Part 11 (2/2)

From Audierne we took a carriage to visit the Pointe du Raz, a promontory so famous for its rocks and wrecks. We went through a treeless country; near a pretty bay, on the left, is the chapel of Notre Dame-de-Bon-Voyage, destined chiefly for sailors, after which the country becomes more wild, barren, and cheerless. We pa.s.sed over a bridge which no Breton would dare to cross at night, for fear of being flung by the spirits into the river.

According to their belief, a hare appears on the bridge, and terrifies the horses, who throw their rider, and the traveller is dragged by the phantom into the muddy river, where he is kept till morning's dawn, when he is allowed to pursue his way, exhausted with cold, and half dead with fright.

They are very superst.i.tious here, as in all Cornouaille. A writer says, ”every nation of the earth has its superst.i.tions and absurdities, but Brittany has those of all other nations united.” An old woman in a village hard by, said our driver, has never been seen inside the walls of a church; the people say she has sold herself to the evil one, and no one dares go near or speak to her.

On the left is the pretty steeple of the church of Plogoff, situated on an eminence, and dedicated to Saint Colledoc, a Welsh bishop of the sixth century, contemporary of King Arthur, and a.s.sociated with many of the doings of Queen Guinevre and the knights of the Round Table. Lescoff is the last village we pa.s.sed through before-after driving over a barren plain-we arrived at the lighthouse, built thirty years back at the Pointe.

We walked thence to the Pointe, a gigantic and magnificent ma.s.s of rocks, eighty feet above the level of the sea. We met with a good-natured woman, who led the young people over the rocks to look down the ”Enfer de Plogoff.” They had a slippery scramble to reach the hole, a kind of tunnel through which the sea rushes with great violence, so much more terrible than that of Penmarch, that the noise has been compared to the distant roaring of some thousands of wild beasts issuing from the depths of a forest. In the mean time, we remained seated on the bank enjoying the view. On the south lay the Bay of Audierne, extending in the form of a crescent, the promontories of Penmarch and Raz forming the extreme points.

The currents, and the numerous rocks of the bay, render it a dangerous coast, formerly peopled by barbarous wreckers, who despoiled the s.h.i.+pwrecked mariners as our Cornish men of old. Opposite the Raz, about seven miles distant, is the Island of Sein, and to the right, the Baie des Trepa.s.ses. The island of Sein was anciently the seat of an oracle, interpreted by nine Druidesses, who were versed in every art and science.

Moreover, they appear to have been accomplished needlewomen; for a Breton chronicler, giving an account of the coronation of an early king (Erech) at Nantes, describes his mantle as embroidered by these priestesses with figures of Arithmetic, Astronomy, and Music. Their skill in divination caused them to be a.s.sociated with the fairies; and Morgan-_i.e._ ”born of the sea”-one of these priestesses, who lived in the first century of the Christian era, was famous among the British fairies.

”Avec succes cultivait la magie, Morgan de plus, etait a.s.sez jolie.”

Chateaubriand celebrates Velleda, the last of the Druidesses of Sein, tall in stature, her eyes blue, with long fair floating hair, dressed in a short black tunic, without sleeves, bearing a golden sickle suspended from a brazen girdle, and crowned with a branch of oak. Here King Arthur was brought by Merlin to recover of his wounds. The inhabitants of the island were celebrated for their ferocity as wreckers.

The pa.s.sage between the island and the point or Bec du Raz-”qu'aucun n'a pa.s.se sans mal ou sans crainte”-is very dangerous, owing to the number of rocks and the violence of the currents; hence the well-known prayer of the Breton sailor, ”Mon Dieu, secourez-moi pour traverser le Raz, car mon navire est pet.i.t et la mer est grande.” Having no wish to run the risk of being detained at the island by rough weather, we did not attempt the pa.s.sage.

The Baie des Trepa.s.ses, over which we looked on the right, is so called from the Celtic legend that the Druids embarked in this bay after their death, to be buried in the island of Sein:-

”Autrefois, un esprit venait, d'une voix forte; Appeler chaque nuit un pecheur sur sa porte; Arrive dans la baie, on trouvait un bateau Si lourd et si charge de morts qu'il faisait eau, Et pourtant il fallait, malgre vent et maree, Les mener jusqu'a Sein, jusqu'a l'ile sacree.”

BRIZEUX.

