“To construct a monument on these rocks, which seemed the very focus of all the storms which raged on that part of our coasts, was like building an edifice in the open sea. Such a project must, indeed, have appeared at first sight almost impracticable. After their third season of labour, the workmen completed the foundations of the tower and fixed the key-stone of the cupola. In vain did difficulties of every kind combine with the winds and waves to oppose the work; human industry has come forth victorious from the struggle, and although a thousand difficulties and dangers beset the labourers, no serious accident to them or their work troubled the joy of their triumph. Only on one occasion was science at fault. In order to facilitate the arrival of the stones, which had to be brought from a distance of several leagues, and cut at Bréhat, the skilful engineer who had furnished all the plans and superintended their execution wished to construct a wooden pier for the disembarkation of the stones at the spot where they were required. Several of the older seamen objected to the plan as impracticable, but M. Reynaud, who was not familiar with the sea, and who, moreover, was proud of having stemmed the current of rapid rivers, trusted to the stability of his massive piles, clamped together with iron and bronze. But he was soon compelled to admit his mistake. The first storm sufficed to scatter over the waters the whole of these ponderous and solid materials like so many pieces of straw. So a crane was attached to the summit of a rock, to which boats could be moored, and the materials for building were then drawn up to a railway which had been thrown over the precipice that separated this natural landing-place from the site of the tower. “Now that we have admired the exterior of the lighthouse, follow me into the interior by the help of these steps, which have been formed by the insertion of bars of copper into the stone. Let us pause for a moment to admire the ponderous bronze doors which hermetically seal the entrance, before we plunge into those vaults which look as if they had been cut out of the solid rock. We are in the first storey, surrounded by stores of wood and ropes and workmen’s tools. Above, we perceive cases of zinc, which, we are told, contain oil to feed the lamps and water for the use of the men employed in the building. In the third storey is the kitchen, with its pantry and larder, on a level with the first gallery. We need not enter the three apartments appropriated to the use of the men, for, beyond being very simple and clean, there is nothing to record concerning them. But we have now reached the seventh storey, and we must rest for a few moments in the little octagonal saloon, set apart for the engineers, when they come to inspect the condition of the lighthouse. Here, in the midst of the ocean, more than a hundred feet above the level of the sea, you will find the comfort and almost the elegance of a Parisian apartment.