nghold to devastate the country. He
murdered above fifteen hundred peasants at Plougastel, sank an English
ship, without allowing her crew a moment to save themselves, imprisoned
and tortured at Douarnenez all who fell into his hands. His victims never
survived his cruelties more than three or four days, when their bodies
were cast out into the bay to the fishes. These were only a few of his
atrocities. As he called himself one of the leaders of the League in
Brittany, the Duke de Mercoeur, its chief, indignant at the barbarities
perpetrated in its name, caused Fontenelle to be imprisoned, but he was
liberated on paying a ransom; and, fearing he would give Douarnenez over
to the Spaniards, Fontenelle was included in the pacification of Mercoeur
with Henry IV. But four years later he was implicated in the conspiracy of
Biron; on which occasion all his old crimes were raked up against him, and
he was condemned to be dragged on a hurdle, and broken alive upon the
wheel, which sentence was executed on the Place de Greve at Paris in 1602.
In consideration of the illustrious house to whom he belonged, the king
granted that in the act of condemnation he should not go by his own name.
We next went to see the church of Saint Nonna in the town, the largest of
the numerous churches in the parish of Penmarch. Ships are sculptured in
front of the tower, as at St. Guenole. On the left of the porch is a
pretty window, the mullions formed by three fleur de lis. In the church is
a curious old painting styled, "Procession du voeu de Louis XIII."
Portraits of the King, the Dauphin (Louis XIV.), Anne of Austria, and
Cardinal Richelieu, are introduced, and a view of the church of St. Nonna
is in the background.

[Illustration: 55. Fleur-de-Lise Window, Church of St. Nonna, Penmarch.]

On our way home we passed, on the left, at Kerscaven, two menhirs, one
curiously furrowed and shaped like a half-opened fan.

We had a pretty drive from Pont l'Abbe, with occasional views of the Bay
of Audierne, extending from Penmarch to the Pointe du Raz. Midway the
horse, going down a steep hill, fell, and we all found ourselves upon the
road, but happily unhurt. We met numbers of peasants returning from the
fair at Pontcroix; and our driver, a butcher by trade, coolly stopped the
vehicle, to discourse with them on the price of stock, and to handle the
sheep they had bought. Our drive was enlivened with occasional peeps of
the Bay of Audierne till we reach