Concerning Mont St Michel
So, when their feet were planted on the plain
That broaden’d toward the base of Camelot,
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn
Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount,
That rose between the forest and the field.
At times the summit of the high city flash’d;
At times the spires and turrets half-way down
Pricked through the mist; at times the great gate shone
Only, that open’d on the field below:
Anon, the whole fair city disappeared.
Tennyson’s _Gareth and Lynette_
“The majestic splendour of this gulf, its strategetic importance, have at
all times attracted the attention of warriors.” In this quaint fashion
commences the third chapter of a book upon Mont St Michel which is to be
purchased in the little town. We have already had a glimpse of the
splendour of the gulf from Avranches, but there are other aspects of the
rock which are equally impressive. They are missed by all those who,
instead of going by the picturesque and winding coast-road from
Pontaubault, take the straight and dusty _route nationale_ to Pontorson,
and then turn to follow the tramway that has in recent years been extended
along the causeway to the mount itself. If one can manage to make it a
rather late ride along the coast-road just mentioned, many beautiful
distant views of Mont St Michel, backed by sunset lights, will be an ample
reward. Even on a grey and almost featureless evening, when the sea is
leaden-hued, there may, perhaps, appear one of those thin crimson lines
that are the last efforts of the setting sun. This often appears just
behind the grey and dim rock, and the crimson is reflected in a delicate
tinge upon the glistening sands. Tiny rustic villages, with churches humble
and unobtrusive, and prominent calvaries, are passed one after the other.
At times the farmyards seem to have taken the road into their own hands,
for a stone well-head will appear almost in the roadway, and chickens,
pigs, and a litter of straw have to be allowed for by those who ride or
drive along this rural way. When the rock is still some distance off, the
road seems to determine to take a short cut across the sands, but thinking
better of it, it runs along the outer margin of the reclaimed land, and
there is nothing to prevent the sea from flooding over the road at its own
discretion. Once on the broad and solidly constructed causeway, the rock
rapidly gathers in bulk and detail. It has, indeed, as one approaches, an
almost fantastic and fairy-like outline. Then as more and more grows from
the hazy mass, one sees that this remarkable place has a crowded and much
embattled loneliness. Two round towers, sturdy and boldly machicolated,
appear straight ahead, but oddly enough the wall between them has no
opening of any sort, and the stranger is perplexed at the inhospitable
curtain-wall that seems to refuse him admittance to the mediaeval delights
within. It almost heightens the impression that the place belongs
altogether to dreamland, for in that shadowy world all that is most
desirable is so often beyond the reach of the dreamer. It is a very
different impression that one gains if the steam train has been taken, for
its arrival is awaited by a small crowd of vulture-like servants and
porters from the hotels. The little crowd treats the incoming train-load of
tourists as its carrion, and one has no time to notice whether there is a
gateway or not before being swept along the sloping wooden staging that
leads to the only entrance. The simple archway in the outer wall leads into
the Cour de l’Avancee where those two great iron cannons, mentioned in an
earlier chapter, are conspicuous objects. They were captured by the heroic
garrison when the English, in 1433, made their last great effort to obtain
possession of the rock. Beyond these, one passes through the barbican to
the Cour de la Herse, which is largely occupied by the Hotel Poulard Aine.
Then one passes through the Porte du Roi, and enters the town proper. The
narrow little street is flanked by many an old house that has seen most of
the vicissitudes that the little island city has suffered. In fact many of
these shops which are now almost entirely given over to the sale of
mementoes and books of photographs of the island, are individually of great
interest. One of the most ancient in the upper part of the street, is
pointed out as that occupied in the fourteenth century by Tiphane de
Raguenel, the wife of the heroic Bertrand du Guesclin.
It is almost impossible for those who are sensitive in such matters, not to
feel some annoyance at the pleasant but persistent efforts of the vendors
of souvenirs to induce every single visitor to purchase at each separate
shop. To get an opportunity for closely examining the carved oaken beams
and architectural details of the houses, one must make at least some small
purchase at each trinket store in front of which one is inclined to pause.
Perhaps it would even be wise before attempting to look at anything
architectural in this quaintest of old-world streets, to go from one end to
the other, buying something of trifling cost, say a picture postcard, from
each saleswoman. In this way, one might purchase immunity from the
over-solicitous shop-keepers, and have the privilege of being able to
realise the mediaeval character of the place without constant
interruptions.