The bay also derives its name from the numerous s.h.i.+pwrecks that have taken place on its rocks, and from the number of corpses that have been floated there by the currents from s.h.i.+ps foundered in the gulf comprised between the entrance of Brest, the Ouessant Islands, and Sein. The whole extent of the coast of Brittany is one long wall of rocks, placed as it were to protect it from the inroads of the sea and from foreign invasion. Heaped one over the other, they resemble the bastions of a citadel, the advanced rocks extending out to sea, jutting up in every direction in endless reefs. Or its line of coast may be compared to the jagged teeth of a comb, with a second line of defence in the rocks further out to sea.

On the desolate sh.o.r.e of the Baie des Trepa.s.ses is a piece of water, the etang de Laoual, site of the city of Is-submerged by Divine vengeance, according to popular tradition, in the fifth century-a place of great commerce, arts, riches, and also of luxury. Gradlon, or Grallo, the king, alone attempted to stem the torrent. Built in the vast basin which now forms the Bay of Douarnenez, it was protected from the ocean by a strong d.y.k.e, the sluices only admitting sufficient water to supply the town. King Gradlon kept the silver key (which opened, at the same time, the great sluice and the city gates) suspended round his neck. His palace was of marble, cedar, and gold; in the midst of a brilliant Court sat enthroned his daughter Dahut, a princess who ”had made a crown of her vices, and had taken for her pages the seven capital sins.” Taking advantage of the sleep of her father, Dahut one night stole the silver key, and instead of opening the city gate, by mistake unlocked the sluices. The King was awakened by St. Guenole, who commanded him to flee, as the torrent was reaching the palace. He mounted his horse, taking his worthless daughter behind him. The torrent was gaining upon him fast, when a voice from behind called out, ”Throw the demon thou carriest into the sea, if thou dost not desire to perish.” Dahut felt her strength failing her; the hands that convulsively grasped her father's waist relaxed their hold; she rolled into the water, disappeared, and the torrent immediately stopped its course. The King reached Quimper safe and sound, and that town became afterwards the capital of Cornouaille.

So runs the legend. That a great city once existed in the Bay of Douarnenez admits of no doubt. Besides the religious chronicles of the country, which have preserved the memory of its existence, in the sixteenth century, remains of old edifices were standing at the entrance of the bay, old paved roads have been traced, and walls found under water near the Pointe du Raz.

The tradition of a town thus swallowed up is common among the Celtic race.

In Wales, the site of the submerged city is in Cardigan Bay; in Ireland, in Lough Neagh:-

”On Lough Neagh's banks, where the fisherman strays, At the hour of eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days Beneath the waters s.h.i.+ning.”-MOORE.

One of our party went out fis.h.i.+ng to the Pointe, and returned well laden with his spoils.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 57. Front of the Church, Pontcroix.]

The road from Audierne to Douarnenez pa.s.ses by Pontcroix, a little town on the same river (Goazien) as Audierne, along which the road runs-a charming drive. It has a magnificent Romanesque church of the twelfth (probably of the fifteenth) century, with a remarkable porch, richly embroidered in quatrefoils and trefoils. A tower in the centre, with octagonal spire is second to none in Cornouaille, except that of Quimper. The arches of the nave are horseshoe, the transepts very narrow. Under the altar of the Lady Chapel is a ”Cene,” half the size of nature, sculptured in ivory and marble, of marvellous workmans.h.i.+p.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 58. Wheel of Sacring Bells, Notre Dame de-Comfort, near Douarnenez.]

Eleven miles from Douarnenez we stopped to see the pretty little chapel of Notre Dame-de-Comfort, in a hamlet of that name, with light open-work steeple. Attached to one of the arches, on the left of the choir, is a wooden wheel, hung round with bells, to which is attached a long string.

It is erroneously called ”the wheel of fortune;” but is, in fact, the old wheel of sacring bells in use before the single bell was adopted. The boy who showed us the chapel pulled the string which was fastened to a hook near the altar, and the wheel revolved and rang a merry peal. Formerly there was a little wooden figure attached to the wheel, which performed the same office. The road runs round a hill, along an estuary formed by the river, and suddenly the beautiful lake, called the Bay of Douarnenez, bursts on the sight, of a blue as lovely as the Italian seas.

The dirty little town of Douarnenez is charmingly situated to the south of the bay, the hills clothed with trees to the water's edge. The Pointe du Raz forms the western boundary of the bay, and it is shut in to the north by the peninsula of Crozon; its extreme point, Pointe de la Chevre, advancing nearly midway into the bay. The tide here falls eighteen feet.

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