The town of Nice is in the form of a triangle, of which the base rests
on the sea; one of its sides is a rampart or raised road against the
Paion, the other is a road from Place Victor to the Port. One side of
Place Victor forms part of the line of the third side of this triangle;
but the Place itself is an excrescence from it: it is a large handsome
square with arcades. Within this triangle, to the south-east corner, is
a high rocky hill, fortified and commanding the port and town;
commanding also, what interested me more than its artillery, most superb
points of view. Here my landlord, the general, had a garden to which he
climbed daily; and I used to see him coming down the steep with lettuces
in his only remaining hand, and his cane suspended to the button of his
coat.
Many improvements were at this time carrying on at Nice: a new bridge
was building over the Paion, the torrent river, which, though I never
saw it fuller of water than I have at first described, bears with it the
"horned flood" on the melting of the snows and the descending of the
rain from the Alps. The galley slaves were employed in blowing up the
bottom of the rock on its east and south sides to obtain space for
continuing the line of houses from Place Victor to the port, and from
the port to the Corso. This Corso is a short, dark, damp promenade, from
which the view and the air of the sea are excluded by the terrace. The
terrace is nothing more than a flat roof of a line of shops and stables,
on which you may walk, at the height of about fifteen or twenty feet
from the ground, exposed to the heat of the sun, which, even in winter,
is too powerful to be agreeable, and blinded by the reflection of its
rays from the sea. In the evenings of winter it is too cold to walk on
this terrace: in the evenings of summer, that is, in April, it is
pleasant, but not so pleasant as would be a gravel walk on the beach,
which will, I hope, in due time replace it. By taking away the terrace,
the value of the houses on the Corso would be doubled: en attendant, you
have the choice of walking on the Corso without sea air, or on the
terrace without shade.
I have spoken at some length on the subject of this terrace, because I
know it to be much admired. I am always most happy to be of the same
opinion as the "enlightened public," when I think this public to be in
the right, and in this, as in other cases, hold myself bound to give my
reasons for differing from it.
The centre of Nice consists of very narrow streets and very lofty
houses. The square of St. Dominique however is large and handsome, and
there are some good, well-built streets in its neighbourhood.
From the side or from the end of very many of the best houses of Nice
jut forth little square buildings at the height of the several stories:
these buildings would seem as if suspended in the air, but that the
fourth side of each is formed by that of the house itself; and in this
fourth side, that is, in the wall of the house, there is, no doubt, a
door of communication with these cabinets: from the bottom of each of
these closets proceeds a tunnel or pipe, which is attached to the side
or inserted into the wall of the house, and so conducted to a reservoir
below. These reservoirs are small, and, by consequence, must be
frequently opened: their contents form an article of precious and of
tasteful commerce to the gardeners of Nice. The word "tasteful" is not
to be understood in a metaphorical sense; as I was assured by an
eye-witness of the fact that he had seen a gardener put his finger first
into the article offered for sale, and then into his mouth, that a third
of his five senses might bear witness to its strength, in addition to
the testimony of his eyes and nose. The gardeners of Nice, to their
credit be it spoken, are so profuse in the dispersion of this
fertilizing substance, that some sensitive English, who remained there
during the summer, complained of the odour as an intolerable nuisance.
The Nissard plan for having these conveniences at once within and
without the house, and for giving to each story or flat, as it is called
in Edinburgh,--a city to which one's thoughts cannot but revert while
engaged on this subject,--the Nissard plan, is ingenious enough: there
is nothing against it but the look of the thing: and qu'est ce que cela
fait?[94] All the world knows, both in France and England, that such
things must be; the only difference is, that in England nobody allows
it, while in France nobody denies it. The French seem to me in this
respect to be the nicer people of the two. An English friend told me
that, being at Toulon, after breakfast he inquired of the femme de
chambre, (for in France no one scruples mentioning such things to a
female,) the way to No. 100. She told him there was none in the house;
"Mais dans la rue la, vis-a-vis, pres du port il y a une commodite:
cela vous coutera un sous: mais si vous resterez ici quelque
tems, on peut s'abonner."[95]
Strange that none of the great cities of civilized Europe have yet
adopted the plan of Pekin, which probably is also that of other cities
of China! One cannot wonder that the proportion of mortality between the
town and the country is as seven to six; the wonder is that it is not
greater: for every twentieth inhabitant of a great town, the calculation
is moderate; a reservoir, perpetually to be supplied, must be provided.
Fifty thousand for London! At Pekin the treasures of each day are
carried away early in the morning of the day following, by carts that
come from the country for that purpose; and the valet-de-chambre of the
Mandarin and the Mandariness's lady's-maid quarrel for the perquisite,
while the skill of the Chinese artisan is taxed to the utmost to make
close stools, nay, very close stools.
I hope it will be granted that I have acquitted myself in this delicate
investigation with all possible decorum, and that Dean Swift himself
could not have done better. His affected naivete and matter-of-fact
simplicity, in telling of the labour of the Lilliputians, in carrying
away the ordure of Quinbus Flestrin, and numberless passages of his
works, show how little he prized "the drapery furnished from the
wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the heart owns and the
understanding ratifies as necessary to cover the nakedness of our weak
shivering nature, and raise it to dignity in its own estimation."
I am well aware, as well as any one who may reproach me therewith, that
my book contains many things _disparate_; but such is the real history
of human life: by this reality I am justified: and, in discussing this
last subject, I have endeavoured to preserve decency, while avoiding
fastidiousness.
