Picnic on Ile St-Marguerite, 1937

The weather has turned. This morning was windy and cold. I’d left my porthole open overnight and small rain slashed in sideways, waking me just after dawn. Usually someone jumps off the boat first thing in the morning as a tonic before breakfast, but this gray morn saw no takers. So we abandoned our plans for water sports and instead had a late, leisurely breakfast of mushroom omelettes and fresh fruit, orange juice and coffee.

And then just as quickly as the ill weather had blown in, it blew out. So we motored into the bay of Cannes, dropping anchor along the northern shore of Ile Sainte-Marguerite, the largest of the Lérins Islands and best known for its stone fort which was home to a number of famous prisoners, none more so than the Man in the Iron Mask who was imprisoned here by decree of King Louis XIV in the late 17^th century.

During the summer a flotilla of megayachts moors in the shallows of the island—so many that they say while party-hopping you can practically step from boat to boat without ever getting wet. But this late in the season things are quiet. If you make it onto the island, which is less than two miles long and about half-a-mile wide, before the sight-seeing ferry from Cannes, you’ll pretty much have the place to yourself. Even if the ferry has dropped off its load, most of the tourists are here to see the Fort Royal or the creaky Musée de la Mer. Been there, done that.

Instead, we walked up the hill past the fort and circumnavigated the island on the sentier botanique—the botanical footpath. It’s a lovely stroll, the red earth path leading you through a thick forest of eucalyptus and Allepo pine trees. Because of the morning rain, the air was particularly fragrant. As the breeze shifted I picked up whiffs of spicy myrtle, sweet honeysuckle, and head-clearing pine.

photo by David Lansing

Every once in awhile we’d come across a couple of bathers splayed across the rocky shore, bagging the last rays of the season, or young lovers snoozing on blankets, their recently-consumed lunch of cheese and bread, fruit and wine spread all around them. Sometimes the couples were in amorous poses and we’d hush our voices and quietly file by, trying not to disturb them.

The pastoral scene reminded me of a famous photo taken on this island 70-some years ago by Lee Miller, a strikingly-beautiful photographer (she began her career as a model for such famous early-20^th century photographers as Edward Steichen) who hooked up with the Surrealist artist and photographer Man Ray in Paris around 1930. She ended up photographing a lot of the most famous artists of that time, such as Picasso, Colette, and Magritte. Her work wasn’t as surrealistic as Man Ray’s but it did have an evocative, other-worldly quality to it. In a way, I guess, it seemed like she was photographing scenes that the Impressionists of that time were painting. You can see what I mean by this photo of hers titled “Picnic on Ile Sainte-Marguerite, Cannes, 1937.” (By the way, that’s Man Ray wearing the cap on the right.)  

Lee Miller Archives, copyright 2008

It’s a lovely photo–sort of a cross between a Gauguin painting, with the two exotic bare-breasted women, and something from Renoir or Seurat. It’s odd, but this island, as small and undeveloped as it is, has an air about it. It makes you want to try and capture it. Shadow, light, texture—as we walked, I couldn’t keep my hand off the shutter button.