Nearly every visitor to Mont St Michel considers that this historic gem, in
its wonderful setting of opalescent sand, can be “done” in a few hours.
They think that if they climb up the steps to the museum--a new building
made more conspicuous than it need be by a board bearing the word _Musee_
in enormous letters--if they walk along the ramparts, stare for a moment at
the gateways, and then go round the abbey buildings with one of the small
crowds that the guide pilots through the maze of extraordinary vaulted
passages and chambers, that they have done ample justice to this
world-famous sight. If the rock had only one-half of its historic and
fantastically arranged buildings, it would still deserve considerably more
than this fleeting attention paid to it by such a large proportion of the
tourists. So many of these poor folk come to Mont St Michel quite willing
to learn the reasons for its past greatness, but they do not bring with
them the smallest grains of knowledge. The guides, whose knowledge of
English is limited to such words as “Sirteenth Senchury” (thirteenth
century), give them no clues to the reasons for the existence of any
buildings on the island, and quite a large proportion of visitors go away
without any more knowledge than they could have obtained from the
examination of a good book of photographs.
To really appreciate in any degree the natural charms of Mont St Michel, at
least one night should be spent on the rock. Having debated between the
rival houses of Poularde Aine and Poularde Jeune, and probably decided on
the older branch of the family, perhaps with a view to being able to speak
of their famous omelettes with enthusiasm, one is conducted to one of the
houses or dependences connected with the hotel. If one has selected the
Maison Rouge, it is necessary to make a long climb to one’s bedroom. The
long salle a manger, where dinner is served, is in a tall wedge-like
building just outside the Porte du Roi and in the twilight of evening
coffee can be taken on the little tables of the café that overflows on to
the pavement of the narrow street. The café faces the head-quarters of the
hotel, and is as much a part of it as any of the other buildings which
contain the bedrooms. To the stranger it comes as a surprise to be handed a
Chinese lantern at bedtime, and to be conducted by one of the hotel
servants almost to the top of the tall house just mentioned. Suddenly the
man opens a door and you step out into an oppressive darkness. Here the use
of the Chinese lantern is obvious, for without some artificial light, the
long series of worn stone steps, that must be climbed before reaching the
Maison Rouge, would offer many opportunities for awkward falls. The
bedrooms in this house, when one has finally reached a floor far above the
little street, have a most enviable position. They are all provided with
small balconies where the enormous sweep of sand or glistening ocean,
according to the condition of the tides, is a sight which will drag the
greatest sluggard from his bed at the first hour of dawn. Right away down
below are the hoary old houses of the town, hemmed in by the fortified wall
that surrounds this side of the island. Then stretching away towards the
greeny-blue coast-line is the long line of digue or causeway on which one
may see a distant puff of white smoke, betokening the arrival of the early
train of the morning. The attaches of the rival hotels are already awaiting
the arrival of the early batch of sight-seers. All over the delicately
tinted sands there are constantly moving shadows from the light clouds
forming over the sea, and blowing freshly from the west there comes an
invigorating breeze.
Before even the museum can have a real interest for us, we must go back to
the early times when Mont St Michel was a bare rock; when it was not even
an island, and when the bay of Mont St Michel was covered by the forest of
Scissey.
It seems that the Romans raised a shrine to Jupiter on the rock, which soon
gave to it the name of Mons Jovis, afterwards to be contracted into
Mont-Jou. They had displaced some earlier Druidical or other
sun-worshippers who had carried on their rites at this lonely spot; but the
Roman innovation soon became a thing of the past and the Franks, after
their conversion to Christianity, built on the rock two oratories, one to
St Stephen and the other to St Symphorian. It was then that the name
Mont-Jou was abandoned in favour of Mons-Tumba. The smaller rock, now known
as Tombelaine, was called Tumbella meaning the little tomb, to distinguish
it from the larger rock. It is not known why the two rocks should have been
associated with the word tomb, and it is quite possible that the Tumba may
simply mean a small hill.
In time, hermits came and built their cells on both the rocks and gradually
a small community was formed under the Merovingian Abbey of Mandane.
