nd north coasts.
The immigrants from Britain the Greater formed by degrees the
counties of Vannes, Cornouaille, Leon, and Domnonee, constituted a
powerful aristocracy, and initiated a long and arduous struggle
against the Frankish monarchs, who exercised a nominal suzerainty over
Brittany. Louis the Pious placed a native chief, Nomenoe, at the head
of the province, and a long period of peace ensued. But in A.D. 845
Nomenoe revolted against Charles the Bald, defeated him, and forced
him to recognize the independence of Brittany, and to forgo the annual
tribute which he had exacted. A ballad by Villemarque describes the
incident. Like Macpherson, who in his enthusiasm for the fragments of
Ossianic lore 'reconstructed' them only too well, Villemarque
unfortunately tampered very freely with such matter as he collected,
and it may even be that the poem on Nomenoe, for which he claims
authority, is altogether spurious, as some critics consider. But as it
affords a spirited picture of the old Breton chief the story is at
least worth relating.

The poem describes how an aged chieftain waits on the hills of Retz
for his son, who has gone over to Rennes to pay the Breton tribute to
the Franks. Many chariots drawn by horses has he taken with him, but
although a considerable time has elapsed there is no indication of his
return. The chieftain climbs to an eminence in the hope of discerning
his son in the far distance, but no sign of his appearance is to be
seen on the long white road or on the bleak moors which fringe it.

The anxious father espies a merchant wending slowly along the highway
and hails him.

"Ha, good merchant, you who travel the land from end to end, have you
seen aught of my son Karo, who has gone to conduct the tribute
chariots to Rennes?"

[Illustration: NOMENOE]

"Alas! chieftain, if your son has gone with the tribute it is in vain
you wait for him, for the Franks found it not enough, and have weighed
his head against it in the balance."

The father gazes wildly at the speaker, sways, and falls heavily with
a doleful cry.

"Karo, my son! My lost Karo!"

The scene changes to the fortress of Nomenoe, and we see its master
returning from the chase, accompanied by his great hounds and laden
with trophies. His bow is in his hand, and he carries the carcass of a
boar upon his shoulder. The red blood drops from the dead beast's
mouth and stains his hand. The aged chief, well-nigh demented, awaits
his comin