_BIARRITZ._
I HAD thought it might have been possible to arrange for proceeding
across country from Lyons to Biarritz by a westerly line, say by
Clermont, instead of by the Mediterranean line, which we had already
travelled. But although there are lines in that direction, it seemed
extremely difficult to make them fit in so that we could, upon
stopping at any place, obtain next day a train at a suitable hour
for prosecuting the journey. Not only so, but being quite out of the
ordinary beat of tourists, and especially of English tourists, one
could not possibly rely on getting such hotel accommodation by the way
as is desirable and is procurable on the beaten tracks. I therefore
gave up this thought, though not till after some laborious studies
of the _Livret Chaix_, and after consulting Cook’s agent at Geneva,
who, I found, did not issue tickets towards Biarritz. There seemed
no alternative, therefore, but to go by the Chemin de Fer du Midi,
the Paris and Marseilles Railway. We had hoped, it being the 12th
September, to have seen the Rhone in all its summer beauty, but were
disappointed. The day was dull and misty when we started, and soon
after it began to rain; so that we could see little, and everything
looked dismal, whereas in summer sunshine the prospect is no doubt very
lovely. Before we reached Avignon (in six hours ten minutes) the rain
ceased. We stopped a night there (see p. 135), and had fortunately good
weather. Next afternoon brought us to Nismes, two hours distant from
Avignon by rail; and after another night in our old quarters there,
and seeing places this time in sunshine instead of shrouded by the
mistral, which prevailed during our visit in the previous year, we
left at mid–day for Toulouse, arriving at this large city about eleven
o’clock at night. There is not another train by which we could have
proceeded from Nismes to Toulouse during day, nor is there any place
nearer Toulouse where it is desirable to stop except Montpellier; but
Montpellier is only an hour distant from Nismes, and better adapted,
therefore, for stoppage coming from Toulouse on the return journey,
and on our return journey we accordingly spent a night there. Cette,
where we changed carriages and were long detained for no apparent
good reason, and where there are extensive salines or manufactories
of salt, lies very low and is marshy. It is therefore considered a
most unhealthy spot, not to be thought of for sleeping at. The journey
to Cette is not particularly interesting. Beyond it to Toulouse the
country is more inviting. The distance is about 136 miles, and the
train most tiresomely stopped several minutes at every little station,
twenty–nine or thirty in all, with an extra halt at Narbonne, amounting
to twenty minutes, where a hasty though acceptable dinner waited the
arrival of the train. The more interesting part of the road was passed
in the dark.
* * * * *
We had been recommended by fellow–passengers to the Hotel Sacaron at
Toulouse, and found it remarkably comfortable; but to all appearance
it was then out of season, as we seemed to be the only guests, except
it might be our old friends the mosquitoes, who, paying nothing but
penalties, were unceasing in their attentions, and from whom we might
have suffered more than we did had we not been well protected by the
snowy–white mosquito curtains. Our daughter, however, had a long watch,
and discovered in the morning her forehead was jewelled in thirty–two
holes.
Leaving next morning for Pau by the 11 o’clock train, we had no
opportunity of getting more than a glimpse at this important provincial
town. The houses are large, and the streets—such of them as we saw—are
wide. The railway station is handsome and tidy. We arrived at Pau about
5 P.M., by a quick or express train, having only stopped at eleven out
of thirty–four stations. Notwithstanding it took us six hours to go
little more than 130 miles, being at the rate of 22 miles per hour.
However, it was an improvement upon the previous day’s travelling. The
only other trains by which we could have gone from Toulouse to Pau were
two,—one which left at midnight, getting in at 10 o’clock next morning;
and another which left at 5.20 A.M., getting to Pau at half–past
1. I mention these facts just to show that every consideration is
not paid here, and elsewhere (and it is better here than elsewhere)
on French lines, to the convenience of travellers. Apart from the
disagreeableness of starting at such inhuman hours, to travel by the
midnight train would be to miss for great part of the way the view of
the most interesting scenery along the railway route, which skirts the
Pyrenees.
These grand mountains we saw now for the first time. Near to Lourdes
the railway approaches them closely, and the church of Lourdes, to
which it has been customary of recent years to make pilgrimages, is not
far from the railway. It rises loftily from the ground far below. A
crowd of pilgrims was marching towards its supposed miraculous shrines.
The scenery about Lourdes is very picturesque, and the railway to Pau
for a great part of the way runs parallel to and overlooks a mountain
river, apparently the Adour, very much resembling at this part such
rivers as the Garry in Perthshire: a clear–flowing stream, descending
through a rocky bed, with many a rushing fall or rapid between
converging rocks.
We arrived at Pau on the Saturday afternoon, and left it on the
following Tuesday morning—just having time to rest. I reserve,
therefore, any observations regarding Pau till our return journey,
when we spent a longer time there. The railway ride (between sixty
and seventy miles) from Pau to Bayonne is very beautiful, part of
the way being by the banks of the Adour, which, as it approaches
Bayonne, becomes wide, and is, indeed, navigable for forty miles up.
