_SAN REMO AND GENOA._
WE were now proceeding into a country with which many old associations
were united, running back to schoolboy days,—a land over whose sunny
skies and vine–clad fields so many raptures have been uttered; a
land bearing evidence in its deeply–interesting ruins of the power
of a great empire long since passed away; a land of the old classic
literature, and of so much that was grand in ancient art. The pleasure
of visiting it, long looked for, had come at last, and with high
anticipation (a feeling, I suppose, common to most people) we entered
Italy.
Our great difficulty on leaving Mentone was the weather. Friends who
had just been travelling spoke of having had in Italy great severity
of cold and much rain. One of these friends advised against going so
soon, but another thought we might now without any hesitation set
off. Perhaps impatient to leave after having formed our plans, we
resolved to adventure, upon the theory of the Scotch saying, generally
applied to the converse of the case, that the cold would be, as the
spring advanced, ‘a fault aye mending.’ As it turned out, we would
have been better to have waited eight or ten days longer after the 3d
of March, the date of our departure; and, judging from our experience
on this occasion, I should say that about the middle of March is the
earliest time to commence a tour in Italy, after spending a winter in
the sheltered regions of the Riviera. It is not only cold previously,
but, except in favoured spots, the prospect is bleak and wintry. The
vines which in the summer grow so luxuriantly and are so extensively
cultivated, are leafless, the trees are bare, and the fields black.
* * * * *
We left old friends, and as we rattled through the street of Mentone we
passed familiar places sorrowfully. Shortly afterwards we reached the
Pont St. Louis, and were in Italy.
At the _douane_ station beyond the bridge, we were stopped by the
_douaniers_, who made a show of examining luggage; but they saw we
were _bona fide_ travellers, and we were not detained more than a few
minutes. This brevity of detention and being spared the annoyance of
having all one’s luggage turned out and tossed about, are two great
advantages of proceeding by carriage. Passengers going by railway to
Italy from Mentone are stopped at Ventimiglia for a weary hour, and
must submit to the usual inspection.
The _douane_ roadside station, to which we had often walked, stands
high, and commands a remarkably good view of Mentone and all its
surroundings. We looked back from this point and others on our way, not
knowing if we should ever see this cherished spot again.
* * * * *
At the time we left Mentone, and for the greater part of the way, the
air was full of an odour not over agreeable, and I fancied that it
might be that the olive trees were being manured,—a process to which
they are subjected every second or third year, when a ditch is dug
round each of them, and part of the manure placed in it consists of old
rags, which the better answer their purpose the older and filthier they
are.
The day was fairly bright in the morning, and while we had the sun
everything looked beautiful; but a black cloud which had been looming
in the south arose, and, spreading, for part of the way obscured the
great luminary, so that we could not see everything in perfection, and
might only imagine how much more charming some parts must have been,
had they been brightened by its rays. The want of sun also, as usual,
chilled the air.
* * * * *
We passed Belinda and Mr. Hanbury’s garden, and came in sight of
Ventimiglia, which lies about seven miles from Mentone. It is
fortified, and commands the Corniche road and access to Italy in that
direction. The town itself has rather a striking appearance, and is
well worth a visit. It was an old Roman station, and in the time of
Augustus a flourishing place, adorned and supplied with temples, baths,
and other accessories of Roman life. Many remains of these ancient
times have been found, and at present the ruins of an amphitheatre
about a mile eastward have been discovered and are being exposed.
Enterprise in the direction of excavation is sure to reward the
authorities, who are undertaking it. A broad torrent bed intersects
the town, through which the Roja, a stream larger than any at Mentone,
flows. The banks of this stream, which really contains water, were
lined by washerwomen pursuing their occupation according to the manner
of those at Mentone, already described. This river is crossed by a
bridge, whence a fine view is had up the wide valley to the mountains.
* * * * *
The road onward from Ventimiglia is dotted on each side by Italian
houses, and offers a pleasant drive. After proceeding four miles, we
arrived at Bordighera, or, as it is sometimes spelled, Bordighiera.
The promontory on which this small town lies, stretches far out into
the sea. The town itself has been built on its west slope, and from
Mentone always looks clothed in sunshine. Probably its half insular
position may give a certain amount of softness to the air. It is
now becoming a place of resort for invalids. The stranger population
apparently is about from 150 to 200, more than one–half of whom
are English. It is thought more bracing than Mentone, and may suit
some constitutions; but it seems to want the shelter which most
invalids require, and which is obtained elsewhere. It is, however, a
bright–looking place, with several hotels. The Hotel de Bordighera,
newly opened, is very pleasantly situated, with large garden in front.
The other hotels are ‘D’Angleterre,’ ‘Beau Rivage,’ ‘Bellevue,’ and
‘Pension Anglaise.’ There are also about twenty villas, besides other
houses, in which quarters may be obtained.
The people of Bordighera obtained from the Pope the privilege of
supplying Rome with palms at Easter, in the manner afterwards mentioned
(p. 298). The palm tree here, therefore, is a subject of special
cultivation. We found the palm garden closed, presumably in preparation
for Easter. Leaving the carriage, we ascended to the church or
cathedral in the old town,—always a prominent object from Mentone,—and
from this point, whence an extensive view is obtained, we took our last
look, for that time, of the place where we had spent the previous three
months so happily. Returning reluctantly to the carriage, we drove
on, and soon passed round to the other side of the promontory, which
thereupon shut out of view all the places whence we had come, and after
proceeding seven or eight miles, reached San Remo.