[1] The Breton name for Vannes, Gwen-ed, signifies literally White Wheat.
[2] This form of declaring war, preserved by tradition, is curious, and, as far as we know, peculiar to Brittany. Amongst the ancient Romans they cast upon the enemy’s territory a javelin scorched at the fire; in the middle ages the iron gauntlet was thrown, or the finger was gnawed; the savages of North America sent, like the Scythians, bundles of arrows, the number of which indicated that of the combatants; but burning straw flung upon the enemy’s land is a peculiar symbol, which we have never noticed elsewhere.
[3] The Breton name of St. Gildas.
[4] This custom still exists in Brittany.
The Groac’h of the Isle of Lok.[1]
Every one who knows the land of the Church (Lanillis), knows also that it is one of the loveliest parishes in the diocese of Léon. To say nothing of green crops and corn, its orchards are famed from all time for apples sweeter than the honey of Sizun, and plum-trees of which every blossom ripens into fruit. As for the marriageable maidens, they are all models of discretion and housewifery; at least so say their nearest relations, who of course know them best.
In olden times, when miracles were as common in these parts as christenings and burials now, there dwelt in Lanillis a young man called Houarn Pogamm, and a damsel whose name was Bellah Postik.
They grew up together in love, as in age and stature; but every one that they had to care for them being dead, one after the other, and they left portionless, the two poor orphans were at last obliged to go into service. They ought, indeed, to have been happy, for they served the same master; but lovers are like the sea, that murmurs ever.
“If we had only enough to buy a little cow and a lean pig,” said Houarn, “I would take a bit of land of our master; and then the good father should marry us, and we would go and live together.”