BIARRITZ.
A warm ride--Bayonne--A "Noah's ark" landscape--Amusements
--Bathing--Shells--Cavillers--A canine feat--The pier and rocks--A
restless sea--"The Three Cormorants"--Dragon's-mouth Rock--To the
lighthouse--Maiden-hair ferns--Mrs. Blunt's adventure--The drive round
the lakes--_Osmunda regalis_ ferns--The pine-woods near the
bar--St. Etienne and the Guards' cemetery--Croix de Mouguère--Cambo and
the Pas de Roland--Anemones--A fat couple--A French scholar
--Hendaye--Fuenterabia--A quaint old-world town--The Bidassoa
--Pasages--San Sebastien--The Citadol and graves--The "Silent
Sisters"--Raised prices--Parasols and spectacles.
The journey to Biarritz began comfortably enough, but after the first
few miles the heat became very oppressive, and though we had no
repetition of our Montrejeau experience at starting, we felt
nevertheless almost as warm as if we had.
Our arrival at Bayonne was a great relief, for the sun had partially
retired, and as we crossed in turn the Adour and the Nive, a scent of
the "briny" was borne into our omnibus with revivifying effect. Passing
up one of the narrow old streets to execute a few commissions, we
regained the "Place," crossed the drawbridge, and entered the lovely
avenues, from which, beyond the "fosse," the twin towers of the
beautiful cathedral come into view. On the right is the station of the
"steam tram-line," and some hundred yards beyond it the road to
Biarritz curves in the same direction.
This road cannot be called beautiful! The never-ending line of poplars
along each side turn the landscape into that Noah's ark style which
even the soul that could be "contented with a tulip or lily" would
hardly admire. Approaching Biarritz, however, the handsome villas and
their gardens fully deserve the epithet which cannot in justice be
applied to the road. They are indeed beautiful; and to pass them even
in winter, with the camellia trees laden with blossoms and the roses
scenting the air, makes comparison with our London gardens very odious
indeed!
Under the small-gauge railway-bridge, and past the new "English Club,"
we soon entered the town, [Footnote: The distance between Bayonne and
Biarritz is 5 miles.] and driving down the Rue Mazagran into the Place
Sainte Eugenie, drew up at the familiar Hôtel de Paris, in time for
dinner.
Although Biarritz is in the department of the Basses-Pyrénées, it is so
far away from the mountains that many might consider its introduction
into this volume as questionable; we do not therefore intend to say as
much as could be said about it. At the same time, it is so greatly
recommended by doctors as a beneficial spot for a final "brace up"
before returning to England, after a mountain trip, and is, besides,
such a favourite winter residence, that we consider it would be more
"questionable" to omit it.
Unlike Pau, its amusements are not of a very varied character. In
winter, lawn-tennis and balls are the chief, and concerts occur
generally weekly or bi-weekly. As spring asserts herself, bathing
commences and picnics become the fashion; and in the early summer--as
long as the English remain--tennis and bathing go almost hand-in-hand.
The tennis-ground--which is only a short distance from the English
church of St. Andrew's--is well laid out and commodious, possessing an
excellent reading room for members' use, as well. Of bathing
establishments there are three; the large building in the Moorish style
on the Plage, the less pretentious but more picturesque one in the Port
Vieux, and the least pretentious and least protected one, under the
"falaises" [Footnote: Blue chalk cliffs.] beyond.
The first and last are only used in the height of summer; that in the
Port Vieux--from its sheltered position--opens its box-doors as soon as
winter really gives place to spring. The scene, when the tide is high
on a morning in June, is often an exceedingly pretty one, for to the
pristine picturesqueness of the surroundings is added those touches of
human nature enjoying itself, which, if it doesn't "make us kin," goes
a long way towards it.
The "Port Vieux" is triangular in shape, with the apex inland, along
the sides of which the boxes are erected, reaching to the water's edge
at high tide. In the middle lies an expanse of deep sand, and the blue
waters roll in between the rocks and gently break on a shingly beach,
where the tiniest shells and pebbles mingle to make the one drop of
bitterness in the bather's cup.
When the sandy expanse is crowded with merry children, the roads and
seats above filled with spectators, and the water with members of both
sexes in varied costumes and "headgears"--not forgetting the boatman in
the tiny skiff who is here, there, and everywhere in case he is
needed--the scene is a very pleasant one to look upon. Of course there
are always some narrow-minded individuals to find fault, some "maiden"
aunts "with spinster written on their brows," who will put up their
gold-rimmed glasses with that peculiar sniff that invariably prefaces
some _extra sweet_ remarks, such as, "Dear me, how wicked! Men and
women bathing together in that barefaced manner; and ... I do believe
there's that forward Miss Dimplechin actually taking hold of Captain
Smith's hand, and he a married man too! Thank goodness, I never did
such a thing--never!" [Footnote: Did she ever have the chance?]