We were advised to book to Bayonne, and hire thence to Biarritz; but
I found the fares asked for the drive so excessive, occasioned, as we
afterwards learnt, by races being then held at Bayonne, that we took
the train just about to start on to Biarritz. The station La Negresse
proved, however, to be two miles out of Biarritz, and only one carriage
was waiting disengaged. For this short distance I was charged 8 francs;
certainly exorbitant, but during the season at Biarritz everything
is very high, and the races had then taken off the usual supply of
vehicles, so that we were at the mercy of the gorgeously–attired
coachman, who drove us in by a pretty rural road between trees and
hedges. In all likelihood he had driven a party to join the train we
had just left, so that we may have been indebted even to this chance
for finding any conveyance waiting. I do not know why the railway
company laid their line so far away from the town, unless it was that
they did not appreciate the importance of the station. As an attempt
to remedy the evil, a short line intended to connect Bayonne specially
with Biarritz has been made; but though the Biarritz terminus is
tolerably near the centre of the town, the other terminus does not
enter Bayonne, and is a long way from the general railway terminus. It
may be useful for excursionists, but it is useless for other traffic,
and I should hardly think it would pay.
We had been recommended to the Hotel de Paris, near the rocks, and,
with some difficulty, the town being then very full, got accommodation
in it; rough enough at the first, but after two nights we obtained a
change to first–floor rooms, fairly good. The hotel is situated in a
public square planted with trees, the north end being open, overlooking
the sea. Here the band played every evening, Sunday included, from
half–past 8 till 10 o’clock during the season, making our rooms for the
time very noisy; but as our windows looked right down upon the seated
enclosure, brightly lighted up with numerous lamps, it was a little
variety and divertisement to watch the gay crowd with whom it was at
first filled, who paid for admission half a franc each. The charges
in the hotels and for lodgings at Biarritz are said to be, during
the summer season, immoderately high, and to cost in some cases as
much as £5 per day. I cannot help thinking, however, that there must
be a little exaggeration in these statements, or some extravagance
on the part of the visitor so charged. We were ourselves charged at
no excessive rate. The Angleterre and Grand Hotels, with superior
arrangements, I believe, charged a good deal more. But there are other
and more moderate hotels, such as the Hotel de France and the Hotel des
Ambassadeurs, which, however, are both in the town itself, and not so
well situated as those I have already named.
* * * * *
We remained at Biarritz till 13th October, nearly four weeks, and
enjoyed it very much, although for a considerable part of the time,
particularly during the earlier part, east and north–east winds, said
to be unusual, prevailed, rendering the place for the time being cold,
and giving us a taste of what winter weather is there, a visitor
informing us that he had not found it colder in winter. If, however,
it be no colder on winter days than what we did experience, it could
hardly be described as trying for persons in good, strong health; but
the prevailing winds are west and south–west, both mild and salubrious,
though sometimes the south wind blows, and brings with it, in the hot
months, the parching heat of the sirocco.
Biarritz is a place of very recent growth. Formerly nobody but English
people, for the sake of the bathing it afforded, frequented it.
Afterwards the civil war of succession in Spain brought many of the
best Spanish families to live in it as a frontier town and among others
the Countess de Montijo and her two daughters, one of whom became the
wife of Napoleon III. Her fondness for the place induced the Emperor
to build the Villa Eugenie as a marine residence, and so, practically,
made this delightful watering–place.
There may be said to be two bays, one north and one south; the first
lying between the lighthouse and the pier, and the second upon the
Basque beach. In the centre of the north bay the Villa Eugenie reposes
on a rocky eminence, 40 or 50 feet above the shore to the east of the
town, and is seen from many points. East and west of it, the sloping
beach, a fine sandy one, stretches away on the right hand to the steep
rocks, about 70 feet high, under the lighthouse, resting on a jutting
promontory forming the eastern enclosing arm, to the rocks on the west,
among which, looking down the small harbour, may be seen the town lying
above and back from them. Westward from the Villa Eugenie, perhaps
about half a mile distant, an imposing range of lofty hotels—the Grand
Hotel and the Angleterre, with the Casino between them, all towering
many storeys high—meets the view, and beyond them we see the spire of a
large town church; and then still beyond, outward to the sea, running
to a point, a range of high rocks or small hills which enclose the bay
on the west. Some of the hilly rocks are surmounted by houses, and one
prominent one by a semaphore or signal station. The rocks afford some
shelter to the beach from the fury of the waves, but are themselves
gradually giving way. No doubt at one time they formed a strong natural
breakwater and better barrier, and extended well out into the ocean;
but year by year they are succumbing to the force of the Atlantic and
the storms which visit the Bay of Biscay.
