clement at Lyons, on the fourteenth 
 of November, 1305. After leaving the church 
 where the ceremony had been performed, Philip, 
 who had been leading the horse of the newly 
 made pope, handed the bridle to John of Brit- 
 tany, and remounted his own steed. The change 
 had scarcely been effected when an ancient wall 
 fell into the road upon the cortege. John was 
 killed outright; Clement was injured severely, 
 the tiara being knocked from his head; the king 
 and his brother, Charles of Valois, were struck 
 with stones, and numbers of the spectators were 
 killed or wounded. The ceremonies designed 
 to redound to the glory of Philip were turned into 
 a scene of gloom and death. The remains of 
 
 [153]
 
 TLbc Breton Duhes 
 
 the duke were brought to Ploermel where he 
 was interred in the choir of the church of the 
 CarmeHtes. 
 
 No opposition to the peaceful succession of 
 Arthur II was raised, and his most notable act 
 was the convocation at Ploermel, which then 
 seems to have been the capital city, of the estates 
 of his realm, when the third estate was well 
 represented. The children Arthur left consti- 
 tute his chief claim to importance, since through 
 them came the bitter wars that later involved 
 both France and England. John III succeeded 
 his father; Guy became Count of Penthievre, 
 and ancestor of the powerful family of that name ; 
 and the youngest son, also named John, was he 
 of Monfort, the claims of whose descendants 
 were contested by Charles of Blois. Such were 
 Arthur's bequests to his country, and in this 
 way do we reach the heroic age of Breton 
 story. 
 
 John III, being childless, had given in marriage 
 his niece, Jeanne of Penthievre, to Charles de 
 Chatillon, Count of Blois, designating the young 
 husband as his successor. The half-brother, 
 John, although younger than Jeanne's father, 
 Guy, determined to wrest the power from the 
 youthful pair and seize the ducal honours. The 
 Salic Law had never affected Breton succession, 
 but, to strengthen his claim, John assumed the 
 position that as the Breton dukes were now peers 
 
 [154]
 
 XTbe JSreton H)uftes 
 
 of France, they had become in virtue of that 
 rank subject to the French law of inheritance. 
 
 The opportunity hereby offered for the inter- 
 ference of France and England was too good to 
 be slighted, though, strange to say it was France 
 that supported Jeanne's son, while Edward of 
 England upheld the Salic succession. The long 
 struggle began in 1341, and one of the most 
 iniquitous measures was compassed by Philip of 
 France the next year. A grand tournament was 
 arranged, and the peers of the realm, Bretons 
 included, were summoned to attend. The 
 tournament passed off brilliantly and was fol- 
 lowed by a feast at which the guests of honour 
 were such Breton nobles as were suspected of 
 too great partiality for the English king, Edward 
 III. In the height of festivities Philip's adher- 
 ents suddenly turned upon the visitors and all 
 the Bretons were seized and beheaded. An enter- 
 tainment so sanguinary was too striking for the 
 taste of Brittany. There were nobles enough 
 left to resent the treachery in a way that Philip 
 found formidable, but he succeeded in getting 
 hold of John, whom he imprisoned in the Louvre, 
 and then tried to seize the castle of Hennebon 
 which might help to pay his increasing debts to 
 his numerous allies; Normandy, Burgundy, 
 Loraine, Navarre, a Duke of Athens, besides 
 Spanish and Genoese auxiliaries. 
 
 John, fortunately, had a wife of mettle, well 
 [155]
 
 Ube Breton 2)uf?es 
 
 versed in the accomplishments of the age, who 
 could fight and pour boiling lead on the head of 
 the foe as effectively as the most notable warrior. 
 This lady, also a Jeanne, made everything tight 
 and snug at Hennedon, then she cried to her 
 husband's friend Robert of Artois, — who, by the 
 way, was Philip's brother-in-law, — and to her 
 English allies, "What ho!" She sent the same 
 stirring summons to a majority of the Breton 
 nobles with their German mercenaries, and hav- 
 ing well roused the forces, sat down to the serious 
 business of keeping the French at bay. So 
 brilliant was the success of this wifely support 
 that when John at last escaped, he ran home to 
 a castle as good and stout as ever, though he did 
 not live long to enjoy it, and Jeanne in 1345 
 found herself left widowed, to carry on the war 
 by herself. 
 
 It now came Charles's turn to be shut up, and 
 for nine years he made himself as comfortable 
 as he could in the Tower of London, while his 
 Jeanne, she of Penthievre, with Du Guesclin to 
 help her, maintained that side of the contest. 
 The scarcely less renowned Oliver de Clisson, 
 son of one of the nobles so discourteously be- 
 headed by Philip, tendered his services to the 
 other Jeanne, and the war went on just as well 
 as the most exacting fighter could desire. Still 
 another Jeanne figured as belligerant in this 
 strife which is often called the war of the three 
 
 [156]
 
 Xlbe Breton H)uF?es 
 
 Jeannes, and that was the mother of young 
 OHver, widow of the decapitated Oliver de 
 CHsson, Jeanne de Belleville. In revenge for 
 the murder of her husband, the lady assembled 
 her vassals and attacked a castle occupied by the 
 troops of Blois. The castle fell, was sacked, and 
 the defenders were all put to the sword. 
 
 Charles came back from prison a greater fire- 
 eater than ever, but by this time a young John 
 was waiting and ready, who, in the battle of 
 Auray, 1364, defeated and slew Blois thus secur- 
 ing for himself the ducal throne. 
 
 By this time the Bretons had had so much 
 bloodshed that the most warlike were satiated, 
 so the peace of Guerand was joyfully signed in 
 the following April, to be as joyfully broken when 
 the Bretons supported Anne. John made polite 
 concessions to the widow of Charles, founded a 
 satisfactory number of expiatory religious estab- 
 lishments, granted a profusion of flattering privi- 
 leges, and therefore he was hailed with satis- 
 faction as, John IV, the Conqueror. 
 
 To begin with, John found it necessary to im- 
 pose a variety of new taxes. Then he owed much 
 to the English for their aid, which had to be paid 
 by giving them a comfortable coign of vantage 
 from which to worry the French, while, at the 
 same time, he was openly professing allegiance 
 to Charles V, his king. Charles was too wise for 
 him, and discovering the double dealing at a 
 
 [157]
 
 Ube JBreton H)ul?es 
 
 time when soldiers were scarce, he dealt his de- 
 ceitful vassal an effective blow by trying to per- 
 suade the Pope to canonize Charles of Blois 
 whose life had been one of exemplary piety. 
 This move kept John so actively employed to 
 hinder its execution that France felt no fear of 
 his machinations for some time. The trouble 
 John had to get the Pope weaned from the idea 
 of having a saint of his own made him thor- 
 oughly angry, and when the matter was success- 
 fully ended, he threw off all disguise, and allied 
 himself openly with England. 
 
 This measure brought down upon his head such 
 a storm of wrath that for a time John was obliged 
 to take refuge in the land of his allies, whereupon 
 Charles declared his throne vacant, and asserted 
 that Brittany was joined to France. As might 
 be supposed this did not suit the Bretons, who 
 immediately forgot their internal squabbles, and 
 with a fierce cry of independence, brought John 
 home in triumph. The death of Du Guesclin, 
 in 1380, robbed Charles of his best warrior, and, 
 being now in poor health, he made peace with 
 John, and died in September of the same year. 
 
 Finally after a reign of twenty-nine years, 
 during which he had manifested by turns brav- 
 ery, cruelty, generosity, perfidy, John IV, sev- 
 enth duke, died at Nantes in the year 1399, 
 leaving another John but eleven years old to 
 succeed to the crown. This boy was declared 
 
 [158]
 
 Ube JSreton Duftes 
 
 of age when he was fifteen years old, and was 
 shortly afterwards married to Jeanne of France, 
 daughter of Charles VI, by which alliance he 
 became brother-in-law to Henry V of England. 
 
 This John was the last ruler of Brittany who 
 left a male successor. His son Francis I ninth 
 duke, married Isabel of Scotland, sister of Louis 
 Eleventh's unhappy first wife. Gilles, brother 
 of Francis complained greatly about the small 
 portion left to him, and made so much noise 
 that Francis determined to rid himself of the 
 incubus. The unfraternal plot was favoured by 
 the grave misdeeds of the victim, for, among 
 other things, Gilles had carried off the beautiful 
 and rich heiress, Frangoise of Dinan, the onyl 
 child of Jacques and Catherine de Rohan. On 
 observing the hostility of his brother, Gilles took 
 refuge in a rebellious manner in the castle of 
 Guildo from which place he was removed by 
 Charles VII and Francis after but faint resist- 
 ance. 
 
 The prince was deprived of his liberty, his 
 life was threatened, he was transferred from 
 castle to castle, put under the care of the most 
 brutal of jailors, and, in the end, induced by the 
 implacable de Rohan, Francis signed his death 
 warrant, and the unfortunate weakling was one 
 day found starved to death in the dungeon of 
 Hardouinaye eight leagues from Dinan. Such 
 was the sad fate of Gilles, son, brother, nephew, 
 
 [159]
 
 TLbc Breton H)uhes 
 
 and cousin of four sovereign princes, after nearly 
 four years of captivity. Forty days later near 
 Mont St. Michel a monk presented himself be- 
 fore Francis, and in the name of Gilles cited him 
 to appear before the judgment seat of God at 
 the end of forty days. This summons so worked 
 upon the terrified conscience of Francis that he 
 succumbed to remorse, and died on the day indi- 
 cated. 
 
 Wishing to support the decision reached in 
 the treaty of Guerand, Francis set aside his 
 daughters, i Marguerite and Marie, naming his 
 brother Pierre as tenth duke. Pierre was a 
 taciturn reserved man who enjoyed a great repu- 
 tation for piety, though his domestic manners 
 might have been improved upon. One day, 
 wild with unfounded suspicions, he entered the 
 room of his duchess, Frangoise d' Amboise, and 
 there, before everybody, gave her a sound troun- 
 cing, while calling her all kinds of bad names. 
 The poor lady, more overcome by the publicity 
 than the chastisement, cried, falling on her knees, 
 "Ah, sir! go about it a little more delicately; 
 when we are alone in our room you may beat 
 harder — if there is room enough there." Upon 
 this, the duke took her to their room, and beat 
 her so rudely that for a long time she bore the 
 marks of the blows. Some days afterwards the 
 duke found out that it was all a mistake. 
 
 This amiable husband died in 1457 having had 
 [160 1
 
 Zbc ^Breton Duhes 
 
 no children except one natural daughter, so he 
 was followed by his uncle Arthur III brother of 
 John. Arthur had been Constable of France 
 for thirty years and considered his new title 
 something of a come-down. He would not per- 
 mit people to address him as Duke of Brittany, 
 saying, "I desire, and I ought to honour in my 
 old age a dignity that gave honour to my youth," 
 though, in spite of his theoretic loyalty, he had 
 the courage to refuse to do homage to the king for 
 his rightful inheritance as some of his predeces- 
 sors had found themselves compelled to do. 
 
 Arthur was succeeded by another grandson of 
 the great John. This ruler, Francis II did hom- 
 age to Charles VII in true Breton fashion, 
 "voluntarily and standing up, without promise 
 or oath. Such homage as Dukes of Brittany 
 had been wont to make, neither intending to nor 
 making himself vassal for his land." This duke 
 introduced printing, founded a university, and 
 built many monasteries and churches. He 
 wished to keep the peace that he might devote 
 himself to the welfare of his subjects, but in 
 this aim the policy of Louis XI defeated him, 
 for self-preservation demanded that Brittany 
 should enter the League for the Public good. A 
 year later Francis made an attempt to shake off 
 the yoke and outwit the wily king, by allying 
 himself with England and Burgundy. Louis 
 tried flattery, and tendered the collar of the 
 
 [161]
 
 TLbc JBvcton H)uF?es 
 
 Order of St. Michael, but Francis remained firm, 
 not only declining the honour, but offering a ref- 
 uge to the king's special bete noire, Louis of Or- 
 leans. The invitation to escape from the royal 
 jealousy was not accepted by Louis until the next 
 reign when Anne of Beaujeu made herself too 
 obnoxious and officious for comfort in the French 
 court. 
 
 No sooner had Francis been laid in the grave 
 than Charles VIII did his best to lay hold of the 
 brave independent duchy. The Bretons would 
 have none of him, and set Anne on the throne of 
 her ancestors without a thought of the treaty 
 of Guerand and its new-fangled laws of suc- 
 cession. 
 
 Seeing no other way of compassing the appro- 
 priation, the king's thoughts turned towards 
 matrimony, although by all pledges then held 
 sacred Anne belonged to the Emperor of Ger- 
 many, Maximilian. There were suitors enough 
 and to spare for this richly endowed maiden. 
 Richard III of England had just lost his wife, 
 his rival Hetiry Tudor who had passed much of 
 his exile at her father's court, was said to have 
 sued for her hand, and she is supposed to have 
 carried on a desperate flirtation with Orleans, a 
 real affair of the heart; but hearts were dis- 
 counted, and in the end policy prevailed. Of 
 this brave array of suitors, the sickly unattract- 
 ive Charles was accepted, and the fate of the 
 
 [162]
 
 Ube JBreton Duftes 
 
 gallant little state was a forgone conclusion. 
 Anne hoped against hope to preserve its auton- 
 omy, but nothing now could prevent its final 
 absorbtion by the power that so long had 
 coveted it. 
 
 [163]
 
 XIII. AURAY 
 
 THE foreigner who lingers for a season in 
 Dinard and therefore flatters himself 
 that he has visited Brittany, deludes 
 himself. The land of legend with its typical 
 peasant whose hatred of the English was born 
 of the strife between Blois and Monfort, whose 
 costume, no stage play, is worn because he re- 
 mains unspotted from the world beyond his 
 narrow range, must be sought with perseverance 
 far down the peninsula. Yvonne, our symbol 
 of Breton peasantry, is ignorant of the Celtic 
 language. She became suspicious of mockery on 
 our part when we endeavoured to extract from 
 her information relating to national survivals, 
 and declaring with some asperity that she was no 
 Bas-Bretonne, she disdained the assumption. 
 
 Carnac was the inspiration of a voyage of dis- 
 covery, yet it must be confessed that at first the 
 name suggested only the Karnak of Egypt, and 
 temples grand but rather inaccessible. The 
 casual manner in which the trip was proposed, 
 proved that there was a mistake somewhere, so 
 we screened ignorance behind a great show of 
 attention, and in time were rewarded by learn- 
 
 [164]
 
 The Oldest House in Auray
 
 Burap 
 
 ing that it would take us no farther than the 
 Morbihan district, to see those stupendous rehcs 
 of a rude age that have furnished material for 
 scientific dispute from the time science began to 
 dispute. 
 
 It must not be supposed that France and the 
 British Isles monopolise such stone giants, for 
 along the whole Atlantic shore of the Old World, 
 from Mount Atlas in Africa through Spain, 
 Portugal and up, more or less continuously as 
 far as Iceland; in fact, wherever the hunted 
 Celts turned at bay to make a stand against the 
 oppressor, such monuments are found. France 
 is especially rich in these relics, Poitou, Auvergne, 
 and the Cevennes district all have some, but 
 the Breton group covers a larger area than any 
 other, and presents many features quite unique. 
 The question of the origin of these memorials 
 will probably never be settled, nor is our knowl- 
 edge of the means employed to effect the manip- 
 ulation of such masses of rock ever likely to be 
 more than mere conjecture; that they are there 
 is the fact, beyond this all is pretty much guess- 
 work. Our age so ready to plume itself on its 
 achievements has to bow before the work of 
 barbarians. 
 
 The stones of Morbihan present some peculi- 
 arities that seem to point to a more recent origin 
 than many similar collections. No evidence 
 that they were connected with funeral rites is 
 
 [165]
 
 Hurap 
 
 forthcoming, and human bones are not found in 
 their vicinity. Whether in the fierce upheavals 
 of the fifth century the Celts found and adapted 
 to their own uses the temples and altars of some 
 earlier race supplanted by them; or whether later 
 conquerors set up these memorials to awe the 
 Celts themselves, is a point concerning which 
 authorities differ widely. By some they have 
 been relegated to ages before Christ, but it is 
 quite decided that they could not have been 
 erected later than 500 A. D. Lubbock assigns 
 them to the Bronze Age, and advocates of their 
 Phoenician origin have this much in their favour 
 that they bear evident relation to some form of 
 sun worship. Druidism possessed many features 
 curiously akin to the Baal cult against which 
 the Hebrew prophets waged such continual war- 
 fare. 
 
 In spite of the ability with which is upheld 
 the Danish-Norman theory of their origin, the 
 man convinced against his will may hold his 
 Druid notions still, for who would sacrifice a 
 world of cherished tradition in the interest of a 
 truth so barren of comfort! Druidism is not so 
 far away from us of to-day. Relics of the rites 
 were practised in the forests of Dauphiny not 
 two hundred years ago; the St. John's festival 
 held annually in Brittany till well into the last 
 century was a Druidical rite; and to this very 
 day the Bretons of the islands off the farthest 
 [166]
 
 extremity of the peninsula resort in stormy 
 weather to ceremonies winked at by the native 
 clergy, but denounced by the French church- 
 men as rank heathenism. But this is very far out, 
 out in the land where the people have not yet 
 learned that France is a republic, but still pray 
 for the king, which proves that their religious 
 advancement is not far behind their political. 
 
 Perhaps the best way to give a general notion 
 of what we set out to see is to dub Carnac the 
 Breton Stonehenge, for the latter temple has 
 been so commonly used as illustration in the 
 histories of our youth by way of encouragement 
 to reluctant students, that it is well fixed in 
 most minds. 
 
 After much talk, our start at last came under 
 the head of those things that are called "sudden 
 in the end," and we left the garden to the tender 
 mercies of the snails and a few pet rabbits which 
 possessed mysterious means of breaking jail to 
 the prejudice of the cabbage and the distress of 
 our noble gardeners. 
 
 On any map, look at the peninsula to be 
 crossed, and then, if you can, explain why it 
 takes a whole day to make the passage. A 
 friend who had braved the eccentricities of the 
 Breton inn, pictured the trip as a downward 
 path leading to dirt, drunkenness, and squalor, 
 with hard beds, rough sheets, and indescribable 
 fare thrown in. The event did not convict this 
 [167]
 
 aura^ 
 
 Jeremiah of inaccuracy, but admitting all his 
 drawbacks, and others not foreseen, a flight into 
 Lower Brittany is a soaring into the region of 
 romance and witchery. 
 
 Auray is about due south from Dinard, but 
 the Hne cuts across the main routes of travel 
 in a way that necessitates four changes of train. 
 The first, at St. Brieuc, gave us an opportunity 
 to enjoy our first real Breton meal, with soup, 
 fish, two meats, various entrees and releves, 
 pastry, dessert, and coffee, a substantial break- 
 fast, but all very good. The longest pause was 
 at Pontivy, just at the border of the true Breton 
 country, the first point where the assembled 
 country folk used the ancient language instead 
 of French. Napoleon had the making over of 
 Pontivy, and there is a suggestion of Benjamin 
 Franklin in its straight main street with broad 
 flagged pavement. It looks more like a street 
 of Philadelphia or Trenton than of a remote in- 
 land European district, and suggests so strongly 
 broad brimmed hats and Quaker bonnets, that 
 the ridiculous boyish headgear of the peasant, 
 first met here, seems in some sort a compromise. 
 
 The old town that underwent imperial trans- 
 mogrification had sprung up around a seventh 
 century monastery erected by the English monk, 
 St. Ivy, hence the name, which was for a while 
 changed to Napoleonville, but in time the an- 
 cient Pontiv;^" regained its place. Under the 
 
 [168]
 
 Rohans the city became the seat of jurisdic- 
 tion, and the towered castle built in 1485 by 
 John de Rohan is one of the best specimens of 
 its class to be found, though to-day it presents 
 but a collection of roofless spaces enclosed by 
 crumbling walls. The stop we made was just 
 long enough to admit of a walk up the main 
 street which leads directly to the castle that 
 frowns down its length from an elevation facing 
 the head of the opening. On the way nothing 
 more notable presented itself than a great open 
 square and the barracks, bare of ornamentation, 
 but even the hurried exploration of the town 
 proved that we had reached a land no more 
 France than Gibraltar is Spain. Men of all ages 
 were topped with the round felt hat with rolled 
 brim and millinery trimming of ribbon velvet 
 and bright buckles. To the initiated each vari- 
 ation of velvet, buckle, and flaunting streamer 
 tells of a new commune, but we could only see 
 that some bands were broad and others narrow, 
 some buckles big and some little, some had one 
 strip and others two or three, and no friendly 
 guide was forthcoming to enlighten us. Sturdy 
 young fellows often look well in this boyish 
 headgear, but to peer beneath the rolled brim, 
 jauntily cocked on one side, and discover the 
 wrinkled weasened face of toothless age brings 
 a sense of unfitness so strong that the surprise 
 is that it should so soon wear off. 
 
 f 169 1
 
 Burap 
 
 The various trains we employed were one in 
 the matter of leisurely advance, especially on up 
 grades, but the flower covered banks, the hills of 
 the middle peninsula, the purple heather of the 
 fields, made lingering a delight. Along a cer- 
 tain stretch of country the road coquets with a 
 limpid poplar-bordered canal. Sometimes it 
 curves away and the water is lost to sight, then 
 suddenly the two meet anew and run alongside 
 as though refreshed by the temporary hiding. 
 The light blue sky too presented an abundance of 
 cloud heaps, working and weaving as they drifted 
 overhead, while below the full tide of summer's 
 vitality clad the rugged face of earth in its rich- 
 est leafage. Nature was so surcharged with 
 beauty that we were sorry when twilight dimmed 
 the scene and the name "Auray" told us that 
 our journey was ended. 
 
 The station and town proved to be two, and 
 a gently jogging omnibus carried us over a 
 couple of miles of straight poplar-lined road 
 before depositing us quite in the dark at the 
 door of the hotel. Of the town we barely des- 
 cried the outlines of the ancient market building 
 and the many peaked roofs that in Lower Brit- 
 tany attain a cavernous interior capacity, un- 
 lighted save for chinks in the tiling through 
 which stray sunbeams that reveal a labyrinth of 
 beams and cross-pieces losing themselves in im- 
 penetrable gloom. 
 
 [170]
 
 Huray 
 
 The old French market at New Orleans comes 
 to mind at the sight of the Auray building, at 
 least, thus it was when it first met our gaze 
 looming in the dimness, fantastic and distorted 
 by shadows. The glare of day robbed it of 
 much illusion, and we found that the comparison 
 would not bear examination. 
 
 Although we had telegraphed for rooms, we 
 were met by a hostess, voluble with apologies; 
 "the height of the season, everything engaged 
 for days ahead, but a friend had come to the 
 rescue from the country to open her doors to 
 us, would we derange ourselves so far?" As the 
 house in question was an ancient structure but 
 two doors below, and the hotel was only too 
 glad to promise meals, there seemed to be no 
 reason why we should not derange ourselves, 
 and many reasons to make the derangement 
 agreeable. Both houses fronted the irregular 
 market place to assure us of seeing all of life 
 that should present itself, therefore we content- 
 edly trailed after a second dame, while a selec- 
 tion of hotel employees trailed after us bearing 
 the necessities. 
 
 A heavy front door opened upon a corridor 
 in which the leader's taper made darkness visible 
 in her immediate vicinity, and roused apprehen- 
 sive conjecture in its train, so long seemed the 
 distance we followed it. At the end of this 
 doorless, windowless passage we reached a stair- 
 
 [171]
 
 aurap 
 
 case winding by many landings up past blank 
 wall a distance that appeared to be equal to that 
 of the corridor. In the course of the ascent we 
 came to a barred gate of iron, which our land- 
 lady proceeded to unlock with a key about a 
 foot long. Through the gate the dame sent the 
 procession, and then locked us in, after which, 
 resuming generalship, she went on to a land- 
 ing from which stairs branched on either side. 
 Those on the left we followed and reached our 
 rooms, comfortably furnished and neat as wax 
 and rubbing could make them, where we soon 
 settled our belongings and were led forth once 
 more to dine. 
 
 From a long narrow dressing room attached 
 to the suite there was the rear view of this 
 street of ancient dwellings, and, as is the case 
 with icebergs, the larger portion of the mass was 
 that hidden from sight. The passageway be- 
 hind the end window was but one of many which 
 stretched indefinitely, roof after roof away back 
 into the country apparently. Peak beyond 
 peak and chimney beyond chimney, of all 
 heights and sizes, and of age pre-historic. Water 
 spouts stood out far from each depression to 
 direct the flow of rain at any angle upon the 
 rank grass of the crevasse-like cleft between ex- 
 tensions. A series of back doors opening upon 
 regions conjectural, pointed to a decorous treat- 
 meant of the slum problem, since these alleys 
 
 [ 172]
 
 Hurap 
 
 seemed to have no direct connection with the 
 market-place. 
 
 The surroundings were so unusual that the 
 next morning we eagerly accepted the landlady's 
 courteous offer to show us her complete apart- 
 ment. Although we were in the very top of a 
 tall building, the steps opposite those leading to 
 our rooms took us into the kitchen, hung around 
 with shining coppers, which had a peak all to 
 itself. From this a side door opened upon so 
 fine a substitute for a cellar, that it was hard to 
 remember that we were still exploring attics. 
 Brick tiled floor, cobwebby gloom, high dusty 
 window, fruity earthy odour; in fact all the ad- 
 juncts that properly belong beneath the house 
 we found flourishing high in air under the sharp- 
 est of pitched roofs, where heavy rafters lost 
 themselves in a batty musty gloom. The famil- 
 iar collection of boxes, barrels, wood-piles, and 
 rubbish stood about the edges of the space, and 
 in the foreground a goodly wine cellar was much 
 in evidence. Off at the farther end a ladder 
 against the wall led to pointed openings still 
 higher, inviting to triangular vistas interminable, 
 into which the obliging lady favoured our going, 
 but although presented with the freedom of the 
 suite, adventure palled by reason of the back 
 window view of the premises and the certainty 
 that spiders and rats would resent intrusion. 
 
 Great was the clatter and flurry in the market- 
 f 173 1
 
 Burai? 
 
 place far below our windows on our first morning 
 in Auray, and from the balcony we discovered 
 rows of booths and a display of varied wares, 
 for we had happened to arrive in time for the 
 greatest fair of the year. The bustle was stir- 
 ring, peasants crowded into town by every road, 
 although when we earliest spied the scene the 
 square seemed full to overflowing. From our 
 safe position we could follow the chaffering and 
 bargaining going on below, and study at our 
 leisure the first wide display we had come across 
 of true Lower Breton costume. 
 
 This piece of luck consoled us in a measure for 
 having missed the great "Pardon" of St. Anne 
 d'Auray which occurs annually, July 26th and 
 originated as long ago as 1624 in this wise: 
 
 Once upon a time there lived a farmer named 
 Nocolasik who possessed the farm called Bocenno 
 and superabundant piety. When he was not 
 ploughing he was praying or more often com- 
 bining the duties. St. Anne was his patroness, 
 and, appreciating such superior devotion, while 
 he prayed she looked out for the land. Devas- 
 tating storms she shunted, the wiles of the sor- 
 cerer she brought to naught, and the spells of 
 the wizard were of none effect, for when he 
 flattered himself that his magic cord would 
 catch Nocolasik's sheaves, behold! they brought 
 nothing but tares, and saved the farmer the 
 trouble of weeding. Of course this exemption 
 
 [174]
 
 Hurap 
 
 from evil made the neighbours jealous, for they 
 thought that Nocolasik had managed to seize 
 the only corner of Paradise let down in that part 
 of the country, but Nocolasik, himself, knew 
 very well what he was about, and redoubled his 
 praying. 
 
 Among other things, the pious farmer knew 
 that in the ages past there had once been a 
 chapel dedicated to St. Anne somewhere on his 
 farm, which, on the whole, was a favourable cir- 
 cumstance. If he ever chanced to stay out late 
 the dark road home was usually lighted by 
 ghostly little tapering flames that burned steadily 
 no matter how it might storm. Often he could 
 smell a faint odour of incense while the tapers 
 burned. 
 
 One summer evening as he sat near the 
 spring where he watered the cattle not far from 
 the middle of his fertile fields, a bright light 
 suddenly surrounded him and seemed to issue 
 from the water. There was no electricity then 
 to account for lighted springs, Heaven alone 
 furnished extra illumination, so Nicolasik was 
 in no wise unprepared for the apparition that 
 hovered in the dazzling radiance, and found it 
 quite natural that the head of an angelic form 
 should produce a halo and that the halo should 
 light up the place. He knew in a trice with 
 whom he had to deal, and he knew also the right 
 way to go about it, prostrating himself before it 
 
 [175]
 
 Huras 
 
 in humble adoration. Thus bowed he remained 
 till a side peep convinced him that the vision 
 had gone off with the halo, and then he set out 
 with all speed to pour his tale into the ear of his 
 confessor. The priest was certainly taken aback. 
 He put on a lofty air and tried to prove to Nicola- 
 sik that not even the lesser saints of the calendar 
 would make friendly overtures to a man of such 
 low estate. His reverence really believed this, 
 for the saints ignored the Bishop who, in turn, 
 looked down on the lesser priesthood. As for 
 the confessor himself, he thought himself much 
 too good to associate with the like of Nicolasik, 
 so how could he have comprehended the wide 
 jump in the circuit just reported! 
 
 Far from resenting this view of the case, 
 Nicolasik went back home to think it over, and 
 on reflection began to suspect that he might have 
 popped down too soon, mistaking in the twilight 
 some naughty Korrigan for his patroness, since 
 he had been too humble to take a good square 
 look. His pardonable conceit shrank to nothing, 
 and he redoubled his prayers to be kept from 
 temptations of vainglorious assumption. 
 
 But St. Anne had no mind to be foiled by an 
 ignorant parish priest, so whenever Nicolasik 
 found himself in the vicinity of the spring queer 
 things began to happen anew and went on hap- 
 pening. A confused but musical sound, like the 
 rising of many waters, met his ear, and a light 
 
 [176]
 
 Hurap 
 
 broke forth, illuminating the whole country. 
 He saw himself surrounded by an innumerable 
 host, clothed in every known Breton costume. 
 These came pouring in from the four quarters 
 of the heavens to adore St. Anne. Thunder- 
 struck, Nicolasik gazed at the apparition. " Fear 
 not," said the saint in a gentle voice, "Hear 
 my commands. God wills that on this spot I 
 should be reverenced, and I direct you to rebuild 
 here the chapel that for the last thousand 
 years has lain a neglected ruin. Search for my 
 buried image and reinstate it upon a fitting altar 
 for the benefit of reverent pilgrims." The figure 
 vanished, and Nicolasik hastened to assemble 
 his friends and neighbours, to whom he recounted 
 his marvellous experiences. Before him went a 
 star, quite visible to the faithful, but hidden to 
 unbelievers. It led the crowd to Bocenno, 
 where, on opening the ground at the place where 
 the vision had disappeared, the image was re- 
 vealed quite as good as new, uninjured by its 
 long burial. Nicolasik at first built a turf cabin 
 to shelter the miraculous statue to which throngs 
 of worshippers pressed. The fame of this won- 
 derful shrine spread abroad and a new miracle 
 took place. Nicolasik was blessed by one more 
 heavenly vision in which angels descending a 
 radiant ladder bore to him a sculptured block, 
 the model of the church which all good Christians 
 were commanded to unite in erecting in place 
 
 [ 177]
 
 Sural? 
 
 of the existing, unsuitable cabin. The details 
 of the plan were so stamped upon his brain that 
 Nicolasik was not only able to advocate the 
 work with unanswerable force, but possessed 
 the knowledge enabling him to direct the archi- 
 tects and builders like a real boss carpenter. 
 
 Now, at last, everybody wished to help, and 
 troops of country people came with offerings of 
 wood and iron and stone and labour, so that the 
 whole church was finished before the world 
 realised what was in progress, and the cross set 
 above to proclaim the completion of the work 
 drew pilgrims unnumbered to the holy shrine. 
 As for consecration services, never before had 
 such taken place, the higher clergy, the nobles, 
 the rich bourgeois, all flocked to do honour to 
 St. Anne, and to this very day the good saint 
 remembers this worship, for the lame, the palsied, 
 the weak flock to her Pardon to drink from the 
 well, and she still cures the multitude, if not 
 always in body, surely in spirit. Beggars have 
 cause to bless St. Anne, for no one can refuse 
 their insistent pleas while himself hoping for 
 aid. For this reason the beggars keep up very 
 audible solicitations during the entire service 
 of the Mass. 
 
 Coffee in the Breton style is served in large 
 bowls with no saucers. With the native it is 
 scarcely treated as a beverage, but rather as a 
 sop into which the rolls, young loaves of bread, 
 
 [178]
 
 are broken, to be audibly gulped later. The 
 spoon provided is appropriately a soup-spoon 
 which must be left standing in the cup or laid 
 on the cloth, which remains in use till well cov- 
 ered with semicircles of round brown dots that 
 mark the position of unprotected former bowls. 
 Butter for this reason is on demand, and milk 
 is served boiling, unless it is expressly desired 
 fresh. 
 
 The unusual spectacle of a hotel full to over- 
 flowing without one English speaking guest was 
 so new to us that we were at once convicted 
 either of having always followed the crowd or of 
 never having possessed the true Wanderlust. 
 
 French travellers attend strictly to their own 
 business, a virtue not to be despised. No matter 
 how frequently their line of travel crosses yours, 
 there is never a suspicion of curiosity on their 
 part as to your affairs, or of anxiety to fix in 
 their minds your exact degree in the social scale. 
 If it falls in your way to approach one for infor- 
 mation, you receive it with all courteous interest 
 in your request, but otherwise the Frenchman 
 scarcely turns his head in your direction, and, 
 as for any look of recognition, he passes you as 
 blankly on the twentieth occasion as on the first. 
 Then, too, there is an entire lack of any desire to 
 pose. The Anglo-Saxon, no matter how unas- 
 suming, has always on his conscience the duty of 
 impressing his neighbour with full knowledge of 
 
 [179]
 
 Unvav. 
 
 his proper worth, and feels it obligatory to avoid 
 compromising associations. The Frenchman has 
 but one responsibility, and that is to show how 
 excellent his own manner is, not for the gratifi- 
 cation of others, but as a matter of self-respect. 
 It is rare to find in France people who pretend 
 to be what they are not, or who indulge in false 
 pride as to their station in life. Each occupies 
 himself with his own pursuits, content to fill the 
 niche in which he finds himself placed. 
 
 Our day began with a walk to the village 
 church, and then a hunt after the various depart- 
 ments of the fair, which are spread abroad over 
 the face of the village, occupying as much of its 
 space as possible. We saw for the first time the 
 true Breton cattle, little creatures, the cows 
 about as high as donkeys. A dab of paint on 
 the hoofs of many of the horses on the road at- 
 tracted our attention, and we were told that this 
 was the sign that entry dues had been paid. 
 In the great market-house, were displayed quan- 
 tities of sardines of every variety in the way of 
 preservation, a fish, the sight and odour of which 
 become an inseparable element of all memories 
 of touring in these parts. From Auray on the 
 trip is made in a pervasive aroma of sardines 
 treated in a greater number of ways than the 
 outer world dreams of. At each meal at least one 
 kind, sometimes a complete assortment is pre- 
 sented, fresh, salted, smoked, or preserved in oil. 
 
 [180]
 
 Burai? 
 
 In Auray proper are some ancient houses but 
 in the small hamlet across the little stream that 
 runs past the town all the houses are so old that 
 it is likely the original settlement was there. 
 
 The parish church of Auray is well situated 
 in the midst of a grassy plateau, but architectur- 
 ally there is little of interest about it, and reli- 
 giously it is dwarfed in importance by St. Anne 
 a mile out in the country. 
 
 Out on the road that follows the bank of the 
 river, tucked away in a corner, stands a weather- 
 beaten calvaire, curious enough, perhaps, but 
 thrown into the shade by finer specimens at 
 almost any point of the journey beyond. 
 
 [181]
 
 XIV. CARNAC 
 
 THE outward drive to Carnac towards the 
 extreme point of a flat, desolate, wind- 
 swept peninsula, a distance of some eight 
 miles, is devoid of any especial interest. 
 
 Our driver, when he finally consented to con- 
 duct us, proved to be the chatty person much 
 concerned with our affairs of the moment, that 
 the French driver is usually found to be. He 
 exerted every endeavour to excite our sympathies 
 in behalf of certain stranded rocks along the 
 route, but he began his eulogies too long before 
 experience and knowledge had created a per- 
 spective for our untrained eyes, and a stone was 
 simple stone to us and it was nothing more. 
 Driving home we regarded these very objects 
 with all the awe he demanded. From their 
 stations in wall or building, where in native rug- 
 gedness they had .been degraded and utilised, 
 they cried aloud with pathetic insistence. For 
 centuries these monoliths have formed an inex- 
 haustible quarry from which fields have been 
 walled and whole villages built, so it is probably 
 impossible to estimate just how widely they 
 
 [182]
 
 Carnac 
 
 covered the face of the land in the days of their 
 prosperity. 
 
 Some distance before we reached Carnac, the 
 dolmens began to rise along the road; here and 
 there in bare neglected fields they reared them- 
 selves in various stages of preservation, from a 
 solidity ready to defy time's assaults forever, 
 down to crumbling ruins scarcely distinguishable 
 for what they are. 
 
 They must be touched, handled, explored 
 before a full impression of their huge bulk enters 
 the comprehension, and to fail of gaining that 
 through indolence is to deprive oneself of one 
 of the most important features of the expedition. 
 By all means, leave the automobile or carriage, 
 stumble over the rough field and gain the side 
 of the stone monsters, walk around, about them, 
 and under them, — over, if you can. In the finest 
 specimens the heavy parallel walls of gigantic 
 upright slabs of granite stand as firm to-day as 
 they stood when their unknown founders set 
 them, and they support a flat roof of massive 
 rocks. It is quite possible that many such struc- 
 tures, now open to the sky, are denuded tumuli 
 and that the flat roof once covered a hidden 
 burial or treasure chamber. To-day they are 
 entered by following a worn footpath across the 
 field which leads to a slippery descent which 
 introduces the stranger into the cyclopean apart- 
 ment. For fifteen or twenty feet the path con- 
 
 [183]
 
 Carnac 
 
 tinues beneath the rock canopy and at the end 
 a stiff scrabble up five almost vertical feet 
 ends the exploration out on the field once 
 more. 
 
 In general the Druidical remains may be 
 classed as: Menhirs, bare, rough, monolithic 
 obelisks, rudely pear-shaped, set upright on the 
 smaller end; Cromlechs, menhirs arranged in a 
 circle or concentric circles, often inclosing a 
 central stone, presumably an altar; Lichavens or 
 Triliths, forming a sort of isolated doorway 
 which may have served as entrance to some 
 building of more perishable nature. These con- 
 sist of two menhirs supporting a transverse 
 monolith; Dolmens, as described, which seem to 
 have been altars, for they frequently bear 
 roughly made gutters, conduits for blood, and 
 sometimes show traces of symbolic figures of 
 beasts or plants, holes arranged symmetrically, 
 and other rude carvings ; Alleys are mere parallel 
 rows of menhirs. 
 
 Of isolated monoliths the largest in this region 
 are to be found at Lokmariaker on an adjacent 
 peninsula but although not far away as the crow 
 flies or a boat floats the sea runs so far inland that 
 by road the distance from Carnac to these big 
 stones is very long. Two of the most remarkable 
 stones of Brittany are not in this district at all. 
 At St. Sanson not far from Dinan is a menhir 
 more than eight metres tall, and a mile out of Dol 
 
 [ 184 ]
 
 Carnac 
 
 is another standing thirty feet above ground, not 
 reckoning the buried portion. 
 
 Carnac consists of the usual collection of stone 
 houses fringing a broad unpaved space before a 
 church, curious even for this land of curious 
 churches. There are a comfortable inn, a mod- 
 est museum rich in photographs and the pre- 
 historic, and, beyond, a wide view of waters. 
 
 The church is dedicated to one of the numerous 
 local saints who seem never to have strayed far 
 from home and who now appear only on Breton 
 stained glass to the confusion of the observer. 
 St. Corneille is the particular patron of Carnac 
 and cattle. He once made wholesale cure of a 
 mediaeval rinderpest and thereby preserved 
 Carnac from destruction. As a memorial of this 
 favour the front of the church bears above the 
 main entrance a highly coloured glazed figure of 
 the saint, flanked by glazed cows of simple anat- 
 omy and brilliant hide, rising in low relief from 
 square plaques of pottery. The trio forms an 
 ornamentation that for naive incongruity ex- 
 ceeds anything yet met. But the crowning fea- 
 ture of St. Corneille's church is the sculptured 
 crown over the side porch, a lace work in stone 
 quite sui generis. 
 
 The wonderful alleys lie about a mile beyond 
 the town. At first sight they are disappointing 
 because the size of the individual stones is by no 
 means colossal, some indeed, being nothing more 
 
 [185]
 
 Carnac 
 
 than blunt thrusts of rock carrying on their line. 
 None of them are lofty enough to raise the gen- 
 eral average above three feet; but as we stood 
 at the head of the broad field and looked along 
 the parallel rows that like a petrified army cross 
 the gentle slopes, descend into the hollows, and 
 extend ever on and on till they lose themselves 
 in the woods a mile or more beyond, the fascina- 
 tion gradually seized us, and we grew to compre- 
 hend their impressiveness. Eleven such rows 
 there are in this group, which is only one of 
 three in the vicinity of Carnac, the stones of the 
 other groups in point of mass far exceeding these. 
 The direction of the alleys is from east to west, 
 and at one end they terminate in a semicircle 
 that binds together the outer rows. 
 
 Scientists have wearied themselves in the 
 fruitless endeavour to explain the use and origin 
 of this wonderful field of rocks. It has been 
 called a camp of Cajsar; a dracontium, or temple 
 dedicated to the worship of the serpent; and, 
 again, a burial place with these colossal head- 
 stones, but the peasants know, beyond a doubt, 
 that it was here that St. Corneille petrified a 
 pagan army which pursued him, thus again sav- 
 ing Carnac from destruction, by which act he 
 manifested himself as its patron. To this day 
 the stones are called the soldiers of St. Corneille. 
 If any one doubts this story it would be hopeless 
 to try to convince him of the true origin of the 
 
 [186]
 
 Carnac 
 
 alley at the humble hamlet of Hennebon, beyond 
 Plouhinec, in a district once the home of the 
 malicious, impious, little Korigans. These grasp- 
 ing, avaricious, pigmies hid their enormous 
 wealth in the earth, and each erected above his 
 store a gigantic menhir to keep it from Christian 
 uses. Once every century on Christmas-eve 
 at midnight these stones rush pell-mell to the 
 water near by for a drink, and the treasures are 
 for a time unguarded. But it is by no means so 
 fine a chance to get them as one might suppose, 
 for the plunderer must bear a branch of the 
 cross plant surrounded by five-leaved clovers to 
 keep away the rocks, which hurry back so fast 
 that without this protection a Christian would 
 be crushed to death. Even should the spoiler be 
 successful the gold crumbles to dust unless a 
 Christian soul be given in exchange, and thus, 
 enjoyment of these riches necessitates the death 
 of a baptised mortal. It is easy to comprehend 
 why no peasant willingly looks upon the alley 
 after nightfall of Christmas-eve, when the mali- 
 cious demons might tempt him to his destruction, 
 and why they shut their eyes tight when a sound 
 like thunder startles them, for, although at 
 Plouhinec it may be a thunderstorm, at Henne- 
 bon it is something far more serious. 
 
 Not far away from the alleys is a perfectly 
 preserved tumulus surmounted by a small chapel, 
 below which, a passage is said to lead to the 
 
 [187]
 
 Carnac 
 
 heart of the mound, but as the door is usually 
 locked, in the interest of the sacristan, if he has 
 been overlooked through ignorance or motives 
 of economy, a fine wide view over the sur- 
 rounding country is the only reward to be ex- 
 pected for toiling up the rather abrupt, uneven 
 ascent. 
 
 Turning back towards Auray on another road 
 a second field of monuments is reached, in which 
 a smaller number of stones, quite differently dis- 
 posed and consisting of much larger individual 
 blocks produces at first sight that impression of 
 grandeur which seemed before lacking. Here 
 the plan of arrangment is circular, and, although 
 many stones have fallen, and the ruin wrought 
 by centuries of depredation and neglect has 
 largely destroyed the original design, concen- 
 tric rows about a central altar stone are easily 
 traced. 
 
 The somewhat sombre character of the enter- 
 tainment oflPered by Carnac was considerably 
 lightened by the merry persistent flock of beg- 
 ging children that accompanied every stage 
 of our progress; grimy, well-fed looking gamins, 
 whose impelling motive seemed to consist, in 
 about equal parts, of a generous desire to aid our 
 designs and a less praiseworthy one to relieve 
 us of all our small change. It must, however, 
 be said for them that they appeared to bear 
 rebuffs, which the exhaustion of our copper 
 
 [188]
 
 Carnac 
 
 money entailed, with smiling philosophy, and 
 thereafter continued their active exertions in 
 our behalf from purely altruistic consideration. 
 They slid down under the dolmen ahead of us 
 and looked back encouragingly to show that we 
 need have no fear; they chattered of St. Corneille 
 as they escorted us through the church; they 
 lent us rather dirty, but strong and willing hands 
 in our scramble to the top of the tumulus. But 
 all former feats were thrown into the shade by 
 the prowess of a youngster, who sprang from 
 the dust somewhere in the vicinity of the crom- 
 lech at the end of the tour. He came forward 
 with the assurance born of experience, and per- 
 suasively asked, "Pleace, weel you geef me a 
 paynee.'^" 
 
 The attractive little swindler timed and placed 
 his application very astutely, and was in no wise 
 surprised when his amusing rendering of this 
 brief bit of our vernacular brought a generous 
 return in small silver, long after his companions 
 had definitely abandoned all hopes of further 
 financial success. 
 
