  It is a pleasant change, even from the quiet of Hennebont, to wind slowly up the hills covered thickly with ferns and woods, to disturb the magpies on the roads, and the yellowhammer and the lizards on the rough stone walls; to see the silent peasants knee-deep in the fields, the little black and white cattle tethered to pasture, the black and brown sheep grazing in the open land, and the pigs at the cottage doors. It is a considerable ascent from the town through an undulating landscape of woods and streams and ferns; the valleys green in their depths, the trees turning gold and brown where they fringe the hills. Reaping near Hennebont. On the road from QuimperlÉ to Le Faouet a stream is crossed that divides the two provinces of FinistÈre and Morbihan; it is a stream well stocked with trout; in fact, in most of these rivers there is excellent fishing, and there are no better headquarters for sport than Le Faouet. The town, which is well situated and has fine views of the country, contains not more than 3000 inhabitants, nearly all but the oldest and the poorest being engaged in agriculture. It is a great centre on certain days, when the people collect under the eaves of the market-place shown in the full-page sketch. But excepting the visits of a few sportsmen and tourists in summer, Le Faouet is scarcely ever visited by the outer world. The houses are built of stone, old and covered with lichen; the It is a quiet, self-contained, dignified population at Le Faouet, approached at intervals by the commercial traveller, and a few cattle- and horse-dealers, but holding otherwise little communication with towns. Here, in this neighbourhood, we may contemplate the typical Breton, who, braced physically to withstand the shocks of the tempest, resists with an almost irresistible vis inertia the advance of French civilisation; whom neither the progress of steam nor compulsory education has much disturbed. He has, for trading purposes, acquired some knowledge of French, but he keeps this knowledge to himself, and never displays it unnecessarily; he has thus an advantage over strangers, who may imagine he cannot understand a word. LE FAOUET. In spite of the grandeur of its situation, the solidity of its buildings, and the evident industry of the inhabitants, there is a dreary, ruinous look about the Place of Le Faouet even on a summer’s day. What must it be in winter winds? On the brightest and driest day of the year many of the houses are dark and unhealthy-looking, built close together, with narrow lanes of mud and filth between them. What must they be when the rains begin? We have seen in Le Faouet some of the finest types of Bretons, both men and women. Let us record one figure which will never be Before leaving Le Faouet, a visit should be made to the fifteenth-century church of St. Fiacre, to see the fine rood-screen elaborately carved with figures representing scenes in the life of Christ, panels To the chapel of Ste. Barbe is a shaded walk of about a mile and a half—first through narrow lanes and broad avenues, then up a steep ascent where the path is sometimes cut in steps in the rock. It brings us in half an hour to a high plateau fringed with furze and wind-blown pines. The view from the eminence is magnificent: the eye wanders eastward and southward, over a broad valley with a mountain stream, the EllÉ winding first through beds of rocks, then into pastures, and disappearing in cultivated fields. As we walk to the edge of this mountain-side, where there is only a small hut visible, the panorama increases in extent over the country, and the variety of colour, from the grey of scattered boulders and blue of pines, to the deep green of the meadows and woods, forms a scene of such natural beauty that we almost forget the object of our mission. The chapel of Ste. Barbe, approached down a flight of steps, is actually close to our feet; it is built of granite under the hillside, sheltered from the winds by enormous rocks and trees, and with a steep declivity below; a solid granite structure fitted into the hillside, so to speak, the space not permitting the nave of the chapel to be in the usual position. In the interior—which is shown by an old man in tatters who kneels at the altar whilst we walk round—is a gallery with carved panels, supported by seraphim holding shields, and grotesque animals on the mouldings; there is also some old stained glass. There is a tradition attaching to this chapel, that a knight, hunting in the neighbourhood in the fifteenth century, was overtaken by a storm in the valley below, and, being preserved from falling rocks by the prayers of Ste. Barbe, erected this chapel to her memory. From that day there has been an annual pilgrimage to Ste. Barbe, when some of the devotees creep round the precipitous exterior walls as an act of penance. Before leaving, we pass up the rough stone Ten miles in a north-westerly direction, in some of the finest scenery of the Montagnes Noires, is Gourin, a small town in the centre of a district of old iron mines, stone and slate quarries. Mr. Caldecott, who visited this district in a previous year, in bad weather, speaks of the “wide, dirty, uninteresting-looking street of Gourin, at the top of which is the HÔtel du Cheval Blanc,” but he has made a sketch of the women washing at a stream just outside the Excepting for fishing, shooting, or perchance to record the forms and colours of the mountains in a sketch, few visitors will find their way to Gourin, even in summer; but the following notes by the artist may be interesting to travellers:— “The dining-room of the inn at Gourin opens on to the public