No. 65 of _Constable's Miscellany_, just published, consists of
_A Journal of a Residence in Normandy_, by J.A. St. John, Esq. This
volume falls in opportunely enough for the further description of Mount
St. Michael, engraved in No. 477 of _The Mirror_.
Breakfasting in haste, I procured a horse and a guide, and set out for
the mount, no less celebrated for its historical importance, than for
the peculiarity of its position. As soon as I had emerged from the
streets of Avranches, I saw before me a vast bay, now entirely deserted
by the tide, and consisting partly of sand, partly of slime, intersected
by the waters of several rivers, and covered, during spring tides, at
high water.--Two promontories, the one bluff and rocky, the other sandy
and low, project, one on either hand, into the sea; and in the open
space between these two points are two small islands, from around which
the sea ebbs at low water: one of them is a desert rock, called the
Tombelaine, and the other the Mont St. Michel.[3] The space thus covered
and deserted alternately by the sea is about eight square leagues, and
is here called the Grève.
The Mont St. Michel, which is about the same height as the Great Pyramid
of Egypt, and now stood, as that does, upon a vast plain of sand, which
is here, however, skirted in its whole length by the sea, has a very
striking and extraordinary aspect. It appeared, as the water was so
close behind it, to rise out of the sea, upon the intense and dazzling
blue of which its grey rocks and towers were relieved in a sharp and
startling manner; and, as I descended lower and lower on the hill-side,
and drew near the beach, its pinnacles seemed to increase in height, and
the picturesque effect was improved.
At length I emerged from the shady road upon the naked beach, and saw
the ferry-boat and the Charon that were to convey me and my charger over
the first river. My Avranches guide here quitted me; but I had been told
that the ferryman himself usually supplied his place in piloting
strangers across the quicksands, which, owing to the shifting of the
course of the rivers, are in constant change, and of the most dangerous
character. Horses and their riders, venturing to select their own path
over the sands, have been swallowed up together, and vessels, stranded
here in a tempest, have in a short time sunk and disappeared entirely.
The depth of what may perhaps be termed the unsolid soil, is hitherto
unknown, though various attempts have been made to ascertain it. In one
instance, a small mast, forty feet high, was fixed up in the sands, with
a piece of granite of considerable weight upon the top of it; but mast,
granite, and all, rapidly disappeared, leaving no trace behind. It is
across several leagues of a beach of this nature that one has to
approach the Mont St. Michel.
The scene which now presented itself was singular and beautiful. On the
right the land, running out boldly into the sea, offered, with its rich
verdure, a striking contrast to the pale yellow sands beneath. In front,
the sea, blue, calm, waveless, and studded in the distance with a few
white sails, glittering in the sun, ran in a straight line along the
yellow plain, which was, moreover, intersected in various directions by
numerous small rivers, whose shining waters looked like molten silver.
To add to the effect of the landscape, silence the most absolute brooded
over it, except when the scream of a seamew, wheeling about drowsily in
the sunny air, broke upon the ear. The mount itself, with its ancient
monastic towers, rearing their grey pinnacles towards heaven, in the
midst of stillness and solitude, appeared to be formed by nature to be
the abode of peace, and a soft and religious melancholy.
For some time I rode on musing, gazing delightedly at the scene, and
recalling to mind the historical events which had taken place on those
shores, and rendered them famous. The cannon of England had thundered on
every side, and her banners had waved triumphantly from the towers
before me. My reflections, however, were soon called off from these
towering topics, being interrupted by the loud laugh of a party of
soldiers and wagoners, who were regaling themselves with fresh air at
the gate of the fortress.
Dismounting here, I entered the small town which clusters round the foot
of the mount within the wall; and whatever romance might have taken
lodging in my imagination, was quickly put to flight by the stink, and
filth, and misery, which forced themselves upon my attention. I never
beheld a more odious den. Leaving my horse and guide at a cabaret, I
ascended the only street in the place, which winding about the foot of
the mountain, leads directly to the castle. Toiling up this abominable
street, and several long and very steep flights of steps, I at length
reached the door, where, having rung, and waited for some time, I was
admitted by a saucy gendarme, who demanded my business and my passport
in the most insolent tone imaginable. I delivered up my passport; and
while the rascal went to show it to the man in office--governor,
sub-governor, or some creature of that sort--had to stand in the dismal
passage, among a score or two of soldiers. In general, however, French
soldiers are remarkably polite, and these, with the exception of the
above individual, were so also. Even he, when he returned, had changed
his tone; for, having learned from his superior that I was an
Englishman, he came, with cap in hand, to conduct me round the building.
The first apartment, after the chapel, which is small, and by no means
striking, into which I was led, was the ancient refectory, where there
were some hundreds of criminals, condemned for several years to close
imprisonment, or the galleys, weaving calico. I never in my life saw so
many demoniacal faces together.