 As we took a last farewell survey of the solemn 
 field, we thought of Browning's beautiful lines : 
 
 "And still so much remains of that gray cult, 
 That even now of nights, do women steal 
 
 To the sole Menhir standing, and insult 
 The antagonistic church-spire by appeal 
 
 [189]
 
 Catnac 
 
 To power discrowned in vain, since each adult 
 Believes the gruesome thing she clasps may 
 heal 
 
 Whatever plague no priestly help can cure: 
 Kiss but the cold stone, the event is sure!" 
 
 A recent writer in the Saturday Review has 
 well expressed the status of this simple folk: "In 
 Brittany, ever pious, ever poetical, nothing has 
 changed since the Middle Ages, very little since 
 the days of the Druids. You may witness the 
 cult of ancient Keltic saints, whose very tradi- 
 tions have passed away. St. Huec, St. Wide- 
 bote, St. Jubel, St. Judoc — we implore their 
 intercession, though their lives and their miracles 
 were shrouded in oblivion centuries ago. Stones 
 and springs, though they may no longer be 
 openly worshipped, are accepted by the Church 
 as meet to be revered." 
 
 The ancient Druid god Belenus appears to 
 have borne some relation to Apollo; and Ten- 
 tates, to Mercury, while many of the Druid rites 
 point to an earlier form of fire worship akin to 
 the Biblical idolatries. 
 
 [190]
 
 XV. QUIMPERLE 
 
 THE guide-books make many unauthor- 
 ised statements about the sights to be 
 met along the Breton railways. Here is 
 a spot noted for its lovely children, there, a village 
 celebrated for its beautiful women, and so on. 
 All of us faithfully scanned the populace present- 
 ing itself for inspection, hoping to report on the 
 superabundant physical beauty wasting itself 
 upon guide-book writers, but it certainly called 
 for close search. Some lovely children we saw, 
 but not at advertised points, but when it came 
 to the belies of Rosporden, they must have been 
 off sardine fishing, for we saw but one woman 
 there who could lay the slightest claim to any- 
 thing beyond average beauty, even that was 
 more a matter of size and carriage than of face 
 and form. 
 
 One bright noonday we drove into the village 
 square of Quimperle, and were set down under 
 the thick bower of linden branchery to be im- 
 mediately fortified about with a rampart formed 
 of our bags and bundles. 
 
 What there was in our appearance to set the 
 entire working force of the hotel into agitated 
 
 [191]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 upheaval, we could not imagine, and for a time, 
 too long for our patience, we were left speculat- 
 ing on the mystery. To judge from appearances 
 we were destined to camp unter den Linden, or 
 charter the automobile that had opportunely 
 broken down here, and which might, on a pinch, 
 house us during the time its owner spent running 
 up to Paris to buy the necessary replacements; 
 for Quimperle boasts but one inn and that one 
 seemed disinclined to embrace us. 
 
 Finally, to the easing of our perplexity, out 
 bustled a most untidy hostess, quite the person 
 whose administration might be expected to 
 abound in confusion and delay, and we received 
 the expected information, fussily given with 
 superfluous apology, that, the house being over- 
 full, our case had called for most intricate rear- 
 rangement. This, fortunately, she had been 
 able to accomplish satisfactorily, and if we did 
 not mind being scattered through three floors, 
 she would show us to our rooms. Luckily, in- 
 deed, we acquiesced, for scarcely were we dis- 
 posed of, than there arrived a flock of all-posses- 
 sing English tourists, who talked much and loudly 
 of a prince in their train. Their evident pride 
 in the captured scion of royalty was so irrepres- 
 sible, we rather expected to find one of the 
 Queen's grandsons in bad company, and an 
 Arabian Night's picture of trailing ermine robes, 
 topped with a fat gold crown, was what we 
 
 [ 192 ]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 privately hoped to see; for, though we blush to 
 confess it, we do not move in the society of 
 princes every day and had a distinctly pleasur- 
 able curiosity about our fellow-lodger that must 
 be laid entirely to the account of his exalted 
 rank. For some time, although the whole party 
 appeared regularly at table, we could not tell 
 which of the very plain, not especially refined 
 looking youths was, "The Prince" who by his 
 mere presence spread such joy abroad, and lent 
 us all a so gratifying sense of social uplift. At 
 last, the discovery came with something of a 
 shock, for the very commonest, stoutest, young- 
 est of the lot, a mere ungraceful, hobble-de-hoy, 
 rejoicing in a name of the Abbas Pasha w order, 
 or with something akin to that as component 
 part, was the much talked of noble. This 
 quite dashed our uncommendable interest, for 
 none of us cared to sit around watching the 
 fourth or fifth son of the third or fourth wife of 
 some Turkish or Egyptian sovereign — Indian, 
 maybe, though he had the look of a very ordinary 
 German. 
 
 Why the square before the hotel at Quimperle 
 is not pretty, I cannot tell, unless it is that it is 
 not sodded. A little river runs through it, it 
 is beautifully shaded with fine lindens, and the 
 buildings in line with the hotel, all parts of a for- 
 mer monastery, are fairly neat looking. But we 
 did not find it satisfactory. The hotel was a 
 
 [193]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 whited sepulchre, all paint and gloss without, all 
 dirt, disorder, and smell within. At Quimperle 
 we first began to manage the dozen or more 
 courses of the never ending dinner with one knife 
 and fork — or two, for I believe there was a 
 change between fish and the meats. — By the 
 time we got back to Dinard, though, we had 
 become very expert in polishing them off on a 
 piece of bread, and putting them on the knife- 
 rest provided. At first, we foolishly tried to send 
 the fork away with the plate, but the experienced 
 waitress, with her beautiful Pont-Aven cap and 
 wide white fluted collar standing out like a stiff 
 wheel about her neck, lifted it in a didactic man- 
 ner and planted it emphatically in its proper 
 place on the glass knife-rest. Abandoning this 
 hope, it only remained to remember to finish 
 cleaning the implements in time to send the mis- 
 used chunk of bread away with the plate. Hav- 
 ing been left a few times waving a soiled bread 
 pill in a vain attempt to deposit it aright, the 
 lesson was driven home so well that when we 
 returned to the land of plentiful cutlery it took 
 us a day or two to unlearn the trick and resume 
 ordinary table etiquette. 
 
 From Quimperle the walk out to Rosgrand, a 
 so-called chateau in the style of our own, is 
 along a well-kept state road with a fine view over 
 the surrounding country. Rosgrand, in a fash- 
 ion prevalent in Brittany, has come into posses- 
 
 [194]
 
 (SJuimperle 
 
 sion of a spinster, last of her race, who does not 
 seem to Hve there. In the buildings on the 
 property there is nothing very interesting, but 
 the bare family chapel contains some wood-carv- 
 ing well worth a visit, and family tombs and to 
 spare, but none of any especial beauty. The 
 trees, however, that embower the property are 
 its glory, and even the carvings cannot compete 
 with them. The shaded, steep drive from the 
 main road led us into the heart of a nest of farm 
 buildings, down the tall outer staircase of one 
 of which, an aged crone hobbled with all the 
 haste she could muster to meet us and open the 
 simple chapel near by. The tiny place of wor- 
 ship gave evidence of long standing neglect. It 
 seemed nothing more than the family burial 
 place, since mortuary tablets formed the most 
 prominent feature of its floor and walls. The 
 rarely beautiful screen of old carving looked 
 sadly out of place, but Lower Brittany every- 
 where abounds in beautiful carvings in most 
 unexpected and out of the way situations. We 
 soon became so used to seeing similar gems sur- 
 rounded by commonplace rubbish, we forgot 
 our first mourning over the hidden screen of 
 Rosgrand. The farm cottages looked so well 
 preserved we asked one of the peasants if we 
 might look into his house. He was very cordial 
 in his invitation to us to enter, and the interior 
 was one of the best of its kind. There must have 
 
 [195 1
 
 (Siutmpcrle 
 
 been a large family, for at least five of the closet- 
 like beds stood against the walls, and the table 
 down the middle of the room was of unusual 
 length. The peasant himself had apparently 
 just come up from town and was making his 
 primitive repast walking around the table, a 
 knife in one hand and a wedge of bread in the 
 other. The presses, clock, and other regulation 
 furniture of the large room were black, old, and 
 highly polished. There was every evidence of 
 well to do comfort as conceived by the Breton, 
 and the man had an air of unusual intelligence. 
 He talked French, too, which was more than his 
 wife was able to do. Indeed, down here the 
 middle-aged women rarely understand French. 
 It at first looks like sheer affectation to see a 
 well-grown intelligent woman shake her head 
 stupidly in response to a question put to her in 
 the language of the country or, at least, in such 
 approach to that language as circumstances 
 allow. It takes, however, but short time to 
 realise that French is to the Bretonne a truly 
 foreign tongue. Business transactions compel 
 the men to become more or less conversant with 
 the national speech, and of late the government 
 had insisted on having children in the schools 
 taught in French so the death knell of Breton 
 as a distinct speech has already been struck. A 
 more serious blow has been administered in the 
 removal of the former Breton priests. So long 
 
 [196]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 as confessions and other spiritual comforts were 
 to be had in the Celtic speech just so long did 
 the women with their natural conservatism, 
 another name for mental inertia and laziness, 
 refuse to learn any other language. Middle- 
 aged and old women were reared in Breton 
 schools under the supervision of parish priests 
 taken from the people, and quite as blind in their 
 attachment to local ways as were their charges. 
 Breton is akin to native Irish and Welsh. Indeed 
 it is said that Welshmen have little difficulty in 
 making themselves understood in Brittany. 
 
 Quimperle is a provoking city in some respects. 
 In all its quarters, scattered bits of beautiful 
 ruin bolstered between or built into more modern 
 constructions whet the curiosity and keep it 
 keenly alive. No one appears to know anything 
 about these stranded fragments which to the 
 architect have no great excellence possibly, yet, 
 even though they may not be worthy of praise 
 it is unsatisfactory not to be able to learn why 
 they happen to display so much renaissance 
 decoration amid so much plain wall. A curious 
 something, largely balustrade presents its moss- 
 grown, truncated pyramidal end to the main 
 street, and has the appearance of having be- 
 longed to some palace or municipal hall as 
 outer staircase. Not far beyond this a large 
 Gothic window-frame with the ruined portion of 
 the wall are patched and filled in to form one 
 
 [197]
 
 (Siufmperle 
 
 side of what appears to be an ordinary dwelling 
 house. The Guide-Book offers no explanation, 
 and we found no inhabitant able to fill the 
 hiatus. All, probably have to do with the old 
 monastery now cut up into hotel, dwellings, and 
 shops. 
 
 The church of St. Michael is so well placed on 
 an eminence overlooking the town that it has an 
 imposing effect, not sustained on near approach. 
 It is smaller than it appears from below, and the 
 interior is insignificant. The present basilica of 
 "Sainte Croix" is a very recent erection, the 
 former building having fallen down in 1862. The 
 plan, which has been retained from the earlier 
 building, is that of the Church of the Holy Sepul- 
 chre in Jerusalem. From a great central dome, 
 rather flat-roofed, branch four equal arms of a 
 cross. Within, under the dome, the floor is 
 raised, so that the high altar is approached by 
 flights of steps from four sides. Beneath this 
 raised platform is a crypt. The whole aspect 
 of the church, both outside and in, is in decided 
 contrast to the ordinary Gothic building. Its 
 size and plan make it one of the most noteworthy 
 churches of this region. 
 
 From Quimperle we had intended driving to 
 Concarneau and Pont Aven, since " Guenn " was 
 supposed to come from the former, and high art 
 to flourish in the latter place, but we were not 
 forewarned that a pardon in the neighbourhood 
 
 [ 198 ]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 was to denude the stables of the little town long 
 before we set out in search of a carriage, so, as 
 our other days had other tasks appointed, we 
 could only wait till some conveyances came back, 
 far too late for our expedition, and then take a 
 drive to see Blue Beard's Castle. The one and 
 only original Blue Beard hailed from Brittany; 
 but, as is the case with Homer and other celeb- 
 rities, seven or more cities claim him, so that 
 each Department of Brittany has his castle, or 
 what is left of it, on exhibition. In spite of this, 
 Quimperle is sure that its own particular Blue 
 Beard's Castle is the only true one, and visitors 
 who can accept Quimperle's dictum are to be 
 congratulated, since they alone have full satis- 
 faction in the sight of one chimney-like structure, 
 old and crumbling, rising from a shapeless, grass- 
 grown heap of confused debris. The drive up 
 to the spot, through a dense Government forest, 
 is far more beautiful than the ruin, no part of 
 which rises higher than ten or fifteen feet above 
 the sod beneath. 
 
 The name Quimperle in its present form is a 
 contraction of Quimper-sur-Elle, the Elle being 
 the rivulet running through the place. It used 
 to be so called to distinguish it from the Quimper 
 further down the coast. 
 
 The great Duke John IV de Montfort is said 
 to be buried here in the convent that stands fac- 
 ing the broad town square. The gate was opened 
 
 [199]
 
 Quimperle 
 
 for us by a stout, comfortable looking old sister, 
 who told us we might wander about the little 
 garden, but who could not give, us permission to 
 enter the buildings. We began to fear the tomb 
 was unattainable, but she willingly opened for 
 us the door of a diminutive chapel at one side 
 of the entrance, where we found imbedded in a 
 wall the old black stone we sought, setting forth 
 the manifold virtues of a duke, who in life was as 
 wily as courageous, and whose acts were often 
 of very doubtful moral character. The tomb 
 itself looks as though it might date from almost 
 any age, with its curious old lettering and inde- 
 pendent spelling, so we were inclined to think 
 1399 was about as good a year as any to agree 
 with its other individualities. The most reliable 
 authorities incline to discredit the tale of John's 
 having been transported to this spot for burial, 
 since he died in Nantes. 
 
 The deep, narrow valley at the head of which 
 Quimperle nestles so snugly forms a most attract- 
 ive picture. The little stream that bisects the 
 open town square wanders on between high hills, 
 past small peasant holdings with their cabins and 
 cattle where the opposing ridges seem ready to 
 meet at any point and close the way. A mile 
 or more below the town the railroad crosses on a 
 magnificent viaduct reaching from hill-top to hill- 
 top. The road is no spindling series of iron der- 
 ricks but is composed of graceful stone arches 
 
 [200]
 
 (Siutmperle 
 
 through which, in looking back from below, 
 Quimperl^ acquires all the finish of a finely 
 framed painting. 
 
 Here we learned why the curbs of wells and 
 fountains domicile so large a family of saints 
 fortified by so generous an array of crosses and 
 kindred emblems. It seems that in the earliest 
 times the malicious little Korrigans claimed a 
 monopoly of the waters. Running streams and 
 springs were either discovered or called into 
 existence by these impious revilers of the true 
 faith which, notwithstanding, they feared with 
 wholesome awe. The bravest Korrigan that 
 ever faced a Christian trembled mightily at the 
 view of the cross and, as for the sight of an image 
 of the Virgin, that set the whole band to flight 
 as though their reputed father were after them. 
 The mere sign of the cross threw them into such 
 a flutter, that, but for the forgetfulness of those 
 who ever should have used this talisman, the 
 sign alone would have been suflScient protection 
 for the thirsty faithful. In stone there is no for- 
 getfulness, so it became the practice to set up 
 a permanent scare-Korrigan at all springs, and 
 thus were they securely put beyond suspicion of 
 providing a base for diabolic pranks. The imp- 
 ish tricks which these tormenting creatures de- 
 light to play upon mortals are innumerable, but 
 with a solid little saint in charge the waters may 
 be trusted to dispense health and refreshment 
 
 [201 ]
 
 (Siuimperle 
 
 instead of rickets, fevers (?), wild delusions, or 
 pains. 
 
 Just beyond Blue Beard's castle is the ferry 
 of Carnoet where the vile sorcerer Milliguet used 
 to take the form of ferryman and lure souls to 
 their death. Whoever stepped into his boat for- 
 getting first to make the sign of the cross was 
 already half lost, but if, having embarked, he 
 looked back there was no hope for him. Along 
 the bank of the stream in a misty haze wandered 
 the murdered wives of Blue Beard. Up and 
 down they moved, never resting. The unhappy 
 shades wailed and moaned and gibbered at the 
 wayfarer who was constrained to fix his unwilling 
 gaze upon them. The sight unsettled his wits, 
 and when his terror had reached a height satis- 
 factory to Milliguet he suddenly let the boat 
 rush with the swift current, and the poor passen- 
 ger was dashed upon the sharp rocks, leaving the 
 ferryman free to try the trick again. 
 
 During life Blue Beard was known as the 
 Count Camore, and the property appertaining 
 to the castle above included this stream and 
 ferry. The wives undoubtedly suffered much, 
 but why they should have taken it out on inoffen- 
 sive wayfarers it is hard to see. What possible 
 satisfaction could have come to their ghostly 
 shades from frightening people out of their wits? 
 It almost seems as though old Milliguet had the 
 entire family under his wizardly thumb, jealous 
 
 [202]
 
 Qutmperle 
 
 of the count, who certainly was successful in 
 finding ladies to marry him. At any rate, the 
 good ladies by the enchanter's spells were forced 
 to swell the doleful party on the bank of the 
 river, and the beard may not be so blue as it is 
 painted. 
 
 However that may be, it all happened long 
 years ago. The castle was laid in ruins by fire 
 as far back as seven centuries, and till recently 
 has been left to its slow decay. Recent investi- 
 gations have unearthed a store of curious old 
 tiles, specimens of which may be seen at the 
 Cluny Museum in Paris. The colours are two 
 yellows, a light and a dark, the designs are mainly 
 fleur-de-lys and the bird that was the old Camore 
 crest, the glaze is perhaps the oldest French 
 glaze yet found, though that and the fleur-de-lys 
 throw discredit on the traditionary date of the 
 conflagration. If one insists upon historical ac- 
 curacy he must be prepared to abandon the de- 
 lights of fable. 
 
 [203
 
 XVI. FAOUET 
 
 FAOUET, although twenty-one kilometres 
 from the nearest railway station, Quim- 
 perle, is in the line of the regulation tour, 
 for which reason the long drive does not carry 
 the visitor into uncontaminated rusticity, though 
 everything is refreshingly primitive. Through- 
 out the length of the drive but one residence 
 betrays interesting features, a stubby tower, 
 irregular pitched roofs, windows set for the pur- 
 pose of giving the desired light irrespective of 
 outer regularity, all peering forth from thickets 
 of shrubbery behind clusters of great trees. The 
 place really looked as a chateau should look, but 
 as it is the summer residence of some substantial 
 bourgeois, he does not throw it open at "tw^o 
 shillings apiece for charity and one shilling fee to 
 the housekeeper" as would a considerate English 
 noble. 
 
 The road, however, is rich in the usual col- 
 lections of stone cabins, called villages, back of 
 one of which is the interesting old church of St. 
 Fiacre. It certainly takes some time to become 
 accustomed to the sight of fine, large churches 
 planted out in the fields, far away from any con- 
 
 [204]
 
 jfaouct 
 
 siderable town. Sometimes, as in the case of St. 
 Fiacre, a more than modest Uttle village lies near, 
 but often the church seems to stand on its own 
 worth with no assistance. We left the carriage 
 and plunged into a muddy, depressed cart track, 
 indicated by the complaisant driver. Ever mud- 
 dier and narrower, our course lay through barn- 
 yards and past doorways in a meandering, in- 
 consequent way. We hardly realized that the 
 dozen, or fewer, little huts formed a village with 
 a name. At last we came out upon fields, across 
 which we reached St. Fiacre, a singular old build- 
 ing, which bears traces of several alternating 
 periods of decay and restoration. From the cot- 
 tages a crowd of women and children had col- 
 lected, one of whom brought the key and let us in. 
 The others ranged themselves in the roomy side 
 porch, adopting various expressions and attitudes 
 of appealing woe, which were pulled suddenly 
 down over them with the convenient readiness 
 of habitual veils. 
 
 Almost any Breton church shows some peculi- 
 arity of ground plan that gives it individuality, 
 but in St. Fiacre the carvings attract most atten- 
 tion. The grotesque ends of projecting beams 
 wherever preserved are remarkable for expression 
 and variety, and the rood-screen is a lace work in 
 wood. The peasants have done their best to 
 spoil it by painting it in ecclesiastical reds and 
 blues, but they have not been able to destroy the 
 
 [205]
 
 ^aouet 
 
 delicacy of the work. As we left, we looked into 
 a shed in passing, where men sat embroidering, 
 while women were spinning flax. Embroidery is 
 the business of the men in winter and in dull 
 seasons. Practically all of the elaborate work 
 of that kind exposed for sale in every part of 
 the region is the work of men. The women spin 
 thread used in the manufacture of coarse "toile 
 de Bretagne," the most important textile prod- 
 uct, and they work net into the Breton lace, so 
 much used in their elaborate caps. The Breton 
 linen is used for many household purposes here, 
 and I should imagine it would outwear other 
 linen by several generations. We had not slept 
 on true Breton sheets till we reached Quimperle, 
 but there, though clean, our beds had much the 
 feeling of sand paper, so hard and coarse was 
 the linen. From specimens afterwards examined 
 we learned that such linen as we slept on was 
 about the finest of its kind, from which quality 
 the material grades down to the coarseness of 
 bagging. Some of the qualities would have been 
 ideal as foundation for embroidery, but there is 
 for it so fixed and limited a sale that it is likely 
 none ever reaches the foreign market. 
 
 Fiacre is but a short distance from Faouet 
 where we found the ideal country tavern, or vil- 
 lage inn. After the slovenly disorder of Quim- 
 perle its interior was like a breath of fresh pure 
 air. Of late years this delightful resting-place 
 
 [206]
 
 ifaouet 
 
 has been swept away by the march of progress, 
 and the traveller of to-day may rejoice in the 
 manifold comforts of an ordinary modern hotel. 
 
 The gracious hostess sent off the driver and 
 horses to an unseen stable which afterwards 
 proved to be tacked to the back of the house be- 
 hind the corner tower, then she ushered us into 
 the dining-room by way of a kitchen that tempted 
 us to stop half way. We had no sooner deposi- 
 ted our wraps than we returned to the enticing 
 spot where the maids were preparing the break- 
 fast that we soon were to find delicious. For 
 breakfast, read always luncheon, since the early 
 coffee and rolls do not count and are nameless. 
 They are mere nibbles to assist faltering nature 
 to tide over till noon, or such hour thereafter as 
 may prove most convenient for the consideration 
 of a meal in courses called breakfast. 
 
 The only light, save firelight, entered the long 
 apartment through the open front door and little 
 window adjacent, for which reason a backward 
 glance plunged itself into ever deepening gloom 
 from which stood out vague outlines of armoires 
 and dressers, a bench or two, and the tall Breton 
 clock. A closed door at the extreme end gave 
 access to the barnyard, and another in a tower 
 that bulged forward in one corner opened upon a 
 dark spiral staircase by which later we ascended 
 to inspect the bedrooms. Directly in front of the 
 window stood the table distinctive of the land, 
 
 [ 207 ]
 
 jfaouet 
 
 black, polished by generations of owners, inlaid 
 top, and a slit for money which drops into one 
 of the deep drawers below. The table is the 
 cash box or bank of the peasant as well as the 
 family larder and dining-table. 
 
 Over a contracted heap of coals lost in the 
 deep hollow of the chimney the inevitable eggs 
 were undergoing gentle agitation at the the hands 
 of a trim costumed cook. Around the great fire- 
 place and adown the heavy rafters above hung 
 bright brass pans and brocs from which gleaming 
 reflections shot back from the lower dimness 
 like witchlights. 
 
 The bedrooms were such as might have been 
 expected from the polished wood and brass, the 
 trimness of the domestics, and the neatness of 
 the establishment. Simply furnished were the 
 small chambers, but dainty with bright chintz, 
 cotton hangings, and wood with a waxed surface 
 reflecting as if in emulation of the brass below. 
 
 To confirm our satisfaction, the waiter, just 
 before summoning us to breakfast, gave an 
 extra rub to the already gleaming glass and 
 silver, as if he would emphasise this feature of 
 the management. 
 
 Up to this time Breton butter had not begun 
 to come up to its reputation either in quality or 
 flavour, but here, whether the long drive had 
 sharpened our appetites beyond the point of 
 nice discrimination, or contentment rendered 
 
 [208]
 
 jTaouet 
 
 us uncritical, butter was of the best. Even the 
 obligatory cider proved to be drinkable to those 
 of us not yet educated to the true taste. It is 
 not to be forgotten that some people really like 
 Breton cider and pronounce it the most whole- 
 some beverage known. But experience teaches 
 us to observe that whatever men like is always 
 pronounced wholesome, if there are bad results 
 they may invariably be traced to other causes. 
 About the best warrant for the healthfulness of 
 the drink resides in the fact that the natives 
 after absorbing quantities incredible of the stuff 
 live to tell the tale. If the Breton apple should 
 follow its sardines into extinction a decoction 
 of sole leather in vinegar would make a deceptive 
 substitute for the juice. 
 
 By a circuitous route it is possible to drive to 
 the tiny church of St. Barbe, but the walk of 
 a mile is so beautiful that it is usually ap- 
 proached in that way. The starting point is 
 the market-house facing a broadening of the 
 dusty road that answers as village square. The 
 ancient building is mainly roof, for it is topped 
 with the highest and steepest of peaked roofs 
 within which rafters and ties, beams and cross- 
 beams, constitute a plexus bewildering to be- 
 hold, heavy, black and mouldering, scarcely 
 discernible in the faint light filtering through 
 the chinks above. This is said to be the 
 finest specimen of its class, a class represent- 
 
 [209]
 
 Ifaouet 
 
 ing great waste of valuable timber, unless its 
 aesthetic properties may be said to offset the 
 prodigality. The swarm of gamins offering to 
 guide us to St. Barbe by no means experienced 
 the uncanny ghostly feelings that the gloomy 
 criss-cross above inspired in us, for they capered 
 in and out, each trying to out-do his neighbour in 
 the matter of credentials, and were thoroughly 
 astonished when we selected a modest little 
 chap who had hung in the background. 
 
 We named our guide mon General to his out- 
 spoken gratification, and he betrayed further 
 pleasure by setting off on a brisk trot towards a 
 sheltered lane between blooming hedgerows, so 
 anxious to demonstrate his ability as leader, that 
 if we had not constantly curbed his ambition, we 
 should have dropped breathless; for just before 
 reaching the height upon whose bare face St. 
 Barbe is precariously perched, we entered what 
 is called a Roman road. This steepest of ascents 
 has been paved at some remote period with 
 large, flat stones, now worn and slippery. All 
 washed worn and broken this perilous ascent 
 is covered with a soft, insidious mantle of pine 
 needles. Going up was a trying performance 
 over which when accomplished we breathed a 
 hearty sigh of relief, but we found when later we 
 tried to get down that our former trials had been 
 as nothing. It was only by clinging to branches 
 and snatching at rocks that we saved ourselves 
 
 [210]
 
 IFaouet 
 
 from being quite jellied before reaching the plains 
 below the hill. 
 
 The main occupation of the women, as we 
 passed through the village, seemed to be flax 
 breaking. The method was primitive in the 
 extreme. Lengths of flax were laid in a narrow 
 trough, standing on legs, about as high as a table. 
 Across this, fastened to a pivot at one side, 
 worked a long wooden rod or mallet which the 
 old women raised and let fall with vigorous 
 thumps, pushing the flax, so that every portion 
 might in time fall under the pounding of the 
 cross rod. It looked like a very tedious, monoto- 
 nous employment, but in a land where tedium 
 and monotony make the whole life of the people, 
 more stirring labour would probably be dis- 
 tasteful. 
 
 As we left the toilsome Roman road, we 
 emerged upon a contracted plateau and before 
 us saw a stone cabin, a belfry and a beautiful 
 little arched and balustered bridge leading to 
 the summit of an isolated rock, crowned by a 
 tiny chapel dedicated to St. Bernard. 
 
 The belfry, open at all sides, stands on four 
 thick pillars with the bell as one might say out 
 of doors that it shall be quite free to pilgrims 
 who make a point of ringing it during the Pardon. 
 
 The guardian spirit of the place came running 
 forth from his cabin hard by tendering the keys; 
 a squat bow-legged ancient with a face of circular 
 
 [211]
 
 jfaouet 
 
 benevolence. Pushed far back on his spherical 
 poll was a tiny red cap, or bonnet, which made 
 him look like a kindly German kobold. The man 
 permitted us to clamber by ourselves down to 
 the ledge upon which the church stands, but 
 soon his better nature impelled him to follow 
 and make sure that we were seeing all with due 
 intelligence. The situation, facing a deep ravine 
 gives a striking view quite overlooked by the 
 kobold who devoted himself especially to the 
 neglected and somewhat dilapidated interior of 
 the edifice, which without his information would 
 have seemed uninteresting. Some very old 
 glass and many memorials of the family de Mun 
 are what visitors are taught they ought surely to 
 remember. The de Mun is the oldest family of 
 French nobility. The line runs back without a 
 break into the mists of crusading days and is 
 closely connected with almost every great his- 
 torical crisis of the country. 
 
 The little steeple of St. Barbe stands on the 
 extreme edge of the rock, so from its upper open- 
 ings you look down a sheer descent to the bottom 
 of the almost perpendicular crag. For this 
 reason, there are no satisfactory photographs of 
 St. Barbe; for till an air-ship camera is brought 
 to bear upon it, it will be impossible to place 
 one advantageously. As a recent writer has 
 said in another connection, beyond St. Barbe, 
 "there is a vast expanse of nothing but scenery." 
 
 [212 1
 
 jfaouet 
 
 Just back of the church is a small lawn reaching 
 to the edge of the rock. Here we sat to rest and 
 view alternately the hill-hemmed ravine, with 
 its scattered cabins, small farms and narrow road 
 following the banks of one of these treacherous, 
 rill-like streams, all rock in dry weather and 
 devastating, tumbling surge in the wet season; 
 and the pretty, Gothic building nestling against 
 the bare rock wall rising above it at the back. 
 From this lower level, a very elaborate marble 
 staircase leads off at the left, coming out above 
 some distance behind the place where we began 
 our descent. Some of us looked at the long 
 staircase and lost courage, but the rest resolved 
 to do the place thoroughly, and so saw a little 
 image of the Virgin, or perhaps St. Barbe, 
 standing in a pretty grotto at one side that, 
 added to the varied view, quite repaid us for our 
 trouble. And here again we were vexed with 
 the conjectures that cling to the traveller all 
 through this land as to why so much care, 
 money and beautiful handiwork should have 
 been bestowed so far from human habitations. 
 It does seem like great misapplication of energy ; 
 for comparatively few people able really to ap- 
 preciate singular charm of this particular artistic 
 extravagance take the long drive necessary to 
 enable them to see it. 
 
 The cottage of the caretaker was not the least 
 interesting of the day's sights. He invited us 
 
 [213 1
 
 yaouet 
 
 to enter and look over his collection of — -for 
 the reason before stated — disappointing photo- 
 graphs, sold entirely for the benefit of the church. 
 As we entered, his aged wife, a thin, withered 
 specimen of old peasant, whose wrinkled face 
 was also pleasant to look upon, rose to greet us, 
 still holding in her hand a distaff full of the flax 
 she had been busily spinning. An artist would 
 have rejoiced at the picture she made against 
 the sombre background of heavy, black furniture 
 and smoked woodwork. Like most of her kind 
 not a word of French could she speak or under- 
 stand, yet she readily gathered that we wished 
 to see her spin, and cheerfully displayed the 
 simple machinery of her task with utmost 
 patience. Then her husband invited us into 
 the second and only other room of their dwelling, 
 where to our great contentment we found him 
 weaving the "toile de Bretagne" of the country. 
 We were delighted; for in our walk we had now 
 seen the entire process. We all wished to buy 
 yards of it, but it is woven for dealers and by 
 utmost coaxing we could only prevail upon the 
 man to sacrifice one square of his cloth, but that 
 was better than not getting any. These people 
 had never seen a railroad, nor had "The General " 
 who attended our steps faithfully and watched 
 our every movement with closest interest. When 
 we urged him on with ''En avant, mon General!''' 
 he beamed with such radiant pride, I am not 
 
 [214]
 
 jfaouet 
 
 sure but we left a fixed military ambition in his 
 breast that in future days may give to Republi- 
 can France the general it hopes for. 
 
 We looked about Faouet a little before setting 
 out again for Quimperle, but discovered nothing 
 more noteworthy than a few old houses and a 
 grey, venerable little church, with the stubby 
 columns, barrel roof, and square front tower 
 peculiar to the ecclesiastical architecture of this 
 section. The wooden barrel roofs, often brightly 
 painted with starred blue, are a great feature of 
 these churches. One porched house showed a 
 beautifully carved, heavy, black beam across the 
 front, the last, they say, of a decoration that was 
 the glory of the Faouet of a century ago. 
 
 [215]
 
 XVII. QUIMPER 
 
 CARRIAGES and automobiles do better for 
 Brittany than trains, but the true way to 
 get into the secluded nooks and corners 
 where hide its treasures is by the now disreputed 
 wheel. It does seem as though the early builders 
 tried to see how far from busy marts they could 
 raise their alluring chateaux, calvaires, churches, 
 or towers. The busiest highroad sight-seer is 
 fairly discouraged to hear tales told by wheelmen 
 of all that must be missed except by tramps and 
 wheelers ; picturesque bits of scenery, ruined cas- 
 tles, unspoiled peasant life, and kindred attrac- 
 tions. But it is a point of honour with travellers 
 to try to make their kind green with envy, and a 
 touching up of adventures has come to be con- 
 sidered as pardonable as the affectionate "dear" 
 which heads the letter to our most detested 
 enemy. As we were sure we quite filled the 
 time at our disposal with indefatigable and unre- 
 mitting ferreting, it is a consolation to reflect 
 that we probably could have put no more into 
 it. Certainly we moved on to Quimper in the 
 serene consciousness of having left little behind 
 us unseen. 
 
 [216]
 
 Quimper — A Group of Old Houses
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 This town has a great reputation in France for 
 its highly coloured pottery, and the majority of 
 guests at the hotels are buyers who gather at 
 this time to make the year's purchases. The 
 local fame of the ware is so great that it is sur- 
 prising to learn how diflBcult it is to find any 
 account of the works in English, for the glaze, 
 decorations, and shapes are justly admired. Our 
 interest in the product was not met with much 
 appreciation during an endeavour to visit the 
 works. The factories producing the finest ware 
 admit strangers to the show rooms alone. It is 
 very likely that this is a necessary measure of 
 protection since the secrets of the trade must be 
 well worth spying upon. This being the case, 
 we resigned ourselves to being conducted through 
 the show rooms by an unwilling functionary, 
 evidently supported in the distasteful task by 
 the hope of making a sale. Just as we were 
 about to abandon our search for an obliging 
 workman and the faience process, we turned into 
 a yard stocked with the coarser grades of pot- 
 tery, which we learned belonged to one of the 
 manufactories of table-ware. Here we were 
 received with so much kindness, and our con- 
 ductor took such pride in exhibiting the work- 
 shops, our damaged feelings were more than 
 restored. From the crushing of the clay to the 
 final baking, all was made plain before our eyes. 
 The paste, rolled thin upon boards, was laugh- 
 
 [217]
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 ably like pie crust. Although this house does 
 not produce the finest grade of dishes, the proc- 
 ess is substantially the same in all the factories. 
 It was astonishing to see the care and pains be- 
 stowed by the artists upon the stiff little men and 
 women who dance around the rims of the plates 
 or hold the platform of the middle. The colours 
 are deep reds, blues, and yellows of a fierceness 
 unimaginable when taken by themselves, but 
 they seem to "compose" well when in use. A 
 whole benchful of artists sat before a long desk 
 under a carefully adjusted light devoting highly 
 trained energies to the planting of coats of arms 
 a little askew, to making each tiny peasant 
 ugly enough to match his mate, and then filling 
 remaining available spaces with flowers of botanic 
 characteristics probably lost with the saints and 
 kings of antiquity, all in the gaudy hues that had 
 challenged attention from windows throughout 
 the trip. 
 
 Pont I'Abbe is but a short distance from 
 Quimper and on a holiday we went there. Such 
 a crowd of happy pleasure seekers as filled the 
 train was a delight to see, and the way they 
 packed themselves into the third class coaches 
 and then shut the windows tight in order to 
 avoid the concentrated evils supposed to reside 
 in a courant d'air was alarming to dwell upon. 
 Considering that Frenchmen pass so great a 
 time in the open air, Bretons too, and that they 
 
 [218]
 
 (Siutmper 
 
 can calmly sip wine under the blue sky when 
 furs would seem to be necessary for comfort, 
 what can account for their abject fear of air 
 when they find themselves within four walls? 
 
 Pont I'Abbe contains two interesting churches, 
 one that has lost nearly all of its distinguishing 
 characteristics save the rose window, said to be 
 the finest in Brittany; a castle turned into a 
 flour mill; a long narrow market extending be- 
 tween two main streets; an antique chapel; its 
 own type of houses, quite unlike those of the 
 towns we had already seen; but, best of all, the 
 very oldest inn in the peninsula. 
 
 These, though, are not the magnets that draw 
 strangers to Pont I'Abbe, the trip is taken to 
 look for costume; for the peasants down here 
 still wear the gorgeous embroideries displayed 
 in all the shops of the country. On high days 
 and holidays this attire is said to be fairly daz- 
 zling, although the coif, a small wedge of white, 
 worn above a shining expanse of well-oiled hair, 
 smoothed over a pad at the back, is the least 
 beautiful of any we met. The Quimper holiday 
 evidently stopped short at some point along the 
 road, for the Point I'Abbe peasants were going 
 about in unmistakable, everyday dress, soiled 
 with the grease and dust of generations. In the 
 shops were displayed fine, new costumes, espe- 
 cially bridal outfits, valued at about five hundred 
 francs. Every bride of any standing gets one, 
 [219]
 
 (Siulmper 
 
 but not for ordinary use. That is carefully laid 
 away in the great wardrobe, to do service all the 
 rest of her days on rarest occasions. The bride's 
 earlier "best dress" which may have been the 
 bridal gown of her mother becomes demi- 
 toilette. The average everyday clothes we saw 
 were frayed, dust-grimed, and worn past any 
 semblance of beauty. The broad velvet of the 
 garniture displayed its brownish-grey cotton 
 foundation patched here and there with rubbed 
 spots of the original pile, a sort of singed cat 
 trimming. The slowly disappearing embroidery 
 scarcely recognisable beneath the accumulation 
 of the dust of years, made its presence known 
 principally by a fringe of loose threads. Yet 
 with it all, the costume is picturesque. Every- 
 body in the village seemed happy and moderately 
 busy. In cottage doorways women and girls 
 darned lace or fashioned caps. There was no- 
 where to be seen the harassed, overburdened 
 look so commonly observable in the correspond- 
 ing class with us, in which the housewife must 
 keep up with the fashion as well as with the 
 housework. 
 
 The oldest inn in all Brittany is the Pont 
 I'Abbe hotel and it is worth while to stop there 
 while making trips in the vicinity, if for nothing 
 more than the pleasure of sleeping in the carved 
 beds of the quaint rooms and taking breakfast 
 in the open court. After having seen the tombs 
 
 f 220 1
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 of the ancient barons of Pont I'Abbe in the 
 church, it is well to drive out to see the old church 
 at Loctudy with its tombs and statue of St. 
 Tudy. The trip down the length of the flat, 
 sharp peninsula of Penmarc'h (horse's head) 
 takes a whole morning but the Gothic church of 
 St. Nonna with its great square tower and carv- 
 ings in which the interesting history of Pen- 
 marc'h which was long the rival of Nantes may 
 be studied, well repay the exertion involved. 
 
 In Quimper itself interesting sights are of a 
 variety more diverse than in other Breton towns. 
 The old and the new mingle refreshingly, and 
 off in the direction of Audierne other primitive 
 spots rival the attractions presented near Pont 
 I'Abbe. Chief among these is the church of 
 St. Tuglan containing the statue of that abbe 
 of Primelin. He holds a key the great iron 
 original of which is piously preserved in the 
 building. Loaves stamped with the key of St. 
 Tuglan will restore rabid dogs to health. 
 
 Quimper cathedral is the finest in Brittany. 
 Architecturally St. Pol is its rival but St. Pol is 
 by no means so well cared for, this is a whole 
 church even to the spires which are complete to 
 the tip. In this cathedral the angle formed by 
 the deflection of the choir from the line of the 
 nave is pronounced. This feature of the Latin 
 cross of the ground plan is much observed in 
 Brittany. It commemorates the bowed head of 
 
 [221 1
 
 (Siutmper 
 
 Our Saviour after crucifixion. The land rich 
 in stained glass impresses the Protestant travel- 
 ler with the importance of familiarity with the 
 legends of the church. The windows of Quimper 
 cathedral tell a connected story of Biblical and 
 saintly tradition, each one being devoted to some 
 particular incident. It was easy to follow the 
 life of Our Lord, but the many beautiful repre- 
 sentations of later scenes were a sealed book to 
 us owing to sheer ignorance. 
 
 To any intelligent comprehension of the tradi- 
 tional interest of Quimper acquaintance with 
 the life and deeds of Corentin is absolutely 
 essential. Not much is known of the history 
 of Quimper before the advent of Corentin to- 
 wards the year 375 A. D. By some it is main- 
 tained that the town is the old Roman settle- 
 ment, Corisoptium, and it is true that over in its 
 suburb, Locmaria, Roman remains, bricks, pot- 
 tery, medals, and coins have been found, but 
 with that St. Corentin has nothing to do. He 
 was brought up by his good parents in the Chris- 
 tian religion at a time when Druidism and Latin 
 heathenism were contending for mastery. From 
 his earliest years he consecrated his life to pious 
 meditation and good works, dwelling in the 
 hermitage he had erected by a fountain near 
 the coast. Albert-le-Grand tells us that God, 
 pleased, with his life of devotion provided his 
 food. A little fish swam to him every day, pre- 
 
 [222]
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 senting its side that the hermit might cut away 
 a sufficient portion for his needs. As soon as it 
 was thrown back into the water, the fish became 
 immediately whole again, with no faintest trace 
 of the cut. 
 
 St. Corentin left his retreat to undertake the 
 conversion of Quimper and the neighbouring 
 country. One evening as he was performing his 
 devotions after a day of unusual fatigue, a great 
 noise was heard in the vicinity of the hermitage, 
 and upon going out St. Corentin found the hut 
 surrounded by a large hunting party, and in the 
 midst was the King of Cornwall (as that part of 
 ancient Armorica was then called), Gradlon, or, 
 as it is often written, Grallon. As the hunters 
 were all ravenously hungry, the good man went 
 to his fountain and called his little fish from 
 whose side he cut a morsel which he commanded 
 the purveyor of the king to present to his master. 
 The servant began to laugh, declaring it would 
 take a hundred times as much to feed his train, 
 still, he did as he was commanded. Then oc- 
 curred a miracle, the little portion of fish multi- 
 plied itself so wonderfully that all were fed to 
 satiety, though before their eyes the little fish 
 still sported in the water whole as before. Grad- 
 lon, struck with this marvel, at once fell on his 
 knees before the anchorite and acknowledged the 
 religion of Corentin to be true and declared that 
 henceforth Quimper should be a Christian city. 
 
 [223]
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 He granted a forest and a chateau to Corentin, 
 who at once estabUshed there a monastery, not 
 reHnquishing his own exertions till all the inhabi- 
 tants of the country round were converted. 
 King Gradlon ordered the erection of a Bishopric 
 of Quimper, with the saint as Bishop, sending 
 him to Tours to receive consecration at the 
 hands of St. Martin, then, having given up his 
 own palace that St. Corentin might have an 
 appropriate Episcopal residence, he retired to 
 the mythical city of Is, not far away, and Quim- 
 per assumed the name of Kemper-Corentin, 
 which before had been Kemper-Odel, to distin- 
 guish it from Kemper-Elle, some distance to 
 the East. 
 
 As the story of Is is closely connected with 
 the early traditions of Quimper, it may possibly 
 be well to give a hasty sketch of it. The legends 
 of the district describe it as an extensive town, 
 rich in all that makes the greatness of cities, and 
 filled with a wealthy, luxurious populace. It 
 spread over the vast plain where now rolls the 
 bay of Douarnenez, and was protected from the 
 encroachments of the sea by a long, solid dyke, 
 of which the gates allowed the passage of only 
 enough water for the use of the city. Gradlon 
 himself presided at the monthly opening of these 
 sluice-gates, and wore constantly about his neck 
 the silver key of the chief gate. 
 
 Gradlon's daughter, Dahut, or Ahes, presided 
 [224]
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 over his court, as wicked a princess as history 
 or romance ever told of, yet the good Gradlon 
 was too weak in his fondness for her to correct 
 her faults, and she spread corruption through 
 all ranks of the people. Dahut, however, feared 
 lest the continued urging of the clergy should in 
 the end influence her father to exert his authority, 
 so she plotted to steal the key, which was his 
 symbol of ofiice, and soon succeeded in obtaining 
 it. By this act of unfilial treachery, the king- 
 dom was thrown into confusion and the old king 
 retired to a secluded corner of the palace, where 
 he bewailed his loss. One evening he saw stand- 
 ing before him the Abbe of Landevnec, who had 
 assumed the duties of St. Corentin, now long 
 since dead. "Oh, King!" said the Abbe, St. 
 Gwenole, "Hasten to leave this city, and flee 
 with your faithful servants, for Dahut has opened 
 the great flood-gate, and nothing can withstand 
 the fury of the waves." Gradlon, unwilling to 
 leave his wicked child to suffer the consequences 
 of her rash act, sought her, and placed her be- 
 hind him on his own horse. Scarcely had he 
 and his officers cleared the gates of the doomed 
 town, when, looking back, he saw the glancing 
 waves, bright with starlight, flowing over his 
 loved city of Is, and still following higher up, as 
 though to engulf them all. Faster and faster 
 they fled, yet still the pitiless water gained upon 
 them, till the spray actually dashed over their 
 
 [225]
 
 Quimper 
 
 steeds. Suddenly a voice cried, "Gradlon, un- 
 less you choose to perish, cast off the demon at 
 your back." Dahut, terrified at these direful 
 words, lost consciousness and fell into the raging 
 flood which immediately retreated, bearing away 
 the body of the wicked woman. Gradlon 
 reached Quimper unharmed and there fixed his 
 residence, thus making it the capital. 
 
