Part 15 (1/2)
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 Pecheurs, into the Place Ste. Eugenie; whence, continuing by the base of the Hotel 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 pa.s.s 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, das.h.i.+ng 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 t.i.tle 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 c.o.c.k, 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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 t.i.tle, which is more barbaric than p.r.o.nounceable.] 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!
[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 Hotel 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 Eugenie, [Footnote: This building, where Emperor and Empress lived at different times, now belongs to a company under the t.i.tle 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.
[Ill.u.s.tration: VILLA EUGeNIE.]
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 repet.i.tion. 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!
[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE I.--BEFORE THE START.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE 2.--THE ANCIENT STEED GREW YOUNG ONCE MORE.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE 3.--WHO'S MY DRIVER?]