[1] _Life of Watt_, 1839, p. 198.
[2] A compilation recently published gives an account of the means of
conveyance had in times past in Great Britain, but does not, except
very incidentally, touch upon those on the Continent. See Croal’s _Book
about Travelling, Past and Present_, W. P. Nimmo, Edinburgh.
[3] The following table, taken from Croal’s _Book about Travelling_,
p. 575, shows the extent of the railway system in 1875 on the European
Continent:—
Miles Square Miles of Territory
of to each Mile of Line.
Railway.
Belgium, 2,174 5
Switzerland, 1,300 11
German Empire, 14,472 12
France, 12,376 14
Denmark, 561 18
Netherlands, 1,016 20
Austria and Hungary, 10,154 20
Italy, 4,817 23
Spain, 3,822 50
Roumania, 770 59
Portugal, 596 61
Sweden, 2,237 63
Turkey in Europe, 965 138
Russia in Europe, 11,591 157
Norway, 339 387
Greece, 7 2,658
[4] The normal value of a sovereign is 25 francs 20 centimes.
[5] It may be interesting to give, as far as I have preserved note of
it, the rate of exchange received at different places during part of
the period we were away:—
At Cannes, Nov. 1876, per £, 25·75
” Mentone, Dec. ” ” 25·25
” ” thereafter, ” 25·
” Nice, February 1877, ” 25·75
” San Remo, March ” ” 27·20
” Genoa, ” ” ” 27·10
” Rome, 23d ” ” ” 27·03
” ” 19th April ” ” 27·90
” Florence, 28th ” ” ” 28·10
” ” 7th May ” ” 28·15
” ” 12th ” ” ” 28·10
” Venice, 20th ” ” ” 28·25
” ” 22d ” ” ” 28·15
” Milan, 26th ” ” ” 28·
” Como, 11th June ” ” 27·10
” Bellagio, ” ” ” ” 27·47
” Lucerne, 25th ” ” ” 25·15
” Interlachen, 13th July ” ” 25·10
” Paris, Aug. ” ” 25·
” Interlachen, ” ” ” 25·10
” Montreux, 8th Sept. ” ” 25·12
” Biarritz, Oct. ” ” 25·
” Pau, 18th ” ” ” 25·05
” ” 21st ” ” ” 25·12
” Cannes, Nov. ” ” 25·06
” San Remo, March 1878, ” 27·03
” ” April ” ” 27·45
” ” ” ” ” 27·37
[6] Little monthly time bills or leaflets can be got at the Company’s
offices in London and Paris, for which see Bradshaw. Some of them also,
like Cook’s and Gaze’s Lists, contain through fares to most places on
the Continent.
[7] A quarto publication, called _Voyages circulaires viâ le Mont Cenis
et la Corniche_, is issued by ‘Agence de Paris, Rue Auber 1, Maison du
Grand Hotel,’ containing circular tours in Italy, starting from Paris,
Nice, and Marseilles.
[8] The following may be given as specimens of the menu:—
_At the Grand Hotel du Louvre, Paris._
_Potage._—Consommé aux Quenelles; Hors d’œuvre; Melon.
_Relevées._—Saumon Sauce Hollandaise; Pommes de terre nature; Train
de Côtes à la broche; Aubergines à la Provençale. _Entrées._—Timbales
à la Joinville; Poulardes à la Demidoff. _Rot._—Canetons de Rouen au
Cresson; Salade de Romaine. _Entremets._—Petits Pois à l’Anglaise;
Biscuits Princesse; Garnis d’Allumettes. _Desserts._
_At a Provincial Hotel in France, somewhat more meagre than usual,
however (verbatim)._
_Potage._—Tapioca. _Relevées._—Epigrammes d’Agneau Bretonne.
_Entrées._—Poulets Sautés Maringa. _Legumes._—Choux de Bruxelles.
_Rôtis._—Ros bief. _Entremets._—Charlotte de Pommes Parisien, etc.
_Dessert._
[9] _A Winter’s Sketches in the South of France and the Pyrenees_, p. 7.
[10] At Naples I sat next a German who helped himself to four thick
slices of roast beef, then, according to German custom, began by
placing one above another, and cutting the whole into little squares
by drawing his knife first lengthways and then crossways through them,
and having so divided the beef, took his knife and shovelled, in quick
succession, all the pieces into his mouth. Fish is often a scarce
commodity, yet I have seen German ladies, after having liberally helped
themselves to it, call for more as they would for more of any other
course, though it is unusual for others to ask a second supply of any
course.