Above the Port Vieux, on the left, stands Cape Atalaya, with the ruins
of an ancient tower, and a flagstaff on its summit. A road leads round
its base, passing between a circular mound overlooking the "old
harbour," and the yard where the concrete blocks are fashioned for the
strengthening of the pier.
There are seats on this mound, whence people can watch the bathing; and
we often saw a remarkable feat performed from it as well. A race of
wonderful water-dogs--said to be a cross between the Newfoundland and
the French poodle--is bred at St. Jean de Luz, eight miles from
Biarritz. One of their uses is to drive the fish into the nets, and for
this purpose one is taken in every boat that puts to sea. The method is
extremely simple. As soon as the net surrounds a shoal, the dog is put
in the centre, and by beating the water with his paws he effectually
drives the finny creatures into the meshes. It was one of this same
species of dogs that attracted so much attention at the Port Vieux by
leaping after a stick from the mound--a distance of some fifty
feet--into the sea. He would do it as often as his master would let
him, and appeared to enjoy it immensely, though he always reached the
water before the stick, and had then to turn round and hunt for it.
The road, after skirting one side of the yard, crosses the trackway
that runs down the pier and doubles up the other side, through the
tunnel and past the Port aux Pêcheurs, into the Place Ste. Eugénie;
whence, continuing by the base of the Hôtel d'Angleterre and the
casino, it extends to the bathing establishment on the Plage. In the
other direction it rounds the Port Vieux, and leads under the cliffs to
the other resort of summer bathers; consequently, it might be
appropriately termed the "Chemin des Bains."
The pier is a very favourite resort, and many a fierce fight with the
waves is enacted at its extremity, in which, alas! the sea has always
proved the stronger. As a rule, visitors are not permitted to pass the
"Cucurlon" rock, on which the Virgin's statue stands; but if the
weather is very fine, the gate is opened to admit of any who are so
minded going to the end. On a wild day, with a high wind blowing
inland, the "battle of the waves" is a fine sight, especially from the
platform erected below the flagstaff on Cape Atalaya. Thence the full
beauty of the huge billows, dashing into clouds of spray against the
pier, and, unallayed, pursuing their course with relentless energy till
they boom amid the hollow caverns of the hill, may be admired and
wondered at.
There are two rocks which (as one looks seaward) rise up to the left of
the pier, and serve to break in some measure the force of the waves.
The larger of these in calm weather is frequented by cormorants, and
has gained the name of "Cormorant Rock." There were three of these
birds on it one very rough day, and we saw a scene enacted which--with
due apologies to the late Rev. Charles Kingsley for thus adapting his
pathetic verses--we have commemorated in the following lines, under the
title of
"THE THREE CORMORANTS."
Three cormorant dandies were perch'd on a rock,
Were perch'd on a rock as the waves dash'd high;
Each thought himself equal to any black cock,
And proudly determined the sea to defy.
For cormorants fish, and cormorants catch,
And they swallow their prey with the utmost despatch,
Without all the trouble of boning!
Three cormorant damsels were waiting at home,
Were waiting at home for the dandies so dear.
"Oh, say! are they fishing where fierce billows foam?"
And the damsels sat chattering their bills with fear!
For cormorant maidens _can fish_ and _can catch_,
And each one considered she'd made a good match.
And now for her dandy was moaning.
Three cormorant dandies were washed off the rock,
Were washed off the rock by a powerful wave;
And, quite unprepared for the terrible shock,
They sank in the depths of a watery grave.
For cormorants fish, and cormorants catch,
But if waves dash high they should use despatch,
Or their loved ones will always be groaning!
There are some curious rocks in front of the new harbour, notably the
"Dragon's-mouth Rock," through which on a rough day the water
continuously pours; more to the right, between this and the "Plage," is
a curious group known as the "Chinaougue." [Footnote: Have never found
any one able to account for this title, which is more barbaric than
pronounceable.] A bridge communicates with the largest, on which
"petticoat daffodils" grow, and the couples that may occasionally be
seen going over there _doubtless_ do so to gather these. Beyond
the Port Vieux and underneath the Villa Belzar other curious formations
may be seen, to which an iron gate at the head of a few damaged steps
gives access.
