Hardelot was a great resource to us. It is a fine domain, beautiful pine
woods running down to the sea--a great stretch of green meadow and a
most picturesque old castle quite the type of the château-fort. The
castle has now been transformed into a country club with golf-links,
tennis, and well-kept lawns under big trees which give a splendid shade
and are most resting to the eye after the glare of the beach. There is
no view of the sea from the castle, but from the top of the towers on a
fine day one just sees a quiver of light beneath the sky-line which
might be the sea.
The château has had its history like all the old feudal castles on the
sea-board and has changed hands very often, being sometimes French and
sometimes English. It was strongly fortified and resisted many attacks
from the English before it actually came into their possession. Part of
the wall and a curious old gate-way are all that remain of the feudal
days. The castle is said to have been built by Charlemagne. Henry VIII
of England lived in it for some time, and the preliminaries of a treaty
of peace between that monarch and François I were signed there--the
French and English ambassadors arriving in great state--with an endless
army of retainers. One wonders where they all were lodged, as the castle
could never have been large--one sees that from the foundations; but I
fancy habits were very simple in those days, and the suites probably
slept on the floor in one of the halls with all their clothes on, the
troopers keeping on their jack-boots so long that they had to be cut off
sometimes--the feet and legs so swollen.
The drive from the club to the plage is charming. Sometimes through
pretty narrow roads with high banks on each side, with hedges on top,
quite like parts of Devonshire, and nice, little, low, whitewashed
cottages with green shutters and red doors, much more like England than
France.
We stopped at a cottage called the Dickens House, where Charles Dickens
lived for some time. It is only one story high--white with green
shutters--stands at the end of an old-fashioned garden filled with all
sorts of ordinary garden-flowers--roses, hollyhocks, larkspurs, pinks,
all growing most luxuriantly and making patches of colour in the green
surroundings. We saw Dickens' study, his table still in the window
(where he always wrote), looking over the garden to an endless stretch
of green fields.
The plage is very _new_. There is a nice clean hotel, with broad piazzas
and balconies directly on the sea and a few chalets are already built,
but there is an absolute dearth of trees and shade. There was quite a
strong sea-breeze the day we were there, and the fine white sand was
blown high into the air in circles, getting into our eyes and hair.
There is a splendid beach--miles of sand--not a rock or cliff--absolutely
level. The domain of Hardelot belongs to a company of which Mr. John
Whitley was the president. He had concessions for a tramway from
Boulogne to Hardelot which will certainly bring people to the plage
and club. Now there is only an auto-bus, which goes very slowly and is
constantly out of order; once the club is organized, I think it cannot
fail to be a charming resort. There is plenty of game in the forest
(they have a good piece of it), perfect golf and tennis grounds--as
much deep-sea fishing as one wants. We went often to tea at the
château. F. played golf, and we walked about and sat under the trees,
and the children were quite happy playing on the lawns where they were
as safe as in their nurseries.