Breton Folk: An artistic tour in Brittany

CHAPTER X. Hennebont.

From QuimperlÉ to Hennebont by road or railway, we pass Pont Scorff, where is the boundary line which divides the departments of FinistÈre and Morbihan. We enter now the district of Bas-Bretagne, the Arcadia of Brittany, of which so much has been written and sung by French writers, and of which only those who have lingered in its byways have discovered the charm. It is the part of Brittany most interesting from its historic associations, the land most strewn with dolmens and menhirs, and mysterious Druidical remains.

Holiday travellers from Quimper to Vannes pass by the large and busy town of L’Orient because it is described, truly, as “an uninteresting modern town with straight streets and quays,” and many also pass by Hennebont. There is no historic interest in L’Orient, whose 40,000 inhabitants are busy in shipping and trade—the trade, amongst other things, of importing foreign spirits and tobacco, and of planting in every village in Brittany the cheap manufactured cottons and fineries which stamp out individuality in costume, the last stronghold of self-respect amongst the peasants, both men and women. In every remote village, on church walls and on mediÆval towers, is posted in glowing colours the announcement of a Grand Magasin des Modes at L’Orient, and every afternoon there comes by train to Hennebont the Petit Journal to complete the work of civilisation; a little journal, distributed by hand to all who possess a sou, giving in its daily sheet little beyond Parisian gossip, but containing sometimes some strange paragraphs like the following, which would seem of doubtful interest to Bretons:—

“—On adoucit les mains et on les habitue À des mouvements aristocratiques.”

“—On communique aux jeunes ladies le nom et la profession de leur futur mari.”

“—On enseigne l’ÉlÉgance et la grÂce en douze heures, succÈs garanti.”

“—On loue et on Échange de petits enfants.”

“—On coupe les oreilles et la queue aux chiens d’aprÈs la derniÈre mode.”

Hennebont is only five miles from L’Orient, and of course some of the inhabitants wear the modern dress, but it is still very primitive-looking, being seldom visited by strangers. Sloping southward towards the river, where ships are loading and unloading at the little port, is the chief street, shown in the sketch opposite. Hennebont is an old historic town, containing about 5000 inhabitants, and is the natural outlet for the produce of the surrounding country. At the upper end the street widens into a grass-grown Place, where is the church of Notre Dame de Paradis, with its square tower and lofty recessed portal, the work, it is believed, of an English architect in the sixteenth century, a structure not in any way very remarkable. The town is divided into the comparatively modern Ville Neuve, sketched above, the Ville Close, and the Vieille Ville on the right bank of the Blavet, memorable for its sieges in the War of Succession in Brittany, and for the exploits of the Countess of Montfort in defending the city in the fourteenth century, of which Froissart gives a spirited account in his Chronicles.

In the high-street of the town, the Ville Neuve, are the two principal inns, we can hardly call them hotels, outside one of which a traveller reposes after the midday meal; and a little below are the older hostelries, where there have been numerous arrivals during the day. Opposite, on a low wall, is a shelter of trees, a favourite lounge, whither come in the afternoon the old and the young to talk, to quarrel, and to flirt.

REAPERS ON THE ROAD.

Sit down on the wall and watch the passers by. First a cart, drawn by diminutive bullocks, heavily laden with field produce, comes lumbering down, the driver in broad-brimmed hat and heavy sabots; next, a clatter of hoofs and a troop of high-bred horses, led or ridden by riders in scarlet coats and white trousers, pass down to the river; they come from the haras in the neighbourhood, one of the government breeding establishments; this gives a dash of colour and a style to Hennebont quite foreign to its ordinary aspect. Next, with heavy, measured tread, comes a procession, half solemn, half grotesque, of reapers and professional batteurs changing their quarters. Next comes out and stands at the door of the HÔtel de France the innkeeper, dressed, unlike most of his neighbours, in a frock-coat and hat; a slim man in dandy Parisian attire, almost the only black figure to be seen in Hennebont.

Women pass busily up and down, carrying heavy loads, some with the white lappets of their caps thrown backward, treading heavily like beasts of burden. Excepting for a short time in the heat of the day, when the men rest and the women knit, there are few unemployed hands in Hennebont.

The evening brings more activity, the farmers and their wives pack up and depart in their country carts, shutters open in the dark grey-stone houses on the Place near the church; the maire and the avocat take a walk, or a drive with their families; and women and children emerge on various errands. It is then that out of side streets, and doorways in walls unlocked with heavy keys, issue, one by one, the fairest inhabitants of Morbihan, some especially erect, bearing earthen vessels on their heads, wending their way up the town to a road beyond the church, where, under the cool shade of trees, and partly shut in by walls, is the fountain which supplies Hennebont with water. It is a rendezvous for old and young, men, women, and cattle, a place to see and to sketch, charming in its sheltered aspect after a midday sun; women coming and going with their pitchers; men helping or bringing cattle to water, and numerous washing parties on their knees.

Every way we turn there is a picture of some sort to be sketched; if we follow the narrow, winding streets of the Ville Close, sheltered by trees and overshadowed by walls, we come suddenly upon an old time-stained doorway like that below; and, amongst the people that crowd the poorer quarter, are many quaint and interesting groups.

Here we may notice again the harmonious combinations of costume and buildings, and how the women, tall and straight, clad in draperies of soft material, seem to give dignity to the most squalid surroundings.

They are a pleasant, homely people at Hennebont; a town worth visiting before simplicity, individuality, and local costume have passed away.

But the air is close in this valley, and we are too near the main line of railway; let us turn northward to see something more of the interior of the province of Morbihan.

Clyx.com