attles
of the gladiators; Tacitus has sentences that resemble the drapery of a
laticlave, and some of Horace's verses are like the body of a Greek slave,
with supple undulations, and short and long syllables that sound like
crotala.

But why bother about these things? Let us not go so far back, and let us
be satisfied with what is manufactured. What is wanted nowadays is
rather the opposite of nudity, simplicity and truth? Fortune and success
will fall to the lot of those who know how to dress and clothe facts!
The tailor is the king of the century and the fig-leaf is its symbol;
laws, art, politics, all things, appear in tights! Lying freedom, plated
furniture, water-colour pictures, why! the public loves this sort of
thing! So let us give it all it wants and gorge the fool!

CHAPTER XI.

MONT SAINT-MICHEL.

The road from Pontorson to the Mont Saint-Michel is wearying on account
of the sand. Our post-chaise (for we also travel by post-chaise), was
disturbed every now and then by a number of carts filled with the grey
soil which is found in these parts and which is transported to some
place and utilised as manure. They became more numerous as we approached
the sea, and defiled for several miles until we finally saw the deserted
strand whence they came. On this white surface, with its conical heaps
of earth resembling huts, the fluctuating line of carts reminded us of
an emigration of barbarians deserting their native heath.

The empty horizon stretches out, spreads, and finally mingles its
greyish flats with the yellow sand of the beach. The ground becomes
firmer and a salt breeze fans your cheeks; it looks like a vast desert
from which the waters have receded. Long, flat strips of sand,
superposed indefinitely in indistinct planes, ripple like shadows, and
the wind playfully designs huge arabesques on their surfaces. The sea
lies far away, so far, in fact, that its roar cannot be heard, though we
could distinguish a sort of vague, aerial, imperceptible murmur, like
the voice of the solitude, which perhaps was only the effect produced by
the intense silence.

Opposite us rose a large round rock with embattled walls and a church on
its top; enormous counterparts resting on a steep slope support the
sides of the edifice. Rocks and wild shrubs are strewn over the incline.
Half-way up the slope are a few houses, which show above the white line
of the wall and are dominated by the brown church; thus some brigh