Every one who has the slightest regard for historical monuments, who
values mediæval architecture, or cares in the least degree for the
beautiful and the picturesque, must heartily sympathize with M. Victor
Hugo in his protest against the proposed scheme for uniting the
wonderful island of Mont St. Michel with the mainland by means of a
_causeway_, and possibly a _railway_!
Those who know Mont St. Michel well, and, like the writer, have spent
several days upon the island, cannot but feel that such a scheme would
not only be a frightful disfigurement, but would entirely destroy all
the associations and the poetry of the place. Practical people will
say, "Modern improvement cannot stop in its march forward to consider
poetical associations and mere artistic whims and fancies." Now, this
would be a possible argument if Mont St. Michel were a busy, thriving
town, a commercial port, or the seat of great industries; but in a case
where the only trade is that of touting, the only visitors sightseers,
the only "stock-in-trade" mediæval remains, surely, from a practical
point of view, anything which will injure these antiquities will really
destroy the importance of the island, as its _only_ value consists in
its wonderful historic and artistic associations.
[Illustration: MONT ST. MICHEL, NORMANDY.]
The first glimpse of Mont St. Michel is strange and weird in the
extreme. A vast ghostlike object of a very pale pinkish hue suddenly
rises out of the bay, and one's first impression is that one has been
reading the "Arabian Nights," and that here is one of those fairy
palaces which will fly off, or gradually fade away, or sink bodily
through the water. Its solemn isolation, its unearthly color, and its
flamelike outline fill the mind with astonishment.
Mont St. Michel is by far the most perfect example of a mediæval
fortified abbey in existence, with its surrounding town and
dependencies, all quite perfect; just, in fact, as if time had stood
still with them since the fifteenth century. The great granite rock
rises to the height of two hundred and thirty feet out of the bay; it
is twice an island and twice a peninsula in the course of twenty-four
hours. The only approach is at low water, by driving or walking across
the sands. When, however, one arrives within a few yards of the solitary
gate to the "town," walking or driving has to be abandoned, and here
the commercial industries of the inhabitants commence. A number of
individuals, half sailors and half fishermen, are standing ready to
carry you on their shoulders over the small gully, which is very rarely
quite dry. Entering through the old gate one sees two ancient pieces
of cannon taken from the English, who unsuccessfully laid siege to the
place in 1422. Close to the gate are the two rival inns, which are very
primitive in their arrangement, the entrance hall forming the kitchen,
as in many old Breton houses. A second frowning old gateway leads to the
single street, which, passing between two rows of antique gabled houses,
and under the chancel of the little parish church, conducts one to the
almost interminable flight of stone steps leading to the gateway of
the monastery. Upon ringing the bell a polite lay brother opens the
iron-studded door, and we are admitted into a solemn, vaulted hall, with
another stone staircase opposite. Here we go up and up, to a second
vaulted hall, where, in olden times, we should have had to give up any
arms which we were carrying. Then another stone staircase, which lands
us in a small court with a well in it, at the opposite end of which is a
heavy and solid arched doorway. We pass through this, expecting to find
ourselves on the top of the central tower of the church at least, and
are surprised to find ourselves in the solemn and almost dark crypt of
the church. Here we have climbed up some 230 feet above the world and
the sea to find ourselves in an underground vault; up in the air and
down under the rock at the same time. Wonderfully beautiful is this
strange crypt, when one's eye gets accustomed to the gloom, with its
exquisite ribbed and vaulted roof, supported upon huge circular columns.
Returning to the court, another doorway conducts us into a most superb
Gothic hall, with a row of slender columns down the center. This was the
monks' refectory in ancient times; adjoining this is another grand hall,
divided into four aisles by rows of granite columns, all of the most
perfect thirteenth century work. Above these are two other halls, still
more magnificent than those below. One of these, called the "Salle des
Chevaliers," is probably the most beautiful Gothic hall in existence.
Again a flight of stone stairs, and we find ourselves, where we should
certainly not have expected, in the cloisters of the monastery, the
exquisite architecture of which, with its countless marble columns and
delicate double arcades, cannot be described.
The church deserves a few words, as it is a veritable cathedral as to
size and grandeur. The choir is immensely lofty, and constructed of
granite most elaborately wrought in the later Gothic or flamboyant
style. The nave and transepts are in the old Romanesque style, with
solid pillars and low round arches. The church is beautifully kept, and
contains some very interesting old reredoses and altars with carving in
alabaster. The one modern altar in the Lady Chapel is composed entirely
of silver! Our space will not permit us to describe the numerous
interesting old Abbey buildings--the library, the prior's lodging, the
vast kitchen, the prisons, the dungeons, and the means of supplying the
place in times of siege. The proposed causeway would join the island to
the left of our view, and our readers can imagine the abominable effect
of a high embankment disfiguring this point, and breaking through the
interesting old walls and towers, with, perhaps, a Brummagem Gothic
station against the old time-worn gateway.--_H. W. Brewer, in London
Graphic_.
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