of a kind which would speedily be suppressed on this side the Channel;
shooting galleries galore, exactly like our own; peep-shows,
marionette theatres, panoramas; a booth with a two-headed bull and
other monsters, a Breton bagpiper playing his instrument outside being
worthy of inclusion in the list; but one saw no "fat women"--possibly
because they are such common objects of French life! A large
switchback railway seemed to be very popular, and, like all the rival
attractions, its proprietors claimed for it the distinction of having
come "direct from the Paris Exhibition," where it had been awarded
first prize. The smallest side-shows, consisting of perhaps a few
distorting mirrors, had all been "exhibited at Paris," and the
two-headed bull was advertised by a huge painting showing all the
crowned heads of Europe and President Loubet examining the beast,
which, on inspection, turned out to be only a little removed from the
normal by having a head slightly broader than usual, with the
incipient formation of a third eye in its forehead, and a muzzle
remotely suggestive of two joined together.
V.
A performance which I enjoyed not a little was given by a quack
doctor. An enormous carriage, resembling in outline an old
stage-coach, but decorated with much carved moulding and thickly
covered with gilt and crimson, which produced a most bizarre effect,
stood in an open space. Seated on the roof was a boy, who turned a
machine which emitted the only hideous noise to be heard at the fair.
In the open fore-part, richly cushioned, a man stood dressed in a
dazzling suit of brass armour, his glittering helmet lying in front of
him, and in his hand a small bottle of clear liquid. He was of the
southern type, swarthy, wonderfully fluent of speech. He assured a
gaping crowd that his medicine could cure any disease from toothache
to tetanus, and he invited any sufferer to step up. Immediately one
did so, the boy ground out the hideous din above, and the doctor sat
for a few noisy seconds while his patient told him his trouble! Then
the racket was stopped with a wave of the quack's hand, and he
explained for five minutes, in vivid words, the terrible nature of the
patient's disease, and invited the poor wretch to pick any bottle from
the stock in front of him. This done, he had to open his waistcoat and
shirt--for it was a severe pain in the left side from which he
suffered--and the quack in armour struck the bottom of the bottle on
his knee, thus causing the cork to pop out. He now shook the bottle
vigorously with his forefinger on the neck, and the fluid changed into
green, brown, and finally black, whereat the simpletons around
marvelled, as they were meant to do. The comic practitioner next
thrust the bottle into the open shirt-front of his patient, and shook
the contents of it against the victim's skin, pressing his hand for a
few moments on the part. Then he asked the fellow to step down as
cured, and go among the crowd "telling his experience." A dozen cases
were treated in less than half an hour--people with neuralgia,
sprained wrists and ankles--and always the same formula as to
consultation, explanation, application! A handful of liquid applied to
a man's cheek evaporated mysteriously and worked wonders. Intending
patients were told that the doctor could be consulted at the hotel
near by during certain hours each day, and many must have gone to him
there, for the fluent humbug had every appearance of driving a
prosperous practice.
VI.
But the feature of this fair which, more than any other, distinguished
it sharply from anything to be seen in our country, was "The Grand
Theatre of the Walkyries and of the Passion of N. S. J. C." The
mysterious initials stand for the French of "Our Lord Jesus Christ." A
gentleman with a shaggy head of hair, dressed in a well-fitting
frock-coat, and possessed of an excellent voice, stood on the platform
outside, surrounded by oil paintings of sacred pictures and a dozen
or more performers in the costumes of Roman soldiers, apostles and
other Biblical characters. Judas was readily distinguished by his red
hair, Mary by her nunlike garb. The showman announced that the
performance was "about to commence," and urged us to walk up and
witness the most pleasing spectacle of the fair. A hand-bill
distributed among the crowd described the entertainment as a
"mimodrame biblique" of the Passion, played, sung, enterpreted and
mimicked by forty persons! "This spectacle, unique in France, will
leave in the minds of the inhabitants of this town an unforgettable
memory. It is not to be confounded with anything else you may have
seen; it is no mere series of living pictures. At each performance M.