It was about this time, that is in the sixth century, that a great change
came over the surroundings of the two rocks. Hitherto, they had formed
rocky excrescences at the edge of the low forest-land by which the country
adjoining the sea was covered. Gradually the sea commenced a steady
encroachment. It had been probably in progress even since Roman times, but
its advance became more rapid, and after an earthquake, which occurred in
the year 709, the whole of the forest of Scissey was invaded, and the
remains of the trees were buried under a great layer of sand. There were
several villages in this piece of country, some of whose names have been
preserved, and these suffered complete destruction with the forest. A
thousand years afterwards, following a great storm and a consequent
movement of the sand, a large number of oaks and considerable traces of the
little village St Etienne de Paluel were laid bare. The foundations of
houses, a well, and the font of a church were among the discoveries made.
Just about the time of the innundation, we come to the interesting story of
the holy-minded St Aubert who had been made bishop of Avranches. He could
see the rock as it may be seen to-day, although at that time it was crowned
with no buildings visible at any distance, and the loneliness of the spot
seems to have attracted him to retire thither for prayer and meditation. He
eventually raised upon the rock a small chapel which he dedicated to Michel
the archangel. After this time, all the earlier names disappeared and the
island was always known as Mont St Michel. Replacing the hermits of Mandane
with twelve canons, the establishment grew and became prosperous. That this
was so, must be attributed largely to the astonishing miracles which were
supposed to have taken place in connection with the building of the chapel.
Two great rocks near the top of the mount, which were much in the way of
the builders, were removed and sent thundering down the rocky precipice by
the pressure of a child’s foot when all the efforts of the men to induce
the rock to move had been unavailing. The huge rock so displaced is now
crowned by the tiny chapel of St Aubert. The offerings brought by the
numerous pilgrims to Mont St Michel gave the canons sufficient means to
commence the building of an abbey, and the unique position of the rock soon
made it a refuge for the Franks of the western parts of Neustria when the
fierce Norman pirates were harrying the country. In this way the village of
Mont St Michel made its appearance at the foot of the rock. The contact of
the canons with this new population brought some trouble in its wake. The
holy men became contaminated with the world, and Richard, Duke of Normandy,
replaced them by thirty Benedictines brought from Mont-Cassin. These monks
were given the power of electing their own abbot who was invested with the
most entire control over all the affairs of the people who dwelt upon the
rock. This system of popular election seems to have worked admirably, for
in the centuries that followed, the rulers of the community were generally
men of remarkable character and great ideals.
About fifty years before the Conquest of England by Duke William, the abbot
of that time, Hildebert II., commenced work on the prodigious series of
buildings that still crown the rock. His bold scheme of building massive
walls round the highest point, in order to make a lofty platform whereon to
raise a great church, was a work of such magnitude that when he was
gathered to his fathers the foundations were by no means complete. Those
who came after him however, inspired by the great idea, kept up the work of
building with wonderful enthusiasm. Slowly, year by year, the ponderous
walls of the crypts and undercrofts grew in the great space which it was
necessary to fill. Dark, irregularly built chambers, one side formed of the
solid rock and the others composed of the almost equally massive masonry,
grouped themselves round the unequal summit of the mount, until at last,
towards the end of the eleventh century, the building of the nave of the
church was actually in progress. Roger II., the eleventh of the abbots,
commenced the buildings that preceded the extraordinary structure known as
La Merveille. Soon after came Robert de Torigny, a pious man of great
learning, who seems to have worked enthusiastically. He raised two great
towers joined by a porch, the hostelry and infirmary on the south side and
other buildings on the west. Much of this work has unfortunately
disappeared. Torigny’s coffin was discovered in 1876 under the north-west
part of the great platform, and one may see a representation of the
architect-abbot in the clever series of life-like models that have been
placed in the museum.
The Bretons having made a destructive attack upon the mount in the early
years of the thirteenth century and caused much damage to the buildings,
Jourdain the abbot of that time planned out “La Merveille,” which comprises
three storeys of the most remarkable Gothic halls. At the bottom are the
cellar and almonry, then comes the Salle des Chevaliers and the dormitory,
and above all are the beautiful cloisters and the refectory. Jourdain,
however, only lived to see one storey completed, but his successors carried
on the work and Raoul de Villedieu finished the splendid cloister in 1228.