The English have a notion that the Carnival in catholic countries is
instituted to make amends, by anticipation, for the austerities of Lent:
it is no institution; it is merely that season of the year in which
society can most conveniently be reunited; and, as this season is
interrupted and curtailed by Lent, parties, and balls, and fetes come
more nearly on each other than they need do in countries where Lent is
but little observed. In France, the Carnival makes very little
difference in the amusements of the common people: at Nice they parade
the streets in masks, with music, and dance, and play fools' tricks. I
was looking at a party of these: an Anglican clergyman stood near me,
and took occasion to observe, "This does no great honour to the catholic
religion." I replied, "It has no more to do with the catholic religion,
than with the discovery of the longitude." These people were all sober,
and each one was diverting himself innocently, for the same cause that
induced Lady A. to go to Naples at a certain season; that is, because
others did so at that time.
Here first I saw Franciscans and other religious, walking about in their
proper habits. I had seen but one in France, a Carthusian or Trappist,
at the house of the bishop of Avignon: he was taking leave as I entered.
The bishop, an old man of fourscore and four years old, said to him
pleasantly, "Je vous souhaite beaucoup de richesses."--"Monseigneur vous
souhaite," said I, "ce que vous ne souhaitez pas pour vous-meme."--"Ah,
non,"[96] said he, with an air of placid and unaffected content. I
judged him to be full of pious resignation to the austerities of his
state.
Devotional exercises are appointed on each of the five Sundays of Lent,
at different churches, within a short distance from Nice, which are
called, for the occasion, stations: people of all ranks resort thither
in crowds: fruit, wine, and provisions, are exposed to sale, and the
scene has the appearance of what would be called in England a pleasure
fair: but the church of the station is filled during the whole time by a
succession of those whom one of our tourists would assuredly represent
as mere revellers. I know that it is not superfluous to observe, that
the Sundays of Lent are not reckoned in the forty days of that season.
One of these stations is at the Croix de Marbre, to the great
entertainment of the residents in that quarter. Another, is at the
convent of Simia: no description can give an idea of the varied beauties
of the site of this convent, and of the view which it commands. Another
station is held at a convent four miles from Nice, situated on a fine
and lofty elevation. A Nissard of our acquaintance had a villa or
country-house a little above the convent: we called on him to take
refreshments, and afterwards walked in his garden. The very handsome
facade of this villa looks to the south; the garden is laid out in
terraces lined with orange trees, bearing, at this time, both blossom
and fruit.
The blossom of the orange is a valuable part of the produce of the tree;
it is sold to those who make of it orange-flower water. The blossoms,
according to the usual prodigality of nature, are in such profusion,
that, were all to be allowed to become oranges, the tree would be unable
to support them. Another thinning takes place of the oranges themselves:
if all were to be allowed to ripen, the tree would be exhausted: most of
them are cropped at different stages of maturity, and made into
conserves: this is the case indeed even with those oranges that are
suffered to stay on the tree till fully ripe: they are not good enough
to be exported in their natural state: even in the market of their own
country they find rivals in the oranges of Naples and Majorca, sweeter,
heavier, and thinner of skin.
The protestant English at Nice, with the permission of the government,
had caused to be erected for themselves a chapel, or, as it was here
called, a temple; but, as they had been unable to settle among
themselves what mode of faith should be admitted as orthodox, and
preached in this place of worship,--it was supposed that the
undertaking would of necessity be abandoned, and that the banker who had
advanced the funds on the security of the ground and building, would be
obliged to foreclose the mortgage, to save himself from the loss of his
principal and interest. According to some interpreters, the Tower of
Babel was abandoned for the same reason; the settlers of Sennaar had
fallen into the worship of the material agents of nature; their "tops to
the heavens," were to have been a temple or temples to the host of
heaven; and the confusion of tongues was nothing else but a dispute
concerning their confession of faith.
The port of Nice has a handsome and strong pier, but is small and
shallow. On the other side of a promontory, about two miles distant by
land, is Villefranche, a commodious harbour, in which large vessels
remain, and send goods in boats to Nice. A party, in which my family was
included, took a pleasure-boat with a tent or awning to shade us from
the sun in March, which, though not engendering agues, as Shakspeare
says it does in that month, would have very much annoyed us: we doubled
the cape, and landed at Villefranche, saw the galley of the King of
Sardinia, and conversed with some of the galeriens, one of whom was
within eight days of the termination of his ten years of service, and
seemed but moderately delighted with his approaching liberation. We then
dined on the beach under the shade of olive trees, and enjoyed the
vernal breeze, and afterwards, having nothing else to do, returned,
having duly complied with all that constitutes a party of pleasure.
The cathedral and several other churches of Nice are handsome and
spacious; the appearance of the town is, on the whole, rich and busy and
cheerful: it might be a good place for sea-bathing in the summer, if
accommodations were provided. I described to a person whom such an
undertaking might suit, the bathing machines used at Weymouth and
Brighton: he said it would be necessary to have the permission of the
government;--the permission of the government for two cart wheels to go
ten yards into the sea, and out again! No doubt the permission of the
government would be granted, but it seemed to me strange that it should
be wanted: it is lucky that governments leave us the independent
enjoyment of the non-naturals. I had thoughts of spending the summer
here, but impatience to see Italy prevailed: the last day of my abode at
Nice was the fifth of May, on which day my departed son would have
completed his twenty-first year: on the morrow we set off for the Col
de Tende.
Nice is called, in Italian, _Nizza maritima_, to distinguish it from
other towns of the same name: [Greek: niche], _victory_, was a name of
good augury for a city. Massena, the "enfant gate de la victoire," was
born at Nice: I saw the house and shop in which he employed his youth in
the useful art of making and retailing vermicelli.