At Biarritz itself there is really nothing to be seen except the sea.
And yet this sea is so beautiful in its varied moods, that a lover of
nature can watch it day after day for any reasonable period, without a
feeling of _ennui_ or a wish for anything more lovely!
[Illustration: THE ROCKS OF BIARRITZ.]
There are many pleasant walks and drives around, but most of them
require a whole day, and are more preferable as a drive than as a walk.
The shortest is to the lighthouse and back, and this is only a very
easy promenade, taking about an hour; so we will deal with it first,
leaving the longer ones to await their turn.
We started one afternoon when the sky was cloudless and the coastline
very clear, hoping to obtain a good view of the Spanish coast, and a
few specimens of maiden-hair fern, if fortune were favourable. We
traversed half the town, when Mrs. Blunt suddenly came to a halt
opposite the Hôtel de France, and pointed to a three-wheeled vehicle of
the bath-chair type, to which a weird and very ancient-looking steed
was attached. "I think," said she, "that would be more comfortable for
me than walking; please inquire if it is on hire." So we applied to a
fat dame, who was busily knitting hard by, and having arranged terms,
Mrs. Blunt got in and we continued our way.
Down past the bank and at an easy pace to what was once the Villa
Eugénie, [Footnote: This building, where Emperor and Empress lived at
different times, now belongs to a company under the title of the
"Palais Biarritz," and is employed as a casino and restaurant. "Sic
transit gloria imperatorum."] and continuing up the hill at the same
speed, we gradually drew near the lighthouse, and when once the Villa
Noailles was left behind and the level road reached again, we were soon
at our destination. [Footnote: At low tide there is a way to the
lighthouse along the beach in front of the Palais Biarritz, and up a
steep path over the rocks. The other is much the better way, however,
at all times.] The view of the coast to St. Jean de Luz, San Sebastien,
and almost to Santander, was peculiarly good, as well as that on the
other side in the direction of Bayonne; and while Mrs. Blunt remained
in contemplation from her vehicle, we descended to view the rocks and
caves below.
As a rule it is unwise to disclose where botanical treasures grow, as
they generally become extinct soon afterwards, from excess of
admiration on the part of collectors; but the maiden-hair ferns, for
which the lighthouse rocks are known, can take very fair care of
themselves, as they grow in such awkward positions--we might say
dangerous--that only a few real enthusiasts, or an anxious collector
with a _steady head_, are likely to venture to attack their
strongholds.
[Illustration: VILLA EUGÉNIE.]
We saw many specimens in the interstices of the rocks surrounding a
moss-grown pool, but they were quite unapproachable. One clump above we
did manage to reach and bear away a few roots of, in triumph; but at
one time there was only two inches of stone for the foot to rest on,
with sheer rocks below; and consequently, without a rope, the
experiment would hardly be worth repetition. However, without mishap we
started on our return journey, and all went smoothly till the Villa
Noailles was again reached; but at this point we suddenly noticed that
Mrs. Blunt was rapidly out-distancing us. Whether the ancient steed
dreamt of its former youth and activity, and "grew young once more," or
whether its long rest had made it anxious to reach its stable, we know
not; but the unpleasant reality was forced upon us, that it was rapidly
bearing Mrs. Blunt away. Miss Blunt had been walking near the vehicle,
Mr. Sydney and rather behind; but as Miss Blunt started to run, we
rapidly followed, and overtook the steed, which, having by that time
pulled up at the bottom of the hill, appeared to be anxious to turn
round and have a look at Mrs. Blunt. As it neighed at the same time,
perhaps it was asking, "Who's my driver?" but this was mere conjecture
on our part, although we were not sorry to restore the animal to the
fat old lady--still knitting--and escort Mrs. Blunt back to the hotel,
none the worse for her little adventure!
[Illustration: SCENE I.--BEFORE THE START.]
[Illustration: SCENE 2.--THE ANCIENT STEED GREW YOUNG ONCE MORE.]
[Illustration: SCENE 3.--WHO'S MY DRIVER?]