[Illustration: PORT–VIEUX BATHING ESTABLISHMENT, BIARRITZ.]
In the centre of the north bay, and to the westward of the Villa
Eugenie, a short promenade has been formed, on or adjoining which the
great bathing establishment has been erected, the beach here being
called the Grande Plage, in contradistinction to the other beaches.
From the west end of it the road winds up below the Casino and past the
Angleterre, and along by the top of the rocks overlooking the harbour,
and through a tunnel under one of the hills to what was intended to be
a breakwater, but is now a sort of pier, at which no vessels ever lie,
becoming, therefore, only a place people stroll to in moderately calm
weather, to watch the waves dashing upon and over the rocks in wild
beauty. In rough weather no one dare venture. From this pier the road
winds back towards the town and southward round the Port–Vieux, and
through a gap in the rocks to the sandy Basque beach, which extends
away southward for miles, the rocks rising perpendicularly from it,
perhaps 80 feet high, the curve of the rocks forming the south bay.
From any of the heights about the Port–Vieux or the Basque, one can
see along the coast 20 miles to the entrance of the Bidassoa (the
boundary there between France and Spain), and then on from that to the
coast–line of Spanish mountains (offering a strong barrier against the
aggression of the sea) for at least 40 miles farther, some even saying,
though I should doubt it, seen 100 miles altogether. Southward the
range of the Pyrenees bounds the horizon, the eye being caught by the
Trois Couronnes or three–cornered or peaked mountain, rising boldly as
commander of this battalion of the great guardian mountain chain.
The town of Biarritz bears every mark of its rapid construction. The
streets are very irregular, the houses having been placed just any way
and according to any plan, at the mere caprice of the builders. One
leading street, lined by trees, passes through it to the Port–Vieux. In
the centre of the town this widens to what may be called a large square
or place, whence the omnibuses or diligences start, and where carriages
can be had for hire. The Hotel de Ville has been built at one end of
this place, which, in the height of the season, must be full of life.
The principal shops are in its neighbourhood, some of them exhibiting
in their windows articles of lace worn by the Spanish ladies, and
Spanish shawls, sword–sticks, stilettoes, as well as other things of a
more agreeable use. Itinerant vendors, too, of Spanish goods are always
going about during the season, sometimes gaily dressed in a sort of
showy fancy Spanish costume; but when the summer season is over, they
migrate to Pau, and even to Cannes, Mentone, and other winter–season
places, where we frequently saw the same men and women so occupied we
had previously noticed at Biarritz. Some shopkeepers from Nice open
establishments during the season at Biarritz, and close them when it
is over. Besides many good shops, there is a regular market, though of
small size. The town covers a considerable extent of ground, and new
houses are being constantly built. The ordinary population now exceeds
4000. The English church had been found too small for its occupants,
and a large new one was, while we were there, in course of completion.
Many nice–looking villas have been planted on the outskirts of the
town, particularly upon and in the direction of the road to Bayonne.
The heights above the Basque beach are likewise studded by various
distinctive houses; and about a mile from town, isolated from
everything about, there is a house belonging to Lord Ernest Bruce,
built in the Moorish style with a glass dome, and surrounded by a
garden.
The French and Spanish form the bulk of the visitors during August and
September, these months constituting, _par excellence_, what is called
the season, while during the winter months the English take possession.
In the winter months the hotel charges undergo great modification,
and _pension_ can then be had in some of the best hotels at 7 francs
per day.[45] It is noteworthy that _pension_ at Biarritz and Pau, and
elsewhere in the south of France, includes wine. House accommodation,
too, in the winter months is correspondingly cheap. The best months for
enjoying Biarritz, we were informed, are the months of April and May,
when the heat is sufficient but not oppressive. The month of July is
sometimes unbearably hot. A family who had been there during July told
us that they could hardly venture out in that month till late in the
evening; and if the sirocco prevailed, they were even obliged to close
the windows, the hot sand percolating through every crevice. The band
of music, I understood, plays only during the two months of the season,
and removes at its close, when the enclosure is dismantled.
* * * * *
But the great attractions of Biarritz consist in its beach, its rocks,
its grand seas, and in its capacities for good bathing. We were never
fortunate enough to witness a storm in the bay, although there was
occasionally enough of swell upon the water to show what a storm could
be. Our landlord, speaking of the appearance of a storm on the ocean,
described it as ‘terreeble;’ and no doubt it is, and not very safe,
too, as sometimes people are washed away by an unexpected dash and
sweep of the ocean. But a standing evidence of the force of the waves
is exhibited by the remains or ruins of the breakwater, begun in view
of here affording a port of refuge and pier. Regarding this scheme
Count Russell says (p. 13):—
‘Napoleon III. suggested it, meaning to connect by a breakwater several
of the detached rocks scattered on the north–western side of the Porte
Vieux, and thus to form a small harbour, only open to the north. A
clever engineer, M. Palaà, was entrusted with this almost superhuman
undertaking, but the only result has been, after years of labour and
more than one sacrifice of life, to accumulate a shapeless and useless
mass of ruins along the intended harbour. The breakwater (or what is
left of it) was built with concrete; artificial square blocks weighing
36 tons (some of them 48) were sunk by hundreds at random and just
where they liked to fall! But the tremendous surf has been playing with
them as if they were pebbles, and in 1868 one of them was carried right
over the pier (22 feet above low–water mark) like a toy or a feather!
