So intricate is the architecture, so numerous the rooms, halls, and corridors, that a description in detail of the whole of the building is impossible, nevertheless one or two points stand vividly out in the mind. One is the marvellous flight of steps beneath the archway by which entrance is obtained; another, the winding stone staircase, called L’Escalier de Dentelle, by which one mounts to a platform running round the exterior of the choir beneath the flying buttresses, with their delicate turrets and pinnacles; another, the wide panorama seen from any of the platforms around the church. The church itself is half Norman, half Pointed, and the nave, with its solid pillars and rounded arches contrasts with the later decorative work in the choir. Nor is the crypt beneath—rightly called the Crypt of the Great Pillars—less interesting. These stupendous columns, planted in couples, support the whole fabric, and their colossal strength strikes one with wonder and awe.
The abbey is in three stories, the highest containing the dormitory and cloister, and the second two vast halls, while in the lowest are the almonry, and endless vaults.
The cloisters are the most perfect of their kind in Europe, and strike one the more imperiously from their delicate and almost fragile beauty amid much that is so stern and massive. They were made in the early part of the thirteenth century, and the twenty-first abbot, Raoul de Villedieu, was the designer. The cloisters consist of a double row of slender columns of polished granite round an interior courtyard, and the rows are placed so that the columns in each do not coincide with one another in the line of vision, but interlace. Within the narrow passage between the rows are ribs, admirably and symmetrically disposed, connecting the two, and in the spandrils of the exterior rows there is carving of fruit and foliage of such fairy-like delicacy, that it is almost impossible to believe it was executed seven centuries ago. The cloister was “restored” 1877–81.
The dormitory, which is reached from the cloister, is vast, and has an arcade of deeply-set lancet windows on each side, to the numbers of thirty-one and twenty-six. This is of slightly later date than the cloister. In the Salle des Chevaliers on the floor below a raised terrace runs along one side, and there are two carved mantelpieces, while the ribbed roof is supported by pillars with carved capitals. The same profusion of space and detail is noticeable everywhere. The refectory adjoining shows fireplace, ribbed roof, and graceful columns also, and was finished about 1215. There are nine large mullioned windows. Each hall varies, yet all are animated by the same spirit of artistic loving care. In the lowest storey there is the ancient cloister, superseded by the work of Villedieu, and also a beautiful crypt with short thick pillars, and a delicately groined roof.
One carries away loving memories of all this beauty, embodying so much strength and thought and care; one forgets, as one always does forget, the herding together, the sense of imprisonment, the disagreeable sights and sounds; and one thinks of this island, standing alone, and rising from the bosom of the sea, as one thinks of some glorious picture well-known and loved. It is said that once all this bay was clothed with wood; that the island was no island; and rumour whispers now that the bay is to be reclaimed, the land planted and cultivated, and the island be an island no more; may it be but lying rumour, and not based on any foundation, for the day that St Michel ceases to be an island, that day will she have been robbed of half her beauty and nearly all her charm. Long may it stand, that church-citadel, graceful, stern, and solitary “St Michel in peril of the Sea.”
CHAPTER X
THE STORMY CÔTENTIN
This is an age of travel, and many persons are searching diligently for some district intrinsically interesting and desirable, not too much overrun by their kind, and above all not too inaccessible, wherein they may take a holiday. Such a district there is in the Côtentin peninsula jutting out from the north coast of France, one of the only two peninsulas in Europe, by the way, which do point in that direction. It is not only in position that the Côtentin resembles Denmark, but also in race; here and here alone in Normandy may still be found men of the same blood as the Conqueror.
In conformation the Côtentin peninsula is akin to Brittany, being almost entirely of granite, which ancient formation extends over the whole district, with the exception of a strip south of La Hogue, on the western coast. The landscape is such as is generally found in granite countries, broken and varied, with stern coasts and massive cliffs, which are continually breaking away and letting the sea eat into the land. It is said that at one time Jersey was divided by only a narrow river from the mainland, and now with the recession of the coast it is far out to sea. Not only in scenery is the Côtentin a delightful place for a holiday, but in more unusual attractions. Its heights and hollows are studded with architectural remains, proud and stern chateaux, now for the most part occupied as farmhouses; its annals are as full of skirmishes and romantic stories as our own border country. Within a ten-mile radius of Valognes to the west and south, we find the chateaux of St Martin le Hebert, Bricbecque, Nehou, Vicomte St Sauveur, Crosville, Urville, and Flottemanville. Further south are the ruins of the ancient castle of La Haye du Puits. Of all these, Bricbecque and St Sauveur are the best known. Bricbecque stands up stern and strong still, a majestic ruin; in its courtyard is the hotel, and the far-stretching walls tell of its previous extent. The Sire of Bricbecque was nearly always at enmity with the Sire of St Sauveur, and the two regarded each other with great jealousy. St Sauveur was the more powerful, and in the time of the Conqueror its chieftain Neel, or Nigel, held the title of Premier Baron or Vicomte of the Côtentin. He it was who joined the conspiracy against William, to whom his father had been a loyal and true vassal; and he was among those horsemen who entered Valognes by stealth in order to seize William unawares and assassinate him. The story of the duke’s escape and the subsequent fight at Val-ès-Dunes has already been told. Yet after Neel had made his submission, William forgave him, and in time restored him to his castle, though the lands which Neel had held in Guernsey were handed over to the Church as an act of reparation. In this was only completed what his father had begun, for the elder Neel had given largely to the Church.