[11] Since this chapter was written, alterations have been made on
the French postal rates, and, _inter alia_, the postage to England is
reduced to 25 centimes, and for the interior to 15 centimes; but I have
allowed the text to stand as referring to the time we were away. There
may be other changes of which I am not aware.
[12] The _Guide_, arranged alphabetically, contains information
regarding the following countries and places:—Austria, Belgium,
Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Italy, Norway, Portugal,
Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey in Europe, and the
Mediterranean. In Denmark and Greece the number of Protestant churches
is very limited. The Mediterranean embraces fifty–four towns, including
towns in Egypt and Palestine.
[13] The figures in this chapter are all given subject to correction.
[14] Bowing the head or bowing the knee at the mention of the name of
Jesus, is one of those literal renderings sometimes put upon words of
Scripture, of which in reading through, long ago, as a student, the
_Corpus Juris Canonici_, I found examples. The subject is disposed of
in Mr. Thomas Spalding’s _Scripture Difficulties_, p. 269.
[15] In Mr. Birrel’s interesting _Life of Dr. Brock_, a man of great
power and, I believe, of much liberality of mind, the following
passage (p. 241) occurs in reference to a Sunday in crossing the
Atlantic:—’Next day was all that a Sunday at home could be. We had
service, Mr. Nolan again officiating—the captain, however, this time
reading the prayers himself. One thing struck me painfully: when the
absolution came to be read, the captain gave way to the priest, who
alone stood and alone spoke; he alone had authority in the great matter
of remission. The captain had none. Of what is this the germ?’
[16] A French kilometre is equal to 1093·633 yards; an English mile is
1760 yards. Two miles are therefore more than three kilometres, and
two kilometres are equal to about one mile and a quarter (1¼). But all
the foreign measures differ, and it is puzzling therefore to know from
the railway guides and others what are the distances in English miles.
A uniform mileage system would be exceedingly useful. In fact, the
statesman who could effect uniformity in measures, weights, and coinage
throughout Europe, would do more real good than is obtained by more
glittering acts.
[17] _Vide_ Figuier’s _World before the Deluge_, p. 317.
[18] I have seen the numbers produced by a single insect in the course
of a year stated in a newspaper, but unfortunately did not preserve a
note of the information, which is not given in the usual books about
insects.
[19] It would be hardly possible for me to give from recollection a
complete list of all the hotels and pensions in Mentone, but I may note
some at least of the most prominent. Having had friends in many of
them, we had occasional opportunities of seeing them, and learning a
little regarding them; but only residence in each could enable anybody
to speak authoritatively, and therefore observations now made must be
taken in a very general way, and subject to all allowances, and as
perhaps mistaken.
At the extreme west, the Pavillon is, I believe, a well–appointed
hotel; but it is fully half a mile outside the town, to some a
recommendation. Between it and a small house, now called the Hotel
Anglo–Americaine, near to the Boirigo Bridge, there are several elegant
villas, some of them to let furnished. East of this bridge, facing
the promenade, are the Pension Condamine (small and moderate) and
some other minor houses and pensions; then the Hotel de Russie (one
on Gaze’s list); and crossing the Carrei, the first house beyond, and
overlooking the public gardens, is called the Pension Americaine,
in reality an hotel, with good cuisine, kept by an active, clever,
and attentive landlady; near to it, the Pension Camous, a tall,
overtopping, narrow building, at which the town street may be said to
commence; adjoining it, the Pension or Hotel de Londres; and a little
farther east, and more in town, the Hotels Westminster, Victoria, and
Menton—all large, and, I believe, expensive; and, last of all, the
Hotel du Midi. Beyond the Promenade, close to the market–place, and
not far from the harbour, the Hotel Bristol. With the exception of the
two last, all have gardens of more or less size between them and the
promenade, and all have access on the other side to the public street.
Back from or on the other side of the main street, there are many other
hotels and pensions, among which may be mentioned, west of the Carrei,
the Splendide (on Gaze’s list), a comfortable hotel within a garden;
the Hotel du Parc, on the avenue leading to the railway station, with
good rooms, although the entrance or site is not promising. On the
east side of the Carrei and some way up beyond the railway, which
it dominates, the Hotel du Louvre, a large, well–appointed hotel,
apparently frequented by Germans and Dutch; behind it, and rather
higher, there is the great Hotel des Îles Britanniques, commanding
good views, in every respect first class, patronized by the English
(though not exclusively so, one long table being set for the English
and another long one for the foreigners). The landlord claims it to be
the most expensive hotel in Mentone. Both these last–mentioned hotels
are near to the railway station, but carriages have to make a circuit
to reach them. Both are under shelter of an olive–covered hill rising
high and steep immediately behind, which also affords similar shelter
to the Hotels des Princes, Venise, D’Orient, Turin, and others, lying
nearly in a line to the eastward. The D’Orient and Turin have both
gardens in front,—that of the former is large, and in the garden of the
latter a bed of roses flourishes in full flower all the winter through.