 So many of the costumes pictured by artists 
 have become obsolete, that the complete collec- 
 tion shown in the museum here is far gayer than 
 anything now in use. The wax figures grouped 
 as for a wedding frolic, with red skirts, baggy 
 trowsers, red sashes, and leggings, preserve 
 features that have mostly passed away; and the 
 bagpiper, formerly musician on all occasions, is 
 rarely met now-a-days. 
 
 The gate leading into the grounds surrounding 
 the Bishop's handsome palace happened to be 
 open as we passed, and as Fate seemed to have 
 procured us this favour we seized the fortunate 
 opportunity to stroll in at the unguarded en- 
 trance. A highly-cultivated garden was spread 
 before us, backed by the portion of the city wall 
 that still faces the road beyond. This was the 
 only glimpse we succeeded in getting of the other 
 side of the wall that presents a continuous face 
 to the station road. The Episcopal residence, 
 truly palatial, fronts upon this lovely expanse, 
 from which we were soon chased by the janitor's 
 
 [226]
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 wife, though we had no intention of encroaching 
 further upon the peace and security of the priests. 
 She, however, was in a terrible state of mind and 
 told us visitors were not allowed. As we had 
 not visited further than five feet from the gate, 
 it was very easy to relieve the situation by 
 retiring that distance, filled with a wicked joy 
 in having spied one of the most charming corners 
 of the town before we realised that women were 
 banned. Even yet the violent agitation of the 
 portress is inexplicable, for we had no intention 
 of breaking in upon episcopal revery by boldly 
 presenting ourselves at the door to jangle the 
 bell we heard in the distance. 
 
 The creek-like river upon which the city 
 stands takes its quiet course through the main 
 street in such wise that the dwellings opposite 
 the hotel are approached by slender footbridges. 
 From any of these bridges it is easy to inspect 
 Quimper's central laundry. The stream runs 
 low down in a walled cut, and all along the thus 
 sheltered banks the Quimper washerwomen toy 
 with Quimper's linen, flopping, splashing, pad- 
 dling, and wringing. Anybody so disposed may 
 wander along till he meets his own well known 
 garments undergoing the process so alarming 
 to the thrifty, but nobody was ever known to 
 surmount his natural feeling of repugnance to 
 the notion of having one's wash exposed to 
 public view in this way. The only possible 
 
 [227 1
 
 (Siuimper 
 
 comfort is not to know whose particular property 
 it is of which the pounding and beating by the 
 kneehng nymph forms so attractive a picture in 
 one's mental gallery. 
 
 Quimper seems to be the headquarters of the 
 trade in antiquities, lying as it does in the heart 
 of the Lower Breton land. Brittany, though, 
 like most other corners of the earth, is almost 
 denuded of its old things, yet, there are still 
 enough left to make the dealers' shops veritable 
 museums. Prices, however, have advanced of 
 late years, and although the carved bed-fronts, 
 chests and wardrobes are still comparatively 
 cheap, they cost far more than they did a few 
 years ago. 
 
 As we sat in front of the hotel waiting for 
 dinner there passed one of the most striking 
 peasant types we met in the entire round of the 
 peasant world, but it is extremely likely that 
 some city magnate of peasant ancestry was 
 enjoying a holiday through a fancied return to 
 the nature that in childhood had contented him. 
 If on the contrary, the man was the product of 
 unalloyed conditions, then the peasant of Finis- 
 terre is a character worthy of remark. Imagine 
 a tall stalwart man of some sixty years with the 
 tread of a general — ^perhaps that is what he was — 
 massive of frame, upright as an oak, and in his 
 rather stern handsome face the look of one ac- 
 customed to be obeyed. Down the street he 
 
 [228]
 
 (Siutmper 
 
 walked with unaffected dignity that lent honour 
 to his garb which differed only by its quality 
 from that worn by the poorest countryman. The 
 round felt hat, garnished by streamers and heavy 
 silver buckles, the waistcoat of many buttons, 
 and the broad red sash; the carriage must needs 
 be stately to wear these with impressiveness, 
 yet that he eminently accomplished. In all 
 Brittany we chanced upon no more noticeable 
 figure in forceful individuality. 
 
 The forest of Broceliande where Vivien and 
 Merlin lived is not far from Quimper. Merlin 
 still sleeps there under a great outcrop of rock 
 near the spot where the enchantress once kept 
 Lancelot imprisoned in her palace of marble and 
 gold. In the heart of the woods is the "Endless 
 Valley" where spirits of perjured lovers wander 
 wailing in expiation of their treachery, and look 
 for a deliverer. 
 
 At Audierne, too, you are again in the land 
 of legend and on the coasts beyond, the ex- 
 treme limits of primeval simplicity are reached. 
 Churches, legends, people, costumes; all belong 
 to remote ages. Gradlon's domain is there, and 
 beneath the waters of the Bay of Douarninez you 
 may seek the submerged spires and towers of 
 Is. At Pointe du Raz the muffled cry of lost 
 souls is borne upon the breeze, souls of fleeing 
 Druids, who, thinking to escape from righteous 
 punishment by taking refuge on the He de Sein 
 
 [229 1
 
 Quimper 
 
 were hurled by a wild tempest into the depths of 
 the Bale des Trepasses, there to weep in an 
 agony of repentance till the great Day of Judg- 
 ment. It sometimes happens that their skeleton 
 forms walk upon the land and by night knock at 
 the doors of the fishermen's huts begging for 
 Christian burial, but all to no purpose; no power 
 can shorten their period of penance. 
 
 The market at Quimper should not be missed, 
 for on market day the vegetables are so fresh and 
 arranged with such an eye to beauty that they are 
 as effective as flowers. They attract too buyers 
 from the whole country side so that this provides 
 opportunity to study many costumes not ordi- 
 narily met with. The shepherds wearing sheep- 
 skins for cloaks and sometimes the baggy- 
 trowsered islanders are there chaffering with the 
 rest, and once in a while the Breton bard or 
 story teller draws a crowd, although that feature 
 of market day is commoner near Morlaix. 
 
 [230
 
 XVIII. AROUND MORLAIX 
 
 THE road from Quimper to Morlaix is a 
 leading into temptation, a succession of 
 charming bits and alluring surprises. It 
 carries the traveller across the Black Mountains 
 which seem there to hold in each dip some treas- 
 ure, and to rear each height with especial refer- 
 ence to some new artistic grouping. Here and 
 there are found ruined castles left to neglected 
 dilapidation. They look down from their perches 
 on apparently inaccessible crags, and threaten 
 to entomb the unwary. They are, in truth, 
 gradually dropping to the lower earth. Almost 
 every nook guards its dismantled church, and 
 though many have no great historic or archi- 
 tectural significance, all add to the prevading 
 witchery. Most of them stand in the midst 
 of a wilderness of broken walls and grass-grown 
 rubbish that mark the position of early monas- 
 teries and chapter-houses or other ecclesiastical 
 buildings. The calvaires become more numer- 
 ous, more elaborate, and often far more grotesque 
 and tell of a people isolated and exceptional. 
 Legends multiply and the faith of the rustic 
 narrator becomes doubly sincere. It goes with- 
 
 [231]
 
 Broun& /iDorlalx 
 
 out saying that each forest nook holds its own 
 particular group of supernatural habitants with 
 its own spells to be avoided by local rites of 
 exorcism. 
 
 Chateaulin, set among the mountains as in a 
 cup, has a character of its own . Near it Mene- 
 Rom, the highest peak on the peninsula, rears 
 itself grandly. The present parish church stands 
 on the site of the ancient hermitage of St. Idunet 
 where was later the priory of Locquidunet. 
 Notre Dame, above the town, with its gothic 
 ossuary and curious calvaire was once the chapel 
 belonging to a castle of which now remain but a 
 few traces on the summit of the hill. 
 
 From Landernau there are many interesting 
 expeditions possible. The town used to be the 
 chief city of the Breton province of Leon which 
 belonged to the Rohans. The church of Lan- 
 dernau is dedicated to St. Thomas of Canter- 
 bury, though why Thomas a Becket went so far 
 afield for this honour nobody explained. Three 
 or four miles out of town is the chapel of St. 
 Eloi, the patron of horses and therefore much 
 revered by blacksmiths. On the way the cal- 
 vaire of Plougastel-Daoulas is to be seen, the 
 greatest calvaire of Brittany. It was erected, 
 1602-4, in gratitude for the disappearance of a 
 plague that scourged the land in 1598, and has 
 recently been restored. The base consists of a 
 massive arcaded square flanked by buttresses 
 
 [232]
 
 Brounb ^orlaix 
 
 and decorated with pilasters of the Tuscan order. 
 Beneath the principal arcade stands an altar 
 bearing statues of St. Peter, St. Roch, and St. 
 Sebastian. The frieze is a mass of carving in 
 relief representing the life of Christ. 
 
 The chateau of La Joyeuse Garde where 
 Arthur and his knights passed so much of their 
 time is near Landernau also. 
 
 For some reasons the most captivating spot 
 in the vicinity is the church of Notre Dame de 
 Folgoet because it was the favourite shrine of 
 Anne of Brittany. It was built by the dukes of 
 the land early in the fourteenth century in mem- 
 ory of a pious innocent named Salaiin, who, 
 having been orphaned in earliest childhood cast 
 his cares upon the Virgin with the unquestion- 
 ing confidence of a helpless natural, and made his 
 home beside a fountain in the depths of the forest 
 that was especially dedicated to her. No matter 
 what the weather might be he daily purified 
 himself by bathing in the sacred waters before 
 setting out to beg his bread. He spake but one 
 name and sang but one hymn, "Ave Maria," 
 and for this he was called a fool. But the fool- 
 ishness that consists in unintermittent piety is 
 of Heaven, and after forty years of inoffensive 
 devotion, Salaim's dying struggles were calmed 
 by the Blessed Virgin in person. With his 
 latest breath he still glorified her holy name. 
 Save for her gracious presence the pious mendi- 
 
 [233 1
 
 HrounD /IDorlaix 
 
 cant died alone, and when his worn body was 
 discovered by the peasants they buried it with 
 scant ceremony. Marvelous to relate, from the 
 grave grew a tall white lily bearing in golden 
 letters the legend "Ave Maria" in token of Our 
 Lady's acceptance of the lifelong consecration. 
 The lily sprang from the lips that had been so 
 constant in praise. Stricken in heart by this 
 honour to one by them despised, the people at 
 once set about erecting a church on the hallowed 
 spot. As proof of her satisfaction in this sign of 
 true piety, the Virgin conferred upon the wa- 
 ters of the fountain miraculous powers to which 
 cures innumerable have ever since testified. The 
 church, begun in 1409, was consecrated ten years 
 later, and became a collegiate church in 1423. 
 Although without transept or apse it is still 
 beautiful with its richly carved roodscreen and 
 five ancient altars. Its calvaire is thrown into 
 the shade by the greater specimens in the neigh- 
 bourhood, but yet is worth seeing. 
 
 Near Landivisiau a soldier whom we had seen 
 in Dinard did the honours of his interesting home, 
 and gave us the much appreciated opportunity 
 of examining in detail a chateau of some historic 
 importance that the fortunes of the Revolution 
 had handed over to his peasant ancestors a cen- 
 tury ago. In passing through the village we 
 looked at the remarkable ossuary in the cemetery 
 of the church of St. Turiaff, or Tivisiau. The 
 
 [234 1
 
 around ^orlatx 
 
 curious figures supporting the repository make 
 it well worth a visit. 
 
 Our soldier's parents are peasants pure and 
 simple, yet for over a hundred years have they 
 not only possessed this castle and demesne, but 
 also some of the most artistic interior carvings 
 and decorations to be found in the country. 
 Wealth in comfortable measure they must have 
 had, since at no time have the blandishments of 
 art collectors who have besieged them in quest 
 of the superfluous elegancies of their surround- 
 ings, tempted them to part with them. Of the 
 sons during this time, some have become profes- 
 sional men in the city and others have found 
 careers in other directions, but the main stock 
 stays rooted to the soil with no desire to enter 
 the ranks of the bourgeoisie. Peasants they were 
 and peasants they remain. This chateau-farm- 
 house is a great rambling building with turrets 
 and oriels. From one towered window that 
 peeps through the leafage at the rear the daughter 
 of a former noble owner descended into the arms 
 of a waiting lover. Both parties were people of 
 prominence and the story is celebrated. Some 
 years ago the family in possession collected the 
 rich carvings throughout the house and placed 
 them along the sides of an immense apartment 
 in which a sculptured stone fireplace occupies 
 almost entirely one end wall. The room bears 
 the name of Salle des Chevaliers, and is renowned 
 
 [235]
 
 Broun& /IDorlaii 
 
 throughout Lower Brittany. To the peasant 
 proprietors it is part of the home they were born 
 in, and, though thrifty, the idea of parting with 
 that which came from their parents does not 
 occur to them. 
 
 The deep indentation of the coast that brings 
 the waters of the ocean sweeping the quays of 
 Landernau gave us the feehng that we had gone 
 to the end of the land, and, as naval stations had 
 no charm for us, we decided not to visit Brest, 
 but press on to Morlaix. 
 
 We timed our trip so that we reached Morlaix 
 somewhere about noon, and having disposed of 
 a hurried breakfast we immediately hastened out 
 to look at the streets. It is scarcely possible to 
 particularise among the old houses of Morlaix; 
 there are streets upon streets with nothing but 
 old houses. Some have overhanging upper stor- 
 ies, slated along the front, a few are perched 
 over the sidewalk in the Dinan style, but the 
 most interesting are those in which all exposed 
 timbers are carved. Houses bearing saints at 
 the corners and demons in every inferior position, 
 facing each other above the narrow ways, give 
 an unbroken line of grotesque figures, that have 
 grinned at each other, or at the frailties of the 
 living throng below them, for centuries past. 
 Many edifices bear quite new facades, backed 
 by steep, sagging roofs that ill fit the fresh front- 
 age on the street. Here there is such a display 
 
 [236 1
 
 Hrounb /IDorlaii 
 
 of antique buildings, you get the impression that 
 those you have been singling out along the route 
 are only samples of a full line of goods offered 
 by Morlaix, As usual, the finest specimen is 
 called the house of Anne of Brittany. It has 
 been recently very much restored, and though 
 we were assured the original idea had been closely 
 adhered to, we resented the spick-span newness 
 of the exterior. Within, it is devoted to antiques 
 and bric-a-brac, wares which harmonise satis- 
 factorily with the great fireplaces and heavy, 
 dark woodwork. The especial attraction of the 
 house is the stairway, a survival that has but 
 one companion left in the town. Between the 
 front and back apartments a great, square open- 
 ing extends up through the house, past its three 
 stories and into the peak of its steep pitched roof. 
 Around this square, with turns and landings, 
 goes the staircase, supported at the angles by 
 handsomely carved wooden pillars that reach 
 to the top of the building. The only other simi- 
 lar staircase is found behind a wool shop opening 
 upon one of the narrowest streets of Morlaix. 
 The lower panellings in this latter are in some 
 respects finer than those in Anne's house, but the 
 great square hall has been partitioned off for use 
 as a kitchen, so the effect of the whole is very 
 much impaired. The front door of the last men- 
 tioned house has been untouched and unharmed 
 for centuries. It bears upon the inner side the 
 
 [237]
 
 Hroun& /IDorlaix 
 
 original lock, a great flat steel box some two feet 
 square, of which the key, a foot or more in length, 
 is a grotesque monstrosity of coarsely wrought 
 metal, heavy in proportion to its dimensions. 
 
 We caught sight of a picture of a beautiful 
 window, apparently part of some ruined church 
 and set out to find it. As is usual over here, no 
 one seemed to be able to direct us, but in the 
 end, after toiling up a long hill, we found it to 
 our disenchantment. The window was all there 
 was, but its carved outlines that in the photo- 
 graph seemed to line themselves against a clear 
 sky, we found carefully filled in with plaster, and 
 the whole merely a detail of a most uninterest- 
 ing garden wall. 
 
 Morlaix is all hill and valley. The drive from 
 the station makes so many winding curves and 
 turns to get down in safety, that all idea of 
 direction is quite annihilated before you are de- 
 posited at the hotel. The more direct footpath 
 down is a Jacob's ladder, of w^hich one ascent 
 or descent is quite enough to satisfy any member 
 of the Alpine Club. The valley is spanned by 
 one of the finest viaducts in France, so high that 
 the steeple of a nearby church that modestly 
 crowds itself into a corner between the road 
 below and the foundations of that above, 
 scarcely reaches to the top of the arches. Look- 
 ing back from this point towards the town, the 
 Hotel de Ville is seen directly in face. The build- 
 
 [238 1
 
 Morlaix — Anne of Brittany's House
 
 Hroun& ^orlaii 
 
 ing stands over the junction of two small streams 
 that run together at Morlaix in such a way that 
 the resulting river gushes forth from beneath 
 the pavement before the doorway. 
 
 At Morlaix the language again begins to be 
 mixed with French, it lies on the edge of the 
 true Breton area, and not many miles farther 
 west the ancient speech is not even under- 
 stood. 
 
 How seldom we hear sounds entirely new is 
 proved by the bewilderment with which we en- 
 deavour to account for them. On the first morn- 
 ing in Morlaix, long before it was time to rise, 
 there made itself heard at intervals a sharp 
 patter like heavy hail. Then a continuous sym- 
 phony of such sounds with lulls wherein came 
 to us the original ringing tone. The sound 
 swelled till it became a clanging ring indescrib- 
 able yet not unpleasant. After this with an 
 occasional return to the first theme it ceased. 
 All day long this marvel engaged our speculations 
 but at evening it revealed itself at the closing of a 
 large tobacco factory when more than a thou- 
 sand operatives shod in sabots clattered down the 
 cobblestoned road, and the clang of their wooden 
 shoes made music for our reveries. 
 
 Whom should we meet but the prince that had 
 dogged our footsteps, crossing our track at unex- 
 pected places throughout the land. Here we had 
 the happiness of seeing his English exhibitors 
 
 [239]
 
 Hroun5 /iDorlair 
 
 send him off to Dinan with his tutor on the morn- 
 ing after our arrival, and we were now secure 
 from the call to worship one whose real name 
 turned out to be Ibraim Hassam. We quite 
 cordially waved good-bye in the sincere hope that 
 the tacit demands upon our attention would no 
 longer tax attenuated patience. 
 
 The Morlaix harbour retains much of its com- 
 mercial importance and bears an interesting and 
 varied amount of unusual shipping. From Mor- 
 laix to the sea is a distance of several miles 
 throughout which the river has been dyked and 
 widened to admit the approach of vessels to the 
 city quays. The drive to the harbour follows 
 the river bank, and an escort of ships accom- 
 panies the carriage among which the pink sails 
 of Concarneau fishing boats are conspicuous and 
 beautiful. 
 
 Down towards the coast lies the little village 
 of Carentec. If the Cornishman may be known 
 by tre, pol, and pen the Breton is wedded equally 
 to some half dozen syllables which in all possible 
 combinations make up a full nine tenths of the 
 names. The proper nouns not ending in ac, ec, 
 et, or el have somewhere a plou or pon to fix their 
 status. Looking across the broad estuary from 
 Carentec the spires of St. Pol de Leon may be 
 seen clearly. The road is lined with pretentious 
 country places as a rule densely ivy grown. One 
 old house in particular we found so covered that 
 
 [240]
 
 aroun& /©orlaii 
 
 it looked like a great square block of sod, though 
 of deeper, richer green. 
 
 Out in midstream towards the harbour stands 
 the Chateau Taureau which is held in great 
 estimation by the people. The driver had talked 
 so much about this fortification that as we neared 
 it our hopes were raised very high. As a matter 
 of fact the actual presence of this vaunted de- 
 fence, proved it to be an insignificant, low turret, 
 situated on an island in the mouth of the river 
 leading from the harbour. What it might have 
 turned out to offer had we taken a boat and rowed 
 over to it, I do not know, but I do know that from 
 the carriage, it seemed a small matter to have 
 awaited with anxiety through the six miles of 
 our drive. 
 
 The church at Carentec is not ancient and 
 the village a bare, dusty ugliness, about which 
 we were compelled to roam till our driver had 
 paid a visit of some length. 
 
 All along we had been rather fortunate in see- 
 ing market day, but at Morlaix we had plenty 
 of time to wander among the baskets of vege- 
 tables and examine the butter and poultry. 
 Everything in a French market is set forth with 
 so much taste and such absolute, cleanly neatness, 
 that the wares are almost as attractive as the 
 paintings of a gallery. As for the tidy tiny 
 bunches of soup vegetables in which small beets 
 and carrots are set round by white leeks and 
 
 [241]
 
 Hroun& /iDorlali 
 
 sprays of parsley they are veritable nosegays. 
 In Morlaix the bard is at his best. There was a 
 shepherd who stood and sang some interminable 
 Breton ballad to a dense throng of listeners who 
 lingered with bated breath to the very end of 
 the effort. We must have heard fifty unintel- 
 ligible stanzas but were there neither when he 
 began nor when he ended. 
 
 To take all the trips from Morlaix recom- 
 mended by the expectant and modestly mercen- 
 ary driver would have employed us for the re- 
 mainder of the season. Of castles there were 
 many large and interesting; villages innumerable, 
 which in his description sounded matchless, but 
 are really on a level with Carentec; views, all 
 flat and watery; and churches unrivalled. We 
 should have been glad to see them all but that 
 was out of the question. In this region the 
 churches have, as you may say, a complete equip- 
 ment. Within the limits of the graveyard, en- 
 tered invariably by way of a triumphal arch, are 
 grouped church, ossuary, mortuary chapel, and 
 a "calvaire." Often a vestry -room, like a fun- 
 gous growth, bulges behind the church, increas- 
 ing the complexity. People of true archi- 
 tectural instincts should avoid these village 
 sanctuaries, and some of our party, aspiring to 
 higher criticism, inclined to dissuade the rest 
 from the "calvaire" chase upon which we set 
 out one day. They tried to laugh us out of 
 [242]
 
 Broun^ /iDorlali 
 
 what they called a search after the grotesque, 
 but we held firm, so instead of the threatened 
 division in our ranks, evil communications and 
 everyday curiosity corrupted just artistic valu- 
 ations, and we all trooped together to Lampaul, 
 Gimiliau, and St. Thegonnec, in spite of their 
 being "only poor renaissance" and as wrong 
 aesthetically speaking as they well can be; 
 regular jumbles of carved stone; church, vestry, 
 ossuary and other things, either tacked together, 
 or grouped so closely, that the view from a 
 little distance is charming in its confusion. Here 
 as elsewhere are masterpieces of wood carving, 
 carefully spoiled and covered with paint, though, 
 as the tint in this part of the country is brown, 
 it has not quite the irritating effect of the reds 
 and blues of St. Fiacre. The delightful drive 
 had done much to calm the nerves of our critical 
 friends. They were apparently as pleased as 
 the rest of us, particularly with the carved 
 altars, fonts and one rare organ-loft. Of the 
 "calvaires," that of Gimiliau is far the finest of 
 any we saw. A little flight of steps leads to the 
 level of the carved images, and we wandered 
 around among the gray, battered, snub-nosed 
 personages below the crucifix, taking views of 
 the flat landscape in every direction. 
 
 Every village seems blessed with an encourag- 
 ing supply of children, and all the children have 
 a discouraging talent for begging. The early 
 
 [243]
 
 Hrount) /IDorlatx 
 
 beginning perhaps accounts for the astonishing 
 proficiency of the Bretons in that line. Speak- 
 ing seriously, however, a shop-keeper after clear- 
 ing his premises of several mendicants, explained 
 to us that in Lower Brittany no public fund is 
 provided for the assistance of the maimed and 
 aged. Wages are poor and the possibility of 
 saving for a rainy day slight, so that an old age 
 of beggary is often unavoidable. The shop- 
 keeper said that the men he had sent off were 
 known to him, and worthy of charity; and that 
 when he had the change at hand he freely gave 
 to them. 
 
 Fortunately for us, we chanced to visit Roscoff 
 and St. Pol de Leon on a day when the chief 
 regatta of the year had attracted costumes from 
 the entire province. Although the skies refused 
 to smile in more than sad, sour fashion the peas- 
 ants were there in full force in all their bravery 
 of buckle and embroidery. Pont 1' Abbe women 
 in full attire and those of Pont Aven with broad 
 fluted collars and flaring caps wore the most 
 attractive costumes, although there were many 
 that we had never before met and could not 
 identify. 
 
 To Roscoff we went directly by rail and it 
 was there that the regatta took place. This is 
 where Mary, Queen of Scots landed when she 
 came as bride to Francis II. The church of 
 Croaz-Baz stands alone in its quiet yard at one 
 
 [244]
 
 Brol^n^ /IDorlaix 
 
 side of the village. After visiting the church 
 we set out in quest of the house in which the 
 Scottish Queen passed the night. There is so 
 little distinctive about the exterior that we 
 should have missed it altogether had not an 
 obliging shopwoman left her desk to lead us past 
 several intervening houses to the door. Inside 
 there is an open court like a cloister. The seven 
 arcades are quite conventual. The chapel of St. 
 Ninian, built to commemorate Mary's landing 
 and another chapel of Adieux where women pray 
 for men at sea constitute the chief points of 
 interest within the limits of the town. Off shore 
 
 A 
 
 is the He de Batz, the last refuge of the red baggy 
 trowsers. 
 
 We had no time to visit the wonderful old 
 fig tree which, propped all round covers an in- 
 credibly vast area. It is the glory of a capuchin 
 convent in the neighbourhood, and the entrance 
 fees to the garden inclosing it yield a revenue not 
 to be despised. 
 
 As a matter of fact, our stay at Roscoff was a 
 mere pause between trains, for the real object 
 of the expedition was the cathedral of St. Pol 
 de Leon, including a view of the remarkable 
 lace like spire that rises above the insignificant 
 chapel of Creisker. 
 
 Of the cathedral, the facade and west end of 
 the nave we found rather disappointing, but at 
 the crossing of the transepts, where the beautiful 
 
 [ 245 1
 
 Hrounb /iDorlaii 
 
 pillars seem almost too numerous, and the build" 
 ing widens out into unsuspected spaces, the 
 proportions throw Quimper's claims into the 
 shade, and this, with no meretricious advantage 
 of Breton decoration which lends to the latter 
 cathedral its all too brilliant air. St. Pol looks 
 woefully neglected and down-at-the-heels, a wit- 
 ness to prevailing poverty rather than to reli- 
 gious apathy. 
 
 After sitting a while in the shady park beside 
 the church, from which point it is possible to 
 examine the outside architecture at leisure, we 
 wandered through the narrow streets towards the 
 Creisker and rejoiced the heart of a small boy by 
 bestowing upon him certain delicacies of specious 
 exterior but unsatisfactory inner qualities with 
 which we had hoped to quiet insistent reminders 
 from within that meal time had arrived. The 
 diminutive place of worship, but an unimportant 
 adjunct to its own overgrown steeple, has its 
 legendary interest. It was founded by a poor 
 peasant girl not more than fifteen or sixteen 
 years old. She had been miraculously cured 
 of paralysis by St. Kirec, and vowed in gratitude 
 to found a church. The building stands to test- 
 ify to the fulfillment of the vow, but, for the rest, 
 a vail of mystery hides the process. The spire 
 seems to be somewhat independent of its associ- 
 ate structure even the etymology of the word 
 Creisker is problematic. Some say the steeple 
 
 [246]
 
 arounC) /iDorlaix 
 
 was built by the English others think that it is 
 the work of Jean Pregent who was chancellor 
 of Brittany in 1436, since his arms are to be seen 
 upon the keystone of the principal arch; but 
 the peasants say that the Devil was the architect 
 against his will though a few maintain that St. 
 Michael really did the work. 
 
 In rambling around this quarter we stumbled 
 across somebody's garden chapel and with the 
 permission of an old servant in charge entered it. 
 No church could be more complete, altar-cloths, 
 statues, coloured glass, flowers, and candlesticks 
 in a tiny sanctuary not larger than ten or twelve 
 feet square, a true luxury of devotion. A glass 
 in the roof above the altar threw bright yellow 
 light over the figure of the Virgin. Before the 
 altar railing the steps of approach were covered 
 with an oriental rug, and there were in the body 
 of the chapel seats for eight or ten people. The 
 servant said that the family has become re- 
 duced to the person of one maiden lady in the 
 Breton way, and that she has full service per- 
 formed once or twice a month in the chapel for 
 her household and guests. 
 
 The calvaire of the St. Pol cemetery consists 
 of a large plain cross standing before a semi- 
 circular wall upon the panels of which are sculp- 
 tured the stations of the cross. The space is 
 paved and along the line of the diameter runs a 
 stone step, or bench, where the worshipper need 
 
 [247]
 
 Brounb /iDorlaii 
 
 but kneel to have the stations all in view. The 
 arches of the cemetery wall serve as a continu- 
 ous ossuary from which skulls grin hideously 
 unregarded by the populace brought up in com- 
 pany with human relics. In almost any corner 
 of the cathedral bones are stored for safe keeping 
 where skulls fit nicely over the projections of the 
 ornamental capitals, with an effect ghastly for a 
 time but soon unnoticed. 
 
 Our friend was certainly right when he warned 
 us of deformity, beggary, and drunkenness to 
 come under observation. The further one pene- 
 trates the cider country the deeper misery is to 
 be seen, yet it is borne as if that which to us is 
 suffering forms a mere customary hardship by no 
 means unbearable. The holiday had called forth 
 an unusual display of the mildest gentlest drunk- 
 ards, — men only, — that ever reeled. One worthy 
 wife who had evidently sought and rescued her 
 husband from temptation was engaged in the 
 difficult task of driving the culprit home. Vig- 
 orous whacks with the broomstick that she plied 
 when expostulation failed barely succeeded in 
 dispersing the comfortable haze in which his 
 faculties had lost themselves; as for his legs, the 
 sturdy woman had given up hopes of them, 
 which accounted for the general disarray of his 
 garments hauled upon at almost any point to 
 further the progress. 
 
 One mystery was presented at the hotel table. 
 [248]
 
 Hroun& /IDorlalx 
 
 Was it snails? Not the ordinary snail, certainly. 
 Perhaps what the song calls cockles. They 
 came, black spiral crustaceans of small size 
 heaped in a bowl each seemingly plugged with 
 a bit of rubber. Alongside the bowl lay a paper 
 of large pins to be used as forks. As no one 
 partook of shells or pins when both were passed 
 together, we never found out what the dish 
 really was. 
 
 To refer to the nimble black insect which 
 reduces life to one intermittent spasmodic 
 search is execrable taste, but it is certainly 
 fair to warn travellers that in Brittany he moves 
 with sprightliness and preserves his being with a 
 fecundity fitted to outclass any possible rival. 
 It is easy to believe Brittany to be a base of 
 supply for the continent as well as home for the 
 aged, since we can hardly imagine that many 
 have gone away to stay. 
 
 249]
 
 XIX. DINAN 
 
 FROM the railway the Guingamp church 
 shows large and unornamented. What 
 may be found therein we cannot tell, be- 
 cause, the Pardon being past, there seemed no 
 use of stopping. We might have branched off 
 towards Paimpol, for which it is the station, but 
 the blessing of the Iceland fleet takes place on 
 the coast as early as February, and but for the 
 glamour conferred by Loti's moving tale Pecheur 
 d'Islande, when that is over and the ships off to 
 their icy regions, Paimpol and the little villages 
 beyond are devoid of interest. 
 
 St. Brieuc is undoubtedly well worth a visit, 
 but every one remembers the senseless haste to 
 be at home that usurps the thoughts towards the 
 end of a vacation. Moreover we were now too 
 desirous of pressing on to Dinan to pause there. 
 Already, we had spent time at the Dinan station 
 waiting for a train, but from that point it is im- 
 possible to spy any of the unique features of the 
 old town. The stately walls are quite hidden 
 by the magnificent elms of the broad promenades 
 that skirt them on the west and north-west; and, 
 at most, the roof of St. Sauveur is all that shows 
 
 [250]
 
 Dtnan 
 
 from the railway. The wide, dusty station road 
 leads straight to the chief entrance of Dinan, 
 where the march of improvement, years ago, 
 levelled one of the stout old gates. The three 
 still left standing, sturdy and firm, show no 
 inclination to be marched over in that conclusive 
 way. Through them you step at once into the 
 middle ages. The narrow, winding streets pre- 
 sent a wilderness of overhanging gables, heavy, 
 sagging doorways, irregular, steep roofs, and 
 peaked windows. We were astonished to find 
 that after all our wanderings some of the most 
 singular effects lay right at our door, so to speak, 
 for Dinan is but half an hour or so on the train 
 from our own chateau. 
 
 The porched houses of Dinan give it its indi- 
 viduality. In these, the first story extends 
 across the sidewalk, roofing it above, and form- 
 ing a series of arcades. Formerly this feature 
 was characteristic of every street, but the be- 
 fore mentioned, devastating march has replaced 
 the porched fronts in many quarters by ugly 
 modern buildings. 
 
 The proper approach to Dinan is the one we 
 made later, viz., by the river Ranee from Dinard, 
 which is about eleven miles away. From its 
 mouth, for some seven or eight miles, the stream 
 is very deep at high tide, but then the steamer 
 enters a lock, beyond which the channel be- 
 comes narrow and tortuous, so shallow that it 
 
 [251]
 
 Binan 
 
 requires the greatest care to steer in safety. The 
 scenery all along is a series of exquisite hill open- 
 ings, set with villages, churches, fine residences, 
 and an occasional tower. In the language of an 
 Englishman near us, whose appreciation of na- 
 ture seemed to exceed his command of adjectives, 
 it is "sweetla pretta" all the way. The little 
 steamer sets you down upon a quai by a road 
 running along the base of a powerful crag, upon 
 the heights of which you see, far above you, the 
 battlement of the town. A few old stone houses, 
 mainly drinking places, are clustered about the 
 quai, and from a low arched stone bridge, so 
 old that it is called Roman, runs an irregular 
 street leading uphill to the oldest city gate, that 
 of Jerzual. Further along the river, the valley 
 is spanned by the viaduct, which lifts the chief 
 road to the North and North-west out of a peril- 
 ous dip it formerly made into this deep, narrow 
 valley. 
 
 A zig-zag of steps up the sheer face of the 
 rock leads to a park, called the English Gardens. 
 By the time you have reached the end of the 
 flights of steps you are quite ready to throw your 
 breathless self upon one of the benches just back 
 of the great circular tower belonging to the wall, 
 and look down upon the smiling valley you have 
 clambered out of. The little stream below 
 sweeps around in a semicircle through a flat, 
 grassy meadow that forms a striking contrast 
 
 [252]
 
 H)lnan 
 
 to the rugged woodiness of the surrounding hills. 
 The white high-road makes its arched leap across 
 and loses itself beyond, and away down below, 
 the little settlements on either bank carry on 
 their busy life, looking like pigmy representa- 
 tions of an unreal existence. 
 
 Directly back of the garden is the great church 
 of St. Sauveur, before which lies a large, bare, 
 open square. This church is of the one-sided 
 order very general in this part of the country, 
 consisting of a nave and one side aisle. As usual, 
 it is a work of varied architectural styles, and 
 appears to have been raised from the ruins of 
 several earlier edifices. Doubtless, if we but 
 knew enough, we might trace the many seasons of 
 severe war that have devastated Brittany, in the 
 arrested progress of this building. No one knows 
 exactly when St. Sauveur was begun, but it 
 was probably some time between the eleventh 
 and twelfth centuries. The south wall is the 
 oldest in the building, a sort of Romano-Gothic 
 in style, but with that exception, the interior 
 is of the fifteenth century. Among the records 
 of Dinan may be found the accounts rendered 
 for labour on the sacred building. One of the 
 first architects was maistre Guy Pingon, whose 
 salary was six sols a day, and a sol was approxi- 
 mately eight sous. Rolland Bougnart, whose 
 name appears sculptured on one of the pillars, 
 master joiner, was paid three sols a day. Ordi- 
 
 [253]
 
 Dfnan 
 
 nary workmen received nine deniers and masons 
 three sols. Carpenters were a trifle better off 
 since they had three sols and six deniers for their 
 day's work, but the roofers had but three sols. 
 The blocks of stone cost twelve deniers apiece; 
 a pipe of lime, eighteen sols; slates, two livres 
 the thousand; nails or bolts, four sols and six 
 deniers a thousand. 
 
 At this rate it is no wonder that Bretons of 
 the early times were able to besprinkle the land 
 so generously with fine large churches. They 
 took plenty of time at the job, for St. Sauveur is 
 known to have been still a-building in the middle 
 of the eighteenth century. One of the chief 
 beauties of the church resides in the chapels back 
 of the altar many of which contain tombs of 
 prominent families of the province. In the 
 intricate and beautiful vaultings of the choir and 
 its dependent chapels there is manifested a wise 
 and skilful management of elements in a manner 
 replete with religious feeling. To the unarchi- 
 tectural observer, however, the chief object of 
 interest within the old walls is a plain black 
 tombstone to be found in the north transept 
 behind which reposes the heart of that never-to- 
 be-forgotten hero, Du Guesclin. It was removed 
 to the church of St. Sauveur from that of the 
 Jacobins, when that sanctuary was demolished 
 in 1810. Du Guesclin expressed a desire to be 
 buried in the tomb of his family in the church of 
 
 [254]
 
 Dlnan 
 
 the Jacobins at Dinan, but the king, Charles V, 
 deeming him worthy of nothing less than royal 
 burial had the body placed with the kings in St. 
 Denis, near Paris, permitting the heart alone, 
 inclosed in a leaden box, to repose in the sepul- 
 chre of his fathers. 
 
 The other large church of Dinan, St. Malo, 
 has not the fine, open situation that gives St. 
 Sauveur such an advantage of position. St. 
 Malo is hemmed in by sordid, narrow streets 
 that look as if they grudged it the contracted 
 clearing lying at one side. Originally, St. Malo 
 stood without the city walls, where in the troub- 
 lous times of the middle ages, it must have been 
 exposed to indirect, if not premeditated assaults, 
 so, in 1487, the dukes of Brittany ordered the 
 building to be torn down and a new one to be 
 erected within the limits of the town. Such 
 materials of the primitive edifice as could be 
 used formed part of the new masonry. The 
 very elaborate plans were never fully carried out, 
 so that the choir, with its graceful flying- 
 buttresses, is the only portion that shows the 
 magnificent intentions of the original builders. 
 Even this is half hidden by the dirty, tumble- 
 down surrounding buildings. 
 
 The dark, heavy clock tower, which rises above 
 the city from its midst and figures in a greater 
 number of paintings than almost any other struc- 
 ture in this land, was a gift of the beloved Anne, 
 
 ['^55]
 
 Dinan 
 
 in a day when permission to erect such a tower 
 was rare, and could be granted only by the reign- 
 ing sovereign. Rennes and Nantes already en- 
 joyed the privilege, but the third city to be so 
 highly honoured was her dear Dinan. It is easy 
 to see that Anne remained throughout her life a 
 transplanted Duchess of Brittany, and that no 
 honours France had to offer could wean her from 
 allegiance to her own inheritance. The relative 
 degree in which she esteemed her chief cities he 
 who runs may read, for her tokens of favour follow 
 an invariable order: Nantes, Rennes, and third 
 in the list Dinan. It is probable that other 
 considerations than pure affection gave promi- 
 nence to the former cities, for she was wont to 
 term Dinan the key to her casket, strong and of 
 good defence, and it was here that she chose to 
 pass the days of her widowhood surrounded by 
 her most decorous court, that not all the frivol- 
 ities of the larger court had charmed from her 
 strict and beneficent control. Anne was the 
 first French queen to adopt black mourning 
 garb, white had always till then been the colour 
 of royal mourning, and the present tint is purple 
 of that shade known as royal purple. It de- 
 tracts somewhat from one's admiration of the 
 great woman's benevolence to learn that the 
 townsfolk were expected to pay roundly for the 
 honour conferred, and were obliged to receive 
 it with fitting humility. But that is the way 
 
 [256 1
 
 Dinan 
 
 things were done in those days, and, that the 
 clockworks ran and did good service for some- 
 thing like three hundred years, proves that she 
 fulfilled her part of the contract faithfully ac- 
 cording to her lights. 
 
 Considering the striking appearance of the 
 clock towers from a distance, it is surprising how 
 easy it is to pass it without noticing. There is 
 little that is distinctive about the lower stories, 
 but the upper slated portion, awkwardly sloping 
 towards a platform upon which stands an open, 
 arched section, terminating in a spire, are the 
 features that give it its singular individuality 
 and form so odd and striking a whole. The old 
 clockworks have been placed in the museum, 
 but they were in use as late as 1849. 
 
 This modest museum is hidden away in a room 
 on the ground floor of the Hotel de Ville. We 
 passed without discovering it quite through the 
 building to the back court, a terraced place over- 
 looking the valley beyond, upon which open 
 various offices. The court was filled with busy 
 officials and a number of peasants. No one 
 seemed to know anything about the museum till 
 a man came out of one of the doors nearby and, 
 with the greatest kindness, led us to the room 
 of the jani tress, who produced keys and opened 
 the little collection to our inspection. The clock, 
 a key made by Louis XVI, and the tombs of the 
 Beaumanoir family are the only things of interest 
 
 [257]
 
 Dinan 
 
 to be seen. We were far more attracted, on 
 going upstairs to the Council Chamber, by the 
 crayon portrait of a fine looking old officer, wear- 
 ing a decoration granted by Louis Napoleon. 
 The officer was a woman who followed her hus- 
 band to the wars, and after his death continued 
 with the army, rising step by step from the ranks 
 to the grade of Lieutenant. Her last days were 
 passed in the Hotel des Invalides at Paris, where 
 not so very many years ago, she died and was 
 buried with full military honours. 
 
 Every one hastens to visit the Chateau of Anne 
 of Brittany, which stands at one side of the Porte 
 St. Louis, seeming to form part of the city wall 
 at that point. Of the original castle nothing 
 now remains but the donjon and some buried 
 foundations, but it retains much of the interest 
 that formerly centred in it, though in present 
 times it is only a prison. The entrance leads 
 across the deep, double moat, looking down into 
 which you get an idea of the early strength of 
 the defenses. In the severely simple little 
 Gothic chapel of the tower, is a stone seat within 
 a recess in the wall, which is called the seat of the 
 Duchess Anne, and where she is said to have sat 
 through the service. Let us hope she had cush- 
 ions of some sort, for a harder, colder, more un- 
 comfortable seat than that stone block, wedged 
 between two whitewashed walls, can scarcely 
 be found anywhere. Everything within this 
 
 [258]
 
 Dinan 
 
 prison is cold and bare, but from the top a 
 magnificent view spreads in every direction. 
 We felt well repaid for having gone up so many 
 steps when we looked over the well cultivated 
 valley, on the one hand, and off in the direction 
 of the coast on the other. 
 
 The street of Jerzual, leading from the heart 
 of the town out through the oldest of the old 
 gates, is perhaps the most curious and delectable 
 feature of Dinan. The artists seem to find it 
 so, at all events, for they have their easels scat- 
 tered along its entire, precipitous length, propped 
 and bolstered where the slant forbids firm footing, 
 and settled with a fine disregard of anything 
 beyond pure art. The rest of the world may 
 pass, if it chooses, but "Art" has first right of 
 way. All down this steep, narrow road, crooked, 
 badly paved, filthy and odorous, you have, jut- 
 ting out over your head, curious, timbered gables, 
 tiled, plastered or bricked, all more or less dilapi- 
 dated, all several centuries old, and all far fallen 
 from their first estate, if they were ever half-way 
 respectable. You are in the heart of the city 
 as it looked to Anne, to the noble Du Guesclin, 
 and to the rapacious Duke of Lancaster, who 
 made such exertions to take Dinan by siege in 
 the days of Edward III of England. 
 
 The Jerzual gate seems planted midway of 
 this incline, for beyond the wall the straggle of 
 peaked roof and moss-grown tiles follows along 
 [259]
 
 Dlnan 
 
 down to the water's edge. No photograph that 
 I have seen gives a true impression of the angle 
 at which this hill of difficulty pitches down out 
 of the town. This is only obtained by a sliding 
 scramble to the foot and the return climb to 
 regain the heights. At some turns of the street 
 the blue of heaven is quite cut off by a grouping 
 of chimneys, timbers, and sharp points. 
 
 Looking at the gate from within, two open can- 
 non chambers are revealed above the entrance, 
 which retains all accessories proper to its age, a 
 portcullis with grooves, chains and levers ap- 
 parently intact. An iron crane holds high the 
 primitive lantern which tempers the gloom of 
 night for a short distance in its vicinity. The 
 lantern is raised and lowered by means of a long 
 rope, and if the phrase d la lanterne has never 
 before held lucid pertinence, a passing observa- 
 tion of the play of this rope will give it force. The 
 Virgin enshrined above looks from her niche with 
 pitying eye on the squalor beneath, and guards 
 the wayfarer from danger. 
 
 There are several fine gateways in Dinan, relics 
 of more flourishing days, perhaps the best of 
 which is that of Beaumanoir, facing the end of 
 the rue de la Larderie. 
 
 Standing as it does, its delicate seventeenth 
 century carvings may be seen for a great dis- 
 tance along the rue de la Larderie, and it appears 
 to give promise of architectural treasures. To 
 
 [260]
 
 Clock Tower at Dinar
 
 Dinan 
 
 find that the gate has alone been left, and that 
 whatever beauties flanked it have been cleared 
 away to give place to humdrum business build- 
 ings, makes one feel actually defrauded. The 
 gate gives entrance to a court, at the rear of 
 which one ornamented, hexagonal tower remains 
 of all that was once the town residence of the 
 great Beaumanoir family. This building, for 
 Dinan, must have been very modern, for it has 
 the light grace of La Garaye, the ruins two miles 
 to the north-west of the city, and the style is of 
 the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century, 
 far more finished, if less substantial than the 
 grey, stone piles of earlier times. La Garaye 
 has an interest of its own quite apart from ivy 
 covered walls and carven lintels, though these 
 form as captivating a picture as any in this 
 region. 
 
