THE curious visitor, in these days, would seek in vain in the little bay of Houmet for the house in which Gilliatt lived, or for his garden, or the creek in which he sheltered the Dutch sloop. The Bu de la Rue no longer exists. Even the little peninsula on which his house stood has vanished, levelled by the pickaxe of the quarryman, and carried away, cart-load by cart-load by dealers in rock and granite. It must be sought now in the churches, the palaces, and the quays of a great city. All that ridge of rocks has been long ago conveyed to London.
These long lines of broken cliffs in the sea, with their frequent gaps and crevices, are like miniature chains of mountains. They strike the eye with the impression which a giant may be supposed to have in contemplating the Cordilleras. In the language of the country they are called "Banques". These banques vary considerably in form. Some resemble a long spine, of which each rock forms one of the vertebrae; others are like the backbone of a fish; while some bear an odd resemblance to a crocodile in the act of drinking.
At the extremity of the ridge on which the Bu de la Rue was situate was a large rock, which the fishing people of Houmet called the "Beast's Horn." This rock, a sort of pyramid, resembled, though less in height, the "Pinnacle" of Jersey. At high water the sea divided it from the ridge, and the Horn stood alone; at low water it was approached by an isthmus of rocks. The remarkable feature of this "Beast's Horn" was a sort of natural seat on the side next the sea, hollowed out by the water, and polished by the rains. The seat, however, was a treacherous one. The stranger was insensibly attracted to it by "the beauty of the prospect," as the Guernsey folks said. Something detained him there in spite of himself, for there is a charm in a wide view. The seat seemed to offer itself for his convenience; it formed a sort of niche in the peaked facade of the rock. To climb up to it was easy, for the sea, which had fashioned it out of its rocky base, had also cast beneath it, at convenient distances, a kind of natural stairs composed of flat stones. The perilous abyss is full of these snares; beware, therefore, of its proffered aids. The spot was tempting the stranger mounted and sat down. There he found himself at his ease; for his seat he had the granite rounded and hollowed out by the foam; for supports, two rocky elbows which seemed made expressly for him; against his back the high vertical wall of rock which he looked up to and admired, without thinking of the impossibility of scaling it. Noting could be more simple than to fall into reverie in that convenient resting-place. All around spread the wide sea, far off the ships were seen passing to and fro. It was possible to follow a sail with the eye till it sank in the horizon beyond the Casquets. The stranger was entranced: he looked around, enjoying the beauty of the scene and the light touch of wind and wave. There is a sort of bat found at Cayenne which has the power of fanning people to sleep in the shade with a gentle beating of its dusky wings. Like this strange creature, the wind wanders about, alternately ravaging or lulling into security. So the stranger would continue contemplating the sea, listening for a movement in the air, and yielding himself up to dreamy indolence. When the eyes are satiated with light and beauty, it is a luxury to close them for a while. Suddenly the loiterer would arouse; but it was too late. The sea had crept up step by step; the waters surrounded the rock; the stranger had been lured on to his death.
A terrible rock was this in a rising sea.
The tide gathers at first insensibly, then with violence; when it touches the rocks a sudden wrath seems to possess it, and it foams. Swimming is difficult in the breakers: excellent swimmers have keen lost at the Horn of the Bu de la Rue.
In certain places, and at certain periods, the aspect of the sea is dangerous-fatal; as at times is the glance of a woman.
Very old inhabitants of Guernsey used to call this niche, fashioned in the rock by the waves, "Gild-Holm-'Ur" seat, or Kidormur; a Celtic word, say some authorities, which those who understand Celtic cannot interpret, and which all who understand French can-"Qui-dort-meurt";2 ‘such is the country folks' translation.
The reader may choose between the translation Qui-dort-meurt and that given in 1819, I believe in The Armorican, by M. Athenas. According to this learned Celtic scholar, Gild-Holm-'Ur signifies "The resting-place of birds."
There is, at Aurigny, another seat of this kind, called the Monk's Chair. so well sculptured by the waves, and with steps of rock so conveniently placed, that it might be said that the sea politely sets a footstool for those who rest there.
In the open sea, at high water, the Gild-Holm-'Ur was no longer visible; the water covered it entirely.
The Gild-Holm-'Ur was a neighbour of the Bu de la Rue. Gilliatt knew it well, and often seated himself there. Was it his meditating place? No. We have already said he did not meditate, but dream. The sea however, never entrapped him there.
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