The Legend of Mont Saint-Michel
I had first seen it from Cancale, this fairy castle planted in the sea. I had seen it dimly, like a gray shadow rising in the foggy sky. I saw it again from Avranches at sunset. The immense stretch of sand was red, the horizon was red, the whole boundless bay was red; alone, the Abbey, growing out there in the distance like a fantastic manor, like a dream palace, incredibly strange and beautiful this alone remained almost black in the purple of the dying day.
The following morning at dawn I went towards it across the sands. My eyes fastened on this gigantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo, and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached the greater my admiration grew, for perhaps nothing in the world is more wonderful or more perfect.
As surprised as if I had discovered the habitation of a god, I wandered through those halls supported by frail or massive columns, through those corridors open to the sky, raising my eyes in wonder to those spires which looked like rockets starting for the sky, and to that incredible crowd of towers, of gargoyles, of slender and charming ornaments, fire works of stone, granite lace, a masterpiece of colossal and delicate architecture.
As I was looking up in ecstasy, a Lower Normandy peasant came up to me and told me the story of the great quarrel between Saint Michel and the Devil.
A sceptical genius has said: “God made man in His image; man has returned the compliment.”
This saying is an eternal truth, and it would be very curious to write the history of the local divinity on every continent, as well as the history of the patron saints in each one of our provinces. The Negro has his ferocious man-eating idols; the polygamous Muhammadan fills his paradise with women; the Greeks, like a practical people, have deified all the passions.
Every village in France is under the influence of some protecting saint, modified according to the characteristics of the inhabitants.
Saint Michel watches over Lower Normandy, Saint Michel, the radiant and victorious angel, the sword-carrier, the hero of Heaven, the victorious, the conqueror of Satan.
But this is how the Lower Normandy peasant, cunning, underhand, and tricky, understands and tells of the struggle between the great Saint and the Devil:—
To escape from the malice of his neighbour the Demon, Saint Michel built himself, in the open ocean, this habitation worthy of an archangel; and only such a saint could build a residence of such magnificence.
But, as he still feared the approaches of the Evil One, he surrounded his domain with quicksands, more treacherous even than the sea.
The Devil lived in a humble cottage on the hill; but he owned all the pastures surrounded by the sea, the rich lands where grow the finest crops, the prosperous valleys, and all the fertile hills of the country; but the Saint ruled only over the sands. So Satan was rich, whereas Saint Michel was as poor as a beggar.
After a few years of fasting the Saint grew tired of this state of affairs, and began to think of some compromise with the Devil; but the matter was by no means easy, as Satan kept a good hold on his crops.
He thought the thing over for about six months; then one morning he set out for land. The Demon was eating his soup in front of his door when he saw the Saint; he immediately rushed toward him, kissed the hem of his sleeve, invited him in, and offered him refreshments.
Saint Michel drank a bowl of milk and then began: “I have come here to propose to you a good bargain.”
The Devil, candid and trustful, answered: “Very well.”
“Here it is. Give me all your lands.”
Satan, growing alarmed, tried to speak: “But—”
The Saint continued: “Listen first. Give me all your lands. I will take care of all the work, the plowing, the sowing, the fertilizing, everything, and we will share the crops equally. Do you agree?”
The Devil, who was naturally lazy, accepted. He only asked in addition for a few of those delicious red mullet which are caught around the lonely hill. Saint Michel promised the fish.
They shook hands and spat on one side to show that it was a bargain, and the Saint continued: “Here, so that you will have nothing to complain of, choose whatever you prefer: that part of the harvest which will be above ground, or in the ground.” Satan cried out: “I choose all that will be above ground.”
“It’s a bargain!” said the Saint. And he went away.
Six months later, all over the immense domain of the Devil, one could see nothing but carrots, turnips, onions, salsify, all the plants whose juicy roots are good and savoury, and whose useless leaves are good for nothing but for feeding animals.
Satan got nothing and wished to break the contract, calling Saint Michel a swindler.
But the Saint, who had developed quite a taste for agriculture, went back to see the Devil, and said: “Really, I hadn’t thought of that at all; it was just an accident; no fault of mine. And to make things fair with you, this year I’ll let you take everything that is under the ground.”
“Very well,” answered Satan.
The following spring, all the Evil Spirit’s lands were covered with heavy corn, oats as big as beans, linseed, magnificent colzas, red clover, peas, cabbage, artichokes, everything that blossoms into grains or fruit in the sunlight.
Once more Satan received nothing, and this time he completely lost his temper. He took back his fields and remained deaf to all the new overtures of his neighbour.
A whole year rolled by. From the top of his lonely manor, Saint Michel looked at the distant and fertile lands, and watched the Devil direct the work, take in his crops, and thresh the corn. And he grew angry, exasperated at his powerlessness. As he was no longer able to deceive Satan, he decided to wreak vengeance on him, and he went out to invite him to dinner for the following Monday.
“You have been very unfortunate in your dealings with me,” he said; “I know it; but I don’t want any ill feeling between us, and I expect you to dine with me. I’ll give you some good things to eat.”
Satan, who was as greedy as he was lazy, accepted eagerly. On the day which had been decided on, he donned his finest clothes and set out for the mount.
Saint Michel sat him down to a magnificent meal. First there was a vol-au-vent, full of cocks’ crests and kidneys, with meatballs, then two big red mullet with cream sauce, a turkey stuffed with chestnuts soaked in wine, some salt-marsh lamb as tender as possible, vegetables which melted in the mouth, and nice warm galette which was brought on smoking and gave out a delicious odour of butter.
They drank pure cider, sparkling and sweet, and powerful red wine, and after each course more room was made with some old apple brandy.
The Devil drank and ate to his heart’s content; in fact, he took so much that he found himself uncomfortable.
Then Saint Michel arose in anger, and cried, in a voice like thunder: “What! before me, rascal! you dare—before me—”
Satan, terrified, ran away, and the Saint, seizing a stick, pursued him. They ran around through the halls, turning around the pillars, running up the staircases, galloping along the cornices, jumping from gargoyle to gargoyle. The poor Demon, who was terribly ill, was running about madly and soiling the Saint’s home. At last he found himself at the top of the last terrace, from which could be seen the immense bay, with its distant cities, sands, and pastures. He could no longer escape, and the Saint came up behind him and gave him a furious kick, which shot him through space like a cannonball.
He shot through the air like a javelin and fell down heavily in front of the town of Mortain. His horns and claws stuck deep into the rock, which keeps through eternity the traces of this fall of Satan’s.
He stood up again, limping, crippled until the end of time, and as he looked at the fatal Abbey in the distance, standing out against the setting sun, he understood well that he would always be vanquished in this unequal struggle; and he went away limping, heading for distant countries, leaving to his enemy his fields, his hills, his valleys, and his pastures.
And this is how Saint Michel, the patron saint of Normandy, vanquished the Devil.
Another people would have dreamed of this battle in an entirely different manner.