For these and for financial reasons the works are now suspended. They
have already cost £120,000, and all to no purpose. In fact, nothing
human can resist such a sea as the Sea of Biscay, except, perhaps, at
St. Jean de Luz, where nature has half made a harbour.’
The sea is by far too treacherous and violent to make boating safe, and
we seldom, if ever, saw pleasure–boats out, although they were lying in
the harbour.
Some isolated rocks stand out in the water, separated from the
mainland, with which, I fancy, they have at one time been connected.
They are rough, and rugged, and bare, and honeycombed, and even,
occasionally, altogether perforated by the water; bearing witness in
their haggard condition to the violence of the waves by which they are
continually assailed, undermined, broken up, and thrown down. It is,
indeed, very beautiful to see, during a swell, the water lashing the
rocks and dashing over in clouds of white spray, or sometimes through
the perforations or over and down the rocks in streams of white foam.
During the day we used to stand and observe the swell surging into the
large cavities formed by continual action, and tossed out again, as
if the rocks had said with Phineas, ‘Friend, thee isn’t wanted here;’
while the whole water around, nothing daunted, was boiling and excited,
dancing and glancing and sparkling in the sun as if in glee, or in
the spirit of fun and mischief. This, too, in calm weather. But at
night we used to hear the boom of the waves as they tumbled into these
caverns and were as promptly turned out again, as if it had been guns
firing—for which, indeed, at first we were inclined to mistake the
sound.
Unlike the Mediterranean Sea, the tide has the usual ebb and flow of
the Atlantic, consequently not only is the beach more interesting, but
the town is kept more healthy. The sands afford the usual occupation
and delight to children, but shells and seaweed are rare. A good many
jelly–fish are thrown up; some gelatinous animals of a large size
perhaps were octopi. We used often to sit by the beach and watch the
sea, especially under the Basque Rocks, where the waves, with the
slightest breath of wind, would come charging gallantly in, high and
crested, and turn gracefully over in long lines when they neared the
shore. Over the rocks the inhabitants would seem to have the odious
habit of running their drains or dirty water, both unsightly to the
eye and leaving disagreeable black pools below. This surely might be
remedied. It does create a drawback to this most enjoyable beach.
Equally objectionable, if not more so, is the practice, so offensive at
Cannes, of putting the outlets of the town drains close to each of the
bathing–places. The tide, no doubt, is such at Biarritz as to remove
the stuff carried down, but there could or should be no difficulty in
carrying the pipes away to some distance from parts where people enter
the water to bathe, and at all events in not making them so obnoxiously
near and prominent.
* * * * *
There are three bathing establishments at Biarritz. One, and the
largest, is on the Grande Plage, between the Villa Eugenie and the
hotels, though much closer to the latter. It is a large wooden building
of one storey, in the Moorish style, and opening from the promenade,
three or four steps leading down at each end to the sands. When the
tide is low there is a long space of sand to traverse. At the west
side, where the rocks are, a rope for the use of the bathers is
stretched between two rocks running seaward. The second is on the
Port–Vieux, a creek perhaps 400 or 500 feet long by 100 to 150 feet
wide. The wooden building forming the bathing establishment, of very
neat design, with a balcony running all round, and a red–tiled roof,
is built on three sides of the square down to the usual high–water
mark. The fourth and open side is to the sea, which for a good way
out is hemmed in by rocks, between which a rope, slack but strong, is
stretched across the creek, hanging, in very low tide, considerably
above water, but in high tide having the middle part submerged. One
side of the house is devoted to the dressing–rooms of the ladies and
the other to those of the gentlemen, and long wooden stairs on each
side enable the bathers to reach the sands. A few yards brings into
sufficient depth for bathing, but at low water the sea goes back so as
to land one among the rocks, especially in spring tides, and bathing is
then not so pleasant, especially to non–swimmers; but this condition
does not last above an hour. When the wind is in the west, even when
hardly perceptible, there is more or less surf at the edge, and in
strong west or north–west winds the swell must be such as to prevent
bathing altogether at the Port–Vieux. But in this case more shelter
will no doubt be had at the Grande Plage, which is to a small extent
protected on the west by rocks. In stormy weather it must be altogether
impossible to bathe anywhere. The third bathing establishment is at
(though raised some feet above) the Basque beach, and is intended for
the convenience of those residing in that neighbourhood on the plateau
above. It is smaller considerably than either of the other two, and can
be reached from the sands by ascending a ladder or stair of steps, or
from the town by descending a zigzag path from the top of the nearly
perpendicular rock against which it is placed. The arrangements of all
are, I suppose, on exactly the same principles: little boxes under
cover of the establishment for undressing and dressing, towels, and
the usual appliances, including a tub of hot water to take the sand out
of the feet.
