inary
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 causew