Chaumont, the originator, will present twenty-one tableaux, three
hundred costumes will be used, and three apotheoses will be shown. The
establishment is comfortable, lighted by electricity from a plant of
thirty-horse power. It is a spectacle of the best taste, pleasing to
everyone, and families may come here with the fullest confidence.
Balloons will be distributed to the children every Thursday." So ran
the circular, which also contained the information (mendacious, I
doubt not) that the entertainment was the property of a limited
company with a capital of £20,000.
When the signal to begin was given the place was not more than half
filled, and the audience seemed in no reverential mood. A pianist
began to play on a very metallic piano, and outside the voice of the
manager was still heard urging the crowd to "walk up" and "be in
time." The drop-curtain was rolled up, and the manager stepped inside
the building as a number of characters in the sacred drama filed on to
the stage. He explained, in a rapid torrent of words, what they were
supposed to be doing, but Judas jingled the filthy lucre so lustfully
that the pantomime was very obvious in its purport. The curtain fell
again, and the manager stepped outside to harangue the crowd while the
second tableau was being prepared; but the ringing of a bell brought
him in again, and so on through the whole series.
It must be confessed that the performance was carried out with no
small dramatic ability, and M. Chaumont gave a wonderfully realistic
interpretation of the rôle of Christ, some of the tableaux being
strikingly conceived, as, for examples, the kiss of Judas and Christ
before Pilate, the latter character being admirably represented by a
performer who looked a veritable Roman proconsul, and washed his hands
with traditional dignity. The Crucifixion, too, was represented with
vivid reality; but the audience was disposed to laugh at the writhing
of the malefactors on their crosses, and did indeed giggle when the
soldier held up the sponge of vinegar to the dying Saviour. It was
obvious that the whole performance, although really discharged by the
actors with remarkable fidelity to tradition, and a commendable
assumption of reverence, was more amusing than impressive to the
spectators, who, though moved to laughter when St. Veronica pressed
her handkerchief to the face of Christ and, turning to the audience,
displayed the miraculous impression of His features, applauded the
more dramatic scenes liberally. What interested me personally was M.
Chaumont's idea of a miracle. Save that of St. Veronica, I have
forgotten the others enacted; they were quite unfamiliar to me, but in
the instant of each miracle a limelight was flashed for two or three
seconds from "the flies," and this was supposed to betoken the
super-natural character of the affair.
VII.
Of course, such a spectacle as I have described would be quite
impossible in our country to-day, although time was in our history,
when miracle plays were a recognised feature of the church in England.
It was in no sense comparable with any of the passion plays still
performed periodically in some continental towns, and while the
incongruous surroundings of "The Grand Theatre of the Passion of
N.S.J.C." were not calculated to induce a spirit of reverence in the
spectators, it was a saddening spectacle to find an audience of
Catholic people taking so lightly the representation of scenes which,
however wrong in the light of history, should have been to them sacred
subjects of faith.
It was characteristically French that immediately opposite the theatre
wherein this Biblical pantomime was presented stood a large exhibition
containing an enormous collection of pathological models and
curiosities. This was, without doubt, the foulest display of
unspeakable horrors to be seen in any civilised country in our time,
for under the hypocritical plea of illustrating, by wax models and
otherwise, the obstetrics of human life and the diseases of the body,
its proprietor--a woman, if you will believe me--had gathered together
a collection of incredible horrors which men and women, and even young
people, were allowed to inspect on the payment of one franc. The same
exhibition, which is probably not over-valued at £20,000, was actually
brought to London some few years ago, but the police speedily cleared
it out of our country.
These blots, however, are the only blemishes on the Orleans Fair, and
for brightness, gaiety, and general good taste, I must conclude as I
began, by saying that a French carnival is in every sense a more
pleasing spectacle than any of our English or Scottish fairs present.
The Palace of the Angels
I.