The establishment at the Grande Plage is much the largest, but we
always gave the preference to the Port–Vieux, where the Empress
formerly used to sit and watch the bathers if she did not bathe
herself. The town and road are high above it, and descending by a
handsome stone staircase, one is confronted at the bottom by the ticket
office, where (those not bathing can without charge go down to the
beach) those intending to bathe pay according to their requirements,
usually from half a franc to a franc each, the assistance of a bathing
man being charged half a franc additional. No gratuities are expected,
but a box at the dressing–room entrance–door modestly appears, into
which those who choose may in passing drop a coin now and then. Bathers
can be supplied with a bathing dress, and have it washed, but most
people naturally prefer to have their own habiliments.
* * * * *
Bathing is the great occupation of the visitors. Many bathe twice
a day, and some, I believe, all the year round, wind and weather
permitting. The sea is full of saline particles, and is usually warm,
while the atmosphere is also warm and salubrious, so that bathing is
even advantageous to those who dare not venture on it in the British
Isles. Unless the wind be blowing, say, from the north–west, it is
almost always possible to obtain a dip. To call a bathe there a dip,
however, would be exceedingly inappropriate. It is a steady, serious
occupation of some duration, and more or less protracted according to
the heat of the weather and the enthusiasm of the bather. The times for
bathing are in the morning before breakfast, after breakfast between
ten and twelve, and in the afternoon between three and six. During
the bathing hours spectators in crowds, perhaps not so numerous and
certainly not so noisy as at Ramsgate on a forenoon, but stationed
upon every available point, or quietly standing or sitting on rocks,
sands, or chairs, or on the steps or balconies of the establishments,
amusedly watch the performances, which are extremely interesting, and
to British eyes peculiar. At the Port–Vieux special vantage–ground is
gained by the road, which, like a gallery, envelopes the three sides,
and being higher than the roof of the building, enables the passers–by
to peer down from perhaps 50 feet above on the aquatic sport below.
For ladies and gentlemen array themselves in bathing costume, in which
they march down to the water from the establishment—the ladies in
general wearing over all a cloak or shawl, which they drop ere they
reach the edge, and it is taken charge of by a friend or a bathing man.
The ladies’ habit, of which the fanciful patterns (possibly imagined
and engraved in far–away Paris) exhibited in dressmakers’ shop windows
afford but a faint and incorrect idea (as, for example, in representing
ladies appearing in lace frills, and trig, tight, little laced boots),
usually consists of a short tunic with equally short sleeves, not
reaching to the elbows, and knee–breeches reaching barely to the knees,
the tunic girt at the waste by a girdle, to which is attached in the
majority of cases, _à la_ John Gilpin, two empty yellow gourds as
floats. Then very often a straw hat is stuck upon the head, and tied
by a ribbon over the crown and broad brim and under the chin, giving
the appearance of a frightful ‘ugly;’ while on the feet are generally
worn a pair of local shoes made of canvas, with thick hemp soles,
which, decorated with devices in worsted, are very commonly worn by
the residents, and even for walking about the beach by many of the
visitors, and are sold for 2 or 3 francs per pair. The bathing dresses
vary in pattern and shape, and are of all colours. White is seldom
worn. Bright colours—red, scarlet, green, light blue, yellow, amber—are
often seen; in short, the aim with many is apparently at something
stunning, suitable for the adornment of a pretty mermaid. To add to the
effect, smart young ladies will also have their dresses embroidered,
and otherwise made attractive and bewitching, in the way only a
graceful girl knows how; and really it must be confessed that this
bloomer costume is exceedingly becoming, at all events to the younger
ladies. Stout old ladies cut a figure in it sometimes remarkable.
[Illustration: BIARRITZ BATHERS.]