Up to this time the island was defenceless, but during the abbatiate of
Toustain the ramparts and fortifications were commenced. In 1256 the
buildings known as Belle-Chaise were constructed. They contained the
entrance to the abbey before the chatelet made its appearance. After
Toustain came Pierre le Roy who built a tower behind Belle-Chaise and also
the imposing-looking chatelet which contains the main entrance to the whole
buildings. The fortifications that stood outside this gateway have to some
extent disappeared, but what remain are shown in the accompanying
illustration.
In the early part of the fifteenth century, the choir of the church
collapsed, but peace having been declared with England, soon afterwards
D’Estouteville was able to construct the wonderful foundations composed of
ponderous round columns called the crypt of les Gros-Piliers, and above it
there afterwards appeared the splendid Gothic choir. The flamboyant tracery
of the windows is filled with plain green leaded glass, and the fact that
the recent restoration has left the church absolutely bare of any
ecclesiastical paraphernalia gives one a splendid opportunity of studying
this splendid work of the fifteenth century. The nave of the church has
still to undergo the process of restoration, for at the present time the
fraudulent character of its stone-vaulted roof is laid bare by the most
casual glance, for at the unfinished edge adjoining the choir one may see
the rough lath and plaster which for a long time must have deceived the
visitors who have gazed at the lofty roof. The western end of the building
is an eighteenth century work, although to glance at the great patches of
orange-coloured lichen that spread themselves over so much of the
stone-work, it would be easy to imagine that the work was of very great
antiquity. In earlier times there were some further bays belonging to the
nave beyond the present west front in the space now occupied by an open
platform. There is a fine view from this position, but it is better still
if one climbs the narrow staircase from the choir leading up to the
asphalted walk beneath the flying buttresses.
About the middle of the fourteenth century, Tiphaine de Raguenel, the wife
of Bertrand du Guesclin, that splendid Breton soldier, came from Pontorson
and made her home at Mont St Michel, in order not to be kept as a prisoner
by the English. There are several facts recorded that throw light on the
character of this noble lady, sometimes spoken of as “The Fair Maid of
Dinan.” She had come to admire Du Guesclin for his prowess in military
matters, and her feeling towards him having deepened, she had no hesitation
in accepting his offer of marriage. It appears that Du Guesclin after this
most happy event--for from all we are able to discover Tiphaine seems to
have shared his patriotic ideals--was inclined to remain at home rather
than to continue his gallant, though at times almost hopeless struggle
against the English. Although it must have been a matter of great
self-renunciation on her part, Tiphaine felt that it would be much against
her character for her to have any share in keeping her husband away from
the scene of action, and by every means in her power she endeavoured to
re-animate his former enthusiasm. In this her success was complete, and
resuming his great responsibilities in the French army, much greater
success attended him than at any time in the past. Du Guesclin was not a
martyr, but he is as much the most striking figure of the fourteenth
century as Joan of Arc is of the fifteenth.
All through the period of anxiety through which the defenders of the mount
had to pass when the Hundred Years’ War was in progress, Mont St Michel was
very largely helped against sudden attacks by the remarkable vigilance of
their great watch-dogs. So valuable for the safety of the Abbey and the
little town were these dogs considered that Louis XI. in 1475 allowed the
annual sum of twenty-four pounds by Tours-weight towards their keep. The
document states that “from the earliest times it has been customary to have
and nourish, at the said place, a certain number of great dogs, which are
tied up by day, and at night brought outside the enclosure to keep watch
till morning.” It was during the reign of this same Louis that the military
order of chivalry of St Michael was instituted. The king made three
pilgrimages to the mount and the first chapter of this great order, which
was for a long time looked upon as the most distinguished in France, was
held in the Salle des Chevaliers.
For a long while Tombelaine, which lies so close to Mont St Michel, was in
the occupation of the English, but in the account of the recovery of
Normandy from the English, written by Jacques le Bouvier, King of Arms to
Charles VII., we find that the place surrendered very easily to the French.
We are told that the fortress of Tombelaine was “An exceedingly strong
place and impregnable so long as the persons within it have provisions.”