 About the year 1700, through the death of 
 his father and brothers, the title and lands of 
 La Garaye fell unexpectedly into the hands of 
 Claude-Toussaint Marot, a young man some 
 twenty-six years of age. He soon married a 
 niece of La Motte-Piquet, who also possessed 
 a considerable fortune. The young people, mak- 
 ing their home at La Garaye, immediately en- 
 tered upon a life of utmost brilliancy and dissipa- 
 tion, in this following the example of the luxurious 
 court. The place, formerly peaceful and sedate, 
 became the scene of turbulent, frivolous festivi- 
 
 [261 ]
 
 Dinan 
 
 ties, of which the favourite was hunting. This 
 course of extravagance bade fair to know no 
 end, when suddenly it was brought to a sad and 
 abrupt termination by an accident, which threw 
 a gloom over the whole countryside. Madame 
 de La Garaye was thrown from her horse during 
 the chase, and from that day was never strong 
 again. About the same time, the Count, dur- 
 ing a visit to Paris, learned of the death of one 
 of his dearest friends, a man who had quitted 
 the world some years before for the rigid se- 
 clusion of a Trappist monastery. The example 
 of this man, eldest son of a noble family, to 
 whom life had offered all its pleasures in vain, 
 made a great impression upon the already 
 chastened heart of the Count de La Garaye. He 
 at once sat in judgment upon his own life and 
 the reckless waste for which he felt himself ac- 
 countable. From the day of his return all was 
 changed. He began at once to devote himself 
 to the needy, especially to the sick, encouraged 
 by the hearty co-operation of his loved wife. 
 The great castle was soon too small to hold all 
 their beneficiaries, and the long, plain building 
 still standing in the grounds was fitted up as a 
 hospital. The Count made several sojourns in 
 Paris for the purpose of studying medicine and 
 surgery. All the best appliances were brought to 
 La Garaye, and its dispensary provided remedies 
 for all who asked for them. There was no limit 
 
 [26*2 1
 
 S>inan 
 
 to the devotion of the Countess. Besides giving 
 out food, clothing and medicines, she gave her 
 personal care to the invalids gatherd under her 
 roof, and no case was too hideous or unsightly for 
 her tender ministrations. Thus passed the long 
 years that their lives were spared. The Count 
 died when almost eighty and his wife survived 
 him but two years. Before their death they 
 had the gratification of seeing their good work 
 extended far beyond its original limits. Friends 
 joined with them in the establishment of a hospi- 
 tal for incurables in Dinan ; Louis XV, in recog- 
 nition of a chemical discovery, granted the Count 
 fifty thousand pounds, which he immediately 
 applied to the extension of his charities. He 
 established a school for the poor; endowed re- 
 ligious orders; and by will left to various good 
 works the remainder of his once large fortune. 
 Far from losing his brave, active spirit in these 
 labours of love, the Count of La Garaye retained 
 to the end high pride and invincible courage. 
 When nearly seventy years of age, he learned 
 that the English, contemplating an invasion, 
 had disembarked at Lorient. He hastened at 
 once to the spot, accompanied by his armed 
 domestics, ready and eager to take part in the 
 impending struggle. 
 
 France is not usually credited with this kind 
 of virtue, but, in truth, the story is character- 
 istic, and La Garaye stands by no means alone 
 
 [263]
 
 Dinan 
 
 as the monument of unselfish devotion to char- 
 ity and religion. The crumbling walls in their 
 ruinous beauty touch a responsive chord in the 
 heart of each visitor, and silently still teach the 
 lesson of love so well learned and practised by 
 the Marots. 
 
 From Dinan to Combourg is but a short trip, 
 and it is one well worth taking, since the sight 
 of an old feudal chateau kept in repair and really 
 used as dwelling place is not to be seen on every 
 trip. Not a chateau like ours or those to be 
 had near St. Servan, plain buildings, solid enough, 
 if you like, but, at most not more than two hun- 
 dred years old ; no indeed. Combourg is a rough 
 uncompromising collection of squares and turrets 
 that date from the middle ages. Its walls are 
 so thick that the window openings stand at the 
 end of little corridors, that, ever narrowing, 
 pierce the stone work. It is a castle that makes 
 an American realise the justice of the mushroom 
 slurs cast upon him by exasperated natives of 
 riper countries. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that because 
 the place is a home, it may be invaded on one 
 day of the week only, and to fit a trip to a set 
 day is generally more or less of a bother to sight- 
 seers, especially in a land where the rain is ever 
 ready to modify plans and prove a watery grave 
 to courage. The aged countess and her daughter 
 comprising the existing family were fortunately 
 
 [264]
 
 Dinan 
 
 away on the day of our visit. Fortunately, 
 because their travelhng days are pretty well 
 over, and their usual presence curtails more or 
 less the freedom of the tourist. The market 
 booths clustering close about the pile give a new 
 version of "Dignity and Impudence," and every 
 quarter of an hour the great castle clock booms 
 its protest. 
 
 The oldest portion of the building is the tower 
 built in 1016 by Gingoneus, Bishop of Dol, as 
 part of a great feudal fortress; but in the four- 
 teenth century the castle was much enlarged and 
 has received additions even later. The palatial 
 steps of the entrance occupy the site of the former 
 drawbridge. In these richly panelled rooms 
 lived the great author of "La Genie du Christian- 
 isme, " whose body reposes on the bleak slope 
 of the Grand Bey. Chateaubriand died in Paris 
 but the bed in which he died has been brought 
 back here where so much of this thought and work 
 took its final shape. 
 
 On the death of the present occupants the 
 noble family of Chateaubriand will become ex- 
 tinct and the castle must pass into the hands of 
 strangers. A family already prominent in the 
 days of St. Louis will have reached its end. 
 
 The plan of the castle includes a square keep 
 and four rectangular structures flanked by 
 machiolated towers with the conical roof so 
 common in France. In true feudal fashion the 
 
 1^65]
 
 Dinan 
 
 building occupies an eminence above the town 
 and commands a wide view over the fields, 
 which, in the days when Combourg village held 
 but its own serfs, afforded the castle a rich har- 
 vest for which it toiled not nor span, save in an 
 indirect bushwhacking manner under the often 
 erratic leadership of its liege lord. By some it 
 is maintained that this spot is not the original 
 seat of the Chateaubriands, but that it was 
 bought by the father of the author from the 
 Marechal de Duras. It is quite possible that the 
 elder Chateaubriand may have had to regulate 
 some revolutionary vicissitudes by paying for a 
 new title to property formerly in the family. 
 
 266
 
 XX. SOMETHING ABOUT DU GUESCLIN 
 
 WHATEVER may be the defects of the 
 French character, it has certainly pro- 
 duced a very satisfactory assortment of 
 heroes, among which, although of Breton birth, 
 Du Guesclin holds front rank, and seems to sum 
 up in his career all the qualities demanded of 
 mediaeval knightly romance and valour. The 
 chronicler delights in recounting the exploits of 
 the noble Messire du Guesclin, but chronicle 
 French is a medium fitted to appal most readers. 
 It presents a maze of unexpected phonetics 
 treated in an extremely natural way that calls 
 for some Latin, a little Norman-English, and a 
 vivid imagination to render into comprehensible 
 form. Still, the old setting of the tale is quaint 
 enough to repay a season of burrowing. 
 
 Once upon a time, in the days of Philip of 
 Valois, there dwelt in Brittany a chevalier named 
 Regnaud du Guesclin, seigneur of La Mote de 
 Bron, a strong well-situated castle about four 
 leagues from Dinan. Loyal and upright in the 
 sight of God and man was the chevalier Regnaud, 
 faithful to his church, and liberal in alms. The 
 poor he comforted for the love of God, whom he 
 
 [267]
 
 Sometblno about H)u ©uesclin 
 
 reverenced with his whole heart. Thus were this 
 good knight and his discreet wife greatly hon- 
 oured throughout the length and breadth of the 
 land. 
 
 Now it chanced, that favouring Providence had 
 blessed this worthy pair with three sons; Bert- 
 rand, the eldest, destined to win fame throughout 
 the world. Christian and Saracen; William, the 
 second, who after a short but worthy life was 
 laid to rest in Dinan; and Oliver, the youngest, 
 who became Count of Longueville. 
 
 Since nothing may compare with the great 
 prowess of Bertrand, whom King Charles made 
 Constable and Commander in Chief of his armies, 
 for young chevaliers who desire nothing more 
 ardently than to hear of deeds of mighty valour, 
 we here recount the acts of said Bertrand from 
 his earliest youth till the day of his death, the 
 same being recorded among the deeds of the 
 kings of France, in the church of Monseigneur 
 St. Denis, in France. 
 
 Of medium size, with snub nose, green eyes, 
 too broad shoulders, long arms, and small 
 hands, it is easy to see that Bertrand possessed 
 no great beauty, and that may possibly be the 
 reason of the strange disfavour with which the 
 boy during his childhood was regarded by his 
 parents, and especially by his mother. 
 
 It so happened, that on a certain feast of the 
 Ascension the family midwife, a woman deeply 
 
 [268]
 
 Sometbing about 2)u 6uescltn 
 
 versed in astrology, came to La Mote. As was 
 his custom, the Sire de Bron received her kindly, 
 and caused her to sit with his household at table. 
 Although her travels often led her to the castle, 
 yet she rarely broke bread there, and on this 
 occasion first noticed the slight esteem in which 
 Bertrand was held. The three boys sat at a 
 small table with the eldest placed quite at the 
 lower end, as of little account, and honoured less 
 than the others by his father. 
 
 With her eyes fixed upon the heir, the wise 
 dame pondered, trying to gather from Bertrand's 
 behaviour the cause of his singular position in 
 the family. 
 
 On leaving the table after the meal the mid- 
 wife took the boy aside, examined his hands, 
 read his features, and, remembering well the 
 day of his nativity, some six years previous, 
 asked the parents why they dealt thus unfairly 
 with the child. 
 
 The lady replied; "Good friend, in truth, this 
 child is so rough, naughty, and of such daring 
 that his like was never seen. Nobody, no matter 
 how high his rank, does or says the least thing 
 offensive to him, but immediately he is hit. My 
 lord and I are continually in difficulties owing to 
 the troubles he gets into with the other children 
 of the neighbourhood, for he never ceases collect- 
 ing them for the purpose of forcing them to fight. 
 He fights against them till his father and I often 
 
 [269]
 
 Sometbino about 2)u (BuescUn 
 
 wish that he were dead, or that he never had 
 been born." 
 
 On hearing this complaint, the woman said, 
 "Madam, I assure you that upon this child I see 
 such marks that by him alone the kingdom of 
 France shall be saved, and nobody of his time 
 will compare with him in chivalry." 
 
 From that day on, the mother began to regard 
 him and hold him dear, and Bertrand prospered 
 till he reached the age of nine years. He clung 
 to his habit of organising combats, which were 
 frequently prolonged till the children were ex- 
 hausted, and returned home worn out, he, him- 
 self, being usually wounded, and generally his 
 clothes were torn off him. 
 
 When the lady saw what great trouble he 
 continued to make, she reviled him saying, 
 "Evil one! The high honour promised by the 
 midwife will come to you through wickedness, 
 for, indeed, she judged you wrongly, and I can- 
 not believe her word." 
 
 Bertrand, however, paid no attention, but 
 went on with his combats and jousts among the 
 children, fashioned after those of which he so 
 often heard, for, at that time, tournaments were 
 held in all parts of France. So he went on, till 
 all the parents in the land brought bitter com- 
 plaints to the Sire du Guesclin and de Bron about 
 the boy who led their children to fight in this 
 rude manner. Sire du Guesclin enjoined them 
 
 [270]
 
 Sometbing about 2)u 6uesclin 
 
 to forbid the children to play with his trouble- 
 some son, but when Bertrand perceived that 
 other boys avoided him, he seized them, and 
 compelled them to fight against their will. 
 Hereupon, the fathers came once more with their 
 lamentations, and Sire de Bron shut Bertrand 
 up captive. 
 
 It chanced, one evening, that a maid was sent 
 with food for the prisoner. As she opened the 
 door Bertrand caught her, and secured the keys 
 she carried. He then fled in the night to one of 
 his father's seats where he took a horse and gal- 
 loped to Rennes, where lived a sister of the 
 Sire de Bron who was married to a chevalier of 
 high rank. 
 
 When this dame perceived with whom she had 
 to deal, she was far from pleased, and cried; "Ha, 
 my fine nephew! Evil be the day in which you 
 saw the light, so ill do you carry yourself." 
 
 But her husband spoke up, "Wife, give the 
 youth a chance to prove himself." Then to 
 Bertrand, "Good nephew, the house is yours to 
 command," to which Bertrand responded with 
 gracious thanks. 
 
 The youth abode long with his uncle of Rennes, 
 and much changed his ways for the better, seeing 
 which, his father softened towards him, and took 
 him home again. So grew he to the age of 
 twelve. 
 
 Now the Sire du Guesclin furnished his son 
 [271 ]
 
 Sometbing about H)u GuescUn 
 
 with horse and trappings, such as were used in 
 jousts and tournaments. Bertrand made such 
 gifts and presents to the gentlefolk who passed 
 through his father's domains on their way to the 
 tournaments that he gained a reputation for 
 princely liberality. To the poor he gave always; 
 if he had not gold, he gave his garments, for the 
 love of God. This quality in him was cherished 
 more than any other by his father. 
 
 It came to pass, that the nobility of Brittany 
 held a great joust at Rennes. With the Sire du 
 Guesclin went Bertrand who much desired to 
 enter the lists, but on account of his youth was 
 not admitted. 
 
 On the appointed day was held a grand fete 
 attended by chevaliers of all lands, dames, 
 maidens, burghers with their fair daughters, and 
 all the gentry of the country. At the end of the 
 day's sports the Sire du Guesclin was found to be 
 victor over all the knights engaged. 
 
 Among the squires was a relative of the Dame 
 du Guesclin, who, having borne himself valiantly 
 all the day, retired at night to the house where 
 lodged his young cousin, Bertrand. The youth 
 hastened to disarm the squire, and then, on 
 bended knee, begged permission to don the ar- 
 mour on the morrow that he, too, might joust. 
 
 The cousin whispered softly; "Ah, my dear 
 kinsman, you need not ask, but take it as if it 
 were your own." 
 
 [272]
 
 Sometbina about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 In the morning, the squire secretly armed Bert- 
 rand, provided him with horse and varlet, and 
 the boy proceeded joyously to the lists. With- 
 out delay he spurred against a knight, and the 
 knight returned the charge. Bertrand, who had 
 never before jousted, struck the helmet of the 
 chevalier with such force that he was at once put 
 out of the fray. The knight fell, with his horse 
 killed under him. 
 
 When the heralds saw that the rude blow had 
 been struck by a knight whom nobody knew, 
 they began to shout; "To the adventurous 
 squire!" 
 
 Then went Bertrand about the lists performing 
 such feats of prowess that none dared encounter 
 him, though no one discovered who he might 
 be. 
 
 When Messire du Guesclin, who all the day 
 had borne off the palm, observed the consterna- 
 tion of the bravest contestants, he put spurs to 
 his steed, and rode against his son. 
 
 Then, Bertrand, who knew by his accoutre- 
 ments the opponent with whom he had to deal, 
 moved by the great respect in which he held his 
 father, let fall his lance. The Sire du Guesclin, 
 wondering that the valourous knight refused to 
 battle with him, inquired of his comrades whether 
 they knew the strange jouster, but they did 
 not. By the counsel of the father, a young 
 warrior was commissioned to try to unhelm the 
 
 [273]
 
 Sometbing about H)u (BuescUn 
 
 unknown squire. The knight, already renowned 
 for strength and prowess, set forth on the errand 
 gladly, and after a stout contest bore away the 
 helmet. 
 
 Thus Bertrand stood confessed before his 
 kinsfolk, and great was their joy to recognise 
 with whom they had fought. Greatest of all 
 was the joy of the Sire du Guesclin, in that he had 
 a son thus valiant in arms, and thus holding his 
 parents in honour. From this day on the father 
 held Bertrand dearest of his children, and, in 
 token that he loved him above the others, he 
 conferred upon him his whole estate. 
 
 When the Dame du Guesclin heard how Bert- 
 rand, her son, had won the prize at the tourna- 
 ment, her heart swelled with pride and gratitude, 
 and she recalled with happiness the words of the 
 midwife. 
 
 At the close of the jousts, the Sire set out with 
 his son for the estate of La Mote de Bron. The 
 fame of Bertrand had preceded them, and 
 throughout their course through Brittany they 
 heard the praises of all the people, so great re- 
 nown had the boy attained. 
 
 This was the time in which reigned the good 
 Duke John of Brittany, prudent and joyous, and 
 during his whole life a steadfast friend to France. 
 The Duke had loyally served Philip of Valois, 
 against whom Edward of England waged war, 
 and accomplished much, being helped thereto by 
 [274]
 
 Sometbina about Du (Buesclln 
 
 the Flemish, Germans, Huns, Brabanters, and 
 many other peoples which came to his aid when 
 he basely lay siege to Tournay. Then was it 
 that Philip summoned the peers of the realm, and 
 the good Duke John came with a great army, 
 accompanied by all his barons in full array. 
 Then the king quickly assembled his four hundred 
 lances, and with them advanced upon Edward, 
 and harried Mons in Hainault. 
 
 Now the Countess of Hainault, a widow, had 
 for Christian devotion become Abbess of Fon- 
 tenelles. She was sister to Philip, and Edward 
 had married her daughter, so sore was her grief 
 at this warring. Seeing her trouble, and giving 
 ear to her pleading the kings made a truce, in 
 the hope of coming to an agreement that should 
 lead to peace, and the siege was raised. 
 
 Each king returned to his own country, and 
 he of France dismissed his princes with hearty 
 thanks for their fealty and services. Above all 
 did Philip honour John of Brittany with feast 
 and tourney before permitting him to repair to 
 his duchy, where he was in time joyfully received 
 by his subjects. 
 
 The renown of Bertrand du Guesclin having 
 come to the ears of John, the brave duke much 
 desired to see the youth, and summoned him to 
 appear at the court. When the young knight 
 arrived the duke at once took him into his serv- 
 ice, and ever after, in all the journeys John 
 
 [275]
 
 Sometbina about 2)u (Buesclin 
 
 undertook for the king, Bertrand was his chosen 
 companion. 
 
 Not long after this, the land sustained sore 
 loss in the death of John, and Bertrand, made 
 famous by his recent service, set forth to find 
 a place among the warriors of France, and a wider 
 field in which to win glory. 
 
 Under the leadership of the Count of Blois, 
 the venturous stripling soon found the desired 
 opportunity at the siege of Rennes, in 1342. 
 Shortly after this at the head of but twenty men, 
 he repelled a large body of English before Vannes. 
 
 By the year 1351 , the war-cry " Notre Dame du 
 Guesclin" had already become one of the most 
 formidable to the foe. Like a thunder-clap came 
 the redoubtable shout about the ears of the 
 English, which proves that during eight years 
 the broken records have ignored many deeds of 
 valour. 
 
 At the combat of Roche-Derrien, in June, 
 1347, the English had taken Charles of Blois 
 prisoner, which accounts for the military inactiv- 
 ity of a few years just here. With the chief 
 actor safely shut up in London, war languished, 
 seeing which, Charles was successful in persuad- 
 ing his captors that his young sons were better 
 material for cold storage than a hardened war- 
 rior like himself, and it fell to the lot of du Gues- 
 clin to conduct the boys on their journey of 
 paternal deliverance, taken in 1351. 
 
 [276]
 
 SometbinG about H)u Guesclin 
 
 Bertrand made good use of this exceptional 
 opportunity, to give King Edward a piece of his 
 mind with regard to the rights of the Bretons, 
 since the existing war seemed destined to be 
 fought out on Breton territory. The freedom 
 and completeness with which he aired the nation's 
 grievances struck the court dumb, but increased 
 mightily his repute with his own people. 
 
 Returning to Brittany, du Guesclin proceeded 
 to take prisoner La Toigne, ally of the English, 
 and one of the captains, but before long, the 
 roles changed, and La Toigne decided that the 
 time had arrived in which it would improve 
 Bertrand's manners to test his own prescription. 
 For a while the Breton had ample leisure in 
 which to perfect future plans of action, but all 
 were too fond of the game to wish for a long halt, 
 and, therefore, no unnecessary diflSculties were 
 placed in the way of freeing the captive in con- 
 sideration of a good round ransom. 
 
 In 1356-7, Lancaster stole a march on du 
 Guesclin, and surrounded Rennes before the 
 Breton had a chance to get in. Upon this, 
 Bertrand instituted a course of exterior skir- 
 mishing that rendered Lancaster's life a burden, 
 and lost him his captain. La Esole. La Esole 
 received the promise of immediate liberation on 
 condition of inducing Lancaster to permit Bert- 
 rand to enter the walled city. The price proved 
 too great. 
 
 f277l
 
 Sometbina about H)u 0uesclin 
 
 "I should rather," declared the enraged Lan- 
 caster, "let five hundred men at arms go in 
 than one du Guesclin." 
 
 The event proved the justice of Lancaster's 
 position, for when, at last, du Guesclin did suc- 
 ceed in getting within the walls of Rennes, the 
 effect on the spirits of the townfolks was such, 
 that the seige was raised with dispatch. 
 
 Before Dinan, in 1359, Lancaster tried his 
 luck while his foe was within the city. The 
 nominal leader of the defense was the chevalier 
 Penhoet, the Cripple, or Twisted-leg, but the 
 enthusiasm of the burghers was unbounded 
 when they discovered that the real support was 
 their hero and his well-seasoned followers. 
 
 "When they of Dinan," says the admiring 
 historian, "saw themselves besieged by the Eng- 
 lish who held the roads to Brest and to Bahon; 
 and when the followers of Monsieur Charles de 
 Blois who were within perceived this, they sent 
 envoys to the Duke of Lancaster asking for a 
 truce of fifteen days, during which time they 
 would send to Charles of Blois for aid. But if 
 they got none, then would they surrender to 
 Lancaster and the Count de Montfort." All 
 this was granted. 
 
 It happened one day during the truce, that 
 
 Oliver du Guesclin, quite alone, rode out before 
 
 the walls of Dinan, handsomely accoutred, as 
 
 became a young knight, and in full assurance. 
 
 [278]
 
 Sometbtng about Du (Buesclin 
 
 As the knight fared forth there met him on 
 the field, one, Thomas of Canterbury, brother 
 to the Primate of England. This cavalier, most 
 proud and arrogant, approached Oliver insult- 
 ingly, and haughtily demanded his name and 
 rank. 
 
 "Oliver du Guesclin, an it may please you," 
 replied the Breton unsuspiciously, "brother to 
 Bertrand." 
 
 "Then," cried the false Englishman, "by St. 
 Thomas, you shall not escape me. With me 
 shall you go, captive, nor will I give you up, but 
 will break your head, and you shall die, in spite 
 of your brother, that his name and fame for our 
 many good friends that he has done to death be 
 not carried further. By my faith, it is of the 
 Devil, that he be raised so high, since of him and 
 of his deeds do men speak more than of aught 
 else." 
 
 "Sire," responded OHver roundly, "Greatly 
 do you err. A poor cavalier is he, and poorly 
 dowered, and if so be that he be advanced by his 
 own strength to riches and honour, in no wise 
 may you blame him." 
 
 "No quarter," then shouted the Englishman, 
 and rode straight at Oliver with pointed lance, 
 the which, when Oliver observed, he called upon 
 his saint, for he rode unarmed, while the other 
 not only was well equipped, but was attended by 
 four squires. 
 
 [279]
 
 Sometbino about H)u (Buesclln 
 
 "I yield," said the Breton, the fight being thus 
 unequal, "since you demand it, but, believe me, 
 if you give me up, you will receive my value 
 twice over as ransom." 
 
 Then said the Englishman, "You shall pay me 
 a thousand florins, or you shall never escape. 
 That is not much for Bertrand has plenty." 
 
 The knight led his captive to the tent of the 
 enemy that he might show him to the English 
 leaders. 
 
 Here, there chanced to be a Breton squire, who, 
 recognising the prisoner, ran straightway to 
 Bertrand, at Dinan, whom he found watching a 
 game at tennis in the market place. 
 
 Privately the squire told the brother in what 
 case he had seen Oliver brought into the opposite 
 camp, and Bertrand, furious, made sure that his 
 man knew of a certainty whereof he spake. 
 
 The squire assured du Guesclin that there 
 could be no mistake, since at the time when the 
 father armed Oliver to follow the fortunes of 
 his brother, he, himself, had assisted, and knew 
 well Oliver's cognisance. 
 
 Then asked Bertrand, "How call they the 
 English knave?" 
 
 "Thomas of Canterbury, brother to the Pri- 
 mate." 
 
 Swore Bertrand roundly, "By St. Ives! he 
 will give him back, and find him the most peril- 
 ous captive he ever took." 
 
 [280 1
 
 Sometbing about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 Mounting his steed, the indignant du Guesclin 
 passed out through the gate of Dinan, and rode 
 straight to the camp of the foe, who knew him, 
 and feared him mightily. 
 
 Arrived at the camp, Bertrand threw himself 
 from his horse, and demanded an interview with 
 Lancaster who sat playing at chess with Chandos. 
 Present also were Robert Canole, de Montfort, 
 Pembroke, and many other lords, when the out- 
 raged Breton strode into their midst. 
 
 Bertrand saluted honourably, and then knelt 
 before the duke, who said to him, "Well, indeed, 
 is it that you have come." While speaking, Lan- 
 caster took the suppliant by the hand to raise 
 him to his feet, and the game was set aside, so 
 much in respect was held the knight du Guesclin. 
 
 Kindly spoke John of Chandos, "You shall 
 drink wine with us before you return." 
 
 But Bertrand responded firmly, "I shall 
 drink of no wine until you shall have done me 
 justice." 
 
 Then did Chandos inquire of what injustice he 
 made complaint, and of what gentleman he had 
 suffered injury, to the which did Bertrand reply, 
 that in their camp they had a knight he little 
 loved, and that Thomas of Canterbury without 
 cause or provocation had done him ill. 
 
 "Well you know," maintained Bertrand, "that 
 of your accord and ours there is a truce until a 
 given day. This also is known of that cavalier, 
 
 [281 ]
 
 Sometbina about 2)u (Buesclin 
 
 and that we have kept to the terms thereof. 
 But though you have dealt truly, that knight 
 has found my brother who is yet a child, when 
 he was exercising in the fields, and has made the 
 boy his prisoner. I adjure you, Sires, in all 
 loyalty, to cause to be delivered unto me my 
 brother, Oliver du Guesclin." 
 
 Thereupon Chandos promised that the boy 
 should be immediately rendered and put at his 
 disposal, for which did Bertrand thank them 
 greatly. 
 
 Wine was brought, and they all drank, and 
 gave Bertrand to drink; and then it was com- 
 manded that the knight who had taken Oliver 
 should appear before them, and he durst not 
 refuse. 
 
 Then said the duke, "Behold Bertrand who 
 accuseth you, that you have to-day captured his 
 own brother, wishing to retain him as your pris- 
 oner. This is ill done, and if he prove the charge, 
 you must deliver the young man, and make 
 amends." 
 
 Scornful and proud, the chevalier said to the 
 noble duke, "Sire, I indeed behold Bertrand, but 
 if he chargeth aught against me, and I have done 
 that which deserveth blame, and that a knight 
 had not right to do, here throw I my gage for 
 combat on the field of battle, body for body, 
 stroke for stroke." 
 
 But when Bertrand heard him speak thus 
 [282 1
 
 Sometbtna about H)u (Buescltn 
 
 hardily, without a word he took up the gage, and 
 then seized him by the hand. 
 
 "False caitiff!" cried he, *' traitor, as you have 
 proved yourself, such shall I also prove you 
 before all these lords, or die of shame!" 
 
 Hereupon spoke up the false chevalier, "I 
 shall not fail you, nor shall I sleep on a bed till 
 I have fought with you." 
 
 Bertrand responded, "Never will I take more 
 than three sips of wine in the name of the Trin- 
 ity, till I have met you." 
 
 Chandos told the Breton that he would cheer- 
 fully lend him arms and his best steed, for this 
 combat would be fair to see. 
 
 When news of the fray spread abroad, and 
 knights and gentry were assembled to witness 
 the contest, the burghers were troubled and cast 
 down, but there was in Dinan a noble lady who 
 heartened them again. This demoiselle, Ti- 
 phaine Raguenel, although four and twenty years 
 of age, had never married, but had given her 
 time to learning. She was good and wise and 
 most expert in the science of astrology. Some 
 called her a witch, but that was she not, only 
 wise by the grace of God. 
 
 When this maid, who had been born in Dinan, 
 and lived there, heard how sorely the people 
 feared the outcome of the fight, she spoke aloud 
 to the burghers telling them not to fear, for 
 their champion would return safe and sound at 
 [283]
 
 Sometbino about Du Guesclin 
 
 sunset, having discomfited the enemy. If this 
 prophecy proved false she declared herself ready 
 to forfeit all her goods. 
 
 On this, great was the joy of the city, and a 
 Breton knight took horse to carry the words to 
 Bertrand, and to say that for the honour of the 
 noble lady Tiphaine he must do valiantly. 
 
 But Bertrand replied, "Go to! He is fool 
 and coward who trusts to woman, and shows 
 little sense; for they have no more mind than a 
 sheep. They are only capable of laughing." 
 
 Finally came a messenger from Twisted-leg 
 and the townsmen who said to the champion, 
 "Sire, the captain and burghers send me to beg 
 and counsel you to hold the combat in the mar- 
 ket place of Dinan, if the Duke so wills, for then 
 he will come in with his knights, and there will 
 be hostages enough. The townsfolk are dis- 
 pleased to see you put your trust so confidently 
 in the English as to venture thus among them! 
 
 "By my faith," answered Bertrand, "I ought 
 not to doubt, for the Duke of Lancaster is most 
 courteous, and would disdain to think on trea- 
 son. Yet, for all that, I will make a note of 
 this." 
 
 Wherefore went Bertrand to Lancaster, and 
 said, "You have been told of the commands laid 
 upon me by this squire, in the name of the people 
 of Dinan, and what they require of me. I would 
 not anger or trouble them, in that they are my 
 
 [284]
 
 Sometbina about Du (BuescKn 
 
 friends. As I greatly desire to hold this combat, 
 I beg of you that you will grant their request." 
 
 Then the duke swore that the contest should 
 take place in the market place, for that none of 
 his people wished ill to Bertrand, or could say 
 aught to his dishonour, and thus he consented to 
 ward off treason. 
 
 In this were the English of one accord, and 
 demanded only due hostage on the part of Dinan, 
 and then they came within the walls of the town 
 to see the battle take place, the Duke of Lan- 
 caster and twenty knights, and no more. And 
 when were brought Bertrand and the English 
 knight, then were they all feasted, and most 
 honourably received, and they halted on the mar- 
 ket square of Dinan, where the English ranged 
 themselves most courteously. 
 
 There they held a council to make peace, and 
 let fall the accusation, but Bertrand took oath 
 that he would never make peace so long as the 
 recreant might be found. 
 
 Then the duke said that they would parley no 
 more, but that all prayed for the right. 
 
 Bertrand armed himself most nobly in cuirass 
 and greaves with spear and lance and all accoutre- 
 ments as for a joust. To him was brought his 
 horse fully caparisoned, and he mounted, and 
 displayed his colours. Then he brandished his 
 sword in his hand, and he was much admired, 
 since he was rarely equipped for the struggle. 
 
 [285]
 
 SometbittQ about 2)u Guesclin 
 
 At sight of him all the nobles, on one side 
 and the other, were beside themselves with joy, 
 and Twisted-leg was busy guarding the field, and 
 crying that no one should give any aid, on one 
 side or the other, or hindrance, and that no 
 Englishman must interfere on pain of losing his 
 head. Whereupon no man was brave enough to 
 obtrude. 
 
 But the English knight was very doubtful, and 
 wavered in his mind and heart, and he had need 
 to search for friends, since he much desired to 
 yield to Bertrand, and to restore to him his 
 brother. He therefore sent men to Bertrand, 
 who were not to make known from whom they 
 came, Robert Canole and Thomas de Grangon. 
 These men came to the warrior, and said Robert 
 to him all softly; "Sire Bertrand, the people on 
 our side, chevaliers as well as barons, have 
 pondered the case, and are unwilling that harm 
 should come to you through us. Now, since you 
 are on your own ground, and among your own 
 friends, where, if you should be vanquished by 
 our champion, they may in other lands say that 
 the combat was unfair, for you are too young 
 to fight ; is not an honourable peace more of value 
 than a bad victory.'^ If you will put your trust 
 in us, we will end this discord, and remit the ran- 
 som of your brother." 
 
 '*How!" cried Bertrand in anger, "He owes 
 you naught, and in my opinion, it is a matter 
 
 [286]
 
 Dinau — Rue Cordelier
 
 Sometbina about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 of conscience to see that one wrongfully impris- 
 oned is delivered without ransom. And further, 
 see the noble Duke of Lancaster and the honour- 
 able John of Chandos, and the Count of Pem- 
 broke and the other barons, as many on your 
 side as on ours, who will in no wise permit 
 either my adversary or me any perfidy. Who- 
 ever causes us to leave the field which we have 
 taken, before that we have fought the cause, 
 him will I swear to be a false chevalier who does 
 me villainy, and never shall he escape me till I 
 have shown forth his wickedness. As for this 
 traitor, either I shall destroy him, or he will 
 cause my death, unless at the point of the lance 
 he yield himself to my commands." 
 
 Then declared Robert Canole, "That will 
 never be." 
 
 Said Bertrand, "A fool must he be, since he 
 dreads death more than baseness." 
 
 When the English heard this answer, then were 
 they wrought to anger, and said one to the other, 
 "In truth, we have to deal with a very Roland!" 
 And many English knights went to their cham- 
 pion, saying that they had hoped to save his life, 
 but that no accommodation might be hoped from 
 Bertrand, neither respite nor parley, but only 
 persistence in the fight. 
 
 Cried the craven knight then, "Now, help me 
 God! I see naught for it but to meet my foe. 
 An I can, I shall cause him to rue the day. But 
 
 [287]
 
 Sometbing about Du (Buesclin 
 
 I beg of you, my friends, in case that you shall 
 see me press him hard, do not call halt to spare 
 his life, for it is my heart's desire that I may kill 
 him. But if I be discomfited, and you will 
 come to my aid, then demand of him to accord 
 peace." 
 
 This promised the false knights that they 
 would do without fail, but they said that if the 
 battle had taken place without the walls they 
 could have done much more. 
 
 And now rode into the lists the two combatants 
 sword in hand, and they eyed each other as 
 fierce foes. Then they rushed together, and such 
 was the shock that the swords were broken, and 
 the blades flew off, though neither knight gave 
 way. At the return, each presented to his op- 
 ponent a spear and they faced each other most 
 proudly, so that the spectators crowded to be- 
 hold the brave sight, leaving only room about the 
 knights for the combat to go on. 
 
 Now Bertrand tilted at the hauberk of the 
 Englishman, and the Englishman at his, then 
 each attacked at all points, and maintained equal 
 combat, till, in driving a powerful blow, the 
 English knight let fall his spear. 
 
 When Bertrand saw this mishap, he was joy- 
 ful, and feigned to flee. He put spurs to his 
 steed till he came upon the long dart, when he 
 swiftly leapt to the ground, and, lifting the spear, 
 hurled it beyond the lists, to the grievous hurt 
 
 [288]
 
 Sometbina about Du OuescUn 
 
 of his foe, crying; "False traitor, defend your 
 horse, or I will kill or sell it, before killing you, 
 such is my will." 
 
 The English knight fled, and rode without 
 stop around the field, but Bertrand could not 
 run, for that his knees were in armour. So, seat- 
 ing himself upon the ground, he detached the 
 armour on his limbs, to loosen his knees, and to 
 be lighter. 
 
 This observing, the Englishman rode towards 
 Bertrand ready to fight, and, had he been able, 
 he would have ridden him to the earth. But 
 Bertrand struck the steed between the ribs with 
 his dart, which, when the creature felt, and knew 
 that he was wounded, he reared so violently, 
 and plunged so wildly, that the knight was 
 thrown to the ground. 
 
 Then Bertrand advanced upon him quickly, 
 and unfastened his visor, putting his spear under 
 his nose, and striking him with his gauntlet till 
 that the blood flowed over his breastplate, and 
 so blinded was he with the bleeding that he 
 knew not where he was, nor could see Bertrand, 
 but only felt him. 
 
 Then they rose up, and there came ten Eng- 
 lish knights, who said to the victor that he must 
 not kill his foe, since he had done enough to 
 prove his mastery. 
 
 But Bertrand made answer, that for their 
 sakes would he not change his intention, for that 
 
 [289 1
 
 SometbinQ about Du (Buesclin 
 
 he would kill the Englishman with right good 
 will, unless, forsooth, his own captain should lay 
 his commands upon him. 
 
 Whereupon, came Twisted-leg into the lists 
 to Bertrand, and said, that he had fulfilled all 
 that honour required, and he engaged for his own 
 part that he would agree to no peace or judg- 
 ment unless it redounded to the glory of the 
 victor. 
 
 "Behold!" cried Lancaster, "Great pity will 
 it be, if this Bertrand die without becoming king 
 of some land, for not even renowned Alexander 
 was as brave as he." 
 
 "Ha, my lords!" craved Bertrand, "do not 
 restrain me, for the sake of Heaven, but let me 
 dispatch this arch miscreant, for it will be bitter 
 grief to me if you turn me aside." 
 
 Then entered the field both English and men 
 of Dinan, to pray him to quit the combat, but 
 Bertrand said to them, "Seigneurs, let me finish 
 the battle, for, by the faith I owe to God, either 
 he shall render himself to me a prisoner like unto 
 my brother, or I will kill him quite dead." 
 
 Canole thereupon spoke up; "Bertrand, I 
 insist that you present your prisoner to the Duke. 
 You have done enough, and he is in your power. 
 Your own captain whom you ought to obey has 
 come to urge you to act as is right." 
 
 Bertrand made answer, "I will submit it to 
 him whether to go on or to cease." 
 
 [290]
 
 Sometbin^ about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 Twisted-leg then ordered, "I beg and re- 
 quire you to make peace according to the de- 
 sire of Robert Canole, and we will guard your 
 rights." 
 
 "Be it as you will," replied Bertrand. 
 
 Then were the English greatly pleased, and 
 Bertrand was received in Dinan with great joy. 
 A grand supper was prepared to feast him, and 
 his superior then gave him the accolade, saying 
 that he must be greatly beloved of God. 
 
 Thereupon went Bertrand to the palace, and 
 in the presence of the lords, knights, and squires, 
 he knelt before the Duke, and said; "Sire, you 
 owe me no grudge in that I have done my duty 
 upon your knight, for that he did me grievous 
 wrong. But for the honour of your high name, 
 he had never escaped me, for him should I cer- 
 tainly have slain." 
 
 "Bertrand," replied the Duke, "in our sight 
 you have gained quite as great honour as if you 
 had slain him, for he has been greatly humiliated, 
 as greatly as your brother Oliver. And for the 
 thousand florins ransom that he desired, he must 
 pay into the hands of your brother a thousand 
 livres which I will make gift to him. This to 
 pay for the treason he would have done upon him. 
 Furthermore to you shall be granted the horse 
 and trappings of your captive, and nevermore 
 shall he set foot within my court, for I care not 
 to harbour traitors. Truly fine and noble must 
 
 [291 ]
 
 SometblriQ about 2)u GuescUn 
 
 be the garden where weeds do not appear in their 
 due season." 
 
 Thus judged the duke of Lancaster. Then he 
 deHvered, and had brought before him, OHver 
 du GuescHn, and clearly made amends for the 
 wrong done to him, as he had judged and ordered. 
 Then he retired to his camp, and sent back the 
 Dinan hostages, just as he had promised, and 
 Bertrand was much feasted and honoured. And 
 there were the captain who had ordered every- 
 thing most honourably, and the citizens and citi- 
 zenesses of the town, and after the feast they 
 sang and danced most nobly, and there was great 
 merriment. 
 
 In those days was the king John, son of king 
 Philip, in England, and Edward raised an army 
 to come into France, and he came as far as before 
 Rennes. On this account he ordered his sub- 
 jects in Brittany to take to sea at Brest, and 
 for this cause the siege of Dinan was raised. 
 Whereupon there was a council of bishops and 
 abbots to make the terms of the treaty, by which 
 a sort of accord was made between Charles of 
 Blois and the count de Montfort, and then the 
 English departed from Brittany and returned to 
 England, where they found the ship of their king 
 all ready to make the said passage to France; 
 which voyage by a miracle, and for divine punish- 
 ment, was hindered by a great tempest which 
 descended on the English host, and cast it upon 
 
 [292]
 
 SometbiriG about Du (Buesclin 
 
 the rocks so violently and heavily, that many 
 were killed, and all wounded, and they murmured 
 and reasoned among themselves that this was a 
 sign from God that they should not go. So, in 
 that season, the king returned to England, 
 where was that excellent prince, the good king 
 John, son of the good king Philip of France, who 
 was so brave and chivalrous, and suffered so 
 bitterly, for that he would, for the defence of 
 the people, adventure his person against the 
 English enemies of the kingdom. 
 
 The duke Charles of Blois had much to do, 
 and would have had more, had he not been aided 
 by Du Guesclin and many lords, and, for certain, 
 the English king lost more in this expedition 
 than he gained, and during it, as it pleased God, 
 a malady of the entrails came upon the duke of 
 Lancaster, for which reason, as well as others, 
 and especially, because he and his people were 
 all worn out in the campaign which they had 
 made in the previous winter against the king of 
 France, they returned to England. And in this 
 time, Bertrand governed the war in Brittany for 
 the said Charles of Blois, who at that time was 
 not so strong in men as the count de Montfort. 
 At first, Du Guesclin only fought against the 
 English in the service of Blois, whom he con- 
 sidered as the true duke of Brittany, when they 
 supported the false duke de Montfort. Later, 
 having taken service with the king, he re- 
 
 [293]
 
 SometblrtG about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 doubled his valour against the enemies of his 
 country. 
 
 In 1363, du Guesclin took a new part in the 
 strife between Blois and Montfort. The cap- 
 tain of Pestivier, who held with Montfort, had 
 the eyes of such inhabitants of Guingamp as 
 fell into his power, put out. Their castles were 
 ravaged, villages burned, and war broke out 
 anew with fresh fury. Charles, having sent Du 
 Guesclin to take Carhaix, set siege to Becherel. 
 Montfort hastened to the assistance of the be- 
 sieged, and gave him battle. Charles was well 
 intrenched, but the presence of the enemy cut 
 off his supplies, and he proposed the plain of 
 Evran, two leagues from Dinan, as the field for 
 a decisive battle. There they deployed their 
 two armies and were only waiting for a signal to 
 begin, when, it is said, Josselin de Rohan, canon 
 of St. Malo, who followed Charles of Blois, inter- 
 posed to prevent the shedding of more blood, by 
 proposing a new conference. 
 
 At the battle of Auray which decided the long 
 contest in favour of de Montfort, Blois was killed, 
 and du Guesclin was taken prisoner by Chandos, 
 but on his early release, he headed the hordes of 
 brigands, born of the constant wars, who joy- 
 ously followed him into Spain to dethrone Pedro 
 the Cruel. Thus did Bertrand rid his own land 
 of the curse of their presence. 
 
 When, by treachery, du Guesclin was taken 
 [294]
 
 Sometbing about S)u ©uesclin 
 
 prisoner, Pedro, honouring his vaHant captive 
 freed him at once, and told him to name his own 
 ransom. 
 
 "I put it at one hundred thousand florins," 
 said Bertrand, not to be less noble than his foe. 
 
 When the Princess of Wales heard that Bert- 
 rand who had rendered much service to her hus- 
 band, held hiuaself in bonds till that the ransom 
 should be raised, she, from her own private purse, 
 sent twenty thousand French livres to swell the 
 contributions. 
 
 When this matter came to the ears of Bertrand, 
 he cried gaily: "I esteemed myself the most ill- 
 favoured of chevaliers, but after such guerdon 
 from so lovely a princess, I must count myself 
 the handsomest and bravest." 
 
 Chandos and many other English offered their 
 purses which Bertrand accepted. The Pope gave 
 twenty thousand francs, and the Duke of Anjou 
 an equal amount. 
 
 And so, with his ransom thus speedily assured, 
 Bertrand set out for Bordeaux, but before he 
 reached the city, he had squandered all the 
 money in paying the ransoms of other captives. 
 
 And so his fame increased mightily, till that 
 the King, in 1370, must needs have him for High 
 Constable of France, the which he remained till 
 Death removed him eight years later before 
 Chateauneuf -de-Randan, to which place he had 
 hastened when the Constable de Sancerre needed 
 
 [295]
 
 SometlMno about H)u Guesclin 
 
 his aid in the siege which he had begun against 
 the stronghold. 
 
 During a truce, messire Bertrand lay upon his 
 death bed, and knowing the end to be approach- 
 ing, devoutly received the Sacrament, which the 
 marshal Sancerre had ordered to be brought. 
 
 This pious act finished, the leader summoned 
 his good knight, Oliver de Mauny and the 
 chivalry of the field, to whom he gave his last 
 counsel. 
 
 "My lords," spake he, "I must shortly part 
 company with you for death which is common to 
 all. Not of myself, but through your valour, 
 have I enjoyed fortune and great honour through- 
 out all France during my life. To you, there- 
 fore, is due that honour, which my soul commends 
 to you. Certes, seigneurs, my desire and inten- 
 tion had been by your good courage shortly to 
 make an end to the wars of France, and to bring 
 all his kingdom in obedience to Charles, but I 
 can bear you company no longer. And, not- 
 withstanding, I desire of God, my creator, that 
 you shall ever be courageous for the king, that 
 by you, sire Marshall, both by your valiance 
 and that of your knights, who have ever borne 
 themselves bravely and loyally towards him, his 
 wars may be ended. Monseigneur the Marshall 
 and you others, one thing will I ask of you which, 
 if granted, will give great repose to my soul. 
 And this is : You know, the English have agreed 
 
 [296]
 
 Sometbing about Du ©uesclin 
 
 to give up the castle, and my heart desireth 
 much that they should give it up before my 
 death!" 
 