The favourite of the short drives is known as the "Tour des Lacs." It
embraces the prettiest country in the vicinity, and the whole distance
is about six miles. We found it most pleasant to start, after lunch,
from the Place de la Mairie, turning up the Rue Gambetta past the
market and on to the "Falaises," where the sea-breeze blows fresh and
free. Keeping to the right where the road forks, the "abattoir" was
soon left behind and the Villa Marbella reached; we then curved round
"Lac Chabiague," and ascending slightly between fields gay with the
"fleur des frontières" [Footnote: A lovely blue flower, something like
a gentian.] and the wild daphne, we dipped again slightly to the point
where the road to St. Jean de Luz forks to the right. Bearing to the
left between hedges overgrown with _sarsaparilla_, and entering a
shady lane, a few minutes sufficed for us to reach the "Bois de
Boulogne," where the road skirts the Lake Mouriscot, and passes beside
many splendid clumps of the _Osmunda regalis_ fern. The lake is
very deep and full of fish; but bathing is certainly not advisable, as
there is a great quantity of reeds and weeds all round the water's
edge.
Leaving the pleasant woods, we emerged on to the Route Imperiale--the
direct road from the Negresse station (on the main line to Spain) to
Biarritz--and following it as far as the metals, we turned to the left
up the Irun-Bayonne route. This, however, was not our road for long, as
we took the first turning on the left-hand side up a pretty lane, which
brought Lake Marion into full view. The other end of the lane joins the
"Route Imperiale" again; which, leading in turn past the cemetery, the
parish church, and the terminus of the "steam tram-line," enters the
town near the International Bank.
It will be noticed that there are several ways of reaching Bayonne. The
cheapest and most expeditious, for marketing or other business
purposes, is by the narrow-gauge railway, with its curious double
carriages, one above the other. By driving the two miles to the
Negresse station, and catching the express from Spain, is another way,
but one not recommended to anybody but travellers [Footnote: Travellers
for the Pau line have to change at Bayonne, consequently it is simpler
for them to drive the five miles from Biarritz direct to Bayonne, than
drive two to the Negresse station, with the necessity of changing ten
minutes after entering the train.] going to stations on the line
between Bayonne and Paris. Of the three routes for driving we have
already mentioned the most frequented one--at the commencement of the
chapter; from the Negresse station by the Bayonne-Irun road is another;
and the last and prettiest passes behind the Villa Eugénie almost to
the lighthouse, but there branches off to the right past the Chambre
d'Amour inn, to the pine-woods near La Barre, and thence into Bayonne!
This drive may be prolonged in two directions: firstly, by crossing the
Nive and the Adour to the Guards' cemetery (where those who fell in the
sortie from Bayonne 1813-14, are buried) at St. Etienne; and secondly,
by following the bank of the river for some distance (past the market),
and turning up into the country by way of St. Pierre to the Croix de
Mouguère. This latter makes a splendid picnic, and the locality is a
rich hunting-ground for entomologists.
There are four other excursions that we must not omit to mention, viz.,
Cambo and the Pas de Roland, St. Jean de Luz, Fuenterabia, and San
Sebastien. All of these, with the exception of the first, can be
reached by _rail_, and as far as St. Jean de Luz the _road_
from Biarritz [Footnote: There is a more direct route to Cambo from
Bayonne.] is common to all; so that to save space we will only mention
it on our way to Cambo.
Starting at an early hour with plenty of provisions, we bowled down to
the Negresse station, crossed the line, and ascended the hill above
Lake Mouriscot, at the top of which Bidart--the first of the Basque
villages--comes into view.
Guétary (3 miles), standing on a hill to the southward, was next seen,
and in due time we reached St. Jean de Luz (8 miles), a town of over
4000 inhabitants (possessing a very good hotel and baths, and some
historical buildings), situated on a strip of sand between the River
Nivelle and the sea. Here the road to Cambo branched off to the left,
inland--the high road to Spain continuing near the seaboard--and
frequently skirting the Nivelle as far as St. Pée, we passed on by
Espelette to Cambo. The Hôtel St. Martin there, which generally
attracts visitors for a few days at least, was not our destination; so
we took a glimpse at Fagalde's celebrated chocolate factory and the old
churchyard high above the river--while our horses were being
changed--and then resumed our journey to the Pas de Roland. [Footnote:
So-called from the fable that Roland, coming to the place and wishing
to cross, found the rocks barring his passage, so kicked them,
whereupon they parted for him to pass between.] The scenery now became
very charming, the winding river (Nive) adding much to the general
beauty, especially where it dashed out from between the rugged rocks of
the gorge with which Roland's name is associated.
After exploring this narrow pass we found a suitable place for luncheon
and sat down.
