The beauty-spot and plague-spot of the Riviera--Arrival at Mentone--Hotel
des Isles Britanniques--English church--Her Majesty's Villa--Gardens of
Dr. Bennett--Custom-house--Remarks on Mentone--A charming walk--A word
about Brigands--An adventure--In the cemetery--A labour of love--A frog
concert--Excursion to Monte Carlo--Lovely coast scenery--Castle of Monaco
--The sombre Olive--The exodus of the Caterpillars.
In travelling from Nice to Mentone you have to pass through some of the
most lovely and enchanting scenery in the world.
The tiny principality of Monaco is indeed a little Paradise; but, alas!
Paradise _after the fall_, for does it not include that awful gaming
pandemonium, Monte Carlo? It is sad to think that the choicest spot on
this fair earth should be selected by sinful men for their evil
purposes. Here, amid all that is beautiful and captivating in nature, is
a pit dug for the unwary, the innocent, and the weak; and, alas! too
many succumb to the fatal allurements prepared for their ruin and
destruction.
As we passed Monte Carlo, we saw some of the _shady fraternity_ I
mentioned as having observed at the Nice station, on one of the heights
above the town, overlooking a grassy enclosure. They were
characteristically engaged in slaughtering tame pigeons, by way of a
manly recreation and noble sport!
We arrived at Mentone in the evening, about seven o'clock. It is a
quiet, pretty little town something like Cannes. As usual, there were a
legion of hotel omnibuses, with their liveried porters, the name of the
hotel they belonged to on their cap, and each accurately measuring the
length of your purse. Fortunate the traveller who has already determined
on the hotel he intends to patronize! We had selected the Hotel des
Isles Britanniques. Here we had a small but handsomely furnished
apartment on the third floor, commanding a charming view of the sea from
its French windows, and we were soon sitting down to our quiet little
dinner.
Everything at this hotel was comfortable and satisfactory. Cleanliness
and courtesy were predominant, and I should think altogether it was one
of the best conducted hotels on the Riviera. Only one little drawback
lay in the fact that the reading-room opened into the ladies'
drawing-room, and the almost incessant pianoforte-playing made it
impossible to read with any real enjoyment. Indeed, who _could_ sit down
selfishly to reading, even one's favourite newspaper, with the momentary
expectation of a loving wife or daughter strolling in from her music,
for a little chat?
A more serious defect, however, in these Riviera hotels, perfect as
they are otherwise in all their appointments, lies in the fact that
there is very inadequate provision for extinguishing fire--a terrible
consideration at all times, but disarmed of much of its terror when
properly provided against. One evening, when descending the main
staircase of our hotel, there was an evident smell of fire, and soon a
painful sensation in my eyes told me of smoke also. On reaching the
hall, I found the smoke issuing from the warming shaft in the floor. I
returned, quietly warned my wife and others of the danger, and soon the
master of the hotel and all the servants were on the spot. In their
excitement to subdue it, before the numerous visitors should be alarmed,
they opened the aperture still more, so as to give free vent to the
smoke. I at once told them their mistake, and, seizing the nearest
door-mat, put it over the aperture; my example was followed, and other
exits closed, the servants meanwhile carrying buckets of water below,
where the fire had originated. Fortunately, the fire was soon
extinguished, little harm being done; but the event showed me that there
was no systematic preparation or appliances in case of fire, which I
thought a very serious omission in the comfort and safety of the
visitors.[C]
The day after our arrival was Sunday, and we attended the English
church, and were greatly pleased with the reverent, home-reminding way
in which the service was conducted. We then took a pleasant walk by the
sea, listening to a good band of music in the gardens; then into the one
long main street of the town, calling at the post-office for letters,
and leaving our address, that all others might be sent on to our hotel.
We had a peep, too, into the numerous little shops, especially those for
the sale of flowers, as at Cannes, and the cheerful little market-place.
