Julia at Cordouan

In the pure salty air, tinged with the volatile scent of her tiara flower lip balm, Julia plunges into the sea to make her way to the shore. Without even a moment’s hesitation, her brothers and sisters follow her. She clambers eagerly onto the sand bank which hides the horizon from her but reveals the misty top of the “King of Lighthouses” on its rocky plateau. A moonscape of scintillating pools reflects the majestic edifice. The ochre sand is dotted with white points. The black-headed gulls are resting. Then they vanish, lost in the labyrinth of sand.

The wonder continues, the arduous route ahead in no way diminishing her excitement. The shifting sand, water up to mid-thigh, she hoists herself onto the breakwater with assured ease. At the end of the paved causeway littered with fluorescent green algae is an open double door in solid wood, its edges indicating that at high tide it is hidden. A silhouette is seen in the inner opening.

With her wet shoes glistening stylishly and water streaming off her body, Julia keels over. The rich smell of the ocean is intoxicating. The ascent is perilous, slippery, a gallant hand confidently catches hold of her. Surprised, the young woman discovers the kindly soul who flies to her rescue: “You’ve shaken everyone off. I saw you crossing the island through my binoculars.“ Julia smiles: “Yes, I was in a hurry, time is precious. How long have I got to see everything?” “Half an hour to climb the 301 steps and take in the view “.

The lovely stranger is about her age. He’s barefoot and wears bermuda shorts. His suntanned skin makes his large blue eyes stand out. His hair is curly and dark brown. “Welcome to my second home, I have a very large garden.“

The steep staircase, with its central rope handrail, points the way. I wait on the threshold for my tribe of siblings. For a moment it is my second home too, how fortunate to live here. The heart of this man beats to the rhythm of the tides, to the rhythm of the different seasons, to the rhythm of the light. The red and green beams of the guide to the pitch-black estuary have prevented many shipwrecks; the alternative is a dark picture without words.

I would so love to see it at night, at low tide, with a bright moon shining, its reflection bathing it in triumphant light. This ephemeral picture that only he can see. What joy! He deserves it in view of his enforced isolation and courage in bad weather. Encircled, forsaken by the raging elements, the ground swell breaks on the defensive wall, the wind sings around the building, no sail, no work-force on board, just praises to Notre-Dame in the royal chapel on the second floor. Trapped, the gloom reduces any hope of seeing the coast again, the guardian of the lamp is put to the test, enclosed within his bedroom with its antique wood panelling, pen in hand, while waiting for some improvement, an end to the greyness.

But today the rocky islet is calm. The low tide makes the fish less fearful, the small wavelets behind Cordouan gently rock the gulls. The horizon is clear and from the balcony on high we see, further to the north, the Ile d’Oléron , and in the east the coast at Royan . A satin- smooth sea as far as the eye can see. Close to, the verdant vegetation outlines the beauty of the edifice. The gulls’ playground undergoes a transformation at each tide. A treat for them, their wings spread out to display in all their splendour a fascinating game of shadows and light.

Around the platform we hear the sound of crackling fire as massed barnacles on the stone whisper to our ears a sound that the Earth knows well. Massed seashells swept up and drawn together by currents resemble a circular road. Just above the water the bouquets of green algae house pretty occupants. The anemone, huddled up, waits patiently for the rise in the water to unfurl its tentacles. The timid green crab plays hide and seek under the stones. Soon the bell will toll, this white pearl in the middle of the ocean will once again becomes forever an island. Julia knows that the jetty, the door of the palace, and its garden will all disappear beneath the waves. Its shipwrecked occupant has no desire to return home. He loves this place and never tires of sunset on the lantern. Back on land, Julia will close her eyelids for a moment to see again the immensity of the ocean which surrounds these four hundred years of light.

2021 Catherine (Bruges), translation: Margaret and Richard Beasley