The gentlemen, on the other hand, look like harlequins, for their
costume in general consists of a somewhat tight–fitting dress either
of cotton or woollen, and most commonly in stripes of two colours,
and of all colours and shades, though white and blue stripes are
the most common. Their dress costs from 6f. to 20f. (a very good
woollen one in red and black stripes cost me 13f.). Some of the old
gentlemen wear a straw hat loose on their heads, so that occasionally
it is seen floating away from the wearer by reason of an accidental
wave or submersion. I suppose the object of the straw hat is to
obtain protection against the beams of the sun, but it suggests the
uncomfortable idea that the wearer never plunges his or her head under
water, the doing of which would, I doubt not, afford equal protection
against the sun’s heat, and is in any view always necessary to prevent
a flow of blood to the brain in bathing.[46]
* * * * *
In these varied and brightly–coloured costumes, the bathers cut gay
figures. But the picture is composed and completed when they enter into
action. At the edge of the water, the gentlemen bathers, sometimes
portly and rotund, having threaded in bare feet their way down through
the ladies sitting on the stairs, and through the crowd of spectators
on the sand, wait with patience in their brilliant, tight, and
unusual attire, the observed of all observers, the arrival of their
lady friends, if they any have, and on their arrival, taking their
hand, accompany them into the water; or the ladies take the hand of a
bathing man engaged to attend them, and march in under their charge,
and presently they are in the clear salt water, alive with bathers in
every colour and in every form of movement practised by those who go
down to the sea to bathe. Some rush from the shore wildly and inhumanly
into the water, and, wickedly regardless of frightening the small
fishes, dive head foremost with a splash, and strike out. Others stalk
in majestically, and either quietly push far out, or paddle about
pretending or attempting to swim in shallow water. Then other gentlemen
are giving encouragement to their little boys or girls, or to their
wives, or possibly their lovers, or improbably their sisters, either
dipping them, or helping them to swim, or teaching them to float, or
joining in other usual maritime gyrations. Others catch hold of the
rope stretched out if the water be low, and dance about in a mad and
profitless way, or if the tide be high, the swimmers catch at it as
they pass and take a rest; and sometimes, if at a proper height, an
adventurous one will sit upon the rope, like a sparrow on a telegraph
wire, when (perhaps beholding admiringly from the treacherous seat some
fat lady floating on her back on the surface, her bathing integuments
undulating in the water like the tentacular folds of a jelly–fish) of a
sudden somebody else, perhaps waggishly, perhaps innocently, clutches
at the slack rope, and with unexpected shock upsets the unwary,
abstracted philosopher, who with a whirl capsizes heels in the air,
and head making discoveries through eyegate, nosegate, and mouthgate
in the brine below. Or two recently arrived English young ladies will
walk in, hand in hand, scorning the aid of a bathing man, and perform
together, with all the regularity of clockwork, an endless series of
curtsey ducks in the water without stirring from the safely selected
spot. Other ladies, to vary the programme, are carried out by a bathing
man and dipped horizontally in the wave, so that head and feet obtain
ablution simultaneously; or a stout matron will take hold of a bathing
man, who swims out with her on his back apparently, so that she enjoys
the luxury of being buoyed up and drawn through the water, and can say,
‘I’m afloat.’ But these sham swimmers are notably the exceptions. The
great matter of observation is that the vast majority of the ladies,
young and old, swim about as easily as the gentlemen, though they are
in doing so generally accompanied by a man swimming behind or beside
them in case of accident; and, indeed, one important occupation of
those employed as bathing men is to teach the young idea how to swim,
an accomplishment which, after a few lessons, they are usually able
to master, and young girls are constantly seen swimming about among
the others, like minnows among the tritons. Some ladies, after long
practice, are very adventurous; two of them will go out together in a
boat a considerable distance, when, throwing off their cloaks, they
will dive head foremost from the side of the boat and swim ashore,
the boat following. One little girl was most clever. She would go out
to what looks like the vestige of an old pier, and, jumping high,
perform a somersault, and, diving under the water, ‘come up smiling,’
swim about, and do it again and again. I have, however, seen many
older diving belles jumping from the same pier. In fact, bathing in
all its forms is here carried by the ladies to an enviable perfection
altogether unknown at home; and while it not merely affords a most
invigorating exercise, it becomes a most valuable branch of education,
tending to lessen the risk of casualties at sea. It were well that at
home the good example could be followed.
* * * * *
The late King of Hanover was at Biarritz while we were there. Being
blind, he was carried into the water upon a _chaise–à–porteur_ by four
men, his suite bathing with him. His daughter was said to bathe at an
early hour in the morning, and many ladies, we were told, bathed as
early as six o’clock. During the time we were there, and the weather
being cold, forenoon and afternoon were preferable.
The bathing men will never dip one’s head unless expressly desired to
do so, and never propose it—a great mistake. The bathing dress is not
at all inconvenient or uncomfortable while in the water, but it is
heavy out of it, especially if of woollen material (decidedly the best
kind), because it absorbs and retains a great deal of water.