The garrison numbered about a hundred men. They were allowed to go to
Cherbourg where they took ship to England about the same time as the
garrisons from Vire, Avranches, Coutances, and many other strongholds which
were at this time falling like dead leaves. Le Bouvier at the end of his
account of this wonderful break-up of the English fighting force in
Normandy, tells us that the whole of the Duchy of Normandy with all the
cities, towns, and castles was brought into subjection to the King of
France within one year and six days. “A very wonderful thing,” he remarks,
“and it plainly appears that our Lord God therein manifested His grace, for
never was so large a country conquered in so short a time, nor with the
loss of so few people, nor with less injury, which is a great merit, honour
and praise to the King of France.”
In the early part of the sixteenth century, Mont St Michel seems to have
reached the high-water mark of its glories. After this time a decline
commenced and Cardinal le Veneur reduced the number of monks to enlarge his
own income. This new cardinal was the first of a series not chosen from the
residents on the mount, for after 1523 the system of election among
themselves which had answered so well, was abandoned, and this wealthy
establishment became merely one of the coveted preferments of the Church.
There was no longer that enthusiasm for maintaining and continuing the
architectural achievements of the past, for this new series of
ecclesiastics seemed to look upon their appointment largely as a sponge
which they might squeeze.
In Elizabethan times Mont St Michel once more assumed the character of a
fortress and had to defend itself against the Huguenots when its resources
had been drained by these worldly-minded shepherds, and it is not
surprising to find that the abbey which had withstood all the attacks of
the English during the Hundred Years’ War should often fall into the hands
of the protestant armies, although in every case it was re-taken.
A revival of the religious tone of the abbey took place early in the first
quarter of the seventeenth century, when twelve Benedictine monks from St
Maur were installed in the buildings. Pilgrimages once more became the
order of the day, but since the days of Louis XI. part of the sub-structure
of the abbey buildings had been converted into fearful dungeons, and the
day came when the abbey became simply a most remarkable prison. In the time
of Louis XV., a Frenchman named Dubourg--a person who has often been spoken
of as though he had been a victim of his religious convictions, but who
seems to have been really a most reprehensible character--was placed in a
wooden cage in one of the damp and gruesome vaults beneath the abbey.
Dubourg had been arrested for his libellous writings concerning the king
and many important persons in the French court. He existed for a little
over a year in the fearful wooden cage, and just before he died he went
quite mad, being discovered during the next morning half-eaten by rats. A
realistic representation of his ghastly end is given in the museum, but one
must not imagine that the grating filling the semi-circular arch is at all
like the actual spot where the wretched man lay. The cage itself was
composed of bars of wood placed so closely together that Dubourg was not
able to put more than his fingers between them. The space inside was only
about eight feet high and the width was scarcely greater. The cage itself
was placed in a position where moisture dripped on to the miserable
prisoner’s body, and we can only marvel that he survived this fearful
torture for so many months. During the French Revolution the abbey was
nothing more than a jail, and it continued to be devoted to this base use
until about forty years ago. Since that time, restoration has continued
almost unceasingly, for in the prison period nothing was done to maintain
the buildings, and there is still much work in hand which the French
government who are now in control are most successfully carrying out.
These are a few of the thrilling phases of the history of the rock. But
what has been written scarcely does the smallest justice to its crowded
pages. The only way of being fair to a spot so richly endowed with
enthralling events seems to be in stirring the imagination by a preliminary
visit, in order that one may come again armed with a close knowledge of all
that has taken place since Aubert raised his humble chapel upon the lonely
rock. Who does not know that sense of annoyance at being conducted over
some historic building by a professional guide who mentions names and
events that just whet the appetite and then leave a hungry feeling for want
of any surrounding details or contemporary events which one knows would
convert the mere “sight” into holy ground. I submit that a French guide, a
French hand-book or a poor translation, can do little to relieve this
hunger, that Mont St Michel is fully worthy of some preliminary
consideration, and that it should not be treated to the contemptuous scurry
of a day’s trip.
The tides that bring the sea across the great sweep of sand surrounding
Mont St Michel, are intermittent, and it is possible to remain for a day or
two on the island and be able to walk around it dry-shod at any hour. It is
only at the really high tides that the waters of the Bay of Cancale give
visitors the opportunity of seeing the fantastic buildings reflected in the
sea. But although it is safer and much more pleasant to be able to examine
every aspect of the rock from a boat, it is possible to walk over the sands
and get the same views provided one is aware of the dangers of the
quicksands which have claimed too many victims. It is somewhat terrifying
that on what appears to be absolutely firm sand, a few taps of the foot
will convert two or three yards beneath one’s feet into a quaking mass.
