“Il n’y a pas en Bretagne, il n’y en a pas un,
Il n’y a pas un Saint comme St. Yves.”
The last will and testament of St. Yves is preserved in the sacristy of the Church de Minihy, and also his breviary. His tomb is in the cemetery, surmounted by an arcade through which the faithful pass, crawling upon their knees when they seek his aid.
Shrine of St. Yves, Tréguier
Not many travellers in France have ever even heard of Seven Isles, situated five kilometres or more off the coast near Tréguier. The corsairs of Jersey and Guernsey took refuge upon this little archipelago in the olden time, and long maintained a form of government quite of their own making, and even erected fortifications, of which that on the Île aux Moines has still some suggestion of strength.
Usually quite deserted, there are two seasons of the year when the isles take on a population of residents from the mainland entirely out of keeping with their size and number: in February for seaweed gathering, and from June to September for the gathering of sea-mosses, or jargot, as the natives call it. One who would experience something out of the ordinary could not do better than make this little excursion. The passage from the mainland does not look so very terrible to the stranger, but not even the hardy fishermen will attempt it if the sky is the least threatening. He says simply, “Only go out in very fine weather,” and sits tight and prays and whistles for that same fine weather, though he evidently does not expect it to come very soon, for with every bit of fleecy cloud that crosses his vision, he exclaims: “Big storm soon!”