* * * * *
Away from the beach all the walks are on the high roads, which are
principally three,—to the railway station, to Bayonne, and to the
lighthouse. The distance to the lighthouse by the road is considerably
farther than by the beach, from which to the platform on the top of the
rocks whereon it stands, access is had by a steep path. From the top
of the lighthouse, 220 feet from the level of the sea to the lantern,
a most extensive view is had northward up the west coast of France,
bordered by the Landes—a low sandy coast, now planted with pine trees
to guard against the incursions of the sea—stretching 100 miles towards
Bordeaux; and in the other direction along the Spanish coast, bounded
by a chain of mountains far as the eye can see; while inland the view
extends towards the Pyrenees. A steep path leads from the lighthouse to
a small recessed platform half–way down the rock, where in calm weather
one can behold the swelling and surging sea below ever and anon dashing
against the rocks, and where men repair with long rods and lines to
fish. But in stormy weather it is dangerous even to stand on the ground
above; people are exposed to be swept away by unexpected rushes of the
sea, and many have been drowned there in consequence. The fish caught
at this platform, so far as we know, were small. Indeed, at Biarritz
there are not many caught, though the table is always supplied from
neighbouring fishing stations. Lobsters, however, seem to be plentiful.
The Villa Eugenie, between the lighthouse and the town, is an object
of interest to every one visiting Biarritz. It is shown to the public
on Mondays. Entrance is had by the west approach, where there is a
lodge and large but not elegant stabling accommodation. The grounds
are not extensive (about thirty acres in all), but sufficient for
a marine residence of the kind; nor do they exhibit much attention
to horticulture, though perhaps it is hardly fair to judge of them
in present circumstances. The house, of three storeys, commenced in
the year 1854, forms three sides of a square, with an _annexe_ (I
presume, offices) on the east side. It still belongs to the Empress,
who, of course, never occupies it now, and she will not sell or
let it. Ringing the bell, an old servant (who expects a small fee
from each party for his trouble) opens the door and shows visitors
through the house. Our troop consisted of several distinct parties,
mustering probably above a dozen persons in all. The rooms are of
comfortable size, and compose just what an Empress would consider to
be a snuggery. The dining–room is the largest room in the house, the
windows facing on one side the west to the town and sea, on another
northward to the sea and lighthouse. On a rough guess, and speaking
from recollection, it is probably from 40 to 50 feet long and from 20
to 25 feet wide, the ceiling lofty. The reception–room is comparatively
small. The bedrooms of the Emperor, Empress, and Prince are just of a
comfortable size. There are many small bedrooms, very nicely decorated,
for use of the suite or for visitors. The floors are polished, and
the staircase is so slippery that people are cautioned to take great
care in descending, the steps not being carpeted. It was melancholy
to think it was no longer possible for poor Eugenie to occupy this
delightful residence.[47] Perhaps it is the only place in France where
the Imperial arms remain, and one sees upon it also the touching
monogram ƎNE, which reads up or down. The place would to our Queen
be objectionable as being so close to a town; but to a French lady
this, no doubt, would give it additional attraction, and it must be
recollected that Biarritz in reality largely owes its existence to
the Empress having built her villa there. For this the French people
should be grateful, although it looks a little unlike it, because in
the grounds two pillars in front of a small unfinished chapel for the
Imperial family use have been much broken. This, however, may merely
have been the result of accident.
* * * * *
It is a pleasant drive to Bayonne, which lies about five miles off.
Like many other roads in France, such as at Pau, the road proceeds
a long way in a straight line, flanked by regimental rows of trees,
which, affording shade from the sun, have a peculiarly stiff effect.
Here, as elsewhere, too, contrary to the Roman beau–ideal of a road
that it should be level, this one, though straight, yields to the
inequalities of the ground, and is alternately in hollows and on
elevations. But people ought to be thankful the road is so good, for,
speaking of a time about forty years ago or more, Dr. Taylor (_Climate
of Pau_) says:—
‘There was no carriage road from Bayonne to Biarritz, the only
conveyance being _en cacolet_, which contrivance consisted of a pair
of panniers laid on the back of a horse or mule, into each of which a
traveller of equal weight, if possible, had to perch himself at the
same instant with his fellow, and to preserve their position as best
they could. In the event of one being lighter than the other, there was
a make–weight of stones put along with him in the pannier to adjust the
equilibrium.’
Judging from the specimens of comfortable Spanish ladies we saw at
Biarritz, I should pity the horse or the mule which had to carry two of
them.
About half way to Biarritz, a very elegant white stone villa in the
Moorish style is passed—the Villa Sophia. There is something very
unique in the appearance of this building, which is covered with
arabesques, inducing me to go out one day and take a rough sketch of
it. On approaching Bayonne, the road lies through a wood—I suppose,
a suburban park. Then on entering the town we see a long many–arched
stone bridge spanning the Adour,—here very wide,—and beyond it the
fortifications, built by Vauban. These may at one time have been
considered strong, but at the present day cannot be thought so, and
they are overlooked by neighbouring heights. The fort lacks the
picturesquely–imposing appearance of stone wall castles. A good deal
of historical interest attaches to Bayonne and its fortifications. The
town itself is not remarkable for much save its four bridges, crossing
very close to each other the river Nive, which here joins the Adour.