In returning, we halted near the village of Itsatsou, to gather some of
the lovely scarlet anemones [Footnote: A fee of 1 franc for one person,
or 2 francs for three, is expected for admission into the fields.]
which grow near there, and cover the fields with such a blaze of colour
as makes them conspicuous from a long distance. The rest of the journey
in the cool of the afternoon was very pleasant, but our route was the
same till reaching Bidart, where we curved to the left, and came by a
branch road (previously mentioned), _viá_ the Villa Marbella and
the Falaises, back to our hotel.
At dinner that night we noticed that there had evidently been some
"goings and comings" among the guests; and doubtless the new arrivals
were congratulating themselves on having succeeded in getting rooms in
the hotel--for be it understood this good house is nearly always full,
as it deserves to be. We missed with sorrow the familiar forms of Mr.
and Mrs. Berecasque, who, with all their bigoted hatred for anything
approaching to High Church notions, were as a rule exceedingly genial
and good-natured, as fat people usually are.
The ladies certainly used to say that Madame had a perplexing way of
putting leading questions as to why somebody's daughter went with
somebody else's son, or what on earth could that nice gentlemanly young
curate (Low Church of course) see in that fast young lady who was
always working banners and such like enormities? But we never noticed
this; though that which on this particular evening probably no one
could fail to notice was, that their places were now occupied by a
couple of beings as strikingly thin as Mr. and Mrs. Berecasque had been
fat. We were told their name, but there was rather a buzz of
conversation going on at the time, and we might not have caught it
properly, but it certainly sounded like "Grouser." However, that does
not matter much; what is far more to the point is the amusement that
Mr. Grouser gave to those who had the privilege of sitting near him.
Apparently a self-made man, without any children--who by better
educations might have helped him to knowledge--his acquaintance with
the French language was like a peasant child's with turtle-soup;
perhaps "a lick and a promise" would best explain it. But though only
knowing a few words, which he pronounced with the vilest of accents,
and then only when he had inserted his glass in his eye, he brought
them out with ludicrous frequency whenever he had the chance. Here are
examples--"_Hi garsong!_ bring me another plate!" "_Garsong
poorquar_ don't you fetch some bread when I've asked three times for
it?" "_Hi garsong! sil voo plate_, where are those potatoes?" And
so on all through dinner; while he appeared rather to enjoy the
merriment he caused, thinking he must have said something really good,
although of course he hadn't the slightest idea what it was!
To sketchers and lovers of contrasts a visit to Fuenterabia cannot fail
to prove a treat, and a better specimen of an old Spanish town it would
be difficult to find. The only convenient train in the morning thither
leaves early, and although we preferred driving, we made an early start
too, in order to spend a long day. Having accomplished the eight miles
and arrived at St. Jean de Luz, we had still a distance of 8 miles more
before reaching Hendaye, the frontier town. There were occasional
pretty bits of country to be seen, especially in the vicinity of
Urrugne (10-1/2 miles), a village in which the Spanish element is
noticeable, but the succession of poplars along the roadside all the
way--more or less--to Béhobie, was very monotonous. At Béhobie (14-1/2
miles) the road to Hendaye leaves the direct route to Spain and
branches off to the right. Following this, we were soon at the
frontier. Hendaye (16 miles) is celebrated for its cognac and a certain
liquor called by its name, as well as for an excellent beach and
bathing establishment, beyond which there is little worth mention.
Having put up the horses at the Hôtel de France, we repaired to the
jetty, where happily the tide was high enough to permit of our being
ferried across, instead of carried on the back of some brawny (and
garlicky) native. As we were half-rowed, half-poled, down the narrow
winding channel of the Bidassoa, we were once again indubitably "'twixt
France and Spain," though the vicinity of the ancient Spanish town, and
the lazy sentinels on the river's bank, made the scene much more
Spanish than French. Once landed, we strolled slowly across the
"_Embarcadéro_," and entered the town by the ancient gateway. The
principal street, which we then ascended, is indeed picturesque. The
miniature verandahs and overhanging roofs of the houses, the latter
approaching so close to one another as nearly to permit of shaking
hands across; an occasional bright costume appearing at the window or
on the verandah; the old church higher up the street, and the battered
"Castilio" at the top, furnished ample materials for a very pleasant
sketch. The church is well worth a visit, being very old and of
interesting appearance. Owing to its sheltered position it did not
suffer nearly as much as most of the buildings from the missiles in the
late Carlist war. We passed several groups of lazy soldiers, who leered
at us offensively and made some uncomplimentary remarks, but
otherwise--beyond the fact that the women stared a good deal when Miss
Blunt attempted to sketch--we met with no discourtesy. The new casino
proves an "extra" attraction in summer, but it is to be regretted that,
for gambling purposes alone, many people should be drawn to this quaint
old-world town, so worthy of a visit for its picturesqueness alone.