Place, and is frequented by commercial travellers and two or three residents; one of the latter, being a chasseur, is followed through the glass door by a pack of hounds, the large sporting spaniels of the country, and at each guest’s elbow a dog stations himself to receive gratuities.” “Montez, s’il vous plait, Monsieur!” The storm is so severe at Le Faouet that “slates are blown from the roofs of the houses, men grasp their hats, women tack hither and thither across the square, and geese take advantage of the breeze and try to fly.” On the way to Ste. Barbe, “a tall tree crashes across the path, which is strewn with unripe acorns, chestnuts, apples, fir cones, leaves, and twigs.” The hurricane that was experienced here swept over the whole of Brittany with great violence, and, according to the Journal de Rennes, “laid low at least a thousand trees.” We halt halfway at the poor village of KernasclÉden, where there is hardly an inhabitant to be seen, but where, abutting on the high-road, is a beautiful Gothic church, rich in carving and grand in proportion, a striking contrast to the hovels which immediately surround it. It is a good example of fifteenth-century work, built at the same time as the church of St. Fiacre, and by the same founder. There is a legend here too curious not to repeat, that angels aided in the building of these two beautiful churches, carrying the tools, which were scarce in those days, backwards and forwards from one church to the other, to aid the workmen. At GuÉmÉnÉ, a little town on the river Scorff, we are still in the interior of the country. It is in some ways more civilised than Le Faouet, but as far removed from railways, and with as little communication with the outer world. Let us first give our experiences of the principal inn, which is on the left, looking up the street in the sketch, where travellers are driven under an archway into a wide stable-yard, and enter the house by the kitchen. The beds are clean and comfortable enough, the fare is homely but plentiful, and there is nothing to scare away the most fastidious. At the midday meal we have trout, caught a little way down the river Scorff, one or two dishes of meat, an omelette if desired, and, as usual, very good bread, butter, and cider. The dinner, or evening meal, is rather more elaborate, especially if a fresh traveller has come in. The view, across the table at breakfast time, of the presiding genius of the inn, the bottle of cider, the large wineglass, and the half cut loaf, are all depicted exactly. The vacant chair is soon to be occupied by a commercial traveller, who has been busy all the morning in the town, doing more havoc in the one day that he devotes to GuÉmÉnÉ than we like to think of. He represents a cheap clothier’s house at L’Orient, and has tempted many of the quiet inhabitants to change their simple stuffs and white caps for the more fashionable dresses and hats of the town. It should be The streets of GuÉmÉnÉ are full of people on Sunday morning—men in short jackets, wide trousers, and black, broad-brimmed hats, old women in the comfortable coiffe sketched above, girls with white caps and stomachers, short dresses, and neat shoes, all coming into the church and afterwards meeting in the street. These are principally country people; but the inhabitant of GuÉmÉnÉ, the small propriÉtaire or employÉ, who lives in the town, often wears a semi-nautical attire, as sketched overleaf. Five old women sit together in the road, their chairs drawn together for company, and to make an inclosure for two or three little tottering inhabitants of GuÉmÉnÉ, who at the age of three are dressed in the costume of their ancestors. Here the harmony of costume and architecture, both in form and colour, strikes the eye at once, and we want nothing to complete the picture. There is nothing, it seems, to add, nothing to leave out; let us stay for a month (we are inclined to say) and sketch in the high-street of GuÉmÉnÉ such figures as are standing talking together at an old-fashioned doorway, opposite to our inn. But the scene soon changes, and out of one of the old houses, dark in the interior, with a floor below the level of the street, comes a lady with a nurse and child; she has a light dress with a train, a hat with scarlet feathers, and a parasol. She is going for a promenade, and, as she passes down the street, is greeted by the old women thus: “See they carry their tails in their hands, these fine demoiselles!” There is no traffic in the streets, and no fear of being disturbed. A newspaper may arrive in the evening to inform the inhabitants of the last market prices, or that a workman has fallen out of a window On one evening there is a great gathering at the old cafÉ with high-pitched roof, at the division of the two streets at the top of the sketch on page 165. The daughter of the popular hostess has been betrothed at the presbytery, and in a month she is to be married. She has her dot, or portion, of a few hundred francs, and her husband that is to be, his little farm; they have met to celebrate the occasion, and their immediate friends make merry until far into the night. They all sit together round a rough table in the little room, the lamps lighting the girls’ faces, the men in blouses or white jackets, with bright buttons; a background of timbered ceiling, smoke, laughter, songs, and jollity, continued long after the lights go out in the street and the moon rises over the valley. All will go well with them if the bottle which first drew them together does not scatter their happiness too soon. GuÉmÉnÉ July 1878.
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