It was in Evreux, while cycling through Normandy one summer, that my
wife and I met three "new women," who were also touring the country
a-wheel. Their route was for the most part the reverse of ours, but
not so extended, and in discussing the country with them I asked how
long they had spent at Mont St. Michel. "Oh, we have not gone there,"
was the reply; "we were told it wasn't interesting, and so we have
kept away from it." We were saddened to find that three English women,
especially of the "advanced type," could know so little of the
monuments of France as to accept the irresponsible opinion of some
one-eyed tourist, who in his or her idle babble had said Mont St.
Michel was not worth visiting.
Not interesting, indeed! There is not in the whole of Normandy, in all
France, in historic England even, an example of so much interest
concentrated in so small a space. An enthusiastic Frenchman has
described it as the eighth wonder of the world. Victor Hugo has said
that Mont St. Michel is to France what the Pyramids are to Egypt.
Large and deeply interesting volumes have been written about it. It
will form a theme for writers for generations to come, and artists
will employ their pencils here so long as a vestige of the wonderful
buildings remains.
There is a strong temptation in writing of Mont St. Michel to fall
into the style of the junior reporter, who will blandly tell you that
a thing is indescribable, and immediately proceed to describe it. One
is persuaded that this marvellous monument of the Middle Ages cannot
be adequately described in plain prose, however apt the pen, yet one
is equally desirous of making the attempt. But I shall promise my
readers on this occasion to make no effort at an elaborate
description, which, indeed, the space of a single chapter renders
impossible, and to attempt no more than a general sketch of the most
noteworthy features of the Mount.
II.
To begin with, I take it for granted that the reader, if he or she has
not already visited Mont St. Michel, is at least aware that it is
situated in the bay of the same name, near the point where the coasts
of Normandy and Brittany merge, and thus some forty-three miles
south-east of Jersey. The story of Mont St. Michel, even had the hand
of man never reared upon the rock one of the most remarkable
structures the human mind has conceived, could scarcely have failed to
be interesting. During the Roman occupation of France, or Gaul as it
was then called, the great stretch of sea that lies to-day between the
Mount and Jersey was then a vast forest, through which some fourteen
miles of Roman military road were constructed. But in the third
century the invasion of the sea compelled the Romans to alter the
course of their road, and in the next century both the Mount and the
small island of Tombelaine, which lies scarcely two miles away, were
isolated at high tide. So on from century to century the sea has
gradually eaten away this part of Normandy, until now some hundred and
ninety square miles of land are entirely submerged at high tide. This
alone is sufficient to invest the Mount with a peculiar interest, for
one can stand upon it to-day and, gazing far away to sea, contemplate
the absolute mastery of Neptune, whose ravages have left of all the
great forest of Scissy nothing more than a handful of trees growing
sturdily among the rocks on the north side of the Mount.
But it is the human interest attaching to Mont St. Michel that
outweighs everything else. The rock is steeped in religious lore, and
in the annals of war there is no place in France more historic.
Originally a monastery, it became in time an impregnable fortress as
well; the rough warrior lived side by side upon it with the studious
monk, and there the clash of battle was as regular an occurrence for
years on end as the mass and vespers. In its old age it became a
prison, one of the most dreaded in a land of terrible prisons, and
just as it had been absolutely impregnable to attack (the English
without success besieging it for eleven years in the fifteenth
century), so was it an inviolable prison, only one man ever having
been able to effect his escape, and even in his case escape would have
been impossible but for the facilities unconsciously placed in his
hands by his gaolers.
III.