 The words of messire Bertrand were held in 
 great pity by all the chevalerie, and none knew 
 what to say. One looked at the other weeping, 
 and in such mourning as was never seen, and 
 said: "Alas! Now lose we our good father and 
 captain, our good pastor, who so gently nourished 
 us and safely led us, and if we have honour it is 
 through him. O honour! O chivalry! what do 
 you lose when he passes away!" And so great 
 was the lamentation in the host of the enemy 
 that those of the castle saw it but did not know 
 the reason why. 
 
 Thus passed the day, but no help came from 
 the king of England for the castle, and the next 
 day Sancerre appeared before the castle, and 
 summoned the captain of the castle to him, who 
 straightway came. 
 
 Then said very softly to him the marechal de 
 Sancerre: "Captain and friends, on the part of 
 the Constable, I come to require the keys of the 
 castle and your hostages, according to your 
 promise." 
 
 Courteously responded the captain, "Sire, 
 true it is that with messire Bertrand we have 
 entered into negotiations, these we will fulfil 
 when we see him, but with no one else will we 
 treat." 
 
 [297]
 
 Sometbing about 2)u (Buescltn 
 
 " Friends," said the Marshal, " I cannot tell 
 you whether he can come of himself." 
 
 "Sire," answered the castellan, "I will engage 
 to carry your message truly, and will take coun- 
 sel with my companions of the garrison concern- 
 ing your words; then, after dinner, if you so 
 choose, will I give you the answer." 
 
 To this the Marquis of Sancerre agreed, and 
 he hastened to the bedside of the dying Bertrand, 
 and recounted all that had passed in the camp 
 of the English. 
 
 Bertrand was nearing his end, and that he 
 knew right well, for which reason he commanded 
 that they should bring the royal sword that he 
 had been wont to wear. 
 
 He took the sword in his hand, and spoke in 
 the presence of all his knights: 
 
 "My lords, among whom I, though little 
 worthy, am honoured for earthly courage, I 
 now must pay the debt of death, from which no 
 man is exempt. First, I beg that you pray God 
 to receive my unworthy soul. To you, Louis 
 of Sancerre, Marshal of France, who have well 
 deserved greater honour, I commend my reputa- 
 tion, my wife, and my relatives. To the King 
 of France, my sovereign lord, I leave this sword, 
 sign of my office, which I hereby render again to 
 him, since this most loyal hand can no longer 
 wield it." 
 
 And after he had thus spoken, he made the 
 [298]
 
 Sometbtng about S)u Guesclln 
 
 sign of the cross, and so passed away the most 
 valiant knight of his age, Bertrand du Gueschn, 
 so honoured for his bravery and loyalty, that he 
 was called the tenth great knight. 
 
 And when all arrayed, this noble warrior lay 
 upon his bier, then came the English governor of 
 the castle, saying that to no living man would he 
 resign the keys, but to him alone whose great- 
 ness had assured the yielding of the castle. 
 
 The English had maintained that since no 
 living man held their promise the keys need not 
 be rendered, but the governor replied, that as he 
 would have been true to du Guesclin in life, so 
 would he hold faith with him in death, such was 
 the respect in which the warrior was held by 
 friend and foe. 
 
 When the appointed hour came, the governor, 
 followed by his garrison approached the hero's 
 bier, and with tokens of deepest grief laid the 
 keys of the fortress in the cold stiff hands. 
 
 And for this loss there was deep mourning 
 among the chevalerie of France and of England, 
 for although he was opposed to the English, yet 
 for his great loyalty and uprightness, and because 
 he treated his prisoners amiably without harsh- 
 ness and ransoms when he had the government, 
 he was beloved on every side. 
 
 In 1360 he had married Tiphaine Raguenel, 
 daughter of the Sieur de Belliere, who from the 
 day of his celebrated encounter in the market 
 
 [299]
 
 Sometbina about H)u (Buesclin 
 
 place of Dinan had loved the hero, in spite of 
 the plainness of his visage. She read the gen- 
 erous soul of the warrior and, felt drawn to the 
 liberator of her country. The wisdom of Ti- 
 phaine equalled her beauty, and her knowledge 
 of astrology was profound. According to the 
 chronicle, she was: "the wisest and most in- 
 structed of her time in all the land." She was 
 regarded as a fay, and her compatriots listened 
 to her as an oracle. When the town of Caen 
 honoured Du Guesclin, "much was honoured on 
 that day the wife of Bertrand, for she was a very 
 wise dame, gracious and well favoured, and also 
 learned in several arts and sciences, and of noble 
 race and lineage. Many other noble persons 
 had desired her in marriage but she would have 
 none other than Bertrand, whose destiny she fore- 
 saw." 
 
 Tiphaine died in 1372, leaving no children, 
 and Du Guesclin married, at Rennes, in Janu- 
 ary, 1374, Jeanne de Laval Tintiniac, daughter 
 of Jean de Laval Tintiniac, who also left no 
 children. 
 
 When King Charles of France would select 
 a successor to the Constable, then was his value 
 fully shown, for many of the highest of the land, 
 to whom the vacant office was offered, declined 
 to accept it, deeming themselves unworthy to 
 assume the place of so good and great a leader as 
 Bertrand du Guesclin. 
 
 [300 1
 
 XXI. MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 THE road to Mt. St. Michel is accommoda- 
 tingly laid to require change of cars at 
 Dol where between trains there is just 
 time for a hurried survey of the exceptional old city 
 with its venerable cathedral so commandingly 
 situated that it is visible for miles in any direc- 
 tion. As usual, the main street of Dol is about 
 a mile from the station, a mile set with shabby 
 houses mainly devoted to the cider business. 
 
 Dol should be visited before familiarity with 
 Dinan has robbed porched houses of their first 
 unanticipated fascination. To the too experi- 
 enced eye Dol town looked like the random ming- 
 ling of one part Dinan with nine parts ordinary 
 village. But in its cathedral Dol raises itself to 
 the aesthetic level of the sister town, striking 
 perhaps an average even somewhat higher. 
 
 Dol was founded by Britons from Ireland in 
 the year 548 under the leadership of St. Sanson 
 to whom the cathedral is dedicated. St. Sanson 
 had been told in a vision that he should sail forth 
 with his flock trusting to wind and wave which 
 would bring them to land near a well. This well 
 he must seek and when found he must there build 
 
 [301 1
 
 /IDont St. /iDicbel 
 
 a church. He probably obeyed though the 
 cathedral is by no means so ancient as the days 
 of St. Sanson, being mainly of the thirteenth and 
 fourteenth centuries. The tower on the north 
 and some other parts were built as late as the 
 sixteenth century not to mention a variety of 
 additions now in construction by an army of 
 restorers. 
 
 At Pontorson passengers for Mt. St. Michel 
 are transferred to a great, lumbering omnibus 
 with cross-seats, cover, and awning on the roof, 
 to which a slender ladder gives access. Tickets 
 for this agitating conveyance are given in ex- 
 change for the railway tickets before travellers 
 pass the station gates. If by any chance this 
 fact is forgotten and the exit is made ticketless, 
 the struggle against the outcoming crowd to- 
 wards the booth of distribution is a matter of 
 time during which the omnibus adds to the irri- 
 tation by threatening to go on regardless. 
 
 Once fairly mounted on a top seat the out- 
 look is fine, but the wind sweeps pitilessly across 
 the low-lying road and slaps and pushes against 
 the top-heavy conveyance threatening at times 
 quite to overturn it. The top of a loose load of 
 hay when driven over a rough field provides a 
 swaying insecurity of elevation upon which any- 
 body may acquire the steadiness of nerve de- 
 sirable in the drive to Mt. St. Michel. 
 
 The road runs to the extremity of a flat point 
 [302]
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbel 
 
 of land that juts out three or four miles into the 
 water and then for two miles is carried along an 
 artificial causeway that crosses the sands over 
 which the tide flows twice a day. At ordinary 
 high water the causeway rises above the level 
 of the sea but the spring and autumn tides wash 
 across it. Straight ahead through the hazy 
 mist the shadowy outlines of the wonderful abbey 
 begin to detach themselves from the clouds 
 among which they are held by their island rocks. 
 Here and there passing gleams of sunlight throw 
 peaks or turrets into prominence, and then give 
 place again to shadowy grey. It is impossible 
 to convey any adequate notion of the singular 
 effect of the magical picture. All the intangible 
 glamour of fairyland clings to it at first sight, 
 and this gradually merges into the substantiality 
 of rock mass and heavy archings. But for the 
 fact that by nightfall the autumnal tide would 
 submerge the road, the passengers would have 
 lingered on the causeway to revel in the glorious 
 scene. 
 
 At the city gate a howling, clamorous mob of 
 rapacious hotel deputies dissipate summarily 
 superfluous dreaming. The noisy legion awaits 
 the stranger as he clambers down from the pre- 
 carious height and reaches terra firma at the end 
 of the causeway, outside and considerably below 
 the gate of entrance that pierces the wall at the 
 bottom of the street. The oflScious deputies 
 
 [303 1
 
 /IDont St. /IDtcbel 
 
 then jump for their prey ready to bear it off will 
 or nill. Nearly all are Poulards of some sort 
 or other. There is Poulard, aine, the right one; 
 then, Poulard, ^/^; and further, several not claim- 
 ing direct relationship with the former Poulards ; 
 so, unless you know whereof you speak, luck may 
 transport you beyond the famed omelets near 
 the gate and deposit you in one of the musty, 
 ramshackle inns up the single street, that clings 
 about the base of the rock, kept in place by the 
 solid outer wall; inns of which the only good, 
 clean feature is the brilliant gilt "Poulard" on 
 their front. 
 
 We had been well warned, so, making the 
 proper selection of Poulard, we loaded him with 
 our traps and picked our way down the rickety 
 wooden steps, and along the high broad path, 
 by which you work around off the causeway and 
 up to a gate in the wall, that gives access to the 
 Grande rue, though, as it is the only rue there, 
 little or great, there is no pressing necessity of 
 remembering the name. We had gone but a 
 few steps when Madame Poulard appeared before 
 us on the road and ushered us into the kitchen, 
 one of the sights of the place, for Madame w^as 
 at one time said to be the most beautiful woman 
 in France, and it is in this kitchen that she pub- 
 licly prepares the omelets. Years of working 
 over this cavernous fireplace have not told upon 
 her, for, though no longer young, she is still a 
 
 [304]
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbcl 
 
 most comely matron. While you watch the eggs, 
 she gives you an album to look over, in fact, 
 several albums, in which travellers have left 
 their appreciative notes. Nothing in the man- 
 agement of this famous inn seems left to Mr. 
 Poulard, but the breaking and beating of eggs. 
 No sooner is one dish disposed of than Mr. 
 Poulard, in cap and apron, appears on the scene 
 from some inner retreat and presents a fresh 
 relay to the still sizzling pan. Perhaps, after 
 all, it is not Mr. Poulard but only Madame's 
 chef. 
 
 As soon as we had taken breakfast and had 
 seen our rooms, we turned out into the steep, 
 little, cobblestoned street. Our rooms, by the 
 way, were perched away up on the face of the 
 rock, and were approached from a door in the 
 top story of the main building by a long flight 
 of wooden steps going straight up. The street 
 is little more than a passage for the gutter that 
 runs through the middle, shadowed by old, over- 
 hanging houses. It worms its way along its 
 steep incline for perhaps half a mile, and then 
 ends in a series of short flights of worn, stone 
 steps that lead to the entrance of the Abbey. 
 All over the face of the rock above are houses, 
 and between the old buildings of the main street, 
 at intervals, you come upon almost hidden stair- 
 ways that lead to them. There is a little church, 
 too, wedged into a corner between two great 
 
 [305 1
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbel 
 
 masses of rock. It makes a great display of 
 banners and other votive offerings to St. Michel, 
 but nothing of any great interest is to be seen. 
 
 There is one house that has an interest of its 
 own, and that is the one inhabited for a time by 
 Bertrand du Guesclin, in the days of his ideal 
 life with the rarely gifted woman, Tiphaine 
 Raguenel, his first wife. How she escaped being 
 regarded as a witch, in those days of prevailing 
 superstition and priestly jealousy, it is impossible 
 to imagine, but that she not only did so escape, 
 but further, won the entire confidence of the 
 people, says much for the extraordinary eleva- 
 tion of her mind and character. Certain it is 
 that Du Guesclin, himself, changed completely 
 his first arrogant opinion of her mental status, 
 and the story of his beautiful faith in her good 
 judgment and her carefully trained intellect is 
 not the least attractive picture of the brave man 
 at arms, whose own education had certainly 
 not been in the line of book-learning. Their 
 house overhangs the street and is rendered 
 prominent by a balcony from which Tiphaine, 
 night after night, studied the stars, and where 
 the probably dull-witted warrior did his best to 
 follow her lead, sincerely relying upon her horo- 
 scopes, though the constellations must have both- 
 ered him mightily. In the museum among the 
 wax figures you see Bertrand and Tiphaine on 
 the balcony deep in their studies, and the group 
 
 [306]
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbel 
 
 leaves a strong impression that Tiphaine, alone, 
 attended to the star-gazing while Bertrand aban- 
 doned himself to the far more agreeable occupa- 
 tion of watching and adoring his gifted and 
 attractive consort. 
 
 Coming back, we went up one of the stair- 
 ways by which access to the walk on top of the 
 wall is gained. We were met by a most obli- 
 ging young woman, who addressed us in a casual 
 way, but soon revealed herself in her true char- 
 acter of cicerone. The readiness with which 
 she reeled off obstruse historical information 
 about the town, the surroundings, the many 
 towers, and the walls, proved her to be an old 
 hand at the business. We are not sufficiently 
 advanced to spurn these aids to memory as 
 elevated tourists should. We listened to all she 
 had to say with great interest and straightway 
 forgot the greater part of it. Indeed, we had 
 begun to feel so great a dependence upon her 
 superior knoweldge — for we do not pretend to 
 know half so much — that when she unexpectedly 
 deserted us at the entrance of the abbey, to 
 which she had gently and insidiously conducted 
 us, with the explanatory excuse that, that was 
 the province of another, we felt distinctly be- 
 reaved. 
 
 There are five hundred and more stair steps 
 to be gone over inside the inclosure of the abbey, 
 but it is all so captivating and you take the stairs 
 
 [307]
 
 /iDont St. /iDicbel 
 
 in so disjoined a way, with so much flocking 
 about the guide to hear what he has to say, that 
 no one reahses the amount of cHmbing involved 
 until he is sent forth again, almost too weary to 
 watch the rush of the incoming tide. 
 
 Our soulless guide left us with dirctions to go 
 into the lofty anteroom to which she pointed. 
 It is a breathing space of moderate size between 
 stairs. We joined ourselves to the already nu- 
 merous throng awaiting the return of a former 
 party and spent some time admiring the columns, 
 the roof, an immense fireplace, and a point of 
 the natural rock upon which the wall is solidly 
 founded. Soon, however, a bustle and chatter 
 above us announced the return of one guide with 
 his flock, and we all joined in a general scramble 
 to take possession of him. 
 
 The venerable abbey dates from very early 
 days, and has served a variety of uses in its 
 time; now being left to fall into ruin, and now 
 furbished up to serve as a prison. Of late years, 
 the French Government, realising what an archi- 
 tectural treasure it possesses in these three dis- 
 tinct stories of beautiful and varied Gothic stone- 
 work, has gone at the work of restoration with 
 such zest that the whole structure bids fair to be- 
 come as tight and snug as a modern oflBce build- 
 ing, and it will be long before many of the patches 
 will mellow down into anything like harmony 
 with the traditions of the spot. The cloisters, in 
 
 [308]
 
 Pontivy — Milk Dealer
 
 /IDont St, /IDlcbel 
 
 particular, are roofed with brilliant zig-zag 
 stripes of dark brown and vivid yellow glazed 
 tiles, painful to look upon, although the author- 
 ities go to prove that this was the original pat- 
 tern. 
 
 Beginning at the top, we walked out upon the 
 platform before the church to take a view of the 
 country and sea. Landward the flat expanse is 
 cut by the straight canal, constructed on the 
 boundary line between Normandy and Brittany, 
 by former state prisoners of the abbey, to curb 
 the waters of a devastating, little river that 
 formerly had a fashion of trying various chan- 
 nels. The silver line showed us by how slight a 
 chance our Mount belonged to Normandy. At 
 one side, we could see Avranches, and out upon 
 the broad waste of sand, a thrust of rock like 
 another Mt. St. Michel robbed of its glorious 
 crown. Although the tide had already turned 
 and was hastening towards land, there were still 
 five miles or more of beach towards the sea line. 
 The water did not seem to rush in with the wild 
 haste of which we had always heard such marvel- 
 lous tales, yet, if a horseman actually starting 
 with the tide tried to reach the shore, it is quite 
 possible he might have to swim for it. All this 
 coast is supposed to have been much higher in 
 olden times, in fact, it must have been, for be- 
 neath the gleaming level is still found the wood of 
 buried and submerged forests. 
 
 [ 309 1
 
 Ifbont St. /iDtcbel 
 
 The interior of the church itself was filled 
 with scaffolding and was rather difficult of ac- 
 cess. There is a promenade about the upper, 
 outer portion, from which a staircase, so beauti- 
 fully scultpured as to be called the lace staircase, 
 leads by way of one of the bold, flying-buttresses 
 up the spire. Here the restorers were in full 
 possession and the way was effectually blocked 
 by scaffoldings, rubbish, and a complete array 
 of carpentry debris, so a look over the sea from 
 the foot of the stairway was all we gained from 
 this point. At one side we turned into the bril- 
 liantly roofed cloisters where, above the lower 
 apartment, the monks of long ago pored over 
 their missals or looked out upon the changing 
 waves. The delicate pillars are the most grace- 
 ful feature of the building and the capitals are 
 a study in themselves for no two are exactly 
 alike. They are the work of captives, mainly 
 that of the celebrated sculptor Gaultier who 
 worked at them all during his long imprisonment 
 and thus resolutely warded off impending mad- 
 ness. Off the cloisters opens the monks' ordi- 
 nary dining hall. As the door of this apartment 
 is thrown open there is a singular effect of bril- 
 liant illumination with no visible openings for 
 the purpose, the long hall with narrow tables and 
 benches and at one side the high reader's desk is 
 bathed in a sunny glow, apparently manufac- 
 tured on the premises. On advancing down the 
 
 [310]
 
 ffbont St. /IDicbel 
 
 room the wall to seaward is seen to be pierced in 
 its entire length by deep narrow arched openings 
 so proportioned that the glass windows are quite 
 hidden in the recesses, as viewed from the door- 
 way. 
 
 In a lower story the Salle des Chevaliers and an 
 immense dining hall are the most noticeable 
 apartments. The vaulted roofs rest upon pillars 
 that have withstood the attacks of time better 
 than many other portions of the buildings of this 
 part. The great stone chimney pieces here 
 attract the eye and standing on the hearth- 
 stone a visitor may look straight through the 
 opening into the sky above. Now comes a 
 walk through the cellar of the monks and the 
 almonry which are said to be beneath that 
 wonderful mass of mediaeval monastic fortifica- 
 tion called from its marvellous clinging to the 
 precipitous face of the rock, "la Merveille." In 
 truth there is nothing to do but to accept the 
 word of the guide for the ups and downs of Mt. 
 St. Michel. They are so continuous and confus- 
 ing that long before the stairs have all been taken 
 most notion of what is up or what is down is 
 lost. You imagine, though, that the ups are 
 most frequent. Lowest of all is the crypt with 
 the stoutest, most closely crowded pillars any 
 crypt ever had; gloomy enough to sate the most 
 enthusiastic seeker for the sombre. Dungeons 
 are there where high-born captives wore out their 
 
 [311]
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbel 
 
 lives hatching further treason or longing for 
 liberty. The burial place of the monks, who 
 could find no better last resting place than a 
 hollow in the rock, lightly covered with earth or 
 sand brought from beyond, is down there; and the 
 old mortuary chapel where the services for the 
 dead were held. A great wheel before an open- 
 ing used to coil the rope that hauled provisions 
 along a steep trough leading up from the water. 
 
 It is difficult to give any satisfactory idea of the 
 charm of Mt. St. Michel's Abbey. When we 
 issued forth from it, we could have turned about 
 to see it all over again, but for the weakness of 
 the flesh and the interesting tide which had by 
 this time reached the causeway. 
 
 We climbed back to our rooms to prepare for 
 a rather early dinner that we might spend the 
 moonlit evening on the water. Our "bonne" 
 seemed to have a pitying regard for strangers 
 taking so much trouble to visit her birthplace. 
 She had rarely been beyond the limits of the 
 contracted inclosure and never, I believe, so far 
 as Paris. It was quite impossible to make her 
 understand that she had grown up amid unique 
 surroundings. To her everything seemed most 
 ordinary, and the wonderful tide nothing more 
 than a troublesome barrier between Mt. St. 
 Michel and Pontorson. She w^as rich in tales 
 of the treacherous quicksands, but scarcely suc- 
 ceeded in bringing it home to our minds, that 
 
 [sn]
 
 /IDont St. /IDicbel 
 
 all the awful catastrophes in her repertoire had 
 happened just alongside the rock, and that the 
 now covered sands, that had glittered so beauti- 
 fully as we looked down upon them from the 
 church top, were the closed book of her inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 At last the lashing waters closed over the 
 causeway and higher and higher till they even 
 washed in upon the street through the gate by 
 which we had entered so short a time before. 
 A full moon brightened the outlook and cast 
 black shadows of point and pinnacle across the 
 dancing waves. It does not do to let attention 
 wander when watching the incoming tide. Lose 
 yourself in conversation, look for a moment in 
 the other direction, and behold! the sandy stretch 
 you hoped to see slowly covered, is sea, the ele- 
 vation you intended to use as measure has disap- 
 peared; the coast line has advanced past your 
 widest limit. Like Melrose to be viewed aright 
 the abbey must stand forth in moonlight and 
 landward. Thus to see it we embarked in a 
 small boat. The wash of w^ater through the 
 gate made the expedition seem venturesome but 
 it certainly gave an impression of the abbey nec- 
 essary for a complete comprehension of its 
 beauty. 
 
 The following morning was given to the mu- 
 seum, where, again falling below the level of true 
 intelligence, we were pleased with the wax- 
 
 [313]
 
 /iDont St. /iDicbel 
 
 works, glad to learn their stories, and we played 
 like children with the table mirror whereon 
 by an ingenious arrangement of reflectors the 
 whole surrounding country is shown. We could 
 scarcely tear ourselves away from it. Our first 
 guide caught up with us as we were taking a fare- 
 well stroll about the little village and evidently 
 divined the reluctance to go that clogged our 
 loitering footsteps, so she braced herself to the 
 task of holding us by bringing forth tales of times 
 still more remote than the early days of the ab- 
 bey. She seemed to be on quite as familiar 
 terms with the Druids as with the old monks 
 and treated them with an airy good fellowship 
 that brought them most familiarly into our range 
 of vision. The only wonder is that we withstood 
 her blandishments for her manner of calling the 
 rock by its Druid name, Belen, and the spirited 
 description of the nine fair priestesses whose 
 task it was to serve from this rock to passing 
 sailors charmed arrows with which to ward 
 off storms, made us long to spend here one more 
 night in which to dream of the scene. The 
 arrows had to be shot by a sailor just twenty- 
 one years of age or the threatened storm would 
 engulf the ship and often when the sailors 
 reached the rock too late the very winds against 
 which they sought protection dashed their 
 corpses upon the island towards which they had 
 turned in hope of safety. 
 
 [314]
 
 /»ont St. /IDicbel 
 
 The French are people of taste, but where else 
 can be found so hopeless an assortment of trash, 
 glittering and obtrusively gaudy, as in the stock 
 of cheap souvenirs exhibited in the ordinary 
 French bazaar. We released ourselves from 
 the all too engaging temptress, and looked in 
 vain for some little token worthy of serving as a 
 reminder of a delightful expedition, but after 
 making a few most disappointing purchases we 
 took a final walk around the walls and returned 
 to Madame Poulard to fortify the inner man 
 and make ready to clamber once again to the 
 alarming height of the outgoing diligence. They 
 say that Madame Poulard has reduced the mat- 
 ter of saying adieu to a science, and that she has 
 at command two hundred distinct forms of good- 
 bye. It is a fact that she parted with us with a 
 charming courtesy that made us think we were 
 the only ones of the departing guests she really 
 grieved to lose, and we were so sympathetic it 
 gave us the feeling that we must buoy her spirits 
 by promising, if possible, to come again next 
 year, or maybe sooner. 
 
 [315
 
 XXII. LA CROCHAIS AND LA 
 HUNAUDAYE 
 
 RAINS had benefited the Beaumanoir gar- 
 dens much by the time we again saw 
 them. The foHage we had left drooping 
 for want of a drink greeted us with an insolence 
 of luxuriance, the figs were in fruit, and the now 
 unfettered rabbits with the best endeavour in the 
 world were not able to keep ahead of the cab- 
 bages. 
 
 But across this world of beauty swept sud- 
 denly one of the wild storms from the sea that so 
 often ravage the region. The blast drove straight 
 inland mowing everything in its path, the sea 
 was one angry surge beating furiously against 
 the granite rocks to be shot aloft in blinding 
 spray, or driven white and foaming far into the 
 clefts between bluffs. Tiles flew from roofs, 
 stones from walls, branches were wrenched from 
 trees as if thej^ were straws. The streets were 
 deserted, for flying missiles made walking abroad 
 perilous. The linden tree of our bower was 
 literally shredded. For weeks afterwards it was 
 disheartening to look upon the destruction in 
 the land. Fields lay beaten down, prostrate 
 
 [316]
 
 Xa Crocbais an& Xa Ibunauba^e 
 
 trees were cast in every direction, poplar-bordered 
 ditches were wrecked, and desolation stalked 
 abroad. But the thrifty peasants wasted little 
 time in useless repining. Throughout the track 
 of the storm they were busily engaged in trans- 
 forming the felled trees into lumber and fire- 
 wood, in strengthening the dykes, and in reduc- 
 ing the fields to order. Before long not a trace 
 seemed left of the visitation though those who 
 had known the former aspect of the land could 
 easily detect the recent works of restoration. 
 
 Day after day came tidings of wrecks with 
 most distressing details since many of the stran- 
 gers here have been in Dinard long enough to 
 know something of the home life of the fisher 
 folk. In the height of the storm the St. Malo 
 ferry made no pretence of running. From our 
 windows we watched the first boat that fought 
 its way across. It tipped and plunged frightfully, 
 the waves broke against it sending showers of 
 spray and foam high above the smoke-stacks. 
 Ocean steamers were compelled to postpone 
 their sailings. 
 
 It was said, as it usually is said in times of 
 great happenings, that no such storm had ever 
 before been known. The early oblivion into 
 which natural phenomena fall may be a wise 
 dispensation for its seems to be general. Al- 
 though the storm must have been unusually 
 severe it is extremely likely that it was character- 
 
 [317]
 
 %a Crocbais an6 Xa 1bunau&ai?c 
 
 istic of the locality and that in varying degrees 
 of violence similar tempests are driven landward 
 almost every year. 
 
 The storm denuded the beech trees and seemed 
 to send us an army of magpies to revel in the 
 general devastation and the brilliant weather 
 that in the wake of its ravages shone in mockery 
 over all. The small pert birds like fluttering 
 leaves from the "Cock Robin" of our child- 
 hood, did look like smug little parsons, their 
 trim black heads turning constantly as if to 
 challenge any who might be disposed to dispute 
 their claims. Their glossy black dress and im- 
 maculate shirt fronts make the twittering restless 
 flock look like a kaleidoscope in black and white. 
 
 In late autumn came an excellent imitation of 
 Indian summer, if not so bright and sunny, 
 quite as mild and inviting. On one of these 
 delightful days a kind friend drove us to the 
 castle of La Crochais some five or six miles out in 
 the country. We took the road that keeps the 
 crest of a high ridge running approximately due 
 south, from which the view on every hand 
 extends for miles. The beautiful drive ended 
 at the well wooded, rolling property appertain- 
 ing to a castle much in the style of our own 
 "Beaumanoir" although larger. The only fea- 
 ture of the magnified farm-house at all preten- 
 tious is the entrance hall where the familiar 
 flagged simplicity is relieved by a stone staircase 
 
 [318]
 
 Xa Crocbals an^ Xa 1bunau&a^e 
 
 of some elegance. The rooms within are larger 
 and loftier than ours, but in no wise more pala- 
 tial. The outside of the house shows the usual 
 light stucco and darker crenelated trimmings, 
 and, but for a small staircase tower at one end 
 and a square tower at the other, might be photo- 
 graphed for almost any residence in the province. 
 Although the farmer in charge has the whole 
 house at his service he has elected to establish 
 his penates in the long kitchen where the custom- 
 ary pooling of the domestic interests simplifies 
 indoor activities and permits the women to share 
 the man's burden. Beds, table, wardrobe, and 
 clock were ranged around the walls of the spa- 
 cious appartment leaving the entire space of the 
 upper floor vacant. Beyond the kitchen all is 
 allowed to go to ruin at its own pace. The oak 
 panelling matches that of Beaumanoir, here 
 spared the indignity of white paint. It is falling 
 from the wall in places, and some blanks look 
 very much as though the farmer depended upon 
 this neglected wood for winter kindling. Broken 
 windows are not replaced and the rain has al- 
 ready begun to destroy much of the flooring. 
 Breton noblesse as we have seen, runs to spin- 
 sters, and La Crochais like many another spot 
 that we have visited is said to be but one of 
 many chateaux belonging to the now familiar 
 old maiden lady, who thinks it not worth while 
 to waste time or money upon a property where 
 
 [319 1
 
 Xa CrocbaiB ant) Xa 1bunau&ase 
 
 she never resides, and which she rarely visits. 
 The peasant farmer is practically lord of the 
 estate, and to him, so long as the kitchen holds 
 out, it is a matter of no consequence how soon 
 superfluous apartments go to rack and ruin. 
 
 Across the deep mud and filth of the rear 
 barnyard we gingerly picked our way to the 
 stables where a great surprise awaited us, for 
 here we came upon the original chateau, long 
 since abandoned to its present base uses. It is 
 a building parallel with the newer house and 
 almost as large. In the first space we entered 
 we surprised and interrupted a cart horse who 
 munched beets stolen from a well laden cart. 
 Anticipating reproach of some sort the thief 
 backed into a beautifully sculptured fifteenth 
 century fireplace, in the roomy security of which 
 he switched his tail with an air of serene defiance. 
 Across a palatial but ill-kept fowl-house with 
 pillared sides and worm-eaten, carved ceiling 
 we took our course to a dilapidated tower stair- 
 case. The ascent of this cobwebbed spiral 
 called for courage, but the upper banquet hall 
 to which it gave access was well worth the brav- 
 ing of filth and spiders, although the floor of the 
 apartment forbade our venturing far within it. 
 In the farther corner beneath an opening in the 
 roof the timbers and tiling had already fallen 
 upon the heedless fowl below. Departed gran- 
 deur was the tale told by recessed Gothic win- 
 
 [320]
 
 %a Crocbais an5 Xa Ibunau^a^e 
 
 dows that opened upon the repulsive barnyard 
 where neat haymows and beet-piles rose from a 
 morass of unspeakable muck. The end wall of 
 the hall was almost entirely occupied by a sculp- 
 tured stone chimney-piece that reared its elabo- 
 rately carved front to the ceiling, though the 
 inaccessible hearthstone had begun to drop 
 through the floor. 
 
 The heavy rafters above still bear their curi- 
 ous decorations in half defaced colours that once 
 were gay, and that great neglected break in 
 the ceiling, through which rain and roof tiles 
 find easy, unobstructed passage towards the 
 general heap of ruin underneath, shows whither 
 this rare, old building is slowly, but surely tend- 
 ing. The lower rooms at the farther end are 
 occupied by families of farm labourers, and there 
 we saw some very good Breton beds and furni- 
 ture. We saw, too, a young baby, bound and 
 strapped to its pillow, looking, when lifted, like 
 a stiff little sausage with a head attached. Its 
 pudgy face, surrounded by the frill of its tight 
 cap, was as expressionless as that of a Chinese 
 doll. Although but five weeks old, the little 
 beady eyes looked out upon the world calmly, as 
 though resigned to the hard fate of having been 
 ushered into it. The peasant face seems to set 
 out with the fixed aspect it is designed to bear 
 through life. But for external accessories and, 
 later, the aquisition of wrinkles it would be quite 
 
 [321 ]
 
 Xa Crocbais an^ Xa lbunau&ape 
 
 impossible to judge of the age of any given 
 visage with even tolerable accuracy. 
 
 Through the neglected gardens we strolled, 
 where hedges had become wild mounds and stray 
 blossoms thrust themselves forth from a tangle 
 of brushwood; where the paths were only dis- 
 tinguished from the general overgrowth by the 
 dark green of the box that formerly edged them 
 tidily. Beyond a stretch of woodland we found 
 a long narrow lake, but there were no lily pads 
 on its surface, much less did it furnish the rare 
 white blossom so familiar to us in similar ponds, 
 though, bosomed amid the shadows of the dell, 
 the quiet glancing water gave to the scene just 
 the finish needed. That a place with so many 
 possibilities should be left to this slow decaj^ 
 would have roused our indignation were it not 
 that the whole land is rich in places quite as 
 beautiful and quite as neglected, and we have 
 become callous. To buy and restore a chateau 
 of this sort as a permanent summer residence 
 would in a few years cost less than an equal 
 number of seasons spent in the unrestful con- 
 fusion of our own watering places. 
 
 Much of the wood at La Crochais is chestnut, 
 but we found with chestnuts, of which a pro- 
 fusion strewed the paths, that, like the native 
 blackberry, they were tasteless as compared to 
 our varieties. 
 
 With late autumn in Dinard comes the excite- 
 [322]
 
 %a Crocbais an^ Xa "fcunau^a^e 
 
 ment of awaiting the return of the fishermen. 
 From September on, the ships come straggKng 
 home. Every night the roads are noisy with the 
 songs and cries of waggon loads of tipsy sailors 
 who celebrate their first night ashore after eight 
 or nine months at sea during which their feet 
 have not stepped ashore. From every peasant 
 family of the coast are these returning wanderers 
 drawn, and the nightly pandemonium increases 
 as the number of ships back becomes larger, for 
 when on land there is nothing to occupy many 
 of these fishers, and those unmarried know noth- 
 ing better than to drink and carouse till their 
 money is gone and the returning spring sends 
 them out once more. 
 
 The largest boat of the fleet was over-due and 
 the community as one man watched for its 
 appearance. The swarm of sail passed its 
 climax and dwindled. Then stragglers came 
 singly, but still the big boat had not been sighted, 
 and violent storms increased the general appre- 
 hension till the one topic on every lip was the 
 probability of its safety. St. Malo was particu- 
 larly pitied, since of the three hundred sailors 
 aboard fully two thirds were Malouins. 
 
 In the midst of this grievous solicitude we 
 left for a trip to La Hunaudaye, glad to escape 
 from a sorrow for which nothing could be done 
 and from a waiting that it was impossible not to 
 share. By train to Lamballe and then a drive 
 
 [323]
 
 Xa Crocbais an& Xa 1bunau&ape 
 
 through the forests of Saint Aubin and La Hun- 
 audaye, crossing the brook Couessant and plung- 
 ing into the shadowy spaces where oak, beech, 
 and chestnut have flourished from times prime- 
 val. What remains of the once great abbey of 
 Saint Aubin, founded in 1137, is scarcely worth 
 a glance, but further on lie the ruins of what was 
 one of the strongest Breton fortresses. Accord- 
 ing to some accounts it was begun in the thir- 
 teenth century, but the date usually given as 
 that of its foundation is 1378, and the name of 
 the builder is Olivier Tournemine. This mon- 
 ument of antique ages, with its impressive site, 
 its standard ecartele with gold and silver, its 
 five towers formerly so strong and formidable, 
 its broad firmly cemented walls, tells a long story 
 of alternating glory and defeat which if truly 
 set down would fill volumes. 
 
 In the middle ages this region bore a very bad 
 reputation. It was the rendezvous of brigands 
 and malefactors of every description, and a 
 journey through the depths of the wood was at- 
 tended with the greatest danger. Travellers 
 were robbed and killed with brutality unless they 
 were of sufiicient importance to promise a good 
 ransom, and no one ventured to traverse the 
 country without an extra guard and complete 
 defensive equipment. Added to this, Tourne- 
 mine, himself, was a scourge to the land, exer- 
 cising his seigneurial rights with unexampled 
 
 [324]
 
 Xa Crocbais an& Xa Ibunau^a^e 
 
 severity till the terrified peasants were reduced 
 to abject misery by his exactions. 
 
 In its heyday the castle must have presented 
 a most imposing appearance with its towers sur- 
 mounted by turrets and its great wall surrounded 
 by a double moat. The walls rose to a height of 
 at least forty feet while the towers were much 
 higher. To this day the walls of the castle 
 prison are covered with inscriptions and draw- 
 ings by which the unfortunate inmates strove 
 to perpetuate the memory of their sufferings. 
 Remains of the chapel show that it must have 
 been a charming bit of Gothic architecture, and 
 not far from its altar is found the entrance to a 
 subterranean passage which awaits its venture- 
 some explorer. The Breton peasant has always 
 his quiver full of legendary arrows, and his super- 
 stition peoples this particular hole in the ground 
 with more than its due proportion of ghosts and 
 goblins, so the coming pioneer is not likely to 
 be of Brittany. 
 
 The story goes that the Tournemine of a hun- 
 dred years ago was the very worst of his bad race, 
 who didn't mind killing people that stood in his 
 way any more than he minded beating the 
 peasant who happened to cross his path. When 
 he decided that he was ready to enter into pos- 
 session of the castle he quietly murdered his 
 father and elder brother and assumed control 
 of the estate. His wife had inconvenient scruples 
 
 [325]
 
 Xa Crocbais ant> Xa 1bunauC)ape 
 
 regarding the manner of their taking off, and 
 she was unwise enough to suggest with some 
 insistence that he might have pursued a milder 
 course, and to regret that the saints had not 
 restrained his taste for promiscuous slaughter. 
 Such sentiments in a Mrs. Tournemine were 
 intolerable, so her husband decided that she 
 would be happier in the company of the in-laws 
 whose demise she seemed to deplore, and off 
 went her head in a trice. But even the Devil 
 thought this was going a little too far, and after 
 pondering over the case a day or two to be sure 
 of settling it dramatically to his complete satis- 
 faction, his Satanic Majesty raised a howling 
 storm such as has never been seen before or since, 
 and while the elements were doing their best, 
 in he walked upon the solitary baron who sat 
 toasting his shins at his completely cleared fire- 
 side, thinking how comfortable the house was 
 now with nobody to scold him. When Tourne- 
 mine saw the intruder he was naturally somewhat 
 miffed, and wished to know who it was that 
 dared disturb his virtuous repose. The Devil 
 said that if he was really anxious to know what 
 visitors had arrived he was ready to accommodate 
 him by calling them in, whereupon, with a wave 
 of his wand and a whip of an unsuspected append- 
 age he introduced with a flourish: Tournemine 
 senior, in whose breast still stuck the dagger and 
 whose blood dripped over the door mat, Tourne- 
 [326]
 
 %a Crocbats an& Xa Ibunauba^c 
 
 mine junior, whose wound was in another spot 
 but made exactly as much mess about the floor, 
 and Mrs. Tournemine, who tried to hold her 
 head in place with both hands with indifferent 
 success. The baron was so thoroughly shocked 
 at this evidence of bad taste on the part of Satan 
 that he fell dead, and the three ghosts had all 
 the trouble of dragging his corpse off to the place 
 to which it was destined, for the Devil wouldn't 
 so much as touch it with a finger. Then there 
 came one tremendous burst of thunder, and all 
 at once the sky was as clear as a bell, and a great 
 calm fell upon the world as if it had never 
 stormed. 
 
 As may be supposed the castle was not held 
 in any great affection by the people of the coun- 
 tryside, and, when the Revolution gave them a 
 fine opportunity to display their secret senti- 
 ments La Hunaudaye was one of the earliest 
 places marked for destruction, though as a pre- 
 text it was asserted that the Vendeeans made for 
 themselves a refuge at La Hunaudaye, and there- 
 fore its destruction was a political necessity. 
 At that time the property was in the possession 
 of Mme de Talhouet, nee Tournemine, and the 
 oflScials of the district of Lamballe compelled 
 the lady to set fire to the castle herself in 1793. 
 The conflagration raged many days, and when 
 at last it was extinguished the glory of La Hun- 
 audaye had departed, probably forever. 
 
 [327]
 
 XXIII. DUGUAY-TROUIN 
 
 THE Bretons are amply justified in regard- 
 ing with pride the great men they have 
 given to France. If there had been no 
 more than Abelard, Du GuescHn, OUivier du 
 CHsson, Jacques Cartier, Duguay-Trouin, Cha- 
 teaubriand, and Renan, the list would be suffi- 
 ciently honourable, but there are, over and above 
 these well-known characters, a host of lesser 
 lights, still worthy of remembrance. 
 
 If Du Guesclin was the most popular mediae- 
 val military hero, Duguay-Trouin was certainly 
 the most celebrated naval commander France 
 ever boasted. It is difficult, however, to present 
 naval actions in a way to equal in interest to the 
 landsman the battles of the soldiery. As the 
 old saying has it: we know where the soldiers 
 are, but the sailors, where are they! "We met 
 a brig, a sloop, or a man-of-war, with ten, twenty, 
 or fifty guns, and after a desperate fight (at- 
 tacks are always desperate, on the principle 
 that surgical operations are always serious — that 
 the event may be glorious,) either, we captured 
 the prize, or contrary winds bore it beyond our 
 
 [328]
 
 reach." There, in essence, is about all that may 
 be said by the uninitiated. 
 
 Rene Duguay-Trouin was born at St. Malo, 
 June 10, 1673, probably not in the house shown 
 as his birthplace. His father, Luc Trouin, who 
 had married Marguerite Boscher, was fourth in 
 descent from a certain Gilles Trouin and his 
 wife Jehanne Dupont, of about the year 1500. 
 Luc, Sieur de la Barbinais, was a captain and 
 fitter-out of privateers, long settled in St. Malo, 
 and the son Rene was fourth in a family of seven 
 children. 
 
 Rene was twice baptised. An uncle Rene, 
 King's Councillor and Consul at Malaga, was 
 expected to stand godfather to the child, but 
 as day after day the great man's return from 
 Spain was delayed, sea trips not then being the 
 calculable journeys we find them, the parents 
 decided that the boy must be provisionally 
 baptised anyway. This was done on the day 
 of his birth, to make sure, before he was put out 
 to nurse in the village from which later he took 
 his title, Du Gue, one of Luc Trouin's properties. 
 The uncle did not reach St. Malo till some months 
 after this, and the grand baptismal ceremony did 
 not take place till August 13th. 
 
 The fashion of granting to different members 
 of a single family distinctive names drawn from 
 various landed possessions was a common custom 
 of Brittany, dating back as far as the eleventh 
 
 [329]
 
 Duauap^Urouin 
 
 century. As a boy the hero was simply Rene 
 Trouin, in 1694, he is known to have signed 
 himself Dugue-Trouin or Duguay-Trouin, his 
 letters patent of nobility are made to Rene 
 Trouin Du Guay, and, in a report of 1695, 
 he is called, "Le Sieur Dugue-Trouin dit Bar- 
 binais." 
 
 Returned by his nurse to his mother, Rene was 
 brought up under her vigilant eye, and his cour- 
 age and combativeness gave the lady trouble 
 enough; as for ships and sailing, his father's 
 business made it impossible that he could develop 
 into anything but a sailor. His earliest pas- 
 times were connected with the harbour and its 
 craft. 
 
 As the boy grew he was sent regularly to 
 school, it being the father's intention that he 
 should enter the church, since the uncle Rene 
 was highly esteemed by the Bishop of Malaga, 
 and was certain of obtaining for his godchild 
 favourable appointments. In pursuance of this 
 plan, the boy, after having passed through the 
 course at St. Malo, was sent to the college at 
 Rennes to continue his studies. 
 
 All this was contrary to Rene's tastes, but 
 Luc's will was law, and the boy bowed to neces- 
 sity, accompanying and ameliorating the bow, 
 however, by a neglect of the objects presented to 
 his mind by his priestly pedagogues, that was 
 more than equalled by attention to reprehensible 
 
 [330]
 
 \ §
 
 Duoua^^XIroutn 
 
 forms of amusement towards which his mind 
 needed no stimulant. 
 
 Just here, Luc died suddenly, and his widow 
 transferred Rene to Caen for the course in 
 philosophy. The uncle Rene had been dead a 
 year, and had been succeeded in his Malaga 
 oflfice by Luc, eldest of the Trouin family. 
 
 It took the Caen professors but little time to 
 discover that young Trouin had not the faintest 
 vocation for the priesthood, and a war between 
 France and Spain sending the elder brother home 
 about then, he visited Caen to see what was the 
 matter. The report that came to Madame 
 Trouin resulted in the hasty removal of Rene 
 from college. 
 
