A LA FETE DU SOLEIL

New Zealand Tablet, 2 February 1911, Page 209

A LA FETE DU SOLEIL

By Louise M. Stacpoole-Kenny, Author of Francis de Sales, Love is Life, Jacquetta, and St. Charles Borromeo. 11. HYERES AND NOTRE DAME DE LA CONSOLATION. Dear, quaint, old-fashioned Hyeres! The oldest, the least up to date, and probably for that reason the most fascinating of all the health and pleasure resorts sprinkled so abundantly over la Cote d'Azur. It is also the most southerly and the nearest to England. Our journey from Marseilles was all too short, so enchanting were the scenes we passed through, for once, too rapidly in a too rapid ' Rapide.' The rich southern vegetation seemed marvellous to our eyes, accustomed to the desolate, barren fields, and wind-swept leafless trees of the grey North. Here in the Pays Bleu the hills are clothed with silvery grey olive trees, and crowned by the emerald green of the pines; in the plains grow cherry trees in full blossom, mulberries and oleanders in rich profusion; finally, we arrive at the little station of Hyeres, surrounded by gigantic palms, and with the stately mountains of the Maures sheltering it from cold winds. The road from the station to our hotel winds through an avenue of splendid palms, but, indeed, Hyeres is the paradise of palms. Nowhere else do they grow so abundantly, not even at Bordighera. There are numberless orange groves, their golden fruit glowing in the sunshine; fields of violets scenting the balmy air; the Jardin d'Acclimatation and the Jardin St. Denis are full of exotic trees and shrubs; such big camellia trees, laden with scarlet flowers; the graceful mimosa, weighed down with its fairylike yellow balls, contrasting with the' grey, stately eucalyptus and the pomegranate and myrtle, pepper and fig, roses and geranium, even heliotrope, all growing in the open air in early March, and in such profusion ! .

Verily, Hyeres is indeed an earthly paradise, but as in the Garden of Eden there lurks the serpent—the mistral. 1 went out innocently, unsuspectingly, a sapphire blue sky above, the sun so burning we had to use white parasols. We strolled up Chateaubriand way, through orange and lemon gardens, until at the summit we sought shelter from the intense heat in the olive groves. Wo revelled in the beauty of the day and of the view, the town beneath looking like a fair white city of the East. There, perched on a hill, is the" old castle, once a stronghold of the Saracens; not far beneath it the Church of St. Paul, formerly a temple consecrated to Minerva, and Diana; yet lower down a labyrinth of quaint, narrow streets old town, most picturesque, and, strange to relate, quite clean; and then, above all, the towering heights of the mountains. It was a heavenly day and a heavenly scene, but, alas ! when we returned I found that invisible serpent had stung me, and for the next fortnight I had to remain in my room, amusing myself with putting on cataplasms, drinking potions, and indulging in the luxury of various cures for bronchitis and tonsilitis.

Fortunately the view from my windows was charming; one looked south over our garden, with its orange trees, carnations, geraniums; on the Avenue des Palmiers, lined with giant palms and colossal pines. The other faced west, towards the Place de la Republic, where is the quaint old church of St. Louis. It seems the saintly king spent some time here for the benefit of his health. His church has a fine Romanesque facade; it was restored in 1840, but was originally built in the twelfth century by the Templars; they were succeeded by the Knights of Rhodes and Malta, and no doubt they had many a fight with the Saracen.

In the square in front of the church there is a statue of Massillon, the famous preacher; his style and raanne • so impressed Bourdaloue that he remarked, ‘He must increase, but I must decrease,’ and the Grand Monarque said to him : ‘ I have heard great orators in my chapel, and have felt satisfied with them, but every time I have heard you I have felt dissatisfied with myself. In 1719 he was elected a member of the Academy, and consecrated Bishop of Clermont; he died in 1742. In the quiet little side street is the house where he was born in 1663." The annual pilgrimage to Notre Dame de I’Ermitago took place while I was still unable to venture out, but as soon as I was strong enough we set off in one of the rickety old omnibuses for Costebelle, and climbed from there up to the Church of Notre Dame do la Consolation, sometimes called de I’Errnitage. '

It is a wayside sanctuary in the Romanesque style, with a modern tower; within it is truly devotional. So remote from the madding crowd, guarded" outside by sentinel pine trees; the song of birds, penetrating through the open windows, the only music; the scent of the wild flowers, and the aromatic aroma of the woods the only incense. There is a renaissance altar, and of course the walls are covered with ex-votos. The view is splendid. To the west, the beautiful Vale de Costebelle, dotted with villas; to the east, the Mont des Oiseaux, while in the distance we can catch

a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean. That same beautiful and blue and tideless sea can sometimes be very wicked and just as grey and gloomy and wave-tossed as our own Atlantic. One day we went to La Plage, and there we got caught in a whirlwind. Such a wind as strong, as ruthless, as disconcerting as on our own cliffs of Moher on a stormy day. It nearly took us off our feet; clouds of sand blinded us, and it was only when we got into the shelter of a cafe that we were able to admire the Mediterranean in her most dangerous mood. And then when we returned to Hyeres all was calm and still; scarcely a breath of air. Certainly it is a sheltered town ; the three miles between it and the sea preventing it experiencing the, rough breezes of the coast. There are plenty of charming excursions, but one must either go in those dreadful, shaky 'buses, or else charter a carriage. One glorious day we engaged a.landau and drove off to Carquirraine through the Pass of the Terre. It is a dear little fishing port; the people are so unsophisticated and kindly; but, indeed, all round the country and at Hyeres the natives are most kindly and affable and so confiding. If one has forgotten one's purse it does not matter: 'Let madame take what she requires; the next time she passes she can pay,' and they do not even ask ' madame's' name and address. Another afternoon we went by the New Salt Marshes of Gien, where the Sanatorium Peine Saleran is situated—a hospital for children, that the fresh,' pure air, and the scent of the sea and the pines ought to cure the little ones without the help of nasty drugs. Then there is Pomponiana, the ruins of an old GalloRoman town, where excavations have been carried on for some time and various substructures have, been discovered. Nothing as yet is known of its history. S v r There are not many amusements at Hyeres; no one goes to the Casino except when a charity fete or bazaar is"on; there are no little horses, no rouge ft voir, no gambling, only'quiet concerts and teas at the hotels: bands twice a week on the Place des Palmiers, and golf links about two miles away. But the two things one really revels in, constituting as they do its witching charm and its undying beauty, are the invigorating, exhilirating air, and the bright, glorious sunshine, the two essentials the dying Goethe prayed for. 'De Voir ct d e la Ivmicrc' These one enjoys in perfection at the Fete du Soleil in this paradise of flowers.