The first thought that comes to the visitor as he views the Mount from
the shore is, What could have induced anyone to choose so difficult a
site for the foundation of a monastery? But here legend conveniently
steps in and explains all. In the eighth century Aubert, the Bishop of
Avranches, one of the most pious in an age of piety, was in the habit
of retiring to the Mount for rest and meditation, and during one of
his visits there the Archangel Saint Michael, the Prince of the Armies
of the Lord, appeared to him and told him to build on the top of the
Mount a sanctuary in his honour. From which it will be seen that even
angels in those days were not above self-advertisement. But Aubert,
though a bishop, was "even as you and I," and when he awoke in the
morning he had some doubt as to whether he had been dreaming or had
really entertained the Archangel; so he prolonged his stay in the hope
of receiving another visit; nor was he disappointed. A few days later
Saint Michael appeared to him once more, and rather sharply repeated
his command. But even now Aubert was not convinced, and he determined
to give Saint Michael a third chance, which the Saint was nothing
loath to accept, repeating his instructions in a most peremptory
manner. He also touched the bishop's head, leaving a hole in the skull
"for a sign." We have heard of a surgical operation to introduce a
joke, but this is the only case on record where a saint has found it
necessary to perform a surgical operation for the introduction of a
command into the head of a bishop, and Aubert, like a sensible man,
concluding that one hole in his skull was sufficient, immediately set
about the building of "the Palace of the Angels." Aubert's skull is
still preserved in the Church of Saint Gervais at Avranches, and the
startling effect of Saint Michael's touch may be seen to this day!
This is only one of the innumerable legends relating to the origin of
the Abbey. Another is worthy of mention, illustrating, as it does, the
advantages of co-operation with an angel when one is performing so
difficult a task as Aubert took up. On the top of the Mount were two
large rocks which interfered seriously with building, and could be
moved by no human efforts. Saint Michael, therefore, appeared to a
devout peasant who lived on the coast and bore the familiar name of
Bain, telling him to take his sons to the Mount and move the rocks.
Despite the Caledonian flavour of his name, Bain did not wait to have
his skull perforated by the Archangel, but went forthwith together
with eleven of his children and tried to move the rocks. They could
not stir them one hair's-breadth, however; whereupon Aubert asked Bain
if he had brought all his children, and the good man explained that
they were all there except the baby, which was with its mother. The
Bishop then instructed him to go at once and fetch the infant, "for
God often chooses the weak to confound the strong." The child was
brought, and at a touch of his little foot the rocks went tumbling
down the Mount, in proof of which one of them may be seen to this day
with a little chapel to Saint Aubert built on the top of it.
One more of the many miracles associated with the beginning of the
great work should not be left unmentioned. Saint Aubert was naturally
much exercised as to where he should rear his sanctuary, the pinnacle
of a lonely rock being an unusual place to build on even in those
unusual days, but here again the Archangel, who had manifested so much
personal interest in the work, came to his rescue, and caused a heavy
dew to fall on the Mount, leaving a dry space on the top. Upon this
dry space was the church to be built.
In 709 Saint Aubert had practically completed the structure, and the
church was dedicated to Saint Michael after two precious relics
(namely, a piece of a scarlet veil, which the Archangel had left on
the occasion of his famous appearance at Monte Gargano in Naples,
together with a piece of the marble on which he had stood) had been
placed in a casket on the altar. Not a vestige of the oratory built by
Saint Aubert, nor of the church erected in 963 by Richard, remains.
The oldest part of the buildings now existing represents a church
founded in 1020 by Richard, second Duke of Normandy, and constructed
under the direction of the Abbot Hildebert II. The transepts, the
greater part of the nave, and the crypts date back to this period.
IV.
The whole scheme of the wonderful memorial that fascinates the eye of
the latter-day tourist owed its conception to this eleventh-century
abbot, and surely no heaven-born architect ever conceived a more
audacious plan. His project was not merely to occupy the limited space
on the summit of the Mount with his religious buildings, but to start
far down the sides of the rock, and, by utilising the Mount just as
the sculptor makes use of a skeleton frame whereon to plaster the clay
in which he models his statue, so to rear upward gigantic walls and
buttresses which at the top would carry a huge platform to hold the
superstructures, creating thus a collection of vast buildings with the
live rock thrust up in the centre for foundation. It is to the glory
of Saint Michael that for no less than five centuries this colossal
scheme of Hildebert's was carried out with absolute unity of purpose
by his successors, an achievement only possible among religious
workers. The result was that this lonely Mount gradually became
clothed with a series of most beautiful buildings, which to the eye of
the beholder seem to have grown by some natural process out of the
rock itself.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF MONT ST. MICHEL]
To the student of architecture it would be impossible to mention any
monument more worthy of study than this. Not only do we find within
its innumerable cloisters, crypts, and halls, specimens of the purest
Gothic that exists, but at every turn we are presented with structures
that conform to the very highest ideals of art, in being at once
useful and beautiful. There is not a single buttress, not a window,
not an arch, not a pillar, that does not discharge some duty, and the
removal of which would not weaken in some degree a part of the scheme.