 The fashion of sending a boy to sea to keep 
 him out of mischief was as honoured in former 
 days as it has been ever since, so the young 
 fellow now obtained the desire of his heart, and 
 embarked as volunteer on board the frigate 
 Trinite which sailed, November 13, 1689, for a 
 cruise that proved severe. The young volunteer 
 on his maiden trip was sea-sick about all the 
 time, for the weather was boisterous during the 
 entire trip. The following year, however, Rene 
 found his sea legs, and, as the Trinite made sev- 
 eral successful runs, capturing valuable prizes, 
 the new life took on the colours in which fancy 
 had painted it. The final action of the year came 
 near being disastrous. The Trinite, convoying 
 
 [331]
 
 [H)uauaiP*xrrouin 
 
 home a great English merchantman as prize, 
 was attacked during the night on the rocky coast 
 of Brittany. The prize was driven upon the 
 sands, while the corsair was forced to drop anchor 
 near the reefs in a most dangerous position. All 
 hands gave themselves up for lost, when a favour- 
 able change of wind arose, and the Trinite was 
 driven out to sea dragging her anchor. This 
 deliverance permitted her to return for her prey, 
 which in two days she brought into the harbour 
 of St. Malo. Thus begins the tale; and it goes 
 on with the combat of Rene's ship and the Con- 
 corde of Flushing; his going, still as volunteer, 
 under Captain Legoux in the Grenedan to the 
 coast of Great Britain, where, in an attack upon 
 the English fleet, Rene's gallantry was so favour- 
 ably commented on by his captain, that on his 
 return, in spite of his youth, the family Trouin 
 put under his command the small frigate Dany- 
 can of eighteen guns and a force of ninety men. 
 For a youth not yet nineteen years old, this was 
 not bad ! 
 
 In the Danycan, rechristened Couesquen 
 (Coetquen), supported by the frigate St. Aaron, 
 under Jacques Welche, Rene now set out to 
 avenge the wrongs of James II of England, 
 which meant, of course, that he sailed with 
 carte blanche to harry everything English on the 
 high seas. They encountered a fleet of thirty 
 sail, escorted by two frigates. Trouin and 
 
 [332]
 
 Buaua^^Ilrouin 
 
 Welche sailed in, captured and carried off five 
 ships, withstood an attack from an English fleet 
 they chanced to meet, which, however, got back 
 one of the five captives; and back they came to 
 St. Malo in triumph. Shortly after this Rene 
 went out alone and brought back three prizes. 
 
 Having thus acquitted himself, to the pride 
 of his brother, now Sieur de la Barbinais, the 
 family bestirred itself to obtain for Rene com- 
 mand of one of the ships confided by the king to 
 the best known armateurs, and soon he was out 
 once more as commander of the Profond; a 
 disappointing ship, in that it was a poor sailor, 
 disadvantage insuperable in a ship of prey, and, 
 further, a fever broke out on board that caused 
 the loss of eighty men. 
 
 The following June, Ponchartrain notified the 
 Brest authorities: "His Majesty, having com- 
 missioned the Hercule, you will please dispatch 
 it to Sieur Trouin whom he has chosen to com- 
 mand it, and you are desired to facilitate by all 
 means at your disposal his departure at the ear- 
 liest moment." 
 
 Although the Hercule was all that could be 
 wished in the way of ship, the opening of the 
 cruise was so unsuccessful that the crew, having 
 fallen sick, almost mutinied. Trouin, sailor like, 
 had firm faith in presentiments and his own star. 
 By persuasion and authority he prevailed upon 
 his oflScers to grant him one more week, on the 
 
 [333]
 
 very last day of which two rich Enghsh vessels 
 were sighted, and on his promising to let the 
 men pillage them, they were attacked with such 
 vigour that both were captured. 
 
 A larger frigate, the Diligente was now put 
 under command of the mere boy, but in this, 
 after some brilliant captures, Trouin met his first 
 serious check. He fell in with six English war 
 ships, fought desperately from six in the morning 
 till six at night, then, wounded, with a badly 
 shattered ship, and with most of his men dis- 
 abled, the valiant commander struck the colours 
 of the Diligente and was captured by the Monk. 
 The English captain was so touched by the hero- 
 ism of his captive, that, on taking him to Ply- 
 mouth, he treated, Rene more as son than pris- 
 oner. Soon, however, the Admiralty ordered the 
 youth into close confinement on the charge of 
 having violated the laws of nations in firing upon 
 the ship Prince of Orange while under the Brit- 
 tish flag. 
 
 The imprisonment was of short duration. 
 Rene had a way with him, and a young girl was 
 induced to aid him in escaping. He bought a 
 sloop and sailed for home, taking with him four 
 other prisoners. 
 
 By the time Trouin was twenty-one years old, 
 his ability as commander had already attracted 
 the notice of the court; Ponchartrain had 
 placed before Louis XIV Rene's own account 
 
 [334]
 
 Dugua^s=Xrrouin 
 
 of one of his latest actions, and the monarch 
 instructed the Minister to award the sailor for 
 his bravery a sword as mark of royal favour. 
 From this time Trouin's course was ever onward, 
 each increase of responsibility being fully justi- 
 fied by his execution. At last, such was the 
 impression made upon Louis by his fame, that 
 the young commander was summoned to meet 
 his sovereign at Versailles, where the reception 
 accorded to him was most gracious . 
 
 Rene shortly after this, fitted out the frigate 
 Leonora which he put in command of his younger 
 brother Etienne, then nineteen years old. The 
 boy amply fulfilled his brother's expectations in 
 the attack upon Vigo immediately undertaken, 
 but received a mortal wound, and two days after 
 a victory, in which his own share had been admir- 
 able, the gallant fellow died. 
 
 A few months later, Ponchartrain wrote to 
 M. Desclouzeaux : "I have learned with satis- 
 faction that Duguay-Trouin has brought to 
 Brest a considerable prize, and also of the spirited 
 action off the coast of Spain." 
 
 M. Desclouzeaux, firmly convinced of the su- 
 periority of Trouin, formed at Brest, where he was 
 chief in authority, a new company which fitted 
 out three ships and entrusted them to the rising 
 officer, who at once sailed for the East to attack 
 an Anglo-Batavian fleet known to be there. 
 The instructions to M. Dandenne and M. de 
 
 [335]
 
 DuguaiP^XTrouin 
 
 Palliere, sent to join in the same enterprise, speak 
 for themselves ; they are addressed to the former : 
 "M. de PaUiere has no orders to command you, 
 he joins you to aid in the expedition. Nor have 
 you. Monsieur, any orders to command M. 
 Duguay or those of his squadron; but we are 
 persuaded that when you are all together you 
 will be satisfied, and that conjointly you will 
 render very considerable service to the state in 
 taking or sinking all that you can find of that 
 fleet." It was reserved to the squadron of 
 Duguay -Trouin to perform the desired service. 
 
 When news of the return of the victorious 
 ships reached M. Desclouzeaux, he hastened to 
 communicate it to Ponchartrain and M. de 
 Maurepas desiring them to bring it before the 
 king. To the latter he wrote: "Do not refuse, 
 Monseigneur, to the Sieur Duguay-Trouin this 
 mark of your satisfaction, you will never have so 
 favourable an occasion. He has merit, worth, 
 excellent conduct, in a word, he is worthy of your 
 grace, and I dare take the liberty to say to you, 
 Monseigneur, that you are bound to do it, and, 
 that I promised this to him for you, when you 
 did me the honour to. write to me." To Ponchar- 
 train he wrote: "I take the liberty only to say 
 that the Sieur Duguay-Trouin has achieved 
 many actions of such quality that he merits 
 grace and protection before the king." 
 
 The reply of Ponchartrain was disappointingly 
 [336]
 
 cool, but Maurepas wrote: "I have received the 
 letters you wrote relating what passed in the 
 action of Sieur Duguay-Trouin, and you need 
 not doubt that I learned the news with great 
 pleasure; my father told the king of it, who was 
 very much delighted, and His Majesty wishes to 
 give to Sieur Duguay-Trouin a mark of his satis- 
 faction by making him captain of a frigate." 
 Thus, by way of reward for services which many 
 an admiral of our day might vainly wish to 
 equal, the king conferred upon him merely the 
 simple title which he had already enjoyed for 
 several years. 
 
 The young Malouin did not resent this back- 
 ward promotion, but proceeded to Versailles to 
 thank his king, where he received according to 
 his own account, "marks of satisfaction from the 
 monarch, with which his heart was most deeply 
 touched, and which attached him to his king with 
 a strong affection." At this audience the hero, 
 but twenty-four years old, presented to his 
 sovereign Louis, Baron Wassenaer, the adversary 
 recently conquered, of whom he had become a 
 firm friend. 
 
 Rene now received a ship so prettily decorated 
 with red tape that it was almost impossible to 
 man it or fit it out properly. As member of a 
 privateering family, this was to him a new and 
 trying experience, and he addressed a remon- 
 strance to the minister, which met with but 
 
 [337]
 
 H)UGua^*XIrouin 
 
 qualified success. "His Majesty will permit 
 Sieur Duguay-Trouin to take for his company the 
 sailors retired from the batteries, provided that 
 they agree with the other conditions required." 
 With the help of fifty soldiers thus obtained the 
 captain had to content himself and set sail. Just 
 as the ships started the peace of Ryswick put an 
 unexpected end to the expedition. Privateers 
 lost heavily by this unseasonable armistice and 
 the Trouins among them, but we have no com- 
 plaint from the loyal captain, who accepted it as 
 the fortunes of war. His king had considered it 
 best to give peace to Europe, and nothing more 
 need be said. 
 
 For a time now, Duguay-Trouin had leisure 
 to enjoy life ashore, which he did to the full, even 
 rounding out his pleasures with a challenge, 
 which the Commandant of Brest rendered of 
 none effect by summoning in the name of the 
 King all parties interested to present themselves 
 at his house and make up their differences. 
 
 When peace was over, Rene entered once more 
 upon his course of freebooting, and with such 
 success, in the main, that but for change of 
 name in his ship, change of waters and num- 
 ber of guns, his life reads "We have met the 
 enemy and they are ours, and we're bringing 
 them into St. Malo or Brest as fast as wind will 
 permit." 
 
 Again he took under him a younger brother, 
 [ 338 ]
 
 Duguai?=sUrouin 
 
 this time Nicholas. Again, after a brilliant 
 maiden effort the brother was mortally wounded 
 and breathed his last in the arms of the elder. 
 Said a compatriot: "Family of heroes, you merit 
 the respect of posterity. Of three brothers, 
 two have given the example of dying for their 
 country : Duguay-Trouin gives that of living but 
 for it." 
 
 Not until the year 1706, did the king deign to 
 include the name of Duguay-Trouin in the list 
 of names for promotion. Ever since the resump- 
 tion of hostilities each sortie of the captain had 
 been advantageous as well as glorious, but in 
 spite of signal victories he was required to have 
 fitted out four campaigns before obtaining this 
 mark of royal approbation. Any one of Duguay- 
 Trouin's four seasons on the high seas would 
 suffice to make the reputation of an officer gen- 
 eral of our day. Even at this, the promotion 
 was only from commander of a frigate to the 
 captainship of a first class man-of-war. By this 
 time, however, his repuation among naval 
 officers was of the highest, and in desperate 
 engagements he was Admiral in all but name. 
 
 The story of Rene's victories becomes monoto- 
 nous in its elements of daring, if not fool-hardy, 
 recklessness and courage, and in the regularity 
 with which he kept on fighting till victory 
 crowned his efforts, and his ship heading its 
 string of prizes made for St. Malo or Brest, so 
 
 [339]
 
 Duoua^^XTrouln 
 
 nothing important is lost by passing at once to 
 the action which summed up the chief points of 
 his naval procedure, and put the crowning touch 
 to his imperishable fame. Off each European 
 nation's Atlantic shore had Duguay-Trouin man- 
 ifested his prowess to that nation's sorrow, 
 while his brother Luc had spared no expense in 
 fitting out cruisers and privateers. It became 
 impossible for Louis XIV longer to refuse the 
 supreme reward so well deserved, and some 
 time in the year 1709 the brothers Duguay- 
 Trouin and de La Barbinais-Trouin received let- 
 ters of nobility with the privilege of bearing 
 armour with crest. Rene hastened at once to 
 Versailles to thank his king in person, but being 
 no courtier, he remained but a short time, think- 
 ing that his own fashion of making court by des- 
 troying the nation's enemies was most fitting 
 for a sailor. 
 
 At this period France was deplorably in need 
 of funds and the difiiculty of fitting out expedi- 
 tions almost insuperable, but, by appealing to 
 the Malouins, his friends, Duguay-Trouin suc- 
 ceeded in interesting six merchants, who formed 
 an association to help the government, and de- 
 puted one of their number to proceed to Paris 
 and lay their plans before the ministry of the 
 marine. The Count of Toulouse, governor of 
 Brittany, was so impressed by the generosity 
 and importance of the project, that he joined the 
 
 [340 1
 
 association. Louis, having signified his approval 
 and assent, provided the ships, which the Ma- 
 louins at once made ready to put into complete 
 fighting trim. Even after the ships were fully 
 equipped, the arsenal at Brest was so denuded of 
 ammunition and stores that the fleet was much 
 delayed before finally weighing anchor. This is 
 the fleet with which Duguay-Trouin waged the 
 terrible battle of the Bay of Rio Janeiro. It 
 consisted of nineteen vessels under command of 
 the most valiant officers in the navy. 
 
 Duguay-Trouin, having assembled the ships 
 at La Rochelle, and provisioned them for eight 
 months, set sail June ninth from Perthuis. 
 August eleventh they passed the equator, and 
 on September twelfth stood before the entrance 
 of the Bay of Rio, the year being 1711. At one 
 o'clock in the afternoon under English colours 
 the French ships entered the narrow passage 
 leading into the harbour, but the fortress at the 
 right, Santa Cruz, was not deceived, and opened 
 fire speedily. The Magnanime that led the 
 advance, perceiving itself discovered lowered the 
 British flag and ran up the French, which act 
 drew fire from all the forts around the coast. 
 The French ships, notwithstanding, sailed calmly 
 on as regularly as though they were enter- 
 ing a friendly port, save that from both sides 
 they steadily returned the firey compliments the 
 Portuguese paid them. The vessels in the har- 
 
 [341 1
 
 bour, fearing to be boarded took refuge beneath 
 the guns of the various fortresses, after having 
 begun by a brisk support of the batteries. By 
 four o'clock the French squadron was anchored 
 beyond range of shot, and Duguay-Trouin pro- 
 ceeded with no delay to make ready for a general 
 attack. He discovered that conditions were not 
 such as he had expected; besides the ordinary 
 garrison, five regiments of regulars had been 
 recently brought over to their support; and, 
 furthermore, the object of the French, instead 
 of being unknown, had been communicated to 
 the Portuguese by the Queen of England. The 
 Brazilian governor, having had a month's warn- 
 ing, had built new forts, doubled the garrisons, 
 and put all in the best state of defence. Another 
 leader would have been discouraged by the en- 
 tirely unexpected nature of the task before him. 
 Not so our Malouin, whose tactics, fortunately, 
 are preserved in a daily journal, written with 
 painstaking accuracy by Trouin himself. The 
 diary was a new departure for the writer, and 
 seems almost providential, since this bombard- 
 ment of Rio Janeiro marked not only the climax 
 of his naval career, but formed the last engage- 
 ment of his active life as sailor. 
 
 On the night of the twelfth the attack began, 
 
 and the following night the French captured four 
 
 merchantmen that had sought the protection of 
 
 the forts. At daybreak on the fourteenth, 
 
 [342]
 
 DuQua^^Urouln 
 
 Duguay-Trouin debarked a force of three thou- 
 sand men, who threw up breastworks and pre- 
 pared to besiege the place from landward. The 
 position was most favourable, and when the 
 French were quite ready for action, their leader 
 sent to the Governor propositions for surrender, 
 receiving the response that he would defend the 
 place to the last drop of his blood. 
 
 The French batteries immediately opened fire, 
 seconded by the Brilliant and the Mars, which 
 lay along shore, and a part of the Brazilian in- 
 trenchments were demolished. Duguay-Trouin 
 disposed his fleet so that the assault from the 
 harbour should open on the twenty-first. In 
 accordance with this design he dispatched a 
 force of men to take possession of five Portuguese 
 ships that had been abandoned and lay within 
 range of the fire from the forts. The boarding, 
 which should have been accomplished under 
 cover of darkness, became known through the 
 dazzling flashes of a severe thunder storm, and 
 called down upon the French a volley from the 
 fortress. The French commander was ready 
 for this contretemps, and immediately fired a gun 
 as signal for the attack to open. The harbour 
 at once became the scene of terrible conflict, to 
 the roar of thunder was added the noise of the 
 guns, and the incessant fire of ship and fort paled 
 and was lost in blinding flashes of lightning; 
 notwithstanding torrents of rain, the French 
 
 [343 1
 
 H)uoua^s=IIrouin 
 
 bombs set fire to the city, and a vast conflagra- 
 tion increased the splendour of the awful scene. 
 By daybreak of the appointed day, Duguay- 
 Trouin, at the head of the troops, advanced to 
 make the final assault, and then it first became 
 known that the panic-stricken inhabitants had 
 fled, carrying with them the regular troops; and 
 that, on leaving, they had fired the magazines, 
 and had mined the forts, in the hope that the 
 victorious French might be blown up on enter- 
 ing the streets. 
 
 With the greatest precaution Duguay-Trouin 
 reconnoitred the abandoned city, visited the 
 posts, liberated such French prisoners as were 
 found, and in the name of the king took posses- 
 sion. 
 
 On the twenty-third, the exterior forts were 
 captured, and the invading fleet anchored near 
 the city. The next day Trouin received a ran- 
 som of 20,000 crowns for an English vessel in 
 the bay, and for several days his sailors were 
 kept busy loading their ships with spoil to be 
 carried back to France. Negotiations were 
 opened with Don Francisco de Castro-Morais 
 for the buying back of the town. 
 
 The exceeding activity of Duguay-Trouin was 
 very necessary, for the Portuguese were trying to 
 delay matters, in order to permit Don Gaspard 
 d'Acosta to reassemble the scattered troops, and 
 Don Antonio d' Albuquerque to arrive by forced 
 
 [344]
 
 H)U(}ua^*Trrouin 
 
 marches from the mines, at the head of a body 
 of fifteen thousand men. 
 
 On the tenth of October the agreement was 
 signed. The Governor engaged to pay 610,000 
 cruzades, to furnish 5,000 cases of sugar, and to 
 furnish all the cattle needed by the French. 
 Twelve Portuguese officers were held as hostage 
 till the terms of the treaty were fulfilled. 
 
 While awaiting the final payment, which was 
 not made till the fourth of November, on which 
 day, with the exception of the forts commanding 
 the entrance of the harbour the conquered terri- 
 tory was delivered to the Portuguese governor, 
 Duguay-Trouin busied himself putting the sugar 
 aboard his ships, of which he reserved five hun- 
 dred cases to form a cargo for the prize Reine- 
 des-Anges. Two other ships he loaded with 
 general booty, but the main portion of the plun- 
 der he sold to the Portuguese at reasonable 
 terms. One wreck and one merchantman for 
 which there was no purchaser were burned on 
 the eleventh. 
 
 November thirteenth the whole fleet set sail 
 for France. South-west of the Azores it encoun- 
 tered a violent storm which so separated and 
 damaged the ships that many were given up for 
 lost, finally, with tw^o exceptions they were re- 
 united at Brest, many of them disabled, some dis- 
 masted, and all more or less in need of repair. 
 On the Magnanime, one of the lost vessels 
 
 [345]
 
 DuQuai^^xrrouin 
 
 had been shipped much merchandise and over 
 600,000 livres in gold and silver, in fact, the larger 
 part of the riches gained in the expedition. 
 Nevertheless, enough spoil was brought to 
 France to pay all expenses of the expedition, 
 amounting to some 1,600,000 livres, and to yield 
 over and above this a profit to the investors of 
 92%. Had it not been for 500,000 livres of bad 
 debts and the loss of the two vessels, the adven- 
 ture would have paid the Malouin armateurs 
 a hundred per cent more. Is it any wonder 
 that the gray mansions of seventeenth and 
 eighteenth century St. Malo were more lux- 
 uriously appointed than the castles of the 
 nobles ! 
 
 This glorious effort of an expiring marine 
 brought nothing but a cold recognition to its 
 animating spirit, partly because of the general 
 mourning over recent deaths in the royal family, 
 partly because of the very serious troubles that 
 now beset the state, but more than these, because 
 of the jealousy and malevolence that resent 
 superiority in another. Garbled versions of the 
 facts of the action had been given out; charges 
 of dishonesty had not been wanting; accusations 
 of lax management; and the never failing better 
 ideas of the many who knew more about com- 
 manding than the man whose sole business it 
 had been from youth up, robbed Duguay-Trouin 
 of the gratitude he richly had earned. In his own 
 
 [346]
 
 DuGuap^Urouin 
 
 sailor town, though, where the people compre- 
 hended the diflSculties he had surmounted, the re- 
 ception accorded to him went far to heal the hurts 
 he received. At Brest he was even forced to de- 
 fend himself against injurious denunciations, and 
 to see his apportionment of the booty discredited 
 by a repartition. 
 
 Disillusioned and embittered, grieved for the 
 misfortunes of his country, shamed by the clause 
 of the Treaty of Utrecht relating to the demoli- 
 tion of the port of Dunkirk, Duguay-Trouin 
 retired to his country place on the Ranee, where, 
 to this day, a small elevation on the north side 
 of the garden, is called the "cradle of Duguay- 
 Trouin." 
 
 The hero now settled down to private life, 
 entertained his friends, particularly those naval 
 officers with whom he could review the stirring 
 events of his life, and occupied himself inces- 
 santly with the interests of the sailors, obtaining 
 for them deserved rewards and for their widows 
 and children fitting pensions, showing himself 
 to be the same modest captain, who, after a cer- 
 tain victory, had declared: "I am only too well 
 rewarded if I obtain advancement for my 
 officers." 
 
 In August, 1715, Duguay-Trouin attended 
 court at Versailles. On perceiving him, Louis 
 XIV stepped towards him in order to announce 
 to him himself, in the most gracious manner, that 
 
 [347]
 
 H)ugua^*'Ci;rouin 
 
 he had been promoted to the rank of chief of 
 squadron. 
 
 The death of Louis and the disastrous regency 
 of the infamous Orleans achieved the ruin of the 
 French navy, and the brave Malouin was not 
 called upon to leave his retreat on the Ranee, 
 save when his royal appointment demanded his 
 presence in Brest, where he devoted himself 
 heartily to matters of discipline and the welfare 
 of his country. 
 
 In 1718, in the final liquidation of the Brazil- 
 ian prizes, the directors made a tardy acknowl- 
 edgement of the nation's debt to Duguay-Trouin, 
 and awarded him the sum of 12,000 livres as his 
 share of the money arising from the sale of the 
 ammunition captured. 
 
 Now, indeed, honours began to be showered 
 upon the unassuming sailor. In 1723, he was 
 made member of the council for India; in 1728, 
 Louis XV, through the influence of Cardinal 
 Fleury appointed him commander of the Saint- 
 Louis and Lieutenant General, but these belated 
 tokens of recognition did not affect his unosten- 
 tatious nature. In the next year he was made 
 commandant at Brest, and the care of the entire 
 Breton coast was entrusted to him. Two years 
 later, in command of a squadron detailed to pro- 
 tect French commerce in the Levant, he made a 
 cruise glorious for the success of its peaceful 
 settlement of many threatening complications. 
 
 [348]
 
 S)uguap*Trrouin 
 
 On the breaking out of war between France 
 and England, in 1733, the Court alarmed sought 
 the advice of Duguay-Trouin. To a letter of 
 1734 his careful response ends: "I add here, 
 Monseigneur, a list of ten ships of the kind you 
 have ordered, I can answer for the captains I 
 take the liberty of proposing to you, and hold 
 myself ready to obey you." The preparations 
 were rendered unnecessary by a peace. 
 
 Having, thus, time to think of his own affairs, 
 the valued ofl&cer went to Paris to consult the 
 best physicians there, from whom he learned that 
 his death was merely a matter of time, although 
 he lingered until 1736. As he felt his end ap- 
 proaching he communicated the fact to Cardinal 
 Fleury, who wrote in return: "I have read your 
 letter to the king, who was touched by it, and 
 I myself could not help breaking into tears. 
 You may rest assured, in case God calls you to 
 himself, that His Majesty will be disposed to 
 grant marks of his favour to your family, and I 
 shall not find it difficult to impress him with 
 your zeal and your services." 
 
 The family consisted only of a sister and 
 brother, for Duguay-Trouin never married. He 
 seems to have felt but one attachment even ap- 
 proaching serious during his life, and that was 
 during his wild youth at the age of nineteen, when 
 the parents of his love removed her to a convent 
 to oppose his suit. 
 
 [349]
 
 Duguap^Urouin 
 
 On the twenty -seventh of September, 1736, 
 died the man who had never made war a dishon- 
 ourable traffic, who had never sought advance- 
 ment, and who had never failed his king or 
 country. 
 
 In person Duguay-Trouin was most manly, 
 with well proportioned figure and serious face. 
 Constant occupation with concerns of moment 
 rendered him somewhat reserved and disinclined 
 to converse on frivolous topics. His mind was 
 vigorous and just, no detail necessary to the 
 success of his enterprises escaped him, nor did 
 he spare any exertion that might contribute to 
 their happy issue. Although of impetuous char- 
 acter, no citizen ever bore more for the honour of 
 his country, and among his friends never was a 
 kinder companion. He has been accused of too 
 great severity in discipline, but in the navy 
 severity is imperative for proper execution in 
 action, that he ever thought of the welfare of his 
 subordinates needs no proof, and his disinter- 
 estedness is manifested by the fact that after hav- 
 ing won for his nation wealth almost incalculable, 
 he died but moderately rich. In his loss France 
 mourned one of her most valued defenders. 
 
 [350]
 
 XXIV. THE GOOD PASTOR 
 
 WITH the exception of Balzac's Country 
 Doctor, no character in French fiction 
 is more lovable than the country priest, 
 possibly, because in the country priest French 
 fiction is closely allied to fact, a relation very 
 commonly disregarded by French romancers. 
 
 The venerable cure of St. Servan was a type 
 of all that is high and noble in the class, and that 
 he chanced to receive the honour due to his many 
 virtues while we could, as they say, assist, furn- 
 ished us with one of the most illustrative pictures 
 of the national character. 
 
 The good man although over eighty years of 
 age and bowed by infirmity was still indefatigable 
 in works of beneficence. Of the many results 
 of his labours if nothing but the orphanage might 
 be cited it would be enough to deserve the bound- 
 less gratitude of a communitj^ yearly robbed of 
 husbands, fathers, and brothers; but the orphan- 
 age is but one of a long list of noble charities 
 originated and brought to completion by the 
 faithful pastor. The mere sight of a man who 
 for fifty years has without thought of worldly 
 advancement devoted himself to a round of sim- 
 
 [351]
 
 TLbc (5oot> pastor 
 
 pie duties, has filled the niche within which he has 
 been placed, to the honour of God and the blessing 
 of man, is a lesson in human possibilities that 
 tends towards the moral elevation of the race. 
 That the peasants loved their cure is understating 
 the case, their attitude was one of devotion, and to 
 observe the manner in which they bowed before 
 the bent figure whose face was a benediction, 
 must have convinced the veriest sceptic that 
 in him resided a something not to be accounted 
 for by human rule and measure. 
 
 To the cure's surprise he received word that 
 the Pope had conferred upon him the title of 
 Monseigneur, and the Servanais were wild with 
 joy. The Archbishop of Rennes in person came 
 bearing the insignia and regalia, and a solemn 
 high mass on the occasion of his investment in 
 office called to St. Servan the clergy of the whole 
 province and the populace of the region from 
 every class of life. The most striking feature 
 of the influx was the crowds of peasants that 
 walked for miles to do honour to a pastor famed 
 far and near for his benevolence. 
 
 It was the Sunday services that formed the 
 climax of a week of rejoicing and brought back to 
 mediaeval likeness the dingy commonplace face 
 of St. Servan. The houses fronting on the paved 
 square before the church were gaily draped and 
 fluttering with flag and pennon as for a tourna- 
 ment. If a knight in full armour bestriding a 
 
 [ 352 1
 
 Peasant of Pont 1' Abbe
 
 Ube Ooot) Ipastor 
 
 richly caparisoned charger had pranced into the 
 opening he would have seemed the fitting centre- 
 piece for the setting. 
 
 The ceremonies opened with a triumphal pro- 
 cession from the presbytery to the church, pre- 
 ceded by a full band whose music, at first faint, 
 swelled to its loudest, and then lost itself as it 
 passed within the sacred building Then came 
 two by two the chief ecclesiastical dignitaries of 
 the region, all in their richest vestments, fol- 
 lowed by the lesser clergy. The orphans, special 
 care of the honoured priest, made a long line, and 
 at the end were still other assistants whose 
 worldly positon was not evident. All these 
 found their place in the church before it was open 
 to the general public, with the result that the 
 larger number of the latter were crowded upon 
 the steps before the door and out across the 
 square. 
 
 Inside the doors it is scarcely possible to im- 
 agine so splendid a scene. Banners streamed 
 from walls and pillars, gorgeous flowers were 
 massed about all altars, everything lightable was 
 ablaze, and a bright sun sent the hues from the 
 rich glass across the kneeling throng. The pre- 
 vailing lilac of the vestments rendered bright 
 the host of clergy within the altar rail, and in the 
 canopied seat the dear old man was radiant in 
 his new decorations. 
 
 The finest choristers of the land aided by 
 [ 353 ]
 
 TLbc <^oo^ pastor 
 
 organ and band, rendered the music with a full- 
 ness and depth rarely heard outside the great 
 church cities. 
 
 A celebrated preacher from a distance had 
 asked, as a favour, permission to give the sermon 
 on this memorable occasion, and when a French 
 sermon is good, it is very good. It seems singu- 
 lar that an apparently thoughtless, careless 
 people like the French should be especially 
 gifted in the direction of pulpit oratory, but, 
 that such is the fact, few who have heard their 
 celebrated preachers will deny. The gift has 
 not been limited to the days of Bossuet and Bour- 
 daloue. Then, too, there is a very pretty taste 
 in sermons prevalent among the people. It is 
 astonishing to notice the congregations assembled 
 at those seasons when the Church makes a speci- 
 ality of sermons, as, for instance, the seasons of 
 Lent and Advent. Men who never, at other 
 times, attend service and whose lives attest any- 
 thing but a love of morality, make positive sacri- 
 fices to hear the noted speakers, whose hours of 
 service are daily published in the church journals. 
 At any of these times you may see the churches 
 thronged not, as is usual, with women and chil- 
 dren, but with men of every age and station. 
 
 The Dinard ferry-boats do not make the noon 
 trip, as all hands are busy eating breakfast. It 
 is a great convenience for the crew, but not 
 so much so for church-goers. After the long, 
 
 [354]
 
 Ubc Ooot) pastor 
 
 interesting service, there was nothing to do but 
 wander down the street and pick up a make- 
 shift breakfast at the patisserie, which raised 
 five o'clock tea several degrees in our estimation. 
 The air of Brittany induces a good healthy appe- 
 tite for the five o'clock function, and to miss it 
 is a real loss. The hollow unsubstantiality of 
 brioches and watery chocolate, combined with 
 aimless awaiting the pleasure of the boatmen, 
 chastened materially the exaltation of sentiment 
 excited by the touching ovation of the morning. 
 It becomes second nature on the coast to watch 
 for incoming vessels, and especially for belated 
 fishing craft. For weeks everybody had almost 
 despaired of the last overdue vessel of the fleet, 
 but one morning on waking the harbour was 
 seen to be alive with boats of all description. 
 Back and forth, in and out they swarmed. No 
 one needed to be told what had occurred, but a 
 deep cry of gratitude went up at the sight. 
 There in the offing came on the ship in full sail. 
 Crowds filled the wharves and everything that 
 could float hurried forth to greet the home-coming 
 wanderer. It is impossible for one who has 
 never lived among fishers to understand the 
 strain of awaiting the return of the widely sepa- 
 rated fleet. It is a very rare thing to have every 
 vessel that started in the early Spring come back, 
 and it never happens that all the men get home; 
 for, besides the danger of shipwreck, disease 
 
 [355]
 
 Ube 0oot) pastor 
 
 aggravated by cruel exposure is always more or 
 less prevalent. Besides this the little boats upon 
 which the men are distributed on reaching the 
 banks, and which are anchored off shore never 
 once touching land, are frequently run down in 
 fogs and darkness; the great liners that pass 
 over them are, as a rule, entirely unconscious of 
 having sent souls to their long account. 
 
 This return of the fleet begins in late Septem- 
 ber, or in October. It continues till Winter has 
 fairly set in; first one, then two or three, then 
 a long, stormy stretch in which nothing can 
 brave the reefs and rocks beyond. Then fol- 
 lows the anxious period when all ought to be in, 
 but the missing are still hoped for. One, per- 
 haps two, of these do appear one day, and after 
 that fears and hopes contend, to die down at 
 last into the dull despair of the widowed and 
 fatherless. 
 
 France seems to be more abundantly blessed 
 with red tape than any other known country 
 that people usually visit. Even to send an 
 express package to Paris requires so much ex- 
 planation, so many seals, such exact boxing and 
 cording, it is far simpler to shoulder the package 
 and carry it to town. There was a case in point 
 before we left. A peddler woman, not successful 
 in managing the topheavy cart piled with her 
 wares, was thrown from her overturned vehicle 
 and killed one evening. This was in our Depart- 
 
 [356]
 
 Ubc eoot) pastor 
 
 ment, Ille-et-Vilaine. In the morning, the horse 
 was found still attached to the cart which had evi- 
 dently struck a large stone in the road. The 
 woman lay beside it quite dead. As she had 
 driven in from C6tes-du-Nord, it was impossible 
 for the authorities of Ille-et-Vilaine to act in any 
 manner with regard to the case, before being em- 
 powered to do so by the magistrates of her own 
 Department. The necessary negotiations occu- 
 pied the entire day, and not till nightfall was any- 
 body instructed to remove the body. Meanwhile 
 agitation reigned over the entire official force of 
 both Departments, and the telegrams and parleys 
 involved seemed extended enough to have dis- 
 posed of a dozen such matters. 
 
 In the crowds of peasants drawn together by 
 this catastrophe a notable number of the women 
 had replaced the coif by a bonnet. It is a great 
 pity that even here, where the women have 
 always clung with pride to their beautiful head- 
 gear, the fashion is gradually dying out. For- 
 merly a Breton woman would have blushed to 
 appear in public without the coif of her village 
 on her head. Now many elderly women save 
 their beautifully laundered caps for Sunday, us- 
 ing a bonnet during the week. Young girls 
 openly prefer cheap, gaudy, hats. With most 
 elder women the actuating motive is economy, 
 for no peasant woman washes her own cap. This 
 branch of laundry work is a distinct profession, 
 
 [357]
 
 Xlbe Goo^ pastor 
 
 and although the cost is moderate, the mother of 
 a large family who must lay up dots for the 
 daughters and acquire new fields for the sons, 
 learns that white caps are rather a vanity than a 
 necessity, and thinks twice before donning her 
 neat stiff coif that one sharp shower will send 
 back to the laundress. 
 
 The skill with which women protect their 
 linen in this land of rain is astonishing. They 
 face showers that reduce strangers to spongy 
 ooze, but beneath their scientifically directed 
 umbrellas their bows, tabs, and frills stand out 
 bravely, seemingly impervious to adverse mois- 
 ture. It is so unusual to see a soiled or crumpled 
 coif that the woman wearing one stands thereby 
 convicted of being a hopeless slattern, if not 
 worse. 
 
 [358]
 
 XXV. LEHON 
 
 THE winter provided by Brittany is a sea- 
 son of mild drizzle. One furious flurry 
 of light snow took the Dinardais un- 
 awares, but no sooner had the sun touched the 
 whiteness than it was gone in mist and the air 
 became soft and balmj^ The neap tides, called 
 mer morte, behaved in a way of their own peculiar 
 to the bay. They rose or did not rise in erratic 
 fashion quite regardless of the usual schedule and 
 threw the best of calculations out of joint. For 
 days the waters scarcely varied in level, but lay 
 heavy looking and sluggish. Except when stirred 
 by a breeze, the expanse of the bay was a great 
 misty burnished mirror, viscous in appearance 
 and unnatural to the degree of being uncanny. 
 
 Of rain during the winter we received more 
 than a fair share, for the three winter months 
 afforded but three entirely clear days, one of 
 which, fortunately, fell on Christmas. So many 
 of the shrubs retain their foliage throughout the 
 year and so many flowers bloom in any month 
 that it is hard to realise that winter is past and 
 spring with us again. 
 
 [359]
 
 Xebon 
 
 The certain signs of spring are increased activ- 
 ity among the fishing folk, the many tales of 
 hardship in fitting out the men, and added calls 
 upon the charity of all who can help. Our 
 special sympathies were enlisted in the case of a 
 fisherman whose family occupied a small cabin 
 on the road to St. Lunaire. On two successive 
 voyages this father of a large family had been 
 shipwrecked, losing his entire outfit both times. 
 It had been difficult enough to replace the bed- 
 ding, heavy woollen garments and tools once; to 
 do this twice with no good year intervening was 
 practically impossible because his bounty had 
 barely sufficed to support the household. The 
 man had decided to ship to those icy seas with 
 no tricot (woollen jersey), no bed upon the board 
 bottom of the wooden bunk, and only such appa- 
 ratus for his trade as could be manufactured from 
 waste at home. There was no imposture about 
 this, the wrecks were a matter of general knowl- 
 edge, and the consequent destitution unavoid- 
 able. To us it would seem as though the govern- 
 ment should make some sort of provision for 
 wrecked fishers, but none seems to be made. 
 We were only too glad to knit at tricots, and other 
 foreigners in the town contributed towards the 
 proper fitting out of the worthy man. But 
 where one case meets relief dozens just as un- 
 fortunate, just as deserving are unaided, and 
 many a man goes off to die, not from accident, 
 
 [360]
 
 Xebon 
 
 but from the effects of insufficient protection 
 against the rigours of the terrible cHmate of the 
 Newfoundland coast. 
 
 The earliest announcement that winter is past 
 is the public notice of the great Paimpol pardon. 
 The boats for the Iceland fishery are first to get 
 off, but before they go both boats and fishers 
 are blessed by the clergy, and fishing people from 
 all parts of the coast flock to Paimpol to be 
 present at the open air service that takes place 
 on some jutting promontory overlooking the 
 fleet, only waiting for the first bright day and 
 spring breezes to set out. 
 
 Not long thereafter, carts began to pass our 
 gates, bearing boxes and mattresses, and every 
 morning crowds of men came into the village 
 to be registered and receive a portion of the 
 bounty allowed by the Government. The carts 
 were usually driven by the mothers or wives of the 
 men who were perched upon the sea-boxes. It 
 makes one long, sad procession for a month or 
 more. Day by day the harbour becomes a scene 
 of increased activity; the great steamers that 
 carry the larger portion of the men appear, the 
 hospital vessel that always accompanies the fleet 
 soon follows; large sailing vessels with two or 
 three masts stand about; small coasters run in 
 and out busy provisioning; row boats ply be- 
 tween land and the shipping. Finally the long 
 looked for provision steamer is sighted and the 
 
 [361]
 
 Xebon 
 
 work of storing the other ships adds to the 
 animation of the scene. 
 
 Then come fresh tales of privation and suffer- 
 ing, needy famihes not able to fit out their men 
 properly, invalid wives who may not be left 
 alone, or motherless children who can ill spare 
 the father. It is all most pitiful and distressing, 
 especially when you learn the life of hardship 
 and misery borne by these patient Bretons during 
 their long absence. If it were not that they are 
 born to it, as were their fathers before them, 
 they could scarcely be found willing to submit 
 to a bondage so perilous and severe. It is not 
 at all surprising that at the last moment their 
 hearts fail them and many are tempted to desert. 
 It is this that causes the authorities tacitly to 
 permit the men to come aboard in all stages of 
 intoxication. It is considered entirely justifi- 
 able to ply a downhearted comrade with liquor 
 till his spirits rise or till he must be carried to his 
 berth only to regain consciousness when too far 
 out on the sea to get back. For this cause, too, 
 the money is partly paid in advance. Usually 
 this portion is quite gone before the day of sailing 
 and the debt to the Government thus incurred 
 holds the man to his bond. 
 
 The vessels with knotted standard at the mast- 
 head are not fully manned and equipped, those 
 where the pennon streams on the breeze, free 
 and full, are quite ready to sail and only await 
 [ 362 ]
 
 Xebon 
 
 favouring conditions, for this dangerous coast 
 must be quitted with circumspection. Any 
 peasant woman, selected at random, can fill 
 your ears with tales of the men she has lost at 
 sea, of others now upon it, and the little ones 
 destined for the life. Probably not one family 
 near the coast has failed to furnish its quota of 
 sacrifice to the deep. 
 
 A pilgrim boat, "Notre Dame de Salut," just 
 back from the Holy Land, went with the fleet 
 carrying the priest of this floating parish and 
 moreover fifteen hundred fishers. Upon the 
 deck a neat chapel was prepared that regular 
 service should not be wanting. The priest in 
 charge has always under him an efficient staff 
 of assistant clergy, and the spiritual wants of 
 the men are more amply provided for than their 
 physical. 
 
 Below, the vessel is partitioned off and built 
 up with bunks. There is no softness of any 
 kind about them; they are simple board boxes, 
 one above another, cheerless, comfortless, and 
 crowded all too closely. The men provide their 
 own bedding, and perhaps the aspect is more 
 hopeful when these boxes are stuffed with the 
 thick, substantial mattresses that we have seen 
 pass down our road. 
 
 By the time the fleet really sailed, our interest 
 and excitement had reached such a pitch we 
 could not refrain from going over to St. Malo to 
 
 [363]
 
 Xebon 
 
 see it off. Day after day, it had been detained 
 by contrary winds. One impatient captain, 
 against the advice of all the others, did try to 
 beat out earlier. The vessel was not out of 
 sight when a storm arose and there, before the 
 eyes of the others, it was dashed to pieces on the 
 jagged rocks near the Chausey Islands. 
 
 We crossed in the early ferry boat, reaching 
 St. Malo shortly after seven o'clock. The town 
 was already crowded, the quays and city walls 
 black with people, whose numbers were con- 
 stantly augmented by crowds arriving by land 
 and water. The rigging of the great steamers 
 was filled with men shouting their last words to 
 friends on shore; belated fishers were trundling 
 their boxes or dragging their mattresses. Each 
 wine shop rang with the sounds of tipsy revelry, 
 while oflBcials watched that no man should fail 
 to be sent to his proper destination. There was 
 far less visible demonstration of sorrow than one 
 would expect. Poor creatures ! the grief that has 
 grown with their growth and that never entirely 
 leaves them can not expend itself in one violent 
 outburst. It was pitiful to see drunken men reel 
 from one wine shop to the next, to be finally 
 bundled up the gang plank inert masses, watched 
 from afar by anxious wives and tearful children. 
 
 It took about two hours to get really ready, 
 and then with a hollow preliminary whistle, that 
 sounded like a knell, the great hulks, throwing 
 
 [364]
 
 Xcbon 
 
 off the cables, slowly moved out of the harbour, 
 and off towards the open sea, carrying many a 
 man destined never again to look upon the old, 
 grey walls and fortifications, to which he has 
 annually bidden farewell ever since he was able 
 to handle a hawser. 
 
 We made two attempts to see the great 
 Dinan fair, one of the most important in Brit- 
 tany. There are two annual fairs there, one in 
 the Spring, and the other in the Autumn; but 
 the former, beginning on the second Thursday 
 in Lent, and continuing till Easter week, is, by 
 far, the most worthy of attention, for it seems to 
 have retained all the significance of the fairs of 
 bygone days. It is here that arrangements for 
 farm labour for the ensuing year are made, that 
 cattle are bought and sold, and produce bartered. 
 All through the Winter, exertions are directed 
 towards making a good appearance in the fair, 
 and the most important business transactions 
 of the year, so far as the peasants are concerned 
 are concluded at this season. 
 
 On the first occasion, opening day, one of the 
 three especially great days of the fair, Mid-Lent 
 and closing day being the other two; we had 
 scarcely left the train and joined the surging 
 throng that pressed along the broad road towards 
 the city, when the threatening grey of the skies 
 descended in soft drizzle that soon merged into a 
 soaking downpour, lasting through the entire 
 
 [365]
 
 Xebon 
 
 day. The crowd of basket-laden peasants would 
 have been trying to thread under the best of 
 conditions, but, with the situation compHcated by 
 huge dripping umbrellas overhead and stream- 
 ing gutters underfoot, the problem was serious. 
 To become hopelessly entangled in a knot of 
 chaffering countrymen, from each point of 
 whose unbrellas ran small spouting rills to 
 catch the unwary in the face, neck, or other un- 
 protected spot, was quite literally a damper that 
 drove us for refuge to the antique furniture shops. 
 There is material enough in those havens to fill 
 the time comfortably, and we had a day of revel 
 among armoires, chests, chairs, and dressers, all 
 carved to distraction. 
 
 The great Square du Guesclin, where interest 
 centred, and the purely entertaining features of 
 the fair were gathered, was a wilderness of booths 
 offering wares of every description, but the rain 
 had soaked into the gravel there to remain, and 
 the resulting quicksand was too sloppy for any- 
 thing lighter than sabots, so after sinking a few 
 steps into the soft footing, where each impres- 
 sion made became a little pond, we gave that up 
 and went over to St. Sauveur. In the "Place" 
 before the church is held the sheep and calf mar- 
 ket. The poor creatures were tightly bound and 
 thrown upon their sides, while the cold rain 
 chilled them through and through. Women 
 were kneeling by the sheep clipping off their only 
 
 [366]
 
 Xebon 
 
 protection Avith scissors, though the animals were 
 shivering and trembhng so violently, it was a 
 wonder the cutting could proceed. Those who 
 were so fortunate as to find a place beneath the 
 porched houses were in a measure protected, 
 but only a small fraction could be accommodated 
 thus. One humane peasant had dragged her 
 sheep into the vestibule of the entrance to St. 
 Sauveur, and the worshippers had to step over 
 her heels, her sheep, and her belongings, and 
 then wade through wool in passing in or out. 
 
