Much of the interior is beautifully and elaborately sculptured, and will bear long and close inspection. The nave and aisles are under one roof, like the church of St. Jean du Doigt: an arrangement not always effective. The choir is short, as also are the aisles, the south transept being the longest of all. A very effective rood screen separates the choir from the nave. It is constructed of Kersanton stone, and consists of three round arches, above which are canopies supporting a gallery of open work decorated with quatrefoils. The effect is extremely rich and imposing; and the foliage of the screen is a perfect study of complications.
At the end of the south transept is the Fool's Chapel. The frescoes are a history of his life, which is yet further carried out in the windows and on the bas reliefs of the pulpit. The high altar under the rose window is very finely moulded, with its canopied niches and beautiful tracery. There are many statues of saints in the church, dressed in Breton costumes, that would no doubt astonish them if they came back to life and saw themselves in effigy. Many parts of the church are decorated with wonderful carvings of vegetables, fruit and flowers.
But the general impression is heavy and sombre, the true Kersanton effect and colour. Time and the elements have softened, subdued and beautified the exterior; but the tone of the interior, unexposed to the elements, remains what it originally was: wanting in refinement and romance; it is the beauty of elaborate execution that imposes upon one. All the windows are remarkable for their lovely Flamboyant tracery, that of the rose window being especially fine and delicate.
The exterior is far finer, far more wonderful. One never grew tired of gazing; of examining it from every point of view. It was a dream picture and a marvel. Nothing we saw in Brittany compared with it, excepting the Cathedral of Quimper. Before it stretched the dreary plain; behind it were the humble houses composing the village, very much out of sight and not at all aggressive.
On the south side was the Gothic college built by Anne of Brittany; and here she and Francis the First lodged, when they came on a pilgrimage to le Folgoët. It is a Gothic building of the fifteenth century, with an octagonal turret of rare design; but its beauty is of the past. We found it in the hands of the restorers, who were doing their best to ruin it. Originally it harmonised wonderfully with the church, but soon the harmony will have disappeared for ever.
Our carriage had gone on to the neighbouring town of Lesneven, to rest the horses and await our arrival, leaving us free to examine and loiter as we pleased. No one troubled us. The inhabitants were all away; or sleeping; or eating and drinking; the scene was as quiet and desolate as if the church had been in the midst of a desert.
But the time came when we must leave it to its solitude and go back into the world—the small but interesting world of Brittany; the world of slow-moving people and sleepy ways, and ancient towns full of wonderful outlines and mediæval reminiscences.
We took a last look round. We seemed alone in the world, no sight or sound of humanity anywhere; the very workmen despoiling the Gothic college had disappeared, leaving the mute witnesses of their vandalism in the form of scaffolding and very modern bricks and mortar. Beyond was a village street and small houses well closed and apparently deserted. Nearer to us rose the magnificent church, with its towers and spire, all its rich carving fringed against the background of the sky. The longer we looked, the more wonderful seemed its solemn and exquisite tone. The trees beneath which we stood waved and bent and rustled in the strong wind that blew; and beyond all stretched the dreary plain; dreary and desolate, but adding much to the charm of the picture. It was a scene never to be forgotten; but it was, after all, a scene appealing only to certain temperaments: to those who delight in the highest forms of architecture; in walls time-honoured and lichen-stained; who find beauty and charm ever in the blue sky and the waving trees; a charm that is chiefly spiritual.
Leaving the church behind us, and the dreary plain to our left, we passed into a country road with high hedges. This soon led us to a pathway across the fields. About a mile in the distance the steeples of Lesneven rose up and served us as beacons. The day was still young and the sun was high in the heavens. Small white clouds chased each other rapidly, driven by the strong wind that blew. We soon reached the quiet town and found it quiet with a vengeance. Not knowing the way to the inn where our coachman had put up, it was some time before we could discover an inhabitant to direct us. At length we found a human being who had evidently come abroad under some mistaken impression, or in a fit of absence of mind. At the same time a child issued from a doorway. We felt quite in a small crowd. It was a humble child, but with a very charming and innocent expression; one of those faces that take possession of you at once and for ever. For it does not require days or weeks or months to know some people; moments will place you in intimate communion with them. You meet and suddenly feel that you must have known each other in some previous existence, so mutual is the recognition. But it is not so, for we have had no previous existence. It is nothing but the freemasonry of the spirit; soul going out to soul. For this reason the "love at first sight" that the poets have raved about in all the ages, and in all the ages mankind has laughed at, is probably as real as anything we know of; as real as our existence, the air we breathe, the heaven above us.
But we were at Lesneven, in the midst of the little crowd of two—we must not keep it waiting. And although the day is still young, yet the golden moments will fly, and the sun sinks rapidly westward.