There is, however, no great danger at the foot of the rocks or
fortifications, but to wander any distance away entails the gravest risks
unless in company with a native who is fully aware of any dangerous
localities. The sands are sufficiently firm to allow those who know the
route to drive horses and carts to Tombelaine, but this should not
encourage strangers to take any chances, for the fate of the English lady
who was swallowed up by the sands in sight of the ramparts and whose body
now lies in the little churchyard of the town, is so distressing that any
repetition of such tragedies would tend to cast a shade over the glories of
the mount.
You may buy among the numerous photographs and pictures for sale in the
trinket shops, coloured post-cards which show flaming sunsets behind the
abbey, but nothing that I have yet seen does the smallest justice to the
reality. Standing on the causeway and looking up to the great height of the
tower that crowns the highest point, the gilded St Michael with his
outspread wings seems almost ready to soar away into the immensity of the
canopy of heaven. Through the traceried windows of the chancel of the
church, the evening light on the opposite side of the rock glows through
the green glass, for from this position the upper windows are opposite to
one another and the light passes right through the building. The great mass
of curiously simple yet most striking structures that girdle the summit of
the rock and form the platform beneath the church, though built at
different times, have joined in one consenescence and now present the
appearance of one of those cities that dwell in the imagination when
reading of “many tower’d Camelot” or the turreted walls of fairyland. Down
below these great and inaccessible buildings comes an almost perpendicular
drop of rocks, bare except for stray patches of grass or isolated bushes
that have taken root in crevices. Then between this and the fortified wall,
with its circular bastions, encircling the base of the rock, the roofs of
the little town are huddled in picturesque confusion. The necessity of
accommodating the modern pilgrims has unfortunately led to the erection of
one or two houses that in some measure jar with their mediaeval
surroundings. Another unwelcome note is struck by the needlessly aggressive
board on the museum which has already been mentioned. However, when a
sunset is glowing behind the mount, these modern intrusions are subdued
into insignificance, and there is nothing left to disturb the harmony of
the scene.
A walk round the ramparts reveals an endless series of picturesque
groupings of the old houses with their time-worn stone walls, over which
tower the chatelet and La Merveille. Long flights of stone steps from the
highest part of the narrow street lead up to the main entrance of the abbey
buildings. Here, beneath the great archway of the chatelet, sits an old
blind woman who is almost as permanent a feature as the masonry on which
she sits. Ascending the wide flight of steps, the Salle des Gardes is
reached. It is in the lower portion of the building known as Belle-Chaise,
mentioned earlier in this chapter. From this point a large portion of the
seemingly endless series of buildings are traversed by the visitor, who is
conducted by a regular guide. You ascend a great staircase, between massive
stone walls spanned by two bridges, the first a strongly built structure of
stone, the next a slighter one of wood, and then reach a breezy rampart
where great views over the distant coasts spread themselves out. From here
you enter the church, its floor now littered with the debris of
restoration. Then follow the cloister and the refectory, and down below
them on the second floor of the Merveille is the Salle des Chevaliers.
Besides the wonderful Gothic halls with their vaulted roofs and perfect
simplicity of design, there are the endless series of crypts and dungeons,
which leave a very strong impression on the minds of all those whose
knowledge of architecture is lean. There is the shadowy crypt of Les Gros
Pilliers down below the chancel of the church; there is the Charnier where
the holy men were buried in the early days of the abbey; and there is the
great dark space filled by the enormous wheel which was worked by the
prisoners when Mont St Michel was nothing more than a great jail. It was by
this means that the food for the occupants of the buildings was raised from
down below. Without knowing it, in passing from one dark chamber to
another, the guide takes his little flock of peering and wondering visitors
all round the summit of the rock, for it is hard, even for those who
endeavour to do so, to keep the cardinal points in mind, when, except for a
chance view from a narrow window, there is nothing to correct the
impression that you are still on the same side of the mount as the
Merveille. At last the perambulation is finished--the dazzling sunshine is
once more all around you as you come out to the steep steps that lead
towards the ramparts.