 Our second attempt to see the fair in its glory 
 was Mid-Lent (Mi-Careme) . This time, the day 
 was perfect, and the crowd even greater than 
 before. Along all the roads as our train sped on, 
 we could see troops of peasants walking, driv- 
 ing, and riding into Dinan. A train from the 
 Dol direction drew in five minutes later than our 
 own, disgorging an even greater number of pas- 
 sengers, and this was only the beginning, for 
 festivities do not fairly set in much before noon. 
 We tried this time to make sure of the Place du 
 Guesclin, but was a hopeless jam. Many of 
 the young women were beautifully dressed in 
 bright costumes, but they were almost lost to 
 sight in the general crowding of blue blouses, 
 set off with white stitchings and embroideries 
 and the sober shawls of the matrons. There 
 were stands for the sale of the thick, heavy buck- 
 wheat cakes, eaten only by peasants; of sausages 
 
 [367]
 
 Xebon 
 
 and potted meats cooked before our eyes; of 
 gauffres, bonbons, and cakes of the country; a 
 characteristic feast. Further on, we picked our 
 way among crockery, tins, brassware, and junk, 
 these usually being spread upon the ground. 
 Then, on raised benches covered by awnings, 
 were laces; knit goods; wool, dyed and woven by 
 the peasants during the Winter; and the coarser 
 grades of woolen and cotton goods. Toys and 
 souvenirs of all kinds, toilet articles and religious 
 tokens, are found scattered indiscriminately 
 among other wares. But the great attractions, 
 the living wonders, the merry-go-rounds, shoot- 
 ing galleries, panoramas, performing dogs, mu- 
 seums, etc., which form so large a part of 
 every French country fair, were here in full blast. 
 The favourite seemed to be a seated whirligig 
 called "The Waves of the Ocean," that was 
 ground around to the strains of a wheezy organ- 
 ette in so billowy a manner that "A Storm at 
 Sea" would have applied to its nauseating course 
 far more exactly. A press of expectant ones 
 thronged about this triumph of entertainment 
 as we viewed it early in the day, and at our return 
 in the evening its popularity had increased 
 rather than in any wise diminished. 
 
 Through the cattle market at one side of this 
 Place and the horse market at the back, we 
 picked a cautious way, with due respect for the 
 horns of the one and the hoofs of the other. 
 
 [368 1
 
 Xebon 
 
 Strolling forth from Porte St. Louis we found 
 ourselves in the heart of that most ridiculous of 
 sights, the pig market. The porkers were all 
 squealing, all trying to run in opposite directions 
 at once, many were galloping off with some strug- 
 gling guardian attached by a rope bringing up 
 the rear. 
 
 We found ourselves on the broad foot road 
 leading to the old village of Lehon, less than a 
 mile away, and as Dinan was so overcrowded, 
 we followed this out of the din. The road ends, 
 as do so many in this land, in an abrupt flight 
 of steps, plunging into the narrow, sinuous 
 valley into which Lehon seems to have filtered 
 down, deposited as sediment from the impending 
 rocky heights towering above it on either side. 
 The old ruined cloister here is far more 
 interesting than the restored church, which is 
 really an entirely new building, erected at the 
 side of slender remains of an ancient chapel of 
 the Beaumanoirs, also largely restoration. One 
 niched tomb with a sculptured figure, and a few 
 battered arches do remain of the original church, 
 and as much as possible of the debris, neglected 
 for centuries, has been incorporated into the 
 recent work; still, there is not enough old to carry 
 off the startling freshness of the light stone. 
 
 We were spied by the cross-grained house- 
 keeper of the venerable Cure, as we were looking 
 about for the cloisters hidden behind the church. 
 
 [ 369 1
 
 %cbon 
 
 That so shrewish a temper should have been 
 screened by so fresh a round face surprised us 
 not a httle, but we first observed her engaged in 
 scolding the workmen all around for having told 
 us how to find the object of our search, and when 
 we reached the roofless arches that so firmly 
 keep their place about the grass-grown inclosure, 
 there she stood, ready to contest with us every 
 foot of advance. 
 
 On one side there is a roof over the arches, 
 though that is no addition to their ivy-grown 
 beauty. It backs against that portion of the 
 old monastery still standing, in which the re- 
 fectory is fairly well preserved. The heavy, 
 wooden staircase of the entrance hall, with many 
 landings, turns up and up to the top, past barred 
 doors and empty window cases, the view becom- 
 ing more and more beautiful the higher the open- 
 ing. 
 
 Having failed to turn us aside by the pleasing 
 epithets of thief, crazy English, intruder, and a 
 dozen other equally complimentary, of which 
 she seemed to be furnished with an inexhaustible 
 fund, our self-constituted guard clambered up 
 the stairway ahead of us, turning at every land- 
 ing to inquire, "Are you going to the top?" 
 "Are you still coming?" Finding us unmoved, 
 she at last gave up in despair, for as noon ap- 
 proached, doubtless the Cure's morning omelet 
 was due, and the greater duty relieved her from 
 
 [370]
 
 Xebon 
 
 the less. She regretfully clattered down the 
 long, dusty stairs, calling back as the height of 
 sarcasm, "I hope you will be pleased with the 
 attic." As in truth we certainly should have 
 been, if a peep through the cracks of the worm- 
 eaten, fastlocked door had not proved its floor 
 a hopeless ruin. I had thought to stem the tide 
 of her wrath by explaining that we were well- 
 intentioned English, but all to no purpose. "It 
 does not make any difference, they are all thieves 
 and robbers," was her vicious answer. We 
 asked the workmen, if she were crazy, but they 
 laughed and assured us she was only mechante, 
 and that she was so towards everybody. 
 
 On the top of a high hill at one side of the 
 valley, are seen the ruins of what was once an 
 immense castle. Nothing now^ is left but the 
 vine-covered, grass-grown walls, which mark the 
 wide extent of the early building. 
 
 The huge castles found in ruins at Corseuil, 
 Matignon, and Lehon are said to be the only 
 remaining examples of hexagonal watch towers 
 erected by the Romans from which they watched 
 and overawed the contumacious Druids. 
 
 Within the inclosure stands a small, uninter- 
 esting modern chapel, but the view over the 
 Ranee valley below is one of the very finest in 
 the country. 
 
 The legendary history of the monastery of 
 Lehon begins far back in the earliest days of 
 
 [371]
 
 Xebon 
 
 the church. Its founder is said to have been 
 the Irish St. Columban. In the days of the 
 vaHant Nominoe, who, having been appointed 
 Governor of Brittany by Louis le Debonnaire, 
 succeeded in estabhshing an entirely independ- 
 ent sovereignty, the feeble order received many 
 distinguishing marks of favour. Nominoe found 
 six monks there, whose devoted lives and austere 
 piety so impressed him, he promised them a new 
 house, if they could obtain the relics of some 
 saint to enshrine therein, to whom the establish- 
 ment might be dedicated. The poor brothers 
 were much agitated, since relics were difficult to 
 secure in ante-crusading times, but one, who had 
 heard that some monks on the Island of Jersey 
 guarded the remains of St. Magloire, an early 
 Bishop of Dol, volunteered to make the pilgrim- 
 age in search of them. It was an unusually 
 severe Winter, and after unheard of suffering 
 and privation, the good brother, Condan by 
 name, arrived almost dead, at the doors of the 
 monastery of St. Magloire, and was received by 
 the monks with every evidence of kindness. 
 Condan learned that this order was even poorer 
 than his own. The brothers had scarcely enough 
 food to last through the Winter, and their gar- 
 ments, old and threadbare, proclaimed their pov- 
 erty. He at once explained the generous prop- 
 osition of Nominoe, and had little trouble in 
 persuading the forlorn band to pick up St. Ma- 
 
 [ 372 ]
 
 Xebon 
 
 gloire and accompany him back to Lehon, 
 where the two communities with the approval of 
 Nominoe united. The king richly made good 
 his promise in the beautiful building he caused 
 at once to be erected, and from the time St. Ma- 
 gloire was secured to guard the fortunes of the 
 order it flourished apace. 
 
 Far down the peninsula in the parish church 
 of Locmine of the Morbihan district, there is 
 preserved intact an ancient window in which 
 each pane is illuminated with some scene from 
 the life of St. Columban. Of these pictures, one 
 of the most remarkable represents the founding 
 of the monastery of Lehon. Below the scene 
 is written in antique characters, "Coment 
 Colombain fut eslu abe par ses freres a cac 
 (cause) de sa Sainte et fist bastir le monastere 
 de Lehon par conge de Sigibert Roy de France." 
 
 [373]
 
 XXVI. THE EAST SIDE OF THE RANGE 
 
 ■-■1 'I -•' 
 
 WE were awakened one morning by the 
 noise of a procession of donkey carts 
 that filed down the road and through 
 the cut leading beachward. A throng of men, 
 women, and children, driving or conducting their 
 vehicles, chattered and laughed as they passed 
 along making it seem as though all Ille-et- 
 Vilaine were picnicing. While we wondered 
 Yvonne came with enlightenment. 
 
 "But you have seen the notices, very surely!" 
 exclaimed she, when we applied for information. 
 The notices had been as prominent as usual in 
 stripes of red, white, and blue, but such decora- 
 tions are so common that we had neglected to 
 study these particular samples. Sea-weed is 
 guarded by law and the posters had announced 
 the beginning of the cutting season, short be- 
 cause of the protection the weed affords to sea 
 life and breeding. The dates that limit the 
 harvest time are given, and between them each 
 peasant endeavours to amass more weed than his 
 neighbour, since the dried material is put to 
 numberless uses on the farms. From earliest 
 dawn till late at night a general seashore jolli- 
 
 [374]
 
 TLbc JEast Sit)e ot tbe IRance 
 
 fication is sustained. The black weedy surfaces 
 swarmed with women and children busily work- 
 ing with sickles. On the flat sands were drawn 
 up lines of carts into which the men forked the 
 heaped cutting, wet and glistening in the sun- 
 light. Not alone in the bay, but along the en- 
 tire coast this stirring activity suddenly springs 
 into being. To and fro along all roads pass the 
 heavy carts, creaking homeward with their drip- 
 ping burden or rattling gaily back for more. The 
 horses, two or three, always tandem, are of the 
 huge Norman type, and loiter on their way pretty 
 much to their own taste. The Breton driver 
 produces cracks with his whip that would terrify 
 less phlegmatic steeds, but the noise bears no 
 apparent relation to the actual business in 
 hand other than that of appropriate accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Yvonne has a mind well stored with tales of 
 the local heroes and each commune contributes 
 its portion. Her favourite is the man who is 
 known as the Malouin Regulus, a certain Porgon 
 de la Barbinais, who was taken prisoner by the 
 Dey of Algiers. The Dey let him go home bear- 
 ing proposals of peace humiliating to France, 
 on condition that if the mission proved unsuc- 
 cesful, Porgon should return to have his head cut 
 off. The hero gave his word and left for France. 
 As he anticipated, Louis XIV indignantly re- 
 jected the terms, whereupon Porgon visited his 
 
 [375]
 
 XLbe iBast St&e ot tbe IRance 
 
 home, St. Malo, set in order his worldly affairs, 
 bade adieu to family and friends, and went back 
 to die. The Dey, instead of being softened by 
 this noble behaviour, was highly incensed and 
 gave orders for his immediate decapitation. 
 
 Browning's Herve Riel came from away down 
 the coast, but his signal feat was the entry of 
 the Bay of St. Malo, when but for him, humanly 
 speaking, the English would have annihilated 
 the French fleet and left the country without a 
 navy worth the name. Herve Riel, the simple 
 coasting pilot, who asked as reward for this 
 great service merely a day off in which to go 
 home. 
 
 Most of Yvonne's heroes, would, I fear, be 
 classed with unregenerate pirates by less pre- 
 judiced observers, but that robs her stories of 
 no interest. Now-a-days her gallant sailormen 
 instead of lending glory to their birthplace 
 would be actively busy in escaping the grasp of 
 retributive justice. Nevertheless, in their season- 
 able course, two or three hundred years ago, 
 they cut a brilliant figure, and Yvonne's vision 
 seaward is of that age. 
 
 These privateers were brave, loyal, and ven- 
 turesome. Their particular kind of lawlessness 
 was approved by king and country, both which 
 profited by their generosity. If occasionally 
 these daring sailors decided that personal ven- 
 tures were more profitable than licensed free- 
 
 [376]
 
 Xlbe Bast Sl^e of tbe IRance 
 
 booting it was a case where nothing was more 
 successful than success. 
 
 Of all the sea-farers no Malouin had a more 
 varied career than did Bertrand-Frangois Mahe 
 de La Bourdonnais who was born the eleventh 
 of February, 1699. With the sea before his 
 eyes from earliest youth it is not surprising 
 that his one idea of life was sailoring. He was 
 but ten years of age when he began a service that 
 reflected more glory on his noble ancestors than 
 their quarterings conferred upon their descend- 
 ant. At the age of fourteen his tested ability 
 won for him place as second ensign on board 
 a vessel bound for the Philippines. A Jesuit on 
 board bound for the same islands became inter- 
 ested in the boy and during the long voyage 
 taught him mathematics which the pupil learned 
 with ease. He served a severe apprenticeship 
 in the East. During the years 1716-7 La 
 Bourdonnais sailed the northern seas, and in the 
 following year was transferred to the Levant, 
 but cold or hot, the climate had no effect on his 
 ambitious energy. 
 
 At that time the Portuguese, Dutch, and Eng- 
 lish were making settlements in outlying lands, 
 and the French India Company, looking for an 
 experienced navigator to help it to like settle- 
 ments, could find no more able commander than 
 La Bourdonnais, notwithstanding his extreme 
 youth. He was raised to the grade of first 
 
 [377]
 
 Zbc JEast Sit)e of tbe IRance 
 
 lieutenant and for a signal service in 1723 was 
 made second Captain on reporting at home. The 
 company sent him again to India in the next 
 year where the royal engineer M. Didier, ob- 
 serving his unusual ability instructed him in the 
 art and practice of fortification. The town of 
 Mahe on the Malabar coast offered an easy con- 
 quest and La Bourdonnais seized it. The Ad- 
 miral adopted the plans of the captain, who man- 
 aged to steer clear of the jealousies so readily 
 aroused in a case of this kind, and in testimony 
 of La Bourdonnais's merit the reports accredited 
 the success to him. 
 
 The resulting peace being not to his taste, the 
 Malouin next entered the service of the Governor 
 of Pondicherry, M. Lenoir, and went to Goa 
 to carry presents from Louis XV for services 
 rendered by the viceroy there. Here he was 
 able to save two Portuguese vessels for which the 
 Portuguese king conferred upon him the cross of 
 the Order of Christ. For a time he sailed around 
 Pondicherry, Calcutta, Goa, and elsewhere with 
 no more important business on hand than the 
 punishment of pirates whom he cleared from his 
 course, returning to St. Malo in 1733 possessed 
 of a great fortune and the vain dream of settling 
 for the rest of his days at home. He married 
 and prepared to give himself to the quiet of 
 home life, but the India Company would none of 
 it. He was named Governor General of the Isles 
 
 [378]
 
 TLhc ]£ast Si&e of tbe IRance 
 
 of France and Bourbon, so he had to pick up his 
 young wife in 1735 and go to the He de France 
 where he was expected to reduce to order the 
 anarchy resulting from a long course of mis- 
 management in a land peopled by a half civilised 
 mixture of blacks and whites. He had at most 
 but two hundred and thirty-one men with which 
 to effect the impossible, but such was his sagacity 
 that he restored order, erected fortifications, 
 raised and properly housed an army of defense, 
 constructed canals and aqueducts, built bridges, 
 in fact, gave to France a well administered 
 colony for which service Louis honoured him in 
 1737 with the cross of St. Louis. 
 
 The death of his wife caused La Bourdonnais 
 to revisit France in 1740, and there he found that 
 malice had been at work. Envious office-seekers 
 laid false charges against him, and, though he 
 was exonerated, his pride was hurt, and his 
 enemies but redoubled their machinations. He 
 desired to resign his post, but troubles with the 
 English calling for attention in the East, far 
 from letting La Bourdonnais resign, the author- 
 ities sent him back in command of a ffeet. Before 
 leaving home he married again. On the way to 
 his station hearing that Mahe was threatened by 
 a powerful fleet he sailed in there and relieved 
 the place. Then he went on to He de France 
 with his squadron. Before long renewed hos- 
 tilities on the part of the English caused him to 
 
 [379]
 
 Ube Bast Si&e of tbe IRance 
 
 go to Madagascar for food for his own islands, 
 since the EngHsh had intercepted some provision 
 ships and others had been wrecked. In spite 
 of heavy loss of ships and men by a tempest La 
 Bourdonnais confirmed the power of France in 
 all places that he touched, and having well done 
 that for which he had been called, he again, with 
 wife and children, went home to France. 
 
 By this time inaction had become impossible 
 to him, so before long we see him cruising about 
 West Indian waters under an assumed name to 
 avoid capture by the English. Hearing of re- 
 newed war at home, he hastened back to find 
 that his calumniators had been active during 
 his absence, and that instead of receiving com- 
 mand of a squadron he was summoned to answer 
 the gravest charges. This time he was cast into 
 prison. The victor over the English, the con- 
 queror of Mahe, of Madras, the hero of India, 
 the founder of a flourishing colony was allowed 
 to languish in the Bastille for over two years, 
 where he contracted the disease that ended his 
 life. The judges that pronounced his innocence 
 could not restore his health, and he died in his 
 fifty -fourth year. 
 
 Two naval commanders of the name Poree 
 have been famous. A Jehan of the time of Louis 
 XIII who led the Breton fleet to the assistance 
 of the Duke of Guise in the reduction of La 
 Rochelle; and Alain who for Louis XIV won so 
 
 [380]
 
 tlbe least Si^e ot tbe IRance 
 
 many victories over English and Dutch fleets 
 that he received successively as marks of royal 
 esteem a portrait of the king, a sword of honour, 
 and a title of nobility. The most striking tale 
 of Alain relates to the amputation of his arm, 
 the lower portion of which had been carried off 
 by a cannon shot. The surgeon of the ship con- 
 fessed to Poree that he did not know how to do 
 it. "Bring me your books," commanded the 
 seaman, "they must tell how it is done." 
 
 The surgeon brought Alain the books, and the 
 wounded man looked through them till he found 
 the right place which he showed to the operator 
 who thereupon proceeded with the work. 
 
 To Americans the Malouin most interesting 
 is Jacques Cartier, though he seems to be the 
 prophet with lesser honour in his own country. 
 In the museum of St. Malo may be seen a 
 worn, wave-washed bit of decaying wood, the 
 prow of his vessel. It is the only material testi- 
 mony found here to tell the moving and romantic 
 tale of the Petite Hermine that left this harbour 
 April 20th, 1534, and entered the St. Lawrence 
 two months later. There were three ships put 
 under command of Cartier, but his crew became 
 so reduced by fever that he abandoned the Petite 
 Hermine and it was sunk in the St. Lawrence to 
 prevent its being used by enemies. The ancient 
 hull was discovered imbedded in the mud and 
 was raised in 1843. The portions of the rescued 
 
 [381]
 
 Ubc iSaet St^e of tbe IRance 
 
 hulk now in the museum were sent as a gift 
 to the town by the Historical Society of 
 Quebec. 
 
 The Cartier family belonged to St. Malo, but 
 Jacques was born at the country house several 
 miles out of town, beyond the little village of 
 St. Idiuc. It is possible to go by tram as far as 
 Rotheneuf in seeking the spot, but after that it 
 is best to walk, for the way leads through pleas- 
 ant hedge bordered roads past well cultivated 
 farms that offer varied attractions. 
 
 St. Idiuc seems to be a place of outing for well 
 to do bourgeois whose residences lift the tone of 
 the village considerably above ordinary level. 
 An air of mossiness and general stagnation per- 
 vades the settlement, as though things had been 
 left to themselves for a century or so, as they 
 possibly have. A succession of high ivy-covered 
 walls with gate posts still higher and, atop of 
 these, lichen covered granite balls, worn and dec- 
 orated by the elements into Roquefort cheeses, 
 tree tops a-plenty through which peer pointed 
 roofs, well trimmed with dormer windows; and a 
 centrally placed church, set on a point between 
 two roads by the use of years worn so low that 
 the building sits up on a pedestal of its own. 
 Peace, tranquil and profound, reigns over the 
 region, where nobody seems ever to have heard 
 of any man named Cartier, so for instructions 
 it is necessary to look elsewhere. Peasants 
 
 [382]
 
 Ube Bast Sit)e of tbe IRance 
 
 usually hesitate to confess ignorance and to 
 questions about unknown locations the invari- 
 able reply they give is, "Far, very far." The 
 house in the case is pretty far beyond St. Idiuc, 
 but the road is straight, so by walking along one 
 finally reaches it some two miles ahead. The 
 present appearance of the building is unimpres- 
 sive. Through the open gate in the wall one 
 first observes the customary filthy barnyard and 
 behind that an insignificant farmhouse with an 
 ancient doorway and one tower in front. It is 
 impossible to be mistaken in the house for it is 
 pictured in so many places, painted in the mu- 
 seum and photographed on cards, that one satis- 
 fied glance assures the traveller of the goal of 
 the trip. 
 
 The St. Malo church records mention a certain 
 Jehan Cartier, husband of Guillemette Beau- 
 douin. The pair had six children, of whom the 
 eldest, Jacques, born December 4th, 1458, mar- 
 ried Jeffeline Jansart and had a son, the famous 
 Jacques Cartier of history. While still little 
 more than a boy, Jacques had accompanied 
 fishing fleets to the coast of Newfoundland, dur- 
 ing which ventures he conceived the idea of 
 seeking new territory with which to endow his 
 sovereign. When he was twenty-five years old, 
 Cartier married the daughter of the Constable 
 of St. Malo, and although the marriage to Cath- 
 erine des Granches was happy, no child blessed 
 
 [383]
 
 Ube JSast Sit>e of tbe IRance 
 
 the union that the city might do honour to his 
 descendants. 
 
 Jacques presented himself before Phihppe 
 Chabot, the French admiral and proposed to 
 undertake a voyage of discovery by way of the 
 great water beyond the already well known 
 island. The idea met with favour and Cartier 
 prepared to set forth with two vessels of sixty 
 tons manned by sixty -one sailors. The vice- 
 admiral, Charles de Moiiy, lord of Meilleraye, 
 visited the harbour to survey the equipage and 
 having found it excellent saw it set forth on its 
 mission. After a fine voyage the ships sighted 
 the coast of Newfoundland, May 10th, 1534 but 
 were forced by the ice to proceed farther on to a 
 port that they named Sainte Catherine, where 
 they waited for the spring thaws to permit them 
 to continue their way. In coasting along Lab- 
 rador the expedition found a fine harbour which 
 was named at once St. Servan, then turning 
 southward the ships entered the Gulf of St. 
 Lawrence. Having fairly started on the voyage 
 of discovery, the first anchorage was at the river 
 Miramichi on the thirtieth of June, and some 
 time was spent in this vicinity. From the fourth 
 till the twelfth of July Cartier remained in a 
 small bay that he named St. Martin, from 
 which he sailed into the deeper indentation 
 which from the intense heat then prevailing he 
 called the baie des Chaleurs. He was well pleased 
 
 [384]
 
 Ube ]£ast Si^e of tbc IRance 
 
 with the inhabitants with whom he traded for 
 furs. In the course of the transactions the In- 
 dians used so frequently the word kannata, which 
 signifies a cluster of cabins, that the French sup- 
 posed it to be the name of the country, hence 
 the word Canada. The ships now sailed into 
 the great river and anchored at Gaspe where 
 as sign of French possession C artier raised a 
 cross, bearing a shield with three fieurs de 
 lys, above which was written in large letters, 
 " Vive le roi de France," and around this 
 symbol knelt the sailors in prayer, while 
 the mystified savages regarded the ceremony 
 with wonder. The chief of the native tribe, 
 having received presents from Cartier with 
 assurances of his return, permitted his sons 
 Taiguragny and Domagaya to go on board the 
 ships. 
 
 The return voyage was begun on July twenty- 
 fifth, but many difficulties were encountered 
 between that time and August ninth when the 
 sailors anchored for a while in the harbour of 
 Blancs Sablons. In Cartier's own story he says : 
 "We departed from Blancs Sablons the 15th of 
 August after having heard mass, and reached 
 mid-seas between Newfoundland and Brittany 
 happily, from which point we ran great danger 
 through east winds, which we supported by the 
 help of God ; and later had very good weather, so 
 that the fifth day of September of said year, we 
 
 [385]
 
 trbe lEast 5i^e of tbe IRance 
 
 arrived at the port of St. Malo from which we had 
 sailed." 
 
 C artier was empowered to conduct a second 
 expedition, and this time three vessels were put 
 at his service, la Grande Hermine, la Petite Her- 
 mine, and the galley Emerillon, of 120, 60, and 
 40 tons respectively. On the Sunday of Pente- 
 cost, May sixteenth, 1535, the members of the 
 expedition confessed and received the sacrement, 
 and the following Wednesday, taking advantage 
 of favourable winds, the vessels set sail. Bad 
 weather, however, dispersed the small fleet and 
 the ships could not effect a meeting until the 
 twenty-sixth of July in the bay of Chateaux, 
 the place of rendezvous on the opposite shore of 
 the ocean. Here, having made repairs and re- 
 provisioned, Cartier resumed direction and the 
 fleet went down the St. Lawrence. On the first 
 of September the ships sailed into the mouth of 
 the Saguenay, but did not ascend the stream. 
 They went on to the site of the present Quebec 
 and there anchored. 
 
 The Indian chief came to meet the Frenchmen, 
 overjoyed to receive again his sons who had by 
 this time learned French well enough to act as 
 useful interpreters in the dealings with their 
 father, Domacona. 
 
 Cartier left the two larger vessels and sailed 
 on in the Emerillon, September sixteenth, accom- 
 panied by two small boats. At lake St. Pierre 
 
 [386 1
 
 Ube iBast Si&e ot tbe IRance 
 
 the ship by mistake was headed into the north 
 channel instead of the south, and the bar pre- 
 vented its passage, but the small boats were then 
 provisioned, and with four of his masters and 
 twenty-eight men the voyage went on. They 
 reached the site of Montreal the second of Oc- 
 tober and were well received by the natives, then 
 turning about they regained the abandoned 
 Emerillon and returned to the harbour from 
 which they had set out, Ste. Croix, on the eleventh 
 where Jacques made preparations to winter. As 
 he himself tells: "From the middle of November 
 till the 18th of April we were continuously shut 
 in by ice of the thickness of two brasses, and upon 
 the earth lay four feet and more of snow, it 
 was higher than the decks of our ships, and this 
 lasted the said time, so that the drinkables were 
 all frozen in their casks within the ships. At 
 this time there died twenty -five of the principal 
 and good companions that we had, who died 
 of the above mentioned malady, and at the 
 same time were more than forty who did 
 not expect to live, and above all sick none 
 were exempt except three or four. But God 
 by his holy grace regarded us with pity and 
 sent us knowledge of a remedy for our cure and 
 health." 
 
 In December, hearing that a pest was decima- 
 ting the savage tribes, Cartier forbade the natives 
 to come abroad the vessels, but the measure 
 
 [387]
 
 XTbe jEast Si&e of tbe IRance 
 
 was taken too late since some of the Europeans 
 had been already attacked by the disease. 
 
 One day, as Jacques, desolated at the calamity 
 that had befallen his crew, walked on the ice 
 before the fort, he spied Domagaya, whom 
 shortly before he had seen at the point of death. 
 The chief was apparently well and the captain 
 asked him the means of his cure. The Indian 
 said that he had used the juice of the leaves 
 and bark of a certain tree, and calling two women 
 he sent them with Cartier to find the tree. Hav- 
 ing gathered a store of leaves and bark, the 
 women taught him how to prepare the decoction, 
 which soon produced a marked improvement 
 in the invalids. It was at this time that the 
 Petite Hermine was sunk. 
 
 Navigation opened the third of May and the 
 Frenchmen prepared to return home, but before 
 getting under way they secured by stratagem 
 the chief and his two sons that they might pre- 
 sent to the king specimens in the flesh of the 
 strange people they had found. By the sixth 
 they were off and July sixteenth, 1536, were 
 once more riding in the harbour of St. Malo. 
 
 King Francis sent the sailor on a third cruise. 
 The stolen Indians had died, and when Cartier 
 took this sad news to the chief jpro tern., the Indian 
 was so delighted that he crowned him. Cartier's 
 own account stops short in the midst of this 
 third expedition, but we know that failing to 
 
 [388]
 
 TLbc East Si^e of tbe IRance 
 
 receive promised provisions, and having too few 
 men to stand against savage attack, he came 
 home. He then endeavoured to persuade Rober- 
 val to accompany him, but faiKng to induce him 
 to go, Cartier himself gave up his plan of further 
 exploration and never again set sail. In the 
 winter he lived in St. Malo, but in the summer he 
 retired to a pretty country house which he built 
 at the village of Limoilou, still called les Fortes 
 Cartier. The navigator died in his sixtieth year. 
 
 In the immediate vicinity of St. Servan, the 
 hospital and the adjacent cemetery of La Rosais 
 afford a superb view of the bay and the opposite 
 coast, but the most interesting spot nearby is 
 the village church of St. Jouan de Guerets, 
 where the fishermen go to be blessed before their 
 departure for Newfoundland. The church itself 
 is uninteresting, but it contains a celebrated 
 shrine of the Madonna before which annually 
 special service for the departing fleet is held. 
 The men, headed by the good old cure, march 
 bareheaded, barefooted, and with crossed arms, 
 four miles to the shrine and back. No more 
 affecting sight can be imagined than this pro- 
 cession of weather-beaten toilers, all clad in white, 
 all weighed down with the shadow of coming 
 parting and dangers, all hoping for the favour of 
 the Virgin. The roads leading to the shrine are 
 rimmed with the yellow of gorse in full spring 
 
 [389]
 
 XTbe East Sit)e of tbe IRance 
 
 bloom; it always blooms but in spring makes 
 the hedgerows one long flame and throws a 
 sunny glory over the country. When gorse is 
 out of bloom, then kissing is out of favour, goes 
 the old saying. 
 
 The rocks of the coast tempt to feats of daring. 
 From afar the way is a route across rounded 
 masses of velvet sea-weed. In fact it is a peril- 
 ous track of deep clefts, huge masses, and slimy 
 pitfalls. Few rocks are large enough to admit 
 of three free paces, and most but offer security 
 for one foot. The problem of the expedition is 
 how to advance in safety when retreat is a mani- 
 fest impossibility. So long as the tide runs out 
 the solution of the matter is accompanied by 
 interest and exhilaration, provided no serious 
 slips or bruises complicate it. 
 
 It is comparatively easy to round the first 
 thrust of granite towards St. Enogat and find 
 the snug, rock-bound beach appertaining to the 
 Malouine where numerous staircases leading to 
 gardens above offer delusive promise of escape 
 in case the tide surprises the visitor. Shells and 
 anemones line the semicircular walls of this cosy 
 nest and beguile the time. The walk across 
 these sands consists of pulling one foot free from 
 yielding, sticky quicksand of which it is largely 
 composed while the effort drives the other foot 
 ankle deep. This exercise acts on the imagina- 
 tion rather unpleasantly and soon becomes 
 
 [390]
 
 XLbc Bast Si5e ot tbe IRance 
 
 tedious. Then it is, that the inviting iron gates 
 before the staircases reveal their guile, for they 
 are one and all locked fast except for the few 
 summer weeks of the social season. The duties 
 of care-takers in charge do not include respon- 
 sibility for human jetsam. Robinson Crusoe 
 could not have been more lonely than a wanderer 
 across the sands of the Malouine caught by the 
 tide of early spring. Rocks, trees, sky, and sea 
 are there to command, but no responsive creature 
 human or other. To jump from a weedy height 
 and land on sand is far easier than to reverse the 
 process, but on this side or that reversal is the 
 only feasible mode of exit, swimming excepted. 
 Across the forward path stretches a ridge even 
 higher and longer than that just crossed, and 
 nothing betrays the exact nature of the opposite 
 slope to one unfamiliar with the shore, which 
 was our case in a first venture. The pleasant 
 tales of the Mt. St. Michel maid sprang to mind 
 with diabolic vividness. Each made an involun- 
 tary calculation of the length of time it would 
 take the tide to reach high-water mark and of 
 how long it would be before we should be missed. 
 Pictures of about everything that might happen 
 if we should come to grief here preceded the 
 attack upon the granite dyke which, piercing 
 the sea ahead, cut off the view of the immediate 
 future. Fate, moist and untimely, appeared to 
 be in the ascendant, since these rocks presented 
 
 [391]
 
 Zbc iSast Si^e ot tbe IRance 
 
 all the difficulties of the ridge just passed with a 
 feature or two of their own by way of augment- 
 ing the uncertainty. The rifts were deeper and 
 wilder, necessitating perilous detours and trying 
 scrambles where lower attainable surfaces were 
 bathed in a smooth slime fitted to shoot the 
 clamberer far into the wave with scant ceremony 
 and no warning. The pilgrim's progress here 
 became more than pleasurably agitating for the 
 water now no longer dead and still began to 
 ripple against the sea wall with the clear cut 
 swish that betrayed the turned tide. High- 
 water mark lined itself clearly between black 
 and grey fully twenty feet above the most ele- 
 vated portion of the cup-like beach and a proba- 
 bility of spending a night or more perched upon 
 some friendly crag, if such could be attained, 
 with no entertainment beyond a close observa- 
 tion of the rushing, roaring waters which a storm 
 might easily whip to a fury great enough to 
 sweep away unwelcome guests, was by no means 
 reassuring. The only way of solving the prob- 
 lem presented by the formidable thrust of rock 
 was to press on, though whether the pressure 
 would result in a firm foothold on sand or a still 
 more venturesome exploration of the sea no sign 
 showed. It was clearly impossible to deliberate 
 and a forging ahead was imperative, accom- 
 panied by the exasperating consciousness that 
 by one or two well directed questions at the out- 
 
 [392]
 
 Zbc lEast Si^e of tbe IRance 
 
 set the uncomfortable stress of the situation 
 might easily have been avoided. The beautiful 
 anemones and shells that until now had made 
 the road a delight quite lost their charm, but 
 two unusually great clefts running deep and high 
 into the bluffs where fishermen had drawn their 
 boats beyond the reach of the waves presented 
 attractions that compensated for the loss since 
 as a lodging place for the night a dry boat is an 
 improvement on a crag. The clefts themselves 
 viewed objectively were interesting. They were 
 obsidian veins through which the wash of waters 
 had worn away the more readily decomposed 
 elements leaving huge rounded boulders, black 
 and polished, tumbled throughout their length, 
 about which the waves foamed and surged 
 angrily. These fierce rushes of water which 
 reached higher and higher forbade any lingering 
 among the great round glass balls that filled the 
 gullied rift, it occupied time enough to climb 
 down and work around the smallest of them, 
 and even that was accomplished at the expense 
 of some wading. Just as the sum of these hasard- 
 ous exertions bade fair to lead to an advanta- 
 geous peak, from which to combine in fact a 
 number of harrowing scenes culled from a wide 
 experience in fiction, a glint of sand at one side 
 shot across the general gloom of the outlook, 
 and a last desperate struggle brought into view 
 the fair smooth St. Enogat strand, to be attained 
 
 [393]
 
 JLbc iBast Sit)e of tbe IRancc 
 
 by a heroic disregard of pools, weeds, and play- 
 ful shoots of brine. 
 
 To a man the expedition would probably be 
 child's play, but it behooves a woman to take 
 counsel before making fool-hardy experiments 
 upon unknown coasts. 
 
 [394]
 
 XXVII. GOOD-BYE BRITTANY 
 
 SPRING comes and with it our dismissal in 
 the interest of a fresh relay of foreigners 
 who will make themselves comfortable in 
 the places that will know us no more; will adopt 
 our ancestors; will make love to dear Yvonne; 
 and, bitter thought, will receive the cherished 
 courtesies of our proprietors bestowed with all the 
 kindliness we have been deceived into believing 
 meant for us alone. Furthermore, just as our 
 garden is taking its annual start in the direction 
 of floral extravagance. The lilacs are mauve 
 globes held aloft, the dark columns of gigantic 
 box are delicately coated with lighter tints, and 
 most of the fruit trees, after flinging petals and 
 odours to every breeze, now show tiny knobs to 
 once more delude us with promise of luscious 
 oft'erings if we will only stay. The whole earth 
 seems instinct with a wild desire to sprout into 
 any and every sort of green thing, and the steady 
 soak of the rain has given place to brightness. 
 Had the summons home only arrived during 
 the chilling storms of winter, we should have filed 
 out contentedly, and let our successors worry 
 with the big stove in the hall. That incongruous 
 
 [395]
 
 (Boo&*Bv?e Brittanp 
 
 piece of furniture won its way by patient well- 
 doing, for it was the only thing that met and 
 conquered the clammy moisture that bathed the 
 flagged floor and beaded the walls. The roaring 
 fire of the stove permitted us to take a certain 
 pleasure in the artistic bonfires kept up with 
 virtuous intention in the depths of each deep 
 yawning chimney place, which may have added 
 to the comfort of the swallows not located too 
 high in the flue. There were times when even 
 the stove barely routed the raw chill of the at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 The pitiful size of the average European fire 
 makes one wonder how so great an amount of 
 sentiment can cling about the abortive expedient. 
 Even the process of starting a blaze in the ineffect- 
 ive agent is so needlessly elaborate, that it is 
 often far easier to swathe oneself in a blanket 
 for warmth than to try to get a fire. The French 
 honne, at least of the Breton variety, has not the 
 inarticulate docility of the trained English 
 domestic. With shrugs and exclamations she 
 gives her views at length before she makes a 
 move in any given direction of obedience. Hav- 
 ing conquered thus far, you rest on your oars, 
 for victory is now on your side and you may 
 await developements. First, comes a tangle of 
 stiffest, most unmanageable twigs, which must 
 be coaxed to fit between the andirons beyond 
 any fear of giving an unexpected spring, for 
 
 [396]
 
 (5ooC>*3Bpe Brittany 
 
 that castastrophe often arrives with so generous 
 a scattering of the ashes below that the whole 
 fire business is postponed for a general cleaning 
 up. Before the well settled twigs there is leaned 
 on edge a little wheel of tarred or resined kindling 
 wood. All this is satisfactory, but when over 
 this careful preparatory pile two short, and not 
 very thick sticks of wood are laid, to represent 
 the material basis of warmth to follow, and the 
 generous black cavity above yearns to embrace 
 both heat and smoke, frequentlj^ making a poor 
 business with the latter, faith is lost in sight. 
 Here is where the stove scores its triumph, if it 
 does not heap coals upon our heads, it at least 
 collects enough near our toes to keep them from 
 freezing. 
 
 Still, this is ungrateful reminiscence. We are 
 genuinely sorry to leave the not entirely con- 
 venient house, where doors, windows, and all 
 things movable do more banging in a given 
 amount of wind than any ever hung before or 
 since. Personally I am inclined to join forces 
 with the tearful domestics, whose grief at the 
 prospect of never seeing us again is in a continual 
 state of overflow, but a good cry is a form of 
 enjoyment which the bright sunlight and joyous 
 spring weather would only aggravate. But, go 
 we must, and that speedily, so the house agent 
 has been doing his best to soften the pangs of 
 parting, by discovering unsuspected breaks and 
 
 [397]
 
 bruises, upon which to erect a fabric of supple- 
 mentary charges extensive enough to make us 
 wish to run away. He further insists that the 
 furniture must stand in the precise spot it oc- 
 cupied ten months ago when we first made its 
 acquaintance, a tax upon the memory of the 
 party which threatens to wreck us entirely. 
 Faithful old Yvonne comes to the rescue with 
 her knowledge of the usual unchangeable French 
 arrangement that has obtained since her child- 
 hood, and lords it over the pulling, hauling gentry 
 put under her rule with unquestioned authority 
 and a beaming satisfaction at getting her world 
 once more settled as it ought to be after almost 
 a year of agitating confusion. 
 
 Fortunately we made our promised call upon 
 Yvonne in her own cottage last week. All the 
 year we had been meaning to do it, but it finally 
 became one of our duties crowded into the last 
 busy weeks. The shock-headed niece, who may 
 have her virtues, but seems to be a lazy girl, 
 imposing upon her good aunt, was reclining on 
 a couch beneath the window as we entered, but 
 rose to a sitting posture and drew upon her lap 
 her greatest pride, a cheap hat decked with 
 flowers. Good Yvonne set chairs for us before 
 the hearth, gave the earth floor a brush in their 
 vicinity, and made us right welcome. In bed 
 at the opposite side of the cabin lay her old hus- 
 band crippled with rheumatism, patient and un- 
 
 [398]
 
 6oot>*Bpc Brittany 
 
 complaining. The worthy man has served as 
 model for our artists, his white locks and fine 
 face something superior. Now% alas his days 
 appear to be numbered. The visit went off well, 
 but when, afterwards, Yvonne took us into the 
 bit of garden given to her by the proprietors, 
 we came near severing relations at the last min- 
 ute. In her goodness of heart the kind friend 
 simply mowed down her flowers for our benefit 
 till we hurriedly begged her not to rob herself. 
 The roh was the rock on which friendship came 
 near splitting. We saw her soft wrinkled cheek 
 redden and a childish tear moisten her gentle 
 eye, for voler cannot be made to sound well to 
 peasant ears. The rest of the visit was spent in 
 explaining away the misapprehension. 
 
 That we have no illuminating ideas to promul- 
 gate anent the best method of keeping house in 
 a chateau is entirely due to the exceeding eflS- 
 ciency of Yvonne, from which may be deduced 
 the conclusion that in hiring chateaux an ap- 
 pended retainer is desirable. 
 
 As for the house, since our superfluities have 
 been boxed or jacketed in burlaps, the true 
 Breton rigour of arrangement which had faded 
 from our minds, makes it unhomelike. The 
 cold simplicity tends to mitigate the sorrow of 
 parting, but when we look upon dear Yvonne 
 and know that we shall never see her again, then 
 we realise that this is a farewell like none other. 
 
 [399]
 
 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abbas Pashaw 193 
 
 Abbe of Landevnec 225 
 
 of Primelin 221 
 
 St. Gwenole 225 
 
 Abbess of Fontenelles 275 
 
 Abbey of Landevnec 95 
 
 Mt. St. Michel 305-313 
 
 Redon 105 
 
 Abelard 150,328 
 
 A certain Budic 102 
 
 Admiral 378,384 
 
 Admiral, title of 135 
 
 Aetius 96 
 
 Agincourt 133 
 
 Ahes (Dahut) 224 
 
 Alain I, Judual 99 
 
 II 101 
 
 III, Count of Vannes. . . 109, 110 
 
 IV, Twisted-beard 110, 111 
 
 VofRennes 149, 150 
 
 Caignart, Count of Cornwall 150 
 
 Fergent 150 
 
 Poree 380,381 
 
 Albert le Grand 222 
 
 Albion 18, 92,93 
 
 Aleth (St. Servan)..47, 130, 131 
 
 Alethian bishops 130 
 
 Algiers, Dey of 375 
 
 Alix of Brittany 152 
 
 Alleys 184, 185 
 
 legend of 186 
 
 theories relating to 186 
 
 American arch 82, 83 
 
 American women 53 
 
 Amusements 368 
 
 Ancestors 36,44,89 
 
 Ancient castle, Lehon 371 
 
 houses, Auray 181 
 
 tiles, Camore 203 
 
 Angelus 17 
 
 Angers 107 
 
 Anglo-Batavian fleet 335 
 
 Anjou, Duke of 295 
 
 Anne of Beaujeu 162 
 
 Anne of Brittany, 47, 49, 51, 
 
 52, 124, 128, 157, 162. 163. 
 