The apartment in which these miscreants were assembled, was a hall about
one hundred feet long, by thirty-five or forty in breadth, and was adorned
with two rows of massy, antique pillars, resembling those which we find
in Gothic churches. From hence we proceeded to the subterranean chapel,
where are seen those prodigious columns upon which the weight of the
whole building reposes. The scanty light, which glimmers among these
enormous shafts, is just sufficient to discover their magnitude to the
eye, and to enable one to find his way among them. Having crossed this
chapel, we entered the quadrangular court, around which the cloisters,
supported by small, graceful pillars, of the most delicate workmanship,
extend. Here the monks used to walk in bad weather, contriving the next
day's dinner, or imagining excuses for detaining some of the many pretty
female pilgrims who resorted, under various pretences, to this celebrated
monastery. At present, it affords shelter to the veterans and gendarmes
who keep guard over the prisoners below.
From various portions of the monastery, we obtain admirable views of sea
and shore; but the most superb coup-d'oeil is from a tall slender tower,
which shoots up above almost every other portion of the building. Hence
are seen the hills and coasts of Brittany, the sea, the sandy plain
stretching inland, with the rivers meandering through it, and the long
sweep of shore which encompasses the Grève, with Avranches, and its
groves and gardens, in the back ground. Close at hand, and almost
beneath one's feet, as it were, is the barren rock called the
Tombelaine, which, though somewhat larger than the Mont St. Michel, is
not inhabited. Even this rock, however, was formerly fortified by the
English; and several remains of the old towers are still found among the
thorns and briers with which it is at present overrun. Several fanciful
derivations of the word Tombelaine are given by antiquaries, some
imagining it to have been formed of the words _Tumba Beleni_, or
_Tumba Helenae_; and in support of the latter etymology, the
following legend is told:--Helen, daughter of Hoël, King of Brittany,
was taken away, by fraud or violence, from her father's court, by a
certain Spaniard, who, having conducted her to this island, and
compelled her to submit to his desires, seems to have deserted her
there. The princess, overwhelmed with misfortune, pined away and died,
and was buried by her nurse, who had accompanied her from Brittany.
At the Mont St. Michel was preserved, until lately, the enormous wooden
cage in which state prisoners were sometimes confined under the old
regime.
The most unfortunate of the poor wretches who inhabited this cage was
Dubourg, a Dutch editor of a newspaper. This man having, in the exercise
of his duty, written something which offended the majesty of Louis XIV.,
or some one of his mistresses, was marked out by the magnanimous monarch
for vengeance; and the means which, according to tradition, he employed
to effect his purpose, was every way worthy of the royal miscreant. A
villain was sent from Avranches to Holland, a neutral state, with
instructions to worm himself into the friendship and confidence of
Dubourg, and, in an unguarded moment, to lead him into the French
territories, where a party of soldiers was kept perpetually in readiness
to kidnap him and carry him off. For two years this modern Judas is said
to have carried on the intrigue, at the end of which period he prevailed
upon Dubourg to accompany him on a visit into France, when the soldiers
seized upon their victim, and hurried him off to the Mont St. Michel.
Confinement and solitude do not always kill. The Dutchman, accustomed,
perhaps, to a life of indolence, existed twenty years in his cage, never
enjoying the satisfaction of beholding "the human face divine," or of
hearing the human voice, except when the individual entered who was
charged with the duty of bringing him his provisions and cleaning his
cell. Some faint rays of light, just such as enable cats and owls to
mouse, found their way into the dungeon; and, by their aid, Dubourg,
whom accident or the humanity of his keeper had put in possession of an
old nail, and who inherited the passion of his countrymen for flowers,
contrived to sculpture roses and other flowers upon the beams of his
cage. Continual inaction, however, though it could not destroy life,
brought on the gout, which rendered the poor wretch incapable of moving
himself about from one side of the cage to the other; and he observed to
his keeper, that the greatest misery he endured was inflicted by the
rats, which came in droves, and gnawed away at his gouty legs, without
his being able to move out of their reach or frighten them away.
Having examined the principal objects of curiosity at the mount, and
learning that the tide was rising rapidly on the Grève, I descended from
the fortress, and mounting my horse, set out on my return to Avranches.
My guide informed me that I had staid somewhat too long, and in fact,
the sea, flowing and foaming furiously over the vast plain of sand,
quickly surrounded the mount, and was at our heels in a twinkling.
However, the guide sprang off with that long trot peculiar to fishermen,
and was followed with great good will by the beast which had been so
obstinate in the morning. We were joined in our retreat by a party of
sportsmen, who appeared to have been shooting gulls upon the sands; but
they could not keep up with the young fisherman, who stepped out like a
Newmarket racer, and in a short time landed me safe at the Point of
Pontorson, near the village of Courtils, where he resided.
By the way, we have just received Mr. St. John's _Anatomy of
Society_, which we hope to notice in our next or subsequent number.
[3] Why is the _a_ omitted?
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