Forever Breton, Never French
by Chloe Destremau
I’m sipping fresh cider, sitting at the bistro Le Corlazo overlooking the port of Conleau in Vannes. Across the Vincin channel, lining the walking trail on the other side, a wall bears the same message it has for the past fifteen years:
“BRETON TOUJOURS, FRANÇAIS JAMAIS” (Forever Breton, never French)
The municipality has repeatedly attempted to remove it without success. The location is too remote, too close to a nature reserve, and the locals have long given up. Every year, just before summer, the author returns to freshen the paint, keeping the words unmistakable.
The French tourist sits at this beautiful spot, the sun beaming through the trees, bouncing off the glassy water, until they find the words on the wall. A quiet reminder: they are outsiders. But the message isn’t purely defiant, nor does it aim to alienate. It stems from something more profound, older, and culturally rooted in all who call Brittany home.
Always Breton: an Independent Spirit
Brittany has never quite accepted being ruled. For centuries, the region resisted absorption into the French kingdom, clinging to its status as an independent duchy with its own laws, customs, and language. Anne of Brittany, though married off twice to French kings, spent her life negotiating to protect Breton autonomy. The union with France was signed in 1532 during Francois I’s reign here in Vannes. There are two versions to this treaty, however: the French one speaks of annexation, while the Breton affirms its administrative autonomy. United but distinct. Yet, France has continued to push its francization, blurring the lines of separation. Brittany’s parliament was dissolved during the Revolution, the Breton language was banned in schools, and street names were changed. Bretons saw their culture fade before their eyes, feeding the desire to fall back into an independent state. Five hundred years later, the Breton Pride still beats strong.
Never French: a Genetic History
Bretons are correct in thinking they aren’t exactly French. Their roots did not stem from the Franks, and as I dove deeper into the history of my home region, I came across an interesting finding.
Recent genomic studies reveal a complex ancestry in Brittany, shaped by multiple waves of migration. Bretons exhibit a particularly strong genetic affinity with populations from Ireland and, to a lesser extent, Wales and Cornwall, likely reflecting migrations between the 3rd and 9th centuries, when Celtic-speaking groups from the British Isles settled in what was then called Armorica. These Brittonic migrants brought their languages with them, which evolved into modern Breton, a language historically closely related to Cornish and Welsh.
The peninsula, mostly surrounded by the ocean, sits astray from the continent. Its localization reinforces genetic isolation and restricts movement to other lands. The Bretons did not mix with the Franks. It is only later on, after the First World War, that Bretons begin to mix with the outside regions. From a biological standpoint, Bretons are, therefore, their own entity set apart from the French. Indeed, Always Breton, never French.
What does it mean to be Breton?
Although genetically distinct, Bretons continue to celebrate figures like Anne, whose ancestry was not exclusively Breton. She is of Frank descent, from Clisson and the Pyrenees, tied to the Navarre and Aragon lineages. Perhaps being Breton can also mean being a little French, as long as one stands firm on its independence status.
I finish my glass and listen to the clinking masts of the sailboats resting in the protected estuary. Brittany is my home, though I was born in the United States, and neither side of my family has Breton roots. But I grew up to the rhythm of the waves crashing against the cliffs of Quiberon and the calmer ripples of the Gulf of Morbihan, sailing among the islands and oyster farms, always returning home with the tide. My favorite dessert is a crepe slathered in salted butter caramel, sometimes traded for a rich kouign-amann, the staple Breton butter cake. Somewhere in a drawer in my bedroom lies a white and black Breton flag, the Gwenn ha du.
Like the first Bretons, I come from elsewhere. Like Anne, my lineage is anything but Breton. And yet, when I step outside of my region, I do not cease to be Breton. I am merely French by default. Being Breton goes beyond a rigid heritage; it is more about a feeling, a sense of belonging to the region itself – to its ethereal landscapes, its cultural emblems, and its independent voice.
Note about the writer: Chloe Destremau is a freelance writer and the daughter of Christy Destremau, founder and owner of France Off the Beaten Path Tours.
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