 237 255-259 
 
 A noble beating 160 
 
 Antiquities, Dinard 45 
 
 Apple orchards 18 
 
 Aquitaine 94 
 
 Archbishop of Rennes 352 
 
 Archbishop of Tours 105 
 
 Architect, Breton 23, 61 
 
 Architecture, domestic 56 
 
 Armorica 19,223 
 
 Armorican shores 97 
 
 Arrangement of fishing boats 363 
 
 Arrival at Chateau 21 
 
 at Quimperle 191 
 
 of Northmen 103 
 
 Art 66,259 
 
 Arthur of England 149, 152 
 
 helps Hoel 97 
 
 II 154 
 
 III 161 
 
 Assassination of Pasquiten. . 109 
 
 Atilla 95 
 
 Atlantic shore 165, 340 
 
 Attack of Northmen 106 
 
 on Franks 98 
 
 Vigo 335 
 
 Audierne 221,229 
 
 Audren 95, 96 
 
 Auray 157, 168. 170-181. 188 
 
 fair at 173. 174 
 
 hotel 171 
 
 kitchen 173 
 
 lodgings 171 
 
 market-house 181 
 
 parish church 181 
 
 roofs 172 
 
 Avaricum 94 
 
 Avranches 107, 139, 309 
 
 Aw sound in names 75 
 
 Azores 345 
 
 Baal cult 166 
 
 Bahon 278 
 
 Bale des Chaleurs 384 
 
 [401]
 
 IFnDei 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bate des Tripasses 230 
 
 Ballads 95 
 
 Ballon 105 
 
 Baptism of Duguay-Trouin . . 329 
 
 Bard 95 
 
 Bards 230 
 
 Bastille 80,81 
 
 Bathing beach, Dinard 48 
 
 Battle of Auray 157, 294 
 
 Conquerenx Ill 
 
 Hastings 150 
 
 Bay of Douarninez 229 
 
 Rio Janeiro 341 
 
 St. Malo 376 
 
 Bayeux tapestry 149 
 
 Beach, Dinard 81 
 
 Malouine 390 
 
 Parame... 123,147,148 
 
 Beaudouin, Guillemette 383 
 
 Beaumanoir, 27, 30, 44, 66, 71, 
 83,86,91,144,316, 318. .. . 319 
 
 apricot 65 
 
 chapel 369 
 
 family 261 
 
 gateway 260 
 
 tombs 257 
 
 Becherel, siege of 294 
 
 Belen 314 
 
 Belenus 190 
 
 Belfrey, St. Bernard 211 
 
 Bell-rope 22, 65 
 
 Bell ringing 80 
 
 Bells, dinner, door 65 
 
 Benoit 130, 131 
 
 Bertha 151 
 
 Bertrand (see Du Guesclin) 
 
 Bey, Grand, Little 41, 123 
 
 Biblical idolatries 190 
 
 Bishop 176 
 
 of Aleth 147 
 
 Boiirges 95 
 
 Dol 372 
 
 Helocar 116,131 
 
 Malaga 330 
 
 Nantes 105, 111 
 
 St. Malo 137, 139 
 
 Tours 95 
 
 Bishop's garden 226 
 
 house, St. Malo 125 
 
 palace, Quimper 226 
 
 vassals 132 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bishops deposed 104 
 
 Bishops of Nantes Ill 
 
 Bishoprics of Brittany Aleth . 104 
 
 Dol 98, 104 
 
 Lehon 104 
 
 Nantes 104 
 
 Quimper 104 
 
 Rennes 104 
 
 St. Brieuc 104 
 
 Treguier 104 
 
 Vannes 104 
 
 Blackberry 69 
 
 Black insect 249 
 
 mountains 231 
 
 Prince 47 
 
 Blancs Sablons 385 
 
 Blois 164, 294 
 
 Blois, House of 132 
 
 Blue Beard 16, 99, 202 
 
 Blue Beard's castle 199, 202 
 
 Bobinette 63, 64 
 
 Bocenno 174, 177 
 
 Bombardment of Rio Janeiro 
 
 342-344 
 
 Bordeaux 132 
 
 Botrel (poet) 95 
 
 Boulevard, Dinard 45 
 
 Boulevard, St. Servan 144 
 
 Boundary between Normandy 
 
 and Brittany 309 
 
 Brasseries 20 
 
 Breakfast 89,207 
 
 Brest, 236, 278, 292, 335, 338, 
 
 339,341, 345, 347 348 
 
 Bretagne 97 
 
 Breton, the. .96, 240, 277, 280, 281 
 
 Breton baby 321 
 
 beds 26,37,38 
 
 butter 208 
 
 cattle 180 
 
 churches 76 
 
 cider 70 
 
 coast 348 
 
 costume 177 
 
 cottage 74, 195 
 
 crucifix 75 
 
 decoration 246, 321 
 
 dukes 154 
 
 fleet 380 
 
 fortress 324 
 
 furniture 74, 196, 321 
 
 [402]
 
 •ffubei 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Breton groups of stone remains 165 
 
 holiday 248 
 
 home 29 
 
 inn 167 
 
 interiors . .65, 73, 195, 207, 321 
 
 knight 284 
 
 landscape 191 
 
 language 197, 239 
 
 linen 206 
 
 meal, a 168, 194 
 
 nobles 156 
 
 noblesse 319 
 
 peasant 75, 325 
 
 priests 196 
 
 princes 94 
 
 race 93 
 
 sheets 206 
 
 squire 280 
 
 succession 154 
 
 syllables 240 
 
 villages 71-73 
 
 Bretonne 196 
 
 Bretons, the, 13, 50, 51, 71,96, 
 97, 99, 102, 103, 110, 132, 
 133, 134, 137, 152, 155, 157, 
 158, 162, 166, 244, 254, 277, 328 
 Bridal outfit, Pont TAbbe. ... 219 
 
 Brilliant, the 343 
 
 British Isles 165 
 
 Brittany, 7, 14, 15, 17, 19, 21, 
 28, 30, 49, 57, 69, 75, 82, 83, 
 94, 98, 99, 100, 102, 105, 
 110, 111, 119, 130, 133, 149, 
 150, 152, 153, 155, 158, 161, 
 164, 166, 184, 190, 194, 197, 
 199, 216, 219, 220, 221, 229, 
 232, 249, 253, 272, 277, 292, 
 293, 309, 329, 332, 340, 359, 
 
 372 385 
 
 Brittany a republic 102 
 
 history of 94 
 
 Britons 97, 301 
 
 Brocs 208 
 
 Browning's lines 189 
 
 Budic 96,97, 101 
 
 Budic, a certain 102 
 
 Burgundy 155, 161 
 
 Burning of La Hunaudaye . . . 327 
 
 Caen 331 
 
 Calraire 75, 76 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Calvaire, Auray 181 
 
 Gimiliau 243 
 
 Plougastel-Daoulas 232 
 
 St. Pol 247 
 
 Calvin 52 
 
 Canada 135, 385 
 
 Cannobert, Count of Nantes 99 
 Canole, Robert 
 
 281, 286, 287, 290, 291 
 
 Cap de Frehel 123 
 
 Cap laundry 357 
 
 Capture of Oliver du Guesclin 279 
 
 Captured prince 192, 239 
 
 Cardinal Bishop of St. Malo . . 134 
 
 Cardinal Fleury 348-349 
 
 Carentec 240-242 
 
 Carhaix 294 
 
 Carnac 164, 167, 182-188 
 
 Camoet ferry 202 
 
 Carrier family 382 
 
 Jacques 136, 328, 381-389 
 
 Jehan 383 
 
 Carvings, St. Fiacre 205 
 
 Casino, Dinard 90 
 
 Castle, Pontivy 169 
 
 Castles, Schloss, ChMeau .... 22 
 
 Catherine de Medicis 137 
 
 Cathedral, Chartres 17 
 
 Dol 104, 301 
 
 Quimper 221 
 
 St. Malo 118-120, 127 
 
 St. Pol de Leon 240 
 
 St. Sanson 301 
 
 Causeway, St. Malo-St. Ser- 
 
 van 122 
 
 Cave of St. Aaron 115 
 
 Celebration, July 14th 80 
 
 Celtic language 164 
 
 Celtic speech 197, 239 
 
 Celts 97,165. 166 
 
 Ceremonies, St. Servan . . . 252-254 
 
 Cession of Rennes 106 
 
 Chabot, Philippe 384 
 
 Chandos, John of 
 
 281-283, 287, 294, 295 
 
 Chapel, Adieux 245 
 
 Beaumanoirs 369 
 
 Lehon 371 
 
 St. Aaron 124 
 
 St. Bernard 211 
 
 St. Eloi 232 
 
 [403]
 
 1In&ex 
 
 Chapel, St. Ninian 245 
 
 Charity bazaar 8-11 
 
 Charlemagne 102 
 
 Charles of France 
 
 106, 107, 109, 110 
 Valois 153 
 
 V, France 133, 157, 158, 255, 296 
 
 VI, France 133, 159 
 
 VII, France 134, 159, 161 
 
 VIII, France 51, 162 
 
 IX, France 137 
 
 the Bald 105 
 
 the Simple 110 
 
 claims Brittany 109 
 
 Charters granted 150 
 
 Chartres 18 
 
 Chateau 30 
 
 Anne of Brittany 258 
 
 La Joyeuse Garde 233 
 
 Our 22 
 
 St. Malo 117, 124 
 
 Taureau 241 
 
 Chateaubriand 
 
 41, 127, 129, 139, 265, 266, 328 
 
 Chataulin 232 
 
 Chateauneuf -de-Randan 295 
 
 Chateaux, bay 386 
 
 Chatelet 81 
 
 Chatillon, Charles, Count of 
 Blois, 154, 157, 158, 276, 
 
 278, 292-294 
 
 Chauseys 41, 44, 123 
 
 Cherbourg 3 
 
 Childish combats of Du Gres- 
 
 chin 269 
 
 Children 188, 243 
 
 Chilperic's defeat 99 
 
 Christmas 359 
 
 Chronicle French 267 
 
 Church, Carmelites 154 
 
 Creisker 245 
 
 Croaz-Baz 244 
 
 Gimiliau 243 
 
 Guingamp 250 
 
 Jacobins 254, 255 
 
 Lampaul 243 
 
 Mt. St. Michel 305 
 
 Notre Dame de Folgoet . . . 233 
 
 St. Aaron 119 
 
 Ste. Barbe 209, 210, 212 
 
 St. Corneille 185 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Church, Ste. Croix 198 
 
 St. Fiacre 204-206, 243 
 
 St. Jouan des Guerets 389 
 
 St. Michael 198 
 
 Ste. Nonna 221 
 
 St. Malo, Dinan 255 
 
 St. Sauveur 250, 253 
 
 St. Thegonnec 243 
 
 St. Thomas of Canterbury . 232 
 
 St. Tuglan 221 
 
 St. Turiaff (Tivisiau) 234 
 
 Church records 383 
 
 Churches 76 
 
 Churches, Pont 1' Abbe 219 
 
 Cider 18,70,209,301 
 
 Classes on ferry-boats 113 
 
 Claude of Brittany 51 
 
 Clement Marot 52 
 
 Clement, Pope 153 
 
 Clisson, Oliver de 328 
 
 Clock-tower, Dinan 255 
 
 Cloister, Lehon 369 
 
 Cloister, Mt. St. Michel. .308, 310 
 
 Clotaire 98, 99 
 
 Clovis 97 
 
 Cluny, Museum 203 
 
 Coast of Brittany 332 
 
 Coast, French 77 
 
 Coats of arms 83, 84 
 
 Cod-6sh 90 
 
 Coffee, Breton style 179 
 
 Coif of peasant 357 
 
 Combat in the square, Dinan 
 
 283-292 
 
 Combourg 18, 264, 265 
 
 Commandant of Brest 338 
 
 Commander in Chief 268 
 
 Comor, Blue Beard 99 
 
 Comor crest 203 
 
 Conan 93-96, 103 
 
 of Rennes Ill, 112 
 
 Ilof Rennes 149-151 
 
 III of Rennes 150 
 
 IV, Duke of Brittany 151 
 
 Conan's line 94 
 
 Concameau fishing boats. . . . 240 
 
 Concorde of Flushing 332 
 
 Condan 372 
 
 Condates 28 
 
 Condivdc 28 
 
 Conquereux, battle Ill 
 
 404
 
 1[n^eI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Consecration of St. Anne 
 
 d'Auray 178 
 
 Conspiracy against Conan IV. 151 
 Constable du Guesclin . . 297, 300 
 
 of St. Malo 383 
 
 Constance of Brittany .... 150, 152 
 
 Convent 66 
 
 Convent, Quimperle 199 
 
 Cook's tourists 11 
 
 Corisopitium 222 
 
 Cornouaille 99, 102 
 
 Cornwall 28 
 
 Corseuil 371 
 
 Costume 226 
 
 Costume, Pont 1' Abbe 219 
 
 Cotentin 107 
 
 C6tes-du-Nord 357 
 
 Cottage, Ste. Barbe 213 
 
 Couesquen (Coetquen) 332 
 
 Couessant, brook 324 
 
 Council for India 348 
 
 Count Camore 202 
 
 of Cornouaille (Cornwall) . . 95 
 
 de la Garaye 262, 263 
 
 of Leon 99 
 
 Longueville 268 
 
 Nantes 99 
 
 Rennes 149 
 
 Toulouse 340 
 
 Vannes 99 
 
 Countess of Hainault 275 
 
 Countess of Richemont 151 
 
 Country Doctor, Balzac 35 1 
 
 priest 351 
 
 walks 147 
 
 Court-house, St. Servan 144 
 
 Court of France 101 
 
 Cromlechs 184 
 
 Cross of St. Louis 379 
 
 Cross-roads 69 
 
 Crusaders 150 
 
 Crusades 153 
 
 Cunat, Charies 139 
 
 Cure, St. Servan 151, 389 
 
 Dagobert 100, 101 
 
 Dahut (Ahes) 224-226 
 
 Dame du Guesclin 272, 274 
 
 Dandenne, M 335 
 
 Danes 109 
 
 Daniel 102 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Daniel I (bishop) 130 
 
 Danish-Norman theory 160 
 
 Danycan, the 332 
 
 Dated houses 27, 178 
 
 Daughter of Erispoe 106, 109 
 
 Death of Duguay-Trouin . . . . 350 
 
 Du Guesclin 296-299 
 
 Gilles 159 
 
 Gurven 109 
 
 John II 153 
 
 John IV 158, 276 
 
 peddler woman 356 
 
 Salomon 108 
 
 Defeat of French at Vilaine . . 105 
 
 Lancaster 133 
 
 William at Dol 301 
 
 Descent of English, St. Malo 133 
 
 Desclouzeaux, M 335, 336 
 
 Destitution, a case of 360 
 
 Destruction of the Bastille. . . 81 
 
 De\41 247, 279, 326, 327 
 
 Dey of Algiers 375 
 
 Diaorig 28 
 
 Didier, M 378 
 
 Diligente, the 334 
 
 Dinan, 17, 18, 114, 137, 139, 
 149, 151, 159, 184, 236, 240, 
 250-263, 267, 278, 280, 281, 
 283-285, 290-292, 300, 301, 
 
 360, 367 369 
 
 Dinan fair 365-369 
 
 Dinard, 15, 18, 29, 42, 44-47, 
 53, 55, 5Q, 74,78-81, 84, 86, 
 90, 113-116, 122, 142, 144, 
 
 164, 168,234,317 322 
 
 Dinard-St. Enogat station. . . 19 
 
 Dining coach 5 
 
 Dining-room 37 
 
 Dinner-bell 65 
 
 Displacement of races 96 
 
 Dol, 111, 134, 138, 150, 184, 
 
 301 367 
 
 Dolmens, Camac 183, 184 
 
 Domacona 386 
 
 Domagaya 385, 388 
 
 Domestic animals 63 
 
 Domnonee 96 
 
 Don Antonio d'Albuquerque . 344 
 Francisco de Castro-Morais 344 
 
 Gaspard d'Acosta 344 
 
 Donkey 70 
 
 405
 
 1fn&er 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Donkey cart 70, 374 
 
 Donjon of Chateau 128 
 
 Door-bell 22,65 
 
 Doorway, St. Malo 126 
 
 Drive to Carnac 182 
 
 Druidical remains 184 
 
 Druidical rites 166 
 
 Druidism 147, 166, 222 
 
 Druids 190, 229, 314, 371 
 
 Duchess of Brittany . 135, 151, 256 
 Duchess Renee of Ferrara .... 52 
 
 Du Gue 329 
 
 Duguay-Trouin, Rene 
 
 125-127, 328-349 
 
 victories of 339 
 
 Du Guesclin, Bertrand 268- 
 
 300 328 
 
 Oliver . . .268, 278-280, 282-291 
 
 William 268 
 
 enters the service of John of 
 
 Brittany 275 
 
 enters the service of the 
 
 king of France 293 
 
 Du Guesclin's childish com- 
 bats 269 
 
 Duke of Brittany 
 
 134, 135, 139, 149, 161 
 
 Guise 380 
 
 of Richemont 151 
 
 Duke John of Brittany . . . 274, 275 
 
 Dukes of Brittany 255 
 
 Dupont, Jehanne 329 
 
 Dutch 377 
 
 Du Val 140 
 
 Eari of Salisbury 133 
 
 Earliest inhabitants of Brit- 
 tany 28 
 
 Education of Duguay-Trouin . 331 
 Edward of England . . 274, 275, 277 
 
 III 155, 259 
 
 IV 135 
 
 Emerillon, the 386, 387 
 
 "Endless Valley" 229 
 
 England 
 
 97, 101. 110. 132. 155. 292, 293 
 English, the, 59. 132-135, 151, 
 157, 284, 285, 287, 289, 
 292, 293, 296, 298, 299, 
 322, 371. 377, 379, 380, 381 
 colony 79 
 
 PAGE 
 
 English, chapel 53 
 
 descent on Lorient 263 
 
 fleet 332,333 
 
 gardens, Dinan 252 
 
 knight 288.289 
 
 English Merchantmen 135 
 
 shipping 137 
 
 vessels attacked 334 
 
 war ships 334 
 
 Englishman 279, 280. 288, 289, 290 
 Entertainment for king, St. 
 
 Malo 137 
 
 Erech 96 
 
 Erispoe 106, 152 
 
 Eudes 149-151 
 
 European fire 396 
 
 European man 88 
 
 Evran 294 
 
 Exile of John de Montfort. . . 133 
 Expedition against Chartres. . 106 
 Expeditions of discovery 135 
 
 Fair, Dinan 365-369 
 
 Family, de Mun 212 
 
 Faouet 204, 206, 215 
 
 Farm cottages, Rosgrand. ... 195 
 
 Feast of Ascension 268 
 
 Ferry, Dinard-St. Malo. . . 317, 354 
 
 Ferry-boats 113 
 
 Fete de Dieu 137 
 
 Fig tree 245 
 
 Finisterre 228 
 
 Fireworks 81 
 
 First Lyonais 28 
 
 Fishing fleet, St. Malo 41 
 
 Fishing fleet, return of 322 
 
 Flax breaking 211 
 
 Forest of Broceliande 229 
 
 Forest of St. Aubin 324 
 
 Foulkes of Anjou Ill, 112 
 
 France, 17, 50. 75, 102, 136, 
 152, 153, 155, 158, 165, 
 166, 169, 180, 263, 268, 
 340, 344-346, 350, 356, 
 
 379 380 
 
 attempts to take Brittany 
 
 97, 99, 102, 109 
 Francis I of Brittany 
 
 50, 134, 135. 159, 160 
 
 I of France 51 
 
 II of Brittany 50, 161 
 
 406
 
 •ffn^er 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Francis II of France 244 
 
 Frangoise d' Amboise 160 
 
 de Dinan 159 
 
 de Laval 52 
 
 Franks, the 98, 105 
 
 French, 100, 102, 105, 132, 
 
 157, 196, 214, 344 345 
 
 admiral 384 
 
 batteries 343 
 
 bazaar 315 
 
 chateau 22,23 
 
 coast 77 
 
 colony, Dinard 55 
 
 commander 343 
 
 country fair 368 
 
 dukes of Brittany 94 
 
 graveyards 58 
 
 India Company 377, 378 
 
 market 241 
 
 French nobility 212 
 
 prisoners 344 
 
 quay 4 
 
 sermons 354 
 
 thrift 57 
 
 town 143 
 
 trains 5, 15, 18 
 
 travellers 179 
 
 Frenchmen 386, 388 
 
 Frigate Trinite 331 
 
 Garden, the 31, 316, 395 
 
 Garden, chapel, a 246 
 
 Gaspe 385 
 
 Gates of Dinan 251 
 
 Gaul 95 
 
 Gauls 97 
 
 Gaultier, sculptor 310 
 
 Geneva 52 
 
 Geoffrey de Montfort 46 
 
 of Brittany 149 
 
 Plantagenet 151 
 
 Germans 275 
 
 Gibraltar 169 
 
 Gignoneus, Bishop of Dol .... 265 
 
 Gilles of Brittany 159, 160 
 
 Goa 378 
 
 Governor General of the Isles 378 
 
 Governor of Brittany 103, 172 
 
 Gradlon, see Grallon 
 
 Grallon 95, 96. 223-226, 229 
 
 Grallon II 101 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Granches, Catharine des 383 
 
 Grangon, Thomas de 286 
 
 Grand (Great) Bey .. .41, 114, 265 
 Grande rue, Mt. St. Michel ... 304 
 
 Grande rue, Dinard 47 
 
 Gratian 92 
 
 Graveyard, St. Enogat 58 
 
 Great Britain 59 
 
 King, Meridec 93 
 
 men in the Church 98 
 
 Grenedan, the 332 
 
 Guardian, St. Barbe 211 
 
 Guerand, peace of . . . 157, 160, 162 
 Guerech, Bishop of Nantes. . . 112 
 
 Guildo, castle 159 
 
 Guingamp 151, 294 
 
 Gulf of St. Lawrence 384 
 
 Gurven, Count of Rennes 109, 152 
 
 Guy de Penthie\Te 154 
 
 Thouars 152 
 
 Pingon 253 
 
 Hamon III 130 
 
 Harbour, Morlaix 240 
 
 Harbour, St. Malo 332, 388 
 
 Hardouinaye, castle 159 
 
 Harvest of seaweed 374 
 
 Hastings 109 
 
 Hats 168,169 
 
 Helping off 6shers 361 
 
 Hennebon 155, 156, 187 
 
 Henri III armoire 36 
 
 Henry II of England 151 
 
 II of France 136 
 
 IV of France 138, 139 
 
 V of England 159 
 
 VII of England 52 
 
 VIII of England 136 
 
 d' Avagour 152 
 
 Tudor 162 
 
 Hercule, the 333 
 
 Hermine, la Grande 386 
 
 Petite 386-388 
 
 Hermitage of St. Idunet 232 
 
 Herve Kiel 376 
 
 High Constable of France, Du 
 
 Guesclin 295,306 
 
 High tide, Mt. St. Michel. ... 313 
 History of Brittany 94 
 
 Dinan 92 
 
 Monastery of Lehon . . .371-373 
 
 [407]
 
 1[n^er 
 
 Hoel I 
 
 II 
 
 Ill 
 
 IV 
 
 son of Conan 151 
 
 Holy Land .150,363 
 
 Hospital for incurables, Dinan 263 
 
 Hostages 345 
 
 Hotel, Quimperle 193, 194 
 
 Hotel de Ville, Dinan 257 
 
 Dinard 81 
 
 Morlaix 238 
 
 St. Malo 126 
 
 House of Anne of Brittany, 
 
 Morlaix 237 
 
 House of Duguay-Trouin .... 125 
 Housekeeper for cure, Lehon 369 
 
 Huge castle, Lehon 371 
 
 Huguenots 52 
 
 Huns 275 
 
 Ibraim Hassam 240 
 
 Iceland 165 
 
 Iceland fishery 361 
 
 He de Batz 245 
 
 France 379 
 
 Sein 229 
 
 Ille-et-Vilaine 374, 357 
 
 Importance of familiarity 
 with legends of the church 222 
 
 Indian chief 386 
 
 Indian remedy 388 
 
 Inn at Faouet 206 
 
 Insurrection of Bretons 102 
 
 Interregnum 110 
 
 Intoxication 71 
 
 Ireland 28,71.301 
 
 Irish language 197 
 
 Is 224,225,229 
 
 Isabel of Scotland 159 
 
 Isabelle of Brittany 50 
 
 Islands 77 
 
 Jacques Cartier, see Cartier 
 
 Jansart, Jeffeline 383 
 
 Jealousies 346, 379 
 
 Jean de Ch&tillon, Bishop of 
 
 Aleth 131 
 
 Jeanne de Belleville 157 
 
 France 159 
 
 Montfort 156 
 
 PAGE PAGE 
 
 97 Jeanne of Penthievre. . .154, 156 
 
 . 98 Jersey 41,44,123,372 
 
 . 100 Jerusalem 198 
 
 . Ill Jerzual gate 259 
 
 Jerzual, rue de 259 
 
 Jesuit 377 
 
 John of Brittany 49, 141 
 
 LleRoux 153 
 
 IL of Brittany 153 
 
 III, of Brittany 154, 155 
 
 IV of Brittany, the Con- 
 queror 157 
 
 of Brittany. . .134, 158, 159, 161 
 
 of France 292 
 
 de Monfort 154, 156-158 
 
 Josselin de Rohan, Canon of 
 
 St. Malo 294 
 
 Judicael 100, 101 
 
 Judicael, Count of Rennes, 109, 110 
 
 Judoc 101 
 
 JuUus Caesar 49 
 
 Keltic saints 190 
 
 Key made by Louis XVI 257 
 
 Key of St. Tugulan 221 
 
 King, the 295 
 
 Arthur 97,233 
 
 Arthur's knights 16, 233 
 
 Charles 268 
 
 Francis 388 
 
 of Brittany 93 
 
 of Cornwall 223 
 
 of England 297 
 
 of France . . 13, 94, 135, 293, 298 
 
 Kitchen at Faouet 207 
 
 Korrigan 176 
 
 La Cite 146, 147 
 
 La Crochais 318-322 
 
 La Esole 277 
 
 La Garaye 261-264 
 
 La Himaudaye 323 
 
 La Maison du Cheval Blanc . . 124 
 
 La Merveille 311 
 
 La Mote de Bron 268, 274 
 
 La Motte-Piquet 261 
 
 La Rochelle 34i 
 
 La Rosais 389 
 
 La Toigne 277 
 
 Labrador 384 
 
 Lamballe 32s 
 
 408
 
 1[n^ex 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lamennais 127, 139, 140 
 
 Lancaster, 133, 135, 259, 277, 
 278, 281, 284, 285, 287, 290-293 
 
 Lancelot 229 
 
 Landernau 232,236 
 
 Landing in France 3-5 
 
 Landivisiau 234 
 
 Lantbert 103 
 
 Latin heathenism 222 
 
 Laundry, Quimper 227 
 
 League, the .138, 139, 161 
 
 League for the Public Good. . 161 
 
 Legendary lore 12, 92 
 
 Legend of Creisker 246 
 
 Hennebon 187 
 
 Is 224-226 
 
 Korrigans 201 
 
 La Hunaudaye 325-327 
 
 Mt. St. Michel 314 
 
 Notre Dame de Folgoet, 
 
 233, 234 
 
 St Anne d'Auray 174 
 
 St. Corentin 222-224 
 
 wives of Blue Beard 202 
 
 Legoux, Captain 332 
 
 Lehon 151, 232, 369, 371, 373 
 
 Lenoir, M 378 
 
 Leonora, the 335 
 
 Leonora d'Este 52 
 
 Les Fortes Cartier 389 
 
 Le Sieur Dugue-Trouin dit 
 
 Barbinais 330 
 
 Levant 348 
 
 Lichavens 184 
 
 Limit of Breton speech 239 
 
 Limoilou 389 
 
 Little Bey 41,115 
 
 "Little Sisters of the Poor " . . 145 
 
 Locmaria 222 
 
 Locmine 373 
 
 Loctudy 221 
 
 Loire 109 
 
 Lokmariaker 184 
 
 London 91,276 
 
 Lorraine 155 
 
 Loss of a ship 364 
 
 Loti's P^cheur d'Islande 250 
 
 Louis IV of France 110 
 
 XI 135,159,161 
 
 XII 51,52 
 
 XIII 380 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Louis XIV, 334, 335, 340, 341, 
 
 347, 348, 375, 379 380 
 
 XV 9,90,348 
 
 XVI 257 
 
 d'Orleans 162 
 
 le Debonnaire 102, 372 
 
 Napoleon 258 
 
 of France 103 
 
 the Fat 150 
 
 Louvre, the 11, 155 
 
 Low water 77 
 
 Lower Brittany, 96, 168, 170, 
 
 195 236 
 
 Luigi Odorici 92 
 
 Lyonais, First, Second, Third 
 
 28, 92, 93 
 Lyons 153 
 
 Macliau 99 
 
 Maclou 99, 115 
 
 Maclovius 99, 115, 116 
 
 Madagascar 380 
 
 Madame de la Garaye 262 
 
 de Talhouet 327 
 
 Poulard 304, 305, 315 
 
 Trouin 331 
 
 Madonna 389 
 
 Magnanime, the 341, 345 
 
 Magpies 318 
 
 Mahe ...378-380 
 
 Mahe de la Bourdonnais, Ber- 
 
 trand-Frangois 377-380 
 
 Mairie, Dinard 81, 84, 85, 88 
 
 Malabar coast 378 
 
 Malo 99,115 
 
 Malouin . . . 337, 342, 377, 378, 381 
 
 armateurs 346 
 
 bishop 136 
 
 drainage 120 
 
 fleet 132 
 
 Regulus 375 
 
 Malouine, the 56, 62, 390 
 
 Malouins , . 134-136, 139, 323, 340 
 
 Mans 18, 105 
 
 Marechal de Duras 266 
 
 Marguerite Boscher 329 
 
 de Foix 50 
 
 of Brittany 160 
 
 Marie Jamnet 145 
 
 Marie of Brittany 160 
 
 Market, Quimper 230 
 
 [409]
 
 ITn^ei 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Market-house, Faouet 209 
 
 Marmoutiers, order of 130 
 
 Marot, Claude-Toussaint . ... 261 
 
 Mars, the 343 
 
 Mary, Queen of Scots 244 
 
 Mass celebrated by WilUam 
 
 Ruze 137 
 
 Massacre of St. Bartholo- 
 mew 138 
 
 Mathuedoi, Count of Poher. . 110 
 
 Matignon 371 
 
 Mauclerc, Duke of Brittany. 132 
 
 Mauny, Oliver de 296 
 
 Maurepas M. de 336, 337 
 
 Maximus 92, 93, 103 
 
 Meilleraye, lord of 384 
 
 Men embroiderers 206 
 
 Mene-Rom 232 
 
 Menhirs 184, 189 
 
 Mercury 190 
 
 Meridec or Great King 93 
 
 Merlin 229 
 
 Metropolitan of Brittany .... 95 
 
 Military marine force 135 
 
 Mill, Pont I'Abbe 219 
 
 Milliguet 202 
 
 Miramichi 384 
 
 Mon General 210, 214 
 
 Monastery of Ballon 105 
 
 Lehon 371-373 
 
 Redon 150 
 
 Monk, the English Captain . . 334 
 
 Mons in Hainault 275 
 
 Montfort, 39, 46, 132, 154, 164, 
 
 278,281, 292-294 
 
 House of 132 
 
 John de 133 
 
 William de 134 
 
 Montreal 387 
 
 Morbihan 165, 373 
 
 Morlaix . . .139, 230, 231, 236-242 
 
 Morvan 102 
 
 Morvonnais, Hippolyte Mi- 
 chel de la 139, 140 
 
 Mountains 97 
 
 Moiiy, Charles de 384 
 
 Mrs. Tournamine 326, 327 
 
 Mt. St. Michel, 123, 134, 160, 
 
 301, 302. 306-315 391 
 
 Municipal franchises of St. 
 Malo 135 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Murder of Breton nobles 155 
 
 Conan Ill 
 
 Murder of Wiomarch 103 
 
 Museum, Dinan 257 
 
 Museum, St. Malo 381 
 
 Nantes, 28, 94, 96, 103, 104- 
 106, 111, 150. 152, 158. 200. 
 221 256 
 
 Napoleon III............ 75, 119 
 
 Napoleonville 168 
 
 Native line of Breton dukes . . 94 
 Naval victory at Rio Janeiro 
 
 341-346 
 
 Navarre 155 
 
 New Bishoprics 104 
 
 New Gaulish tribes 96 
 
 Newfoundland. .136, 383-385, 389 
 
 Nicolasik 174-178 
 
 Nobility of Brittany 272 
 
 Nominoe 
 
 103-106, 109, 153, 172, 173 
 
 Norman cider 70 
 
 English 267 
 
 horses 146 
 
 Normandy 18. 130, 155, 309 
 
 Normans 130 
 
 North Sea 77 
 
 Northmen .103, 106, 107. 109, 110 
 
 Notre Dame, Chateaulin 232 
 
 Notre Dame de Salut 363 
 
 " Notre Dame du Guesclin " . . 276 
 
 Old gardens, St. Malo 124 
 
 houses, Morlaix 236 
 
 peasants 63 
 
 Oldest inn in Brittany 220 
 
 Oliver de Montfort 46 
 
 Oliver, Count of Longueville 
 
 268, 278-280, 282, 291 
 Ollivier du Clisson . .156, 157, 328 
 
 Omelets, Mt. St. Michel 304 
 
 Order of Christ 378 
 
 "Little Sisters of the Poor," 
 
 founding of 145 
 
 St. Michael 162 
 
 Oriflamme 132 
 
 Origin of stone remains 165 
 
 Orleans 348 
 
 Overthrow of ecclesiastical 
 rule, St. Malo 136 
 
 [410
 
 1In&ex 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Paimpol 250 
 
 Paimpol pardon 361 
 
 Palatial fowl house 320 
 
 Palliere, M 336 
 
 Parame 147, 148 
 
 Pardon 178, 198,211,250 
 
 Pardon, St. Anne d'Auray . . . 174 
 Paris, 5, 6, 13, 49, 91, 98, 135, 
 192, 203, 255, 262, 265, 312, 
 
 340 349 
 
 Parish Church, St. Servan. . . 147 
 Partition of the kingdom of 
 
 Brittany 95, 98, 99, 106, 108 
 
 Pasquiten, Count of Vannes . . 109 
 
 Pavements, St. Malo 118 
 
 Peace of Guerand . . . 157, 160, 162 
 
 Peasant 75 
 
 of Quimper, a 228 
 
 chateau 234 
 
 Peasantry 164 
 
 Peasants 352,366 
 
 Peasant's table 207 
 
 Pedro the Cruel 294 
 
 Pembroke .281,287 
 
 Penhoet, the Cripple, Twisted- 
 leg.... 278 
 
 Penmarc'h 221 
 
 Penthievre 151, 152 
 
 Perils of fishermen 355 
 
 Perthuis 341 
 
 Pest in Canada 387 
 
 Pestivier, Captain of 294 
 
 Peter II of Brittany 50 
 
 Petite Hermine, the 381 
 
 Philip of France 132, 292 
 
 Augustus 152 
 
 ofValois 267,274,275 
 
 the Fair 153, 155, 156 
 
 Philippines 377 
 
 Pierre le Dreux 152 
 
 Mauclerc 153 
 
 of Brittany 160 
 
 Pillage of Lehon 151 
 
 Place du Guesclin 366-368 
 
 Plan of Breton chateaux .... 22, 23 
 
 Plan of our chateau 33 
 
 Ploermel 154 
 
 Plouhinec 187 
 
 Plymouth 334 
 
 Pointe du Raz 229 
 
 Poitou 165 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ponchartrain 333-336 
 
 Pondicherry 378 
 
 Pont Aven waitress 194 
 
 Aven women 244 
 
 I'Abbe 218-221 
 
 I'Abbe women 244 
 
 Pont-roulant, St. Servan 142 
 
 Pontivy 168 
 
 Pontorson 302,312 
 
 Pope, the 158, 295, 352 
 
 Clement 153 
 
 Paul III 136 
 
 Porched houses 251, 301 
 
 Porgon de la Barbinais 375 
 
 Poree, Alain 380,381 
 
 Poree, Jehan 380 
 
 Port of St. Malo 386 
 
 Portcullis, St. Malo 117 
 
 Porte de Dinan 114 
 
 Porte St. Louis, Dinan . . . 258, 369 
 
 Portugal 165 
 
 Portuguese 
 
 341, 342, 344, 345, 347, 348 
 
 governor 345 
 
 king 378 
 
 Position of races in Brittany . . 97 
 
 Pottery, Quimper 217 
 
 Poulard, Mt. St. Michel. .304, 305 
 
 Poverty of fisher folk 362 
 
 Pregent, Jean 247 
 
 President, the 82, 84, 85 
 
 Price of labour on St. Sauveur 253 
 
 Prince of Orange 334 
 
 Princess of Great Britain .... 59 
 
 Princess of Wales 295 
 
 Priory . 39, 46 
 
 Locquidunet 232 
 
 St. Malo, Dinan 149 
 
 Privateers 137, 376 
 
 Procession, a 84-86 
 
 Profonde, the 333 
 
 Proper approach to Dinan . . 251 
 Prophesy concerning du Gues- 
 clin 269 
 
 Prow of Cartier's ship 381 
 
 Quebec ._ 386 
 
 "Qui qu'en grogne" 128 
 
 Quicksand 390 
 
 Quimper. 199, 216, 218. 219. 
 221-223, 226-231 246 
 
 411]
 
 1ln&ex 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Quiraper-sur-Elle 199 
 
 Quimperle 191-201, 215 
 
 Radegonde of Penthievre .... 149 
 Ranee. . .40, 61, 123, 137, 251, 347 
 
 Ranee Valley . 371 
 
 Rabul Rouselet, Bishop of St. 
 
 Malo 132 
 
 Rebellion of Conan 93 
 
 Reduction of Vendome 106 
 
 Refuge in Britain 96 
 
 Refuge in England 97, 110 
 
 Regnard du Guesclin 267 
 
 Reine des Anges, the 345 
 
 Religious affairs 94 
 
 Rene, Consul at Malaga . . 329, 331 
 
 Renee of Brittany 52 
 
 Rennes, 17, 18, 28, 99, 104, 
 106, 109, 145, 256, 271, 272, 
 
 276,278 300 
 
 Rents 30,144 
 
 Repentance of Nominoe 105 
 
 Repentance of Salomon 107 
 
 Repulse of English fleet at St. 
 
 Malo 134 
 
 Responsibility of public em- 
 ployees 16 
 
 Return of fishers 322, 356 
 
 Return of overdue ship 355 
 
 Revolt of Nominoe 103 
 
 Revolution, the 234, 327 
 
 Richard III of England 162 
 
 Richelieu 13 
 
 Rights of Bretons 277 
 
 Rising of burghers, St. Malo . . 136 
 
 Rivallon 106 
 
 River at Quimper 227 
 
 Road to Mt. St. Michel . . . 202, 203 
 
 Robert of Artois 132, 156 
 
 Robert of Normandy 130 
 
 Roberval 389 
 
 Roehe-Derrien, combat 276 
 
 Rock of St. Aaron 130 
 
 Rocks, the 390 
 
 Rohan . 159, 169, 232 
 
 Catherine de 159 
 
 Jacques de 159 
 
 John de 169 
 
 Rolland Bougnart 253 
 
 Rollo the Northman 110 
 
 Roman 96 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Roman attempt to defeat 
 
 Catholic Church. i39, 145 
 
 remains 222 
 
 road 210,211 
 
 Romans 28,93 
 
 Roof, market-house, Faouet . . 172 
 
 Roofs, Auray 172 
 
 Roscoff 244, 245 
 
 Rosgrand 194, 195 
 
 Rosporden 191 
 
 Rotheneuf 123, 382 
 
 Route de Rennes 143, 145 
 
 Royal marriage, a . . . 106, 152, 159 
 Royal period of Breton history 94 
 Rue de la Larderie, Dinan .... 260 
 
 Ruined bits, Quimperle 197 
 
 Ruins, Lehon 369 
 
 Ruze, William, Bishop of St. 
 
 Malo 137 
 
 Ryswick, Peace of 338 
 
 Saguenay 386 
 
 Saint Louis, the 348 
 
 Sainte Catherine 384 
 
 Salaun 233,234 
 
 Salic law 154 
 
 Salle des Chevaliers, Lan- 
 
 divisiau 235 
 
 Salle des Chevaliers Mt St. 
 
 Michel 311 
 
 Salomon 95 
 
 nephew of Nominoe .... 106, 107 
 
 II 100 
 
 Salon, the 35 
 
 Sancerre, Constable de . . . 295-298 
 
 Sanitation, St. Malo 120 
 
 Santa Cruz 341 
 
 Sardines 181 
 
 Saturday Review 190 
 
 Scenery of the Ranee 252 
 
 Scottish queen 245 
 
 Sea-weed harvest 374 
 
 Season at Dinard 45 
 
 Second group of stones, 
 
 Carnac 188 
 
 Seigneur La Mote de Bron 
 
 267, 268, 270-274 
 
 Seine, the 98 
 
 Servant's room 37 
 
 Service of Bretons at sea 137 
 
 [412
 
 1In^eI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Severe storm 316 
 
 Severe Canada winter 387 
 
 Sheep shearing 366 
 
 Shops in St. Servan 142 
 
 Side porch, St. Comeille 185 
 
 Siege of Ballon 105 
 
 Rennes 276 
 
 St. Malo 133 
 
 Sieur de la Barbinais 329, 333 
 
 Sieur de Belliere 299 
 
 Sigibert, Roy de France 373 
 
 Signs of spring 90, 360 
 
 Sister Mary Augustine of 
 
 Compassion 146 
 
 Skulls, St. Pol 248 
 
 Slow travel 170 
 
 Snow 359 
 
 Solidor 40, 62, 137, 141, 145 
 
 Spain 165, 169, 294, 335 
 
 Spiral staircase 25 
 
 Spire for St. Malo 119 
 
 Spiritual affairs 98 
 
 Square du Guesclin 360, 366 
 
 St. Aaron 115,116,332 
 
 St. Bartholomew 138 
 
 St. Bernard 131 
 
 St. Briac 61 
 
 St. Brieuc. . .61, 104, 111, 168, 250 
 
 St. Columban 372,373 
 
 St. Corentin 222-225 
 
 St.Corneille 185, 186 
 
 St. Denis 132, 255, 268 
 
 St. Enogat 56-60, 390 
 
 St. Enogat beach 390, 393 
 
 St. Huec 190 
 
 St. Idiuc village 382, 383 
 
 St. Ivy....... 168 
 
 St. John's festival 166 
 
 St. Jubel 190 
 
 St. Judoc 190 
 
 St. Kirec 246 
 
 St. Lawrence river 381, 386 
 
 St. Louis 132, 153, 165 
 
 St. Lunaire 60, 91, 360 
 
 St. Magloire 372,373 
 
 St. Magloire at Lehon 106 
 
 St. Magloire, Paris 106 
 
 St. Malo, 40, 41, 84, 113-142, 
 323, 329, 330, 332, 333, 338, 
 339, 346, 363, 364, 376, 381- 
 383,386,388 389 
 
 PAGE 
 
 St. Malo against Henry IV . . . 139 
 
 St. Martin, bay 384 
 
 St. Martin of Tours 95 
 
 St. Michael 247 
 
 St. Peter 233 
 
 St. Pierre, lake 386 
 
 St. Pol 221 
 
 St. Pol de Leon 245 
 
 St. Roch 233 
 
 St. Sanson 184. 301, 302 
 
 St. Sauveur 366 
 
 St. Sebastian 233 
 
 St. Servan, 40, 79, 122. 130, 
 
 141-148, 352 389 
 
 St. Thomas 279 
 
 St. Tudy 221 
 
 St. Widebote 190 
 
 Ste. Anne d'Auray 175-177 
 
 Ste. Croix 387 
 
 Stairs, in abbey of Mt. St. 
 
 Michel 307 
 
 Statue of Duguay-Trouin 127 
 
 Statue of Virgin 123 
 
 Steeple of Creisker 246 
 
 Stephen of Penthievre 151 
 
 Stonehenge 167 
 
 Stove 395 
 
 Streets of Dinard 48 
 
 Streets of St. Malo 117 
 
 Strife between Blois and Mont- 
 fort 154-157, 294 
 
 Surrender of Chateauneuf-de- 
 
 Randan 297.298 
 
 Syndic of St. Malo 139 
 
 Tableaux 91 
 
 Taiguraguy 385 
 
 Tasso 52 
 
 Temporary success of France . 102 
 
 Terms of peace 345 
 
 Teutates 190 
 
 Teutonic invasions 97 
 
 " The Manor of the Dunes " . . 140 
 
 Theodoric 99 
 
 Theories relating to alleys, 
 
 Camac 196 
 
 Theories, Stone Age 165, 166 
 
 Third Lyonais 28, 92 
 
 Thomas of Canterbury. . .279-281 
 Three periods of Breton his- 
 tory 94 
 
 [413]
 
 1In&ei 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tide 77 
 
 at Mt. St. Michel 309 
 
 gauge 41 
 
 Tintiniac, Jean de Laval 300 
 
 Tintiniac, Jeanne de Laval . . . 300 
 Tiphaine Ragnuel 
 
 283, 284, 299, 300, 306, 307 
 
 Toile de Bretagne 206, 214 
 
 Tomb of John ly. 199 
 
 Toumemine, Olivier 324 
 
 Tours 95 
 
 Tower 67 
 
 of Black Prince 47 
 
 of London 156 
 
 Town crier 79 
 
 Trams 147 
 
 Treason of Maximus 92 
 
 Treaty of Utrecht 347 
 
 Triliths 184 
 
 Trip, Dinard to St. Malo 114 
 
 Trouin, Etienne 335 
 
 Gilles 329 
 
 Luc 329-331,340 
 
 Madame 331 
 
 Nicholas 339 
 
 Tumulus 187 
 
 Twisted-leg, 278, 284, 286, 290, 291 
 
 Union of Breton and Romans 
 
 against Atilla 96 
 
 Union of Brittany with France 51 
 
 Upper Brittany 73 
 
 Vannes 28, 96, 104, 109, 111 
 
 Vehicles of Dinard 20 
 
 Vendeeans 327 
 
 Venetian mirror 36 
 
 Venus de Milo 12 
 
 Versailles 335, 340, 347 
 
 ViaScala 121 
 
 Viaduct, Quimperle 200 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Vicomte 61 
 
 Victory of Conan over 
 
 Romans 94 
 
 Vilaine, battle 99, 105 
 
 Village churches 76 
 
 Vincennes 81 
 
 Virgin, the, 201, 213, 233, 247, 389 
 Visit of Charles IX to St. Malo 137 
 
 of the President 82 
 
 to Yvonne 398 
 
 Vivien 229 
 
 Votive ships 76 
 
 Wages in Brittany 244 
 
 Wales 28 
 
 Walk about walls of St. Malo 122 
 
 around St. Malo 121 
 
 on the rocks 390-394 
 
 W' alls of Dinan 250 
 
 Walls of St. Malo 117 
 
 W ar, France and England . . . 349 
 of the three Jeannes .... 155-157 
 
 ships 81,87 
 
 W^aroch 99 
 
 Washing pool 86 
 
 Wassenaer, Louis, Baron .... 337 
 
 Waxworks 314 
 
 Wedding party 88 
 
 Weighing baggage 15 
 
 Welche, Jacques 832, 333 
 
 Wife of caretaker, St. Barbe . . 214 
 
 William Rufus 130 
 
 W'illiam the Conqueror. . .149, 150 
 
 Winter 359,395 
 
 Winter in Paris 6 
 
 Wiomarch 102 
 
 Wrecks 317 
 
 Yvonne, 23-26, 35, 43, 74, 75, 
 89, 90, 164, 374-376, 395, 
 398 399 
 
 414
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 APy 1 1^^^ 
 
 B 
 
 
 
 c JUN 
 
 2 9 1988 
 
 
 
 1? 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 
 c JUL 1 
 
 3 1988 
 
 
 
 R U 
 
 r- WW 
 
 7 8 1988 
 
 
 
 R 
 
 
 
 
 
 / 1988 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 HIGHSMITH 46- 102 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.A.
 
 Atkinson, Mary J05epnin«, 
 
 1854- 
 A ch'ateau in Brittany 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 001 338 560