Faouët, not to be confounded with the place of the same name in the Côtes du Nord, is a small town with a great square, and a still more important old market-house, which, like that at Auray, strikes the stranger as being a marvellous construction of wooden beams, and quite impossible to duplicate to-day, whereas the construction is doubtless far less complex than the modern market-houses that one sometimes meets,—mere ugly sheds of brick and iron.
There is a never ceasing ebb and flow of peasant-folk at the Faouët market, the busiest of which come the Saturday of Holy Week, the Friday after Pentecost, the twentieth of June, and the sixth and twenty-sixth of July.
Market-house, Faouët
The scene is too dazzling to describe, and too active to snap-shot, and one can only feel its real significance by personal participation. The transactions are not of the stupendous order, and there is much good-natured chaffing and bartering, and it offers a scene as lively as if the fate of a nation were depending on the outcome.