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National Geographic : 1936 May
Contents
632 THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE midnight or winter,' the sight should not be missed. But if a choice of times can be made, then the time of high tides is that time. And if there is a moon, and one can spend the night on the Rock, then sight seeing has reached its ultimate. From Avran~ies the view resolves itself into a map of the Bay of Mont St. Michel and that great""" ace of sand from which -the tide recedes. For 22 miles, from Avranches to Cancale on the Brittany side, extend these tidal sands; and in the middle of all this flatness, as if floating in the sky like a mirage, rises the granite rock of Mont St. Michel. Two hundred and fifty feet it towers, and man-made structures have in creased its height to 498 feet. The curious and seeking observer can also note from afar the three distinct tiers on the Rock. First above the waters are the ramparts, splendid in their medieval strength; next, the band of clustered houses, "clinging like limpets to a rock"; and then the buttressed Merveille and the crown of towers and turrets resting on that marvel of masonry. And just as the Rock has three tiers of architectural interest, the three tiers rep resent three purposes-fortress, prison, and abbey. FROM DRUID DAYS TO AIRPLANE ERA Pontorson, lying on the little river Coues non, is the place of departure for the Mount. There one would take to the sea, were it not for the causeway of approach, built across sand and water. In olden times-it can be done now if the traveler likes risk of wetting-the only way to reach the Rock was to walk or ride across the exposed wet sand. Even kings and bishops came that way, risking tides and quicksands. Fancy Louis XI snatch ing up hislkng gray robes and picking his way among 'the salt puddles! After centuries of wet feet and flounder ing horses, energy was expended to bank high a causeway and on this to run a little train from Pontorson. And now we have the motor car by hundreds and even the air plane, which alights like a butterfly on the sands by the ramparts. There was an earlier group, an almost prehistoric one, that passed with wet feet over the sands to reach the shrine-for religion has always loved this Rock. Druid priestesses established here a sanctuary and conducted mystic rites. They decorated their heads with fragrant wreaths of ver vain and carried quivers full of golden arrows which had a property valuable to those who shudder and faint in thunder storms. SAILORS SHOT STORMS WITH ARROWS One of these arrows, it was believed, would disperse the fiercest storm if shot into the clouds by a lad who had never en countered Cupid. Sailors were given to calling at the Rock for an arrow. If the archer-mariner was successful with a storm, he could return and apply to the Druid priestess for a high reward, one of the most lovely of her maidens. Hermits of a holy sort came af ter the Druids. The place was then called Mons Tumba, or Mont Tombe, because it had been one of the sea tombs of the ancient Celts. Altogether modern after Celts and Druids seems the advent of St. Aubert. In the 8th century he lived on the hill of Avranches. He was bishop there, working and daydreaming with the mighty Rock before his sight, when a heavenly command came to him from St. Michael to establish a Christian church on the apex of the granite pile. Visions of that sort were common in those days (A. D. 708) and were fervently obeyed. Bishop Aubert found a few holy hermits nesting like sea birds on the heights of the Rock, and that meant helpers. So he estab lished an oratory and the place soon at tracted pilgrims from far and wide. Later a monastery was founded. Mont Tombe dropped its sepulchral name and became Mont St. Michel, in honor of the saint who had appeared to Aubert in the vision thrice repeated. Evidently the Normans, who came two centuries after Aubert, bore no particular jealousy toward the monks and their abbey, for the buildings were not destroyed. The Norman chief, Rollo, and William the Con queror, his descendant, had larger and more aspiring business in mind. AN ARTIST IN OMELETS Omelets! Is it possible that the first thing demanded on the Rock is not the marvel of buildings, but an omelet? What a tyrant is an empty stomach! The omelets of Mont St. Michel are the legacy of Me're Poulard, a famous hostess of the Rock. She stands supreme as the maker of omelets, in the minds of those 632
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