At Marseilles: Our Hotel; Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Green and Mrs. Martin: The
sights of the City: The Cathedral, etc.: En route for Mentone: Toulon:
Passing Nice: Cannes: Arrival at Mentone: Our Hotel: Meeting Mr. and Miss
Brown: The scenery, etc.: Visit to Monte Carlo.
Our visit to Marseilles was made in the earlier part of the year, also to
the Riviera. On reaching Marseilles after a long and tedious journey, we
proceeded to the “Grand Hotel du Louvre et Paix,” that we had previously
arranged should be our stopping place, during our stay in the city. The
hotel ’bus was at the station and we were soon safely inside and our
baggage on the top; through some rambling streets we soon found ourselves
at an hotel of no mean pretensions. The front is facing a very fine
street, and is of massive proportions. Inside is even better than the
outside. Everything up-to-date; lovely chandeliers with electric light;
mirrors, carpets of the richest and best quality; writing rooms, coffee
rooms, dining rooms and several hundreds of bed rooms. We just looked
round and got the number of our bed room and were about to step into the
lift, which had just descended, when to our surprise we met face to face,
a dear old friend of ours, Mrs. Martin, of Glasgow, and she was
apparently as much surprised to see us. We hurried through our toilet
and went down stairs to learn why she was here alone. She told us her
father, G. Green, Esq. (a very dear and almost life-long friend of ours)
was returning from a visit to America and the West Indies, and she
expected him and Mrs. Green arriving at Marseilles at once; indeed, she
was just going down to the docks to see if the boat was in. In the
meantime we had lunch, which just then was very necessary and most
acceptable. We wanted to see a bit of the city, as our time was limited,
and we could ill afford to lose any of it. We found the shops fairly
good, but prices very high for anything that was worth having. We
omitted spending at present, so went back to our hotel where we met Mr.
and Mrs. Green to our great surprise and pleasure. After the usual
salutations, etc., we wanted to know each other’s programme, to see if we
could not have at least a few days together. We had arranged to go on to
Mentone, and had booked hotel beforehand; they had decided, with Mrs.
Martin, to go to Cannes the same day, so we arranged to return from
Mentone earlier than we had thought, and visit Cannes; and they arranged
to stay at Cannes till we arrived, and have at least two days with us.
So they left us for Cannes after having some refreshments. We further
explored the city; the population now numbers nearly half a million, it
is the next largest city in France save Paris. There is a grand
Triumphal Arch not far from the railway termini, erected to commemorate
the French campaign in Spain. The docks are most extensive, as they
cover an area of about one hundred and seventy acres, and they must have
cost many millions of pounds sterling. On the south side of the city may
be seen, a long distance off, “The Notre Dame de la Garde.” It stands on
a bare rock hill. To reach it you pass through an enclosure protected by
iron railings, you take tickets and get into an elevator which quickly
raises you over three hundred feet. From here, however, you have to
reach this curious old Cathedral by many steps. When you have just
gained the summit, there is a very fine view of the city at your feet,
and of the Mediterranean Sea, with the graceful curves of the coast line
lending enchantment to the view. The island of Monte Cristo is also well
in sight, reminding you of Dumas’ novel. It is said that, on the spot
where this church stands, the Druids celebrated their crafts and
mysteries. Inside there are some very fine columns of blue marble from
the Alps. The ceilings and walls are hung with pious offerings,
commemorating strange deliverances at sea. There is an image of the
Virgin in the shape of a flying mermaid, appearing to a ship in a storm.
The Cornish Road or Chemin de Centure, is a great attraction, as it runs
along the coast for a long distance, indeed, it is said to run along the
coast to Naples, following the sea all the way; curving and jutting out,
just as the sea has apparently found the bays and the promontories. The
principal streets of Marseilles are very broad, and there is some lovely
architecture. I give a picture, as I took the snap-shot of what stands
at the junction of three or four of their main streets. The city is well
surrounded by hills, covered with vineyards and oliveyards; and the
country round, for some distance, is specked with white country houses.
Our stay is of short duration, so good-bye to the port, to the shops, to
the Cathedral. Our hotel bill is to be settled, and, this done, the
great lumbering ’bus is awaiting us. We say adieu to our French waiters,
boots and Concierge, and are soon at the railway station and in the train
for Mentone. Leaving Marseilles we noticed the scenery began to be
rugged and rocky, for some distance. The sea, however, was a great
attraction, the blue Mediterranean is I think always pleasing to look at;
and we could feel the pure bracing air as it came up from the sea. About
two hours brought us to an important station called Toulon. This is said
to be the Plymouth of France. The dockyard and fleet of Toulon were
destroyed by a British force under Sir Sidney Smith, detached from the
fleet of Lord Hood, in November, 1793. There is a wonderful history
attached to this city, which I have neither the time nor the disposition
to enter upon. Our train was delayed here, so I dismounted to get some
oranges, when, to my dismay, the train moved on and left me hatless on an
open platform. However, I found it was only to move to the tank to take
water. In ten minutes’ time it returned, so set at rest my little wife’s
troubles and my own. We soon left behind us this apparently prosperous
and busy town, and were again surrounded by hills and the sea.