Finally, turning the promontory at the end of the street, and emerging
on the road by the sea, we found a delightful promenade; and further on,
in the eastern portion of Mentone, another English church, "Christ
Church," and several finely situated hotels and pretty villas standing
in groves of orange trees, facing the sea, and under the shelter of the
almost precipitous mountain ranges in the background.
The natives here are evidently of very dirty habits, and the residents
must be sadly wanting in nasal sensibility, for, on attempting to
advance through one of the narrow side streets dividing the pretty
villas, we were obliged to beat a hasty retreat; and this was not the
only pretty lane so vilely misused, much to the reproach of the
municipal authorities.
On the hill-side, almost buried amid the trees, is the little villa
where her Majesty the Queen so quietly resided last autumn; while at the
large hotel just below, Mr. Spurgeon rested from his Tabernacle labours,
and, it is to be hoped, got rid of his painful rheumatism.
Straight up this road, on the slope of the hill, is an ancient aqueduct,
and a milestone denoting where the French and Italian territories meet.
My wife was much interested in this precise point of division, and I
laughingly assisted her to place a foot on each territory, thereby
establishing her as the queenly Colossus of two great countries; but she
was greatly relieved by a very short reign. A little higher up on the
left are the beautiful mountain gardens of Dr. Bennett. By his kind
courtesy, all visitors are welcome to roam about therein, though, of
course, within certain hours. It is indeed a wonderful example of
botanical skill combined with excellent taste. Every inch of ground,
right up to the rocky mountain-side, is turned to advantage, for the
production both of the most lovely flowers and ferns and also for
miniature aqueducts and water-courses to refresh them. I have never
before seen a collection of flowers, ferns, and trees brought to so
great a perfection under such difficulties. All are most systematically
named and classified.
A little further on is the Italian custom-house, picturesquely situated
on a promontory, and commanding a very fine view of the sea and
surrounding country. Every person and vehicle has here to undergo the
usual delightful examination by the custom-house officials. This is the
high-road to Ventimiglia and Genoa, and a _high_ road indeed it is,
running right along the edge of the cliff, forming a most magnificent
drive, and commanding grand views.
Not far from here is the residence, with its superb gardens, of Mr.
Hanbury. Some friends who have visited these gardens assure me they even
surpass those of Dr. Bennett. It is said that next time the Queen visits
Mentone, she will take up her abode at this house. Mr. Hanbury is
equally courteous in welcoming visitors to his beautifully cultivated
grounds and gardens.
Mentone is more sheltered than either Cannes or Nice, the mountains
encircling the town more closely; there is consequently more
hill-climbing, and fewer extended walks and excursions for invalids. It
was occasionally bleak and cold after sunset during this early part of
the year, and invalids were all obliged to gain the shelter of their
dwellings by about four p.m. These cold, biting winds generally blew
from north or east, the main streets being like drafty narrow gorges.
We had one exceedingly pretty walk up the valley to the right of our
hotel. The river, now almost dry, flowing silently along on one side; on
the other, hills and orange groves, and a little church or monastery
perched among the trees in the far distance--it resembled a Swiss
mountain valley. It was a very romantic road, and I incidentally
remarked to my wife that it was just the kind of place where, a few
years ago, we might have heard a shrill whistle from the hills, then an
answering echo, and by-and-by a band of brigands suddenly swooping down
upon us to carry us off to their lair upon the mountains. This was quite
enough to make her nervous, and, despite my pacifying assurances that
in these days of enlightened progress no such thrilling adventure would
be likely to befall us, she begged that we might return at once; and, as
our walk had already been a somewhat extended one into the still
recesses of the mountain valley, I thought it just as well to follow her
prudent advice and retrace our steps. For although I laughed at my
wife's fears, they were really not so utterly without foundation as
might at first appear, for we had recently heard of a most daring case
of brigandage in the neighbourhood. As I have before remarked, there are
a great many very questionable characters loitering between