ABBEY OF ST. MAURICE.

233

The forest of Carnoët is watered by the Laita, as the river formed by the Elle and Isole is called after their union. The ferry was called the Passage de Carnoët, and had a marvellous legend attached to it, called "The Old Oak of the Laita."

At the farthest end of the forest are the ruins of the abbey of St. Maurice, built in the twelfth century by Duke Conan in honour of St. Maurice, a monk who was buried in the now ruined abbey. Over the doorway was this proud legend: "Cette maison durera jusqu'à ce que la fourmi ait bu la mer, et que la tortue ait fait le tour du monde."

The old Breton Benedictine chronicler, Dom Morice, was a native of Quimperlé; and so is the best historian of the poetry and legends of this interesting country, Monsieur de Villemarqué, author of the "Barzaz Breiz."

One can hardly say enough in praise of this most fascinating little town, and we met with so much hospitality and kindness there that we were quite sorry to leave Quimperlé, or Kemper-Elle-in allusion to the meeting of the rivers, kemper signifying meeting.

Very many excursions may be made from this charming little town-to Carhaix and Huelgoat by way of Gourin, also to Scaër, a wild place near the Isole, full of old customs and traditions.

At Scaër the old custom of asking a girl in marriage by means of the bazvalan is universal. The bazvalan is usually a tailor-a trade so despised among the Bretons, that they

in speaking of one of the craft, "Sauf votre respect." When the bazvalan goes a-wooing, he usually carries a wand of green broom in his hand. Hence his name, as baz signifies "stick," and valan, "of broom." It is requisite that the bazvalan should be naturally eloquent and also very goodtempered. He must be able to describe elaborately the possessions and good qualities of his clients, and also he must have a ready answer to any objection that may be offered.

When he presents himself at a house he says "Good-day!" while yet on the threshold; and if he is not at once asked to come in, or if the mistress turns her back upon him and holds a pancake to the fire, it is a bad omen, and he goes away. If, as he turns away, he meets a crow or a magpie, he goes back again. But if, on his first approach,

before he has finished his greeting, the mistress cries out "Come in!"—if he sees smiling faces, then all is well; he enters and takes a seat.

He then whispers his errand to the mother, who goes outside and confers with him. She then returns and consults with her daughter, and consent is given.

The wedding takes place at the end of a month, and meanwhile everything in the house is cleaned, waxed, and polished, till the beds and presses are like looking-glasses, and the brass pans and pewter spoons glitter like gold and silver.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen are chosen, and on a Saturday evening the wedding-party goes up to the presbytery, and the young couple are betrothed. Then there is a supper, and next day the banns are published, and the bazvalan gives the invitations to the wedding in verse. Accompanied by the brother of the bride, he goes about from house to house, taking care to present himself at mealtime in the richest dwellings. He gives three taps at the door, and then says, "Prosperity and joy to this house! I am the wedding messenger."

At daybreak, on the wedding morning, the house of the bride is surrounded by a merry assemblage on horseback, who come to escort her to church. The bridegroom, with his best man, heads this procession. The bazvalan dismounts, and, placing himself on the door-step, begins the customary improvisation. This sort of song is answered by a person called the breutaër who acts the same part towards the bride as the bazvalan does towards the bridegroom.. The bazvalan gives his blessing to the house.

The breutaër asks what ails him.

The bazvalan says he has lost his little dove and cannot find her.

The breutaër, after some fencing, says he will go and look for her. He goes in, and returns with a little child.

Then, when the bazvalan says this is not the dove he seeks, the breutaër brings forward the girl's mother, or sometimes a widow.

At last the bridegroom is allowed to enter and seek his bride, guided by the bazvalan; she is usually found very richly dressed, and weeps at her parents' feet while a solemn blessing is pronounced over her. She and the bridegroom exchange rings, and then, after some other quaint ceremonies, the bride is placed by the breutaër behind her bridegroom on his horse, and the cavalcade moves on to the church.

In the "Barzaz Breiz," Monsieur de Villemarqué gives a specimen of this curious dialogue in the ballad called "La Demande en Mariage," and in the 23d and 24th cantos of "Les Bretons," by Brizeux, the ceremonies of betrothal and of marriage are both described.

It is specially at Scaër, in the little stream of Coatdry, that the staurotides, or cross stones, are found. Once upon a time a pagan chief threw down and destroyed the crucifix in the chapel of Coatdry, and ever since that time the Divine mark has been stamped on the pebbles in the brook of Coatdry.

There are many other places of interest to be reached from Quimperlé, especially Pont Aven and its lovely neighbourhood, and northwards the curious and sequestered churches of St. Fiacre and Ste. Barbe.

MORBIHAN.

CHAPTER XVI

Le Faouët-Sainte Barbe-Saint Fiacre.

WE started for these two churches early one morning

in a very comfortable carriage with one horse, for

Le Faouët is only about thirteen miles from Quimperlé, and Ste. Barbe less than two miles farther. Our driver was even more stolid than the average of Breton drivers; he seemed to think every question addressed to him an infliction, and never answered if he could help doing so.

We drove along a narrow road between the two rivers, from which we got a lovely view of Quimperlé. The country was richly wooded, and the road bordered with trees. We passed several villages, Kerlavarec and Caros-combout; soon after passing this our silent driver roused up for a moment, and pointing out a small stream which we were about to cross, said that that was the boundary between Finistère and Morbihan. It was curious to see how the trees seemed to grow stunted, and how much more dreary the country. became, as we advanced into Morbihan. The woods we had grown accustomed to of late were replaced first by broad fields of red-stalked sarrazin, snowy just now with