I was taken all over the Monastery next day by the "Pere
Hospitalier," who, like his brown-frocked lay-brother, wore a
black stole over his white habit, as a badge of office. With the
exception of the fine cloisters, there were no architectural
features whatever about the squat, massive pile of buildings. The
modern chapel, studiously severe in its details, bore the
unmistakable imprint of Viollet-le-Duc's soulless, mathematically
correct Gothic. Personally, I think that Viollet-le-Duc spoiled
every ancient building in France which he "restored." I was taken
into the refectory to see the monks' dinners already laid out for
them. They consisted of nothing but bread and salad, but with such
vast quantities of each! Each monk had a yard-long loaf of bread,
a bottle of wine and an absolute stable-bucket of salad, liberally
dressed with oil and vinegar. The oil supplied the fat necessary
for nutrition, still it was a meagre enough dinner for men who had
been up since 3 a.m. and had done two hours' hard work in the
vegetable gardens. The "Pere Hospitalier" told me that not one
scrap of bread or lettuce would be left at the conclusion of the
repast.
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