32. Château of Rustéphan.
Pursuing our road through blocks of granite, we descended into the valley of Pontaven, the town of millers, according to the old saying—
“Pont Aven, ville de renom;
Quatorze moulins, deux maisons;”
a little port built upon rocks, at the foot of two elevated mountains, over which are scattered masses of granite boulders, obstructing the course of the river which bounds over them. The banks are lined with woody slopes; wooden bridges cross the [pg 151] river at intervals; mills are established on the ledges of the rocks on its sides; and the noise of the mills, with that of the sparkling river tumbling through the rocks in waterfalls, keep up a perpetual din. Pontaven is celebrated for the quantity of its salmon: so much is taken, that it used to be said that the millers fattened their pigs upon this fish, which was literally true, as they took the small salmon, called glésils, in nets (poches) for that purpose. Salmon now is very dear. At the mouth of the Pontaven river was a castle, whose proprietor had the privilege of firing upon the fishing-boats which returned up the river without giving to the castellan their finest fish, which his steward went down to select. Pontaven is seven and a half miles from Bannalec, the nearest railway station. After remaining a few hours we drove on to Quimperlé—in Breton, Kemper (confluence) Ellé—so called, because it is at the confluence of two rivers, the Elle and Isole:—
“Vous reverrai-je encore, ô fleuve de l'Ellé,
Vous, Izôle, où mon cœur est toujours rappellé!
Les eaux sombres de l'Ellé, claire ceux de l'Izôle;
De ces bords enchantés je dirais chaque saule.”
Brizeux.