THE health of my wife having rendered it advisable to spend a winter
in the South of France, I made arrangements to accompany her, and we
left home in October 1876. After a short stay at Cannes and three
months in Mentone, with marked improvement, we made a tour of four
months in Italy, and then passing the remainder of the summer of 1877
in Switzerland, and the autumn chiefly in Biarritz and Pau, we spent
a second winter in the Riviera, principally in Mentone, returning to
England _viâ_ Turin in May 1878.
* * * * *
We had visited so many places, and seen so much while thus travelling
during our first year, that it occurred to me, during our second
sojourn at Mentone, to write out some notes of what had come within our
knowledge which might prove both useful and interesting to others, and
particularly to those who desired to winter in the Riviera. The field,
however, was large, and to bring observation into reasonable compass
I could only present general views—indications merely—of what we had
seen; and, indeed, more than this I could scarcely have ventured upon,
because I had not travelled with any idea of writing on the subject,
and the notes I had kept were therefore scanty, although sufficient,
with a vivid recollection of so much calculated to impress, to enable
me to describe, as far as description is perhaps desirable. We saw
much, and might have seen more within the time, but it was necessary to
avoid fatigue.
* * * * *
The descriptions contained in the following pages are therefore to be
regarded not as finished pictures, but rather as the scenes of a moving
panorama, exhibiting in succession views of the more salient points
in the various places to which the reader will be taken, and depicted
according to the fashion of such scenes, too roughly to bear close
inspection or minute criticism.
* * * * *
When people were compelled to travel slowly, they could take with
them, and had time to read and digest full narratives of all they were
about to see. It was by no means impossible to carry in the lumbering
carriage, or to read during the leisurely journey, a whole library of
such voluminous and now forgotten books as the _Modern Traveller_. But
the rapidity of railway travelling has changed even the character of
the guide–book, which, with more copious and complete information, has
been so clipped and condensed, been made so concisely and methodically
useful,—such a veritable _multum in parvo_,—that every other virtue is
forgotten, and to take up a volume of Bædeker in order to beguile an
hour, or even to obtain a general notion of a place, would be one of
those freaks of which wise men are not readily guilty.
People are therefore more than ever thrown upon reading of a different
description; and notwithstanding the various books which have been
published upon the Riviera, and the still larger list of those upon
Italy, I think none of them, so far as I have seen, are exactly on
the same lines as the present. It is, indeed, not a little noticeable
that so many, in writing upon Italy, should have chosen to wrap their
descriptions in some strange, weird story. In _Corinne ou L’Italie_,
Madame de Staël depicts an exotic Scotch nobleman wildly drawn about
from one part of Italy to another by a most extraordinary platonic love
for an Italian improvisatrice, in order that the different localities
may obtain description. The _Improvisatore_ of Hans Christian Andersen,
with a difference of mode, is much upon the same model for the same
purpose, the machinery by which the hero is blown hither and thither
being much more prominent than the places upon which he alights. The
_Transformation_ of Hawthorne, in order to describe Rome, forces us
into strange scenes and into company with a mysterious ‘faun’ and a
beautiful murderess; while _Romola_, by George Eliot, in describing
Florence, drags us after a smooth–faced, smooth–tongued, heartless
villain, who attains to power with an odd facility, and after blasting
a lovely life, is, to every reader’s relief, tragically removed from
the world. Even Ruffini’s _Dr. Antonio_, commencing amidst placid
scenes with all the softness of a _pastorale_, terminates by breaking
hearts, and in the din of a revolution, with guns crashing and roll of
death–dealing musketry on the streets of Naples.
Amongst its many deficiencies, the present volume is undoubtedly
wanting in this sensational element of popularity.
Neither, on the other hand, can it lay claim to the merit of filling
the place either of the guide–book or of the medical adviser. Its chief
utility may be in giving in a general way to those designing to go
abroad for a period of time, some knowledge which may perhaps aid them
where to go and what to see; while there is furnished for the benefit
of novices, in the preliminary chapters, some practical information,
which the experienced traveller, who knows it all and could state it
much better, will be graciously pleased, if so inclined, to skip.
* * * * *
In revising at home what was written abroad, I have studied to ensure
accuracy of statement, and have been rather surprised, on comparing
authorities, to find how widely they frequently differ regarding
matters involving figures, so much so that occasionally I have withheld
any statement on the subject. Some of these discrepancies I have
noticed.
* * * * *
Accurate ideas of places can be best formed with the aid of the
pictorial art. A book of this nature is susceptible of endless
illustration, and but for adding to the bulk and the expense, there
could have been no difficulty in illustrating every page of the
travels. I have preferred selecting a few subjects, nearly all from my
own sketches, which have been lithographed by Waterston of Edinburgh.
That of the Estrelles is from a sketch in colours by a lady friend.
Of these illustrations, Mentone has carried off the lion’s share,
and perhaps rightly, because of all the places of health resort
visited by us, we conceived it to be the most charming, and it was
in the winter–time our headquarters. There are those who prefer
Cannes, Hyères, Bordighera, or San Remo. Even Alassio may become a
favourite residence. But it was our opinion that Mentone unites to a
well–sheltered, dry, sunny, winter climate (which is, however, not
suitable for all invalids), the most beautiful and picturesque scenery,
the most delightful walks and excursions, with a fascinating rurality
which, I fear, the natives, looking at the matter from a French point
of view, are bent on destroying, by way of raising it up as a sort of
rival in gaiety to such places as Nice. There is one drawback, in its
proximity to the Monte Carlo gambling tables. But to those who can
resist temptation, a trip to Monte Carlo—a bright, beautiful, sunny
spot, clean and tidy, with its tropical gardens, its broad terraces,
flanked by elegant white stone balustrades—is only an additional
attraction; while the adjoining unique peninsula of Monaco, running out
into the sea from the mountains of the _Tête de Chien_, and crowned by
its palace, its fortifications, its dwellings, its trees, is one of the
many attractive points which, combined with the beautiful blue of the
Mediterranean, lend such a charm to this part of the Riviera.
* * * * *
This book would probably never have been written had it not been
begun and all but completed abroad, while in the sunshine of gladness
and hope. Looking to the cause of our travels, it was unavoidable
that I should mention at its close how sadly all hopes were crushed.
But I have striven as far as possible to eschew the introduction of
all merely personal allusions. I feel, however, I must take this
opportunity of thanking the members of the legal body to which I
belong, and of which I had, at the time it became advisable to leave
home, the honour of being chief office–bearer, for their courtesy to me
then, and for the heartfelt sympathy which so many of them have since
expressed. I would only say to them as to others, that we have had of
late not a few examples of valued friends who, long after it became
really necessary, have toiled, and fagged, and wearied their brains out
in the pursuit of an anxious and laborious profession till they have
spent their last days or years in utter prostration. Better far, when
they can, to obtain thorough relaxation in the enjoyment of a year, or
even two years, of Continental travel over such interesting ground as
in this book I have attempted in some small measure to describe.