At the time when we wished to visit San Sebastien we learnt that the
"Citadol" was closed to visitors, owing to some foreigner having
foolishly lighted his cigar near a powder magazine. As the "Citadol" is
the chief attraction, we penned a highly polite letter to his
Excellency the Governor of the Province, asking for his permission to
visit this otherwise forbidden ground.
We received a most gracious reply, to the effect that, whenever we
liked to come, the place was at our disposal, and accordingly selected
the first fine morning for our trip. On this occasion we formed a party
large enough for a coach and four, but were very careful to avoid a
repetition of our Bétharram experiences.
We discovered no new features of interest as far as Béhobie, but the
day being very clear, we had a fine view of the distant Pyrenees and
the Spanish coastline from various points along the road. Passing
through Béhobie's narrow streets and crossing the Bidassoa by the
strong stone bridge, we were only a minute "'twixt France and Spain,"
and entering Irun found ourselves in the hands of the Customs
authorities. Having "nothing to declare" and nothing contraband
undeclared, we were soon permitted to proceed, although our "cocher"
almost immediately afterwards stopped to change horses. Accordingly, we
walked on up a pretty lane with ivied walls, near which--in the
background--stood an old church. Finding a comfortable place for
lunching in the vicinity, we awaited the arrival of the coach, and
discussed our hamper before again moving on. Not having too much time,
however, we did not delay long, and remounting, bowled merrily along to
"Pasages." This was once the safest port on the coast, and in fact is
yet; but the accumulation of sand, &c., at the entrance, has made it
practically useless for any ships but those of very light draught. It
forms a tidal basin, and houses are built on its sides, along one of
which the road for some time skirts, but afterwards assumes a straight
course and descends into San Sebastien. From the highest point of the
road, before we commenced descending, we had a splendid view of the
town, which looked busy, imposing, and clean.
When once inside, we drove to the Hôtel de Londres; then crossed the
street to the guardhouse, presented our "permit" for the "Citadol," and
after a little fuss and _red tapeism_--such as Spaniards, even
more than Frenchmen, dearly love--under the guidance of a soldier,
commenced the ascent. How many times we presented our "carta" we know
not, but at every turn some official was ready to ask to see it, and
this business took almost as long as the actual mounting, though in the
end we did manage to reach the summit. The view from thence was very
fine, extending for miles in all directions, but after enjoying it for
a short time, we descended to visit the graves of the English who fell
in defending the place in 1836 against the Carlists, which lie in a
little cemetery on one side of the hill. Maiden-hair ferns grow among
the rocks by the path, which from time to time discloses views of the
town and the pretty rocky island--Santa Clara--in the bay. After
descending, we had time for a glimpse at the interior of the church of
Santa Maria and the bull-ring, as well as a stroll along the beautiful
beach, before it was necessary to start homewards, and when at length
we were deposited in safety at our hotel, we all acknowledged that the
day had been a very pleasant one indeed! With such enjoyable drives,
and the tennis, and the ever-changing sea, we never found time hang
heavily on our hands; and if we had, there was the little railway to
carry us into the bustle of Bayonne for shopping or listening to the
band, where _ennui_ would speedily have been driven away. Speaking
of this railway reminds us that at Anglêt, one of the stations on the
line, there is a very interesting convent of "Silent Sisters" within
easy access from the train. Although it is a sad sight to see all these
women deluded with the notion that their sins, however great, could not
be pardoned without such a bitter expiation; yet the order and
cleanliness that is patent everywhere, and the gardens and greenhouses,
lend an attraction to the place in spite of its melancholy
associations. [Footnote: Visitors are expected to purchase a specimen
of the needlework exhibited to them, or at any rate to put a donation
in the convent box.]
When June has succeeded May, Biarritz begins to empty of its English
and American visitors, to give place in July to the Spaniards and
French. On the 15th of that month prices go up with a bound, often
becoming double and even treble what they were during the winter
season. This is the time to stroll on the "Plage" and watch the
bathing; to note the varied costumes, see the merry faces, and listen
to the children's laughter, mingled with the splash of the waves. But
we are only treating of spring, so must not encroach upon summer;
but--following our countrymen's example--bid "Au revoir" to Biarritz
before the glare forces us to parade the streets with blue spectacles
and double-lined parasols.