The cathedral, above seven hundred years old, is large and handsome,
and is in course of restoration. The spires (one of them only is
completed, the other being in course of completion) are very beautiful,
tapering gradually, with spirelets around; but the church is like too
many others abroad, rather hemmed in by the houses around.
* * * * *
There are other good drives about Biarritz, and particularly to the
Bois de Boulogne and to the old historical maritime town of St. Jean
de Luz, about ten miles distant, and not far from the Spanish border.
It was here Louis XIV. had a residence and was married. His house, in
the French style, with square towers at the four corners, stands now in
the centre of the town upon the main street, and in its ground floor is
occupied with shops and cafés. St. Jean is also a bathing place, but is
not so popular, and is certainly not so attractive, as Biarritz.
There is a fine drive to Cambo, at the base of the Pyrenees, but during
the first part of the period of our stay at Biarritz the weather was
too cold to take it, and in the latter part the days were getting
rather too short, the distance being about eighteen miles.[48]
* * * * *
Few people visit Biarritz without making an excursion by railway to St.
Sebastian to see a little of Spain. It is thirty–seven miles distant
by rail, and can be easily managed in a day—in fact, going by morning
train, one is left rather too much time in St. Sebastian. Crossing
the river Bidassoa, the picturesque town of Fuenterrabia is the first
object catching the eye on the Spanish border. A halt of an hour is
made at Irun for examination of the luggage, and it is possible,
though a risk, to drive off and return in time for the train after
a hurried examination of this interesting old town, which from the
railway has an appearance of being deserted. Leaving Irun, the railway
winds its way through the mountains, and reaches St. Sebastian, which
is a tidy–looking town standing at the mouth of a river crossed by a
handsome bridge, with view out to the Bay of Biscay and to the fortress
of St. Sebastian on a hill next the sea. The town lies on the landward
side of this hill, the more modern part of it, at least, consisting of
wide streets and lofty square houses with nothing redeeming about their
aspect. Passing along the main wide street from the bridge, we arrive
at an enclosed natural harbour, a tract of sea, like a bag contracted
at the neck, through which communication is had with the bay without.
The shipping is not extensive; the harbour proper, lying on the side
nearest the sea, being small. On the south side, next the newer
portion of the town and the railway, the grand _plage_ bathing–place,
with a wooden bathing–house, is found. Behind it the mountains rise
picturesquely. It requires an order to see the fortress, which is
mainly of earthen ramparts. The town itself has little of interest
in it. Close by the railway station, however, there is a very large
wooden amphitheatre for bull–fights. Bills containing announcements
of one of these savage entertainments were placarded on the building
and the railway stations and elsewhere. The dwellings on the line of
railway are similar to those about Biarritz, principally of the Basque
style; many of them have on the top little glazed houses, sort of
huts, no doubt designated, according to the taste of the occupants, as
observatories, retreats, or smoking–rooms. Except for seeing a little
of Spain, I believe it is better rather to stop and see the curious old
town of Fuenterrabia.
* * * * *
After 1st October a very marked change came over the appearance of
Biarritz. Nearly all of the Spanish and French visitors (coming no
doubt for the gaiety) then left, while the English influx for the
winter season had scarcely begun. During the first fortnight of this
month the town wore a deserted look, and this was greatly aggravated by
many of the shops commencing to pack up for migration to other places,
and one after another closing. I daresay, a month later, there would be
more life in the place.
* * * * *
We had all experienced the greatest benefit from our short residence
of about a month in Biarritz, and although the weather was, during
the greater part of the time, especially at first, very cold, in
consequence of the northeasterly winds, we felt that our invalid
especially had derived great good from the ‘soothing and invigorating
air;’ so much so that we fondly thought, owing to this and the former
changes, she was now in recovered health, and that it only wanted
another winter in the Riviera to set her completely up. Biarritz is
considered too cold a place for delicate persons to winter in, and
the approach of its winter season would in any view have warned us
away. But we did feel extremely reluctant to leave; for this agreeable
watering–place had quite taken our fancy, and perhaps we felt the
leaving all the more that we had not seen it in its stern grandeur
of a storm, or even in its wild grandeur of a cloudy sunset, while,
under the influence of a gentle wind blowing from the south, the day
upon which we left was one of the finest and sunniest we had had while
there. Having a good hour before departure, we visited all the beaches
and rocks, and lingered sorrowfully upon the scenes now so radiant in
sunshine and so genial in their warmth, where we had spent pleasant
times, and thence looked out upon the bright sparkling ocean gleaming
below us, and the waves gently kissing the shore and bidding us adieu,
and with unwilling steps returned to our hotel to leave for Pau. This
leave–taking is one of the penalties to be paid for the pleasure of
travelling in bright spots where everything has combined to make one
happy—where the scenes are new and pleasing, where the object of travel
seems to have been secured, and where hearts in perfect harmony and
with congenial likings are able to appreciate the blessings they have
thus been privileged together to enjoy.