V.
The best way to secure an intelligible notion of the work of these
monkish builders is to walk around the Mount at low tide and study the
buildings from the outside. The feature that will most impress one in
following this course is the wonderful north side of the Mount, known
as the Merveille, which rears its massive walls sheer from the rock
face, supported along its entire length by enormous buttresses, that
spring with a fine suggestion of strength and permanency from their
rocky base. The principal buildings, apart from the church, are
contained within these massive walls. To the west we have, in three
stories, the Cellar, the Salle des Chevaliers, and above the latter
the open Cloister, the most perfect example of its kind in the world.
The eastern part begins with the Almonry, above which is the Salle des
Hôtes, and on the top of that the Refectory.
The whole effect of the Merveille is superb, yet what is it more than
a great wall, held up by mighty buttresses, pierced in different ways
to light the chambers within and to make each suitable for its
particular office? The most perfect economy has been observed
throughout, the buttresses are terminated the moment their services
are not required, and the Refectory, which carries a light wooden
roof, is lighted by means of long narrow lancets which give to the
wall far more strength than would have been possible had it been
pierced by wide windows; still, the lighting within is perfect. In
brief, the Merveille, apart from the numerous other buildings that
went to form the monastic and military establishment, is enough to
send an architect into raptures, and might, if he knew not the dangers
of the incoming tide, which has to cover nine miles of land at the
rate of a race-horse, induce him to tarry over long in feasting his
eyes on this marvellous achievement. It is beautiful beyond
description, and yet we may be certain that its builders never
thought of mere beauty in its construction, but built purely to meet
the exigencies of the situation, and to provide the best possible
accommodation for the inhabitants of the monastery and their
dependants. As one writer has put it, "the beauty just happened." It
is only when we find builders striving after effect that we are face
to face with decadent art.
Continuing our walk round the rock on those sands that have been the
scene of many a bitter battle, we pass under the ramparts, beginning
with the Tour du Nord at the eastern end of the Merveille. Here,
again, the beautiful union of art and Nature is observed, this
magnificent tower seeming to be but the natural growth of the shelving
rocks at its base. It is no surprise to know that through the ages
which knew not the Maxim or the 100-ton gun, the splendid
fortifications successfully resisted every attack of the envious
English, the Bretons, and the Huguenots. The modern town is huddled
picturesquely between the ramparts and the Abbey to the east and
south.
VI.
Having completed the tour around the Mount, the visitor should proceed
along the ramparts, and reach the entrance to the Abbey by the
staircase known as the Grand Degré, which leads into the Barbican, and
through the massive and beautiful Châtelet into the more ancient
entrance of the Abbey, known as Belle-Chaise, where are situated the
Guard Room and the Government Room. Here the guide will take us in
hand, and march us from point to point of interest in the interior.
But it is impossible, in the space of a short chapter, to attempt a
description of this, that would follow in any detail the stipulated
round of the apartments at present shown to the public.
Suffice it to say that you will first be taken to the Church, which is
now, and likely to be for many years, in the hands of the restorers.
Only four bays of the seven that went to the making of the great
Norman nave remain, and these have had to be much restored; but here
it is a pleasure to record that the restoration has been carried out
with perfect taste, so that the latter-day visitor has an excellent
idea of the appearance of the Abbey and its dependent buildings as
these were in the heyday of Mont St. Michel's prosperity.