Landscapes of bays and promontories, rocks and ravines. To my mind I
have seen nothing in all my travels (and I have been over four
continents) to equal the stretch of coast and country from Marseilles to
Mentone. It is beyond all question the loveliest part of the fair land
of France. On all sides as the train steams along it is pretty, gay and
captivating, as the sunny shores are washed by the rolling sea, and an
azure sky is overhead; and beyond, in the background, you can
occasionally see lines of lofty hills crowned with eternal snow. As we
passed the various stations, as Nice, the scenery becomes richer and more
beautiful. Lovely avenues bordered with flowers, winding through the
plain; and shady footpaths meandering among fields of asphodel and
lavender. As we passed St. Raphael Station we noticed a very peculiar
formation of the sea-shore. On we sped through the most beautiful
scenery, palm trees began to seem plentiful; the first I saw looked so
lovely I took my camera and got a snap-shot; but as we proceeded they
became quite common. At Nice, the races were just over, and we saw
numerous horses and horsemen leaving the race course. We had passed
Cannes, and after which, Monte Carlo, and soon reached our destination
where we remained for a few days (Mentone). We had selected, as was our
custom, a hotel beforehand, this time it was “Hotel de Mentone.” So on
the arrival of our train in the station we looked out for the hotel
omnibus. We were surrounded by porters to carry our baggage, and almost
a quarrel ensued which should have the job. However, we were conducted
to the ’bus and very quickly driven to the hotel named. We found it all
we could wish, indeed, the most comfortable and best managed we had found
in all our travels. The manager, M. C. Husson, is the very acme of
kindness and attention, our wants seemed to be anticipated and met most
expeditiously. Our bedroom, large and airy, facing and within one
hundred yards of the blue Mediterranean; the garden full of the most
lovely palm trees. My little wife said: “this is like paradise.” The
climate of this lovely town is very mild, and fogs, they tell us, are
unknown. It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains, consequently
no north or east winds affect them; the hills intervening between these
Alpine Mountains and the town and the sea, are covered with gardens of
the orange tree (in full fruitage when we saw them January 18th); also
the lemon and olive tree. Mentone is a favourite winter resort for
English visitors.
In our hotel we found some interesting people, some of them from England;
and those who could speak English were to us, more than usually
interesting. We seemed to be specially drawn toward a lady and gentleman
from Southend-on-Sea—a Mr. Brown and Miss Brown, his daughter. She made
herself particularly useful and nice to my little wife. We were
strangers, and all about us a strange tongue was spoken and new customs
in vogue. Miss Brown most kindly offered her aid at any time and on any
point that was desired. This was most gratefully accepted, and in a few
days we were fast friends. A correspondence has been kept up since we
left, so that in all likelihood the friendship formed in Mentone will be
continuous and pleasant. We took our walks each morning along the fine
promenade in the clear fresh sunshine and bracing sea breeze, so we could
feel we were gaining strength and getting a real good bracing up. We
took lunch, more than once, at a sweet little Swiss restaurant,
everything was scrupulously clean and sweet. We visited the Park
Gardens, where the band was every day discoursing sweet music. These
gardens are filled on two sides with orange trees; and as we passed them
the fruit was just lovely, ripe and ready for plucking. The borders and
beds were full of the most beautiful flowers in full bloom. I got two or
three snapshots of this pretty place and surroundings.
[Picture: Miss Brown at Mentone]
We visited the cemetery on the hillside. It is difficult to reach, as
there are so many steps, but it is well worth a visit. Here are laid to
rest the dust of many generations. We found marble monuments in memory
of several English residents, who had died in Mentone and were buried
here. The graves or mausoleums are carefully kept. Flowers bloom most
luxuriantly, and intertwine themselves in and around the sculpture on all
sides. Some graves have, built over them, a small tent or room, which is
adorned with pictures and filled with flowers. Here the relations of the
deceased come, and seem to commune with the departed; at any rate they
find some kind of solace in spending a little time near the sacred dust
of loved ones. We visited the Market Place, and on market day too, to
see the costers from the country in dresses quaint and queer, with their
donkeys and carts of the rudest make. One would really have liked to
have laughed at their simplicity. The fruit, flowers and vegetables were
of a very fine quality; nothing so large in England. New potatoes in
January, and new green peas, tomatoes; indeed, everything that our
gardens will produce in June, they get here in January. Monte Carlo is
only a few miles from Mentone, and there is a tram running; so we
determined to pay a visit to this interesting place before we left the
Riviera. A lovely day found us on the tram en route for Monte Carlo. Up
the hillsides our tram went, and round some curves that to us seemed
dangerous, across some deep ravines, ascending, then descending, for the
road is along the rocky mountain side. In about forty minutes we reached
this place of notoriety. It is certainly one of the loveliest places
under the sun. Someone has said “it is my ideal, in outward appearance,
of what heaven will be.” Words are too poor to paint the beauties of
Monte Carlo. Some of the places in my native county, Derbyshire, such as
“Lovers’ Leap,” “Monsale Dale,” “High Tor,” and others, but on a small
and insignificant scale, remind me of the Riviera, only the sea and
climate is lacking.
[Picture: The Casino, Monte Carlo]