Both are good houses, but the views from the windows and grounds are
confined, and street houses shut them out almost entirely from the view
of the sea. If, however, view be not considered important, the position
is comparatively sheltered. There are also about this part several
pensions, such as the ‘Des Alpes,’—a small house, and moderate charges.
In the east bay, after passing the old town, which in the afternoon
always casts a dank shadow on the part of the road which underlies
it, called the Quai Bonaparte, requiring the invalid to take special
precautions, and passing the drain pipe, the first hotel met is the
Grande Bretagne, one of the oldest houses. It is that upon Cook’s
list for Mentone, and consequently seems to be always well filled.
Up on the height behind, a little to the eastward, are the Hotels
d’Italie and Belle Vue, both comfortable; but the ascent to them is
steep, the fatigue being, however, rewarded by the fine view from the
terraces and windows. Returning to the road below, which is a part
of the Corniche, we observe the East English Church, and next to it
the Hotel de la Paix close to the street, but having a garden to the
back. Facing it across the road is the only bathing establishment of
Mentone. Adjoining its east side, but back from the road within a
garden, the Hotel des Anglais where Dr. Bennett obtains his quarters.
A little beyond, a small piece of ground, probably an acre in extent,
has recently been acquired and laid out as a public garden, in which
the band occasionally plays; and amidst a cluster of other hotels and
pensions farther east, the Grand Hotel, a comfortable, large house,
charging moderately. If the visitor prefer or is recommended to reside
in the east bay, he will find the extreme east (called the Quartier
Garavent, though so much farther from town, and though hot and dusty)
is the choicer situation. There is, however, an omnibus to town every
hour from the far east to about the Hotel du Pavillon, at the extreme
west end.
[20] A recently–published guide–book to the south of France says,
with regard to Mentone:—’A kind of gloom pervades Menton. The strip
of ground on which it stands is narrow, and so are the streets.’ ‘The
valleys are narrow and sombre. The roads up the mountains are steep,
badly paved, and are generally traversed on donkeys, which go slowly
and require so much chastisement that an ordinary walker will find it
less fatiguing to dispense with them.’ It also sets down the population
at 12,000, and that of Cannes, by far the larger town, at 7000. These
are statements which require revision, as they do not accord with the
facts.
[21] See Frontispiece.
[22] It is impossible to place reliance on the exactness of such
figures. They must throughout be taken as obtained from different
sources, and possibly in no one case correct. I should, for example,
here doubt whether Castiglione stands as high as the castle of Ste.
Agnese.
[23] It is the custom in the Riviera, and probably elsewhere in France,
to give free of charge, to those who are on pension, their lunch to
take with them on such excursions, which they would otherwise have had
at the hotel.
[24] At Biarritz a different practice prevails. Instead of beating the
linen, the linen is employed to beat the stone. We have seen a lady’s
fancy petticoat thus thrashed against the stones without mercy.
[25] The expense of washing at Mentone, though not moderate, is less
than in Paris.
[26] Mr. C. Home–Douglas (p. 177) publishes observations giving much
lower mean temperatures. I suppose in these matters observers seldom
agree.
[27] I shall use henceforth franc for lira, the Italian name, for
simplicity’s sake.
[28] The ceremony of baptism in the Greek Church is even more trying to
the poor child. See _The Englishwoman in Russia_, p. 265.
[29] I have since seen a different account given of this stone.
[30] So called from its colossal size. It is sometimes spelt Coliseum,
a corruption of the word.
[31] The arena of Nismes is 148 by 112 yards, height 74 feet, and
accommodated 32,000 spectators; arena, 74 by 42 yards. The Colosseum,
205 by 170 yards, height 156 feet, accommodating 87,000 spectators
(besides containing standing room for 23,000 more in the porticoes and
surrounding passages); arena, 93 by 58 yards. But in stating these
and other measurements, it is always right to keep in mind that in
different books the figures do not correspond, and one well–informed
and most reliable writer states the dimensions of the Colosseum at
about 40 feet more each way than the above. Mr. Storey’s figures
for the Colosseum also vary from the above several yards in each
measurement. For a pretty full account of the Colosseum, reference may
be made to Storey’s _Roba di Roma_, vol. i. chap. ix.
[32] The extent, however, is variously computed. One writer, generally
very exact, says: ‘According to Romani and Nibby’s plan of Rome,’
Caracalla’s baths ‘covered an area of 370 yards square, or 28 English
acres.’ ‘Eustace makes the extent twice as great.’ Gibbon states that
they were a mile in circumference, which would be 193,600 square
yards, or 40 acres. Hare says they covered a space of 2,625,000 square
yards, which is equal to 542 acres. It is not improbable that some
measurements may refer merely to the ground covered by buildings, and
that others comprehend ground not so covered. But even this explanation
will not account for such extraordinary discrepancies.
[33] Bædeker says: ‘At the back of the Pantheon are situated the ruins
of the Thermæ of Agrippa, the proximity of which to the Pantheon once
gave rise to the absurd conjecture that the temple originally belonged
to the baths, and was afterwards converted into a temple.’ In a matter
of this kind, however, the authority of such a man as Mr. Thomson is
much to be preferred to that of any writer in a guide–book.
[34] It seems that at _Tre Fontane_, above a mile westward, which we
did not visit, the Eucalyptus tree has now been largely planted; and if
it will grow, it is expected to render the locality healthy.
[35] Miss Kate Thompson’s _Handbook to the Public Picture Galleries of
Europe_, Macmillan, 1877, is a useful little volume in its way, but its
illustration would occupy volumes.
[36] After being in several shops, we concluded that C. Roccheggiani,
Via Condotti, had the largest and most varied stock.
[37] This number is stated upon an authority which differs in the
further figures here given, some of which seem almost incredibly large.
How the 9025 baths can be reconciled with the statement (p. 299) of
sixteen bathing establishments, I do not pretend to say.
[38] I see it stated that in 1851 the number of Romish priests in
Great Britain was 958; of Romish chapels, 683; of monasteries, 17; of
religious houses for women, 53. In 1879 these numbers were increased
to 1238, 1386, 118, and 272 respectively. The number of the laity
doubtless has increased, though possibly, and as it is to be hoped, not
correspondingly.
[39] So named after the present proprietrix, Mme. Barbensi. It seems
quite a foreign or at least an Italian practice to call houses after
the name of the proprietor. Molini was either her maiden name or the
name of the previous proprietor.
[40] ‘Were I now to begin the world again, I would tread in the steps
of that great master; to kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the
slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for
an ambitious man.’—15th Discourse.
[41] A large valuable work in small folio, copiously
illustrated—veritable volumes _de luxe_—has recently been published:
‘_Venise: Histoire, Art, Industrie, la Ville, la Vie._ Par Charles
Yriarte.’
[42] Here, as in other things, measurements differ, one authority
having it 443 feet long, another 477 feet, interior measurement.
Though it may be shorter than St. Paul’s of London, it is no doubt
considerably wider, and covers, therefore, a greater area.
[43] It is stated in one book that in December 1845 the thermometer
registered as low as-82·90°, equal to about-185° Fahr. This was
incredible; and on looking the Austrian official records I found it
should have been-2·9°, showing with what caution such statements in
non–official books should be taken.
[44] Afterwards, at Interlachen, when standing on a rustic bridge, she
saw a small snake crawling on the path, and called to me. It was about
15 to 18 inches long. I went and pitched it into the stream.
[45] I am told the winter season is now becoming very gay and very dear
too.
[46] The accompanying illustration, depicting three gentlemen and
seven ladies in bathing costume, was taken (tell it not in Gath) from
jottings made at a safe distance. The stout lady in the centre was
doubtless a Spaniard.
[47] As this is passing through the press, the sad news has come which
has sent a thrill of sympathy through every British breast for the
heartbroken bereaved mother. Any objection on the part of France which
might formerly have prevailed against her return to Biarritz, if she
should desire it, can no longer possibly exist. Let us hope that a
generous kindly feeling will pervade all parties in France towards one
who once filled a place so high among so great a people, and upon whom
such overwhelming sorrows have fallen.
[48] Some additional information, particularly regarding places in the
vicinity, will be found in _Biarritz and Basque Countries_, by Count
Henry Russell, though the chapter on Biarritz itself is brief and
scanty.
[49] I have his third edition, published in 1861. It is possible there
may be a later one. Dr. Taylor was knighted, at the request of the
Emperor Napoleon III., in recognition of his efforts to develop the
resources of Pau as a residence for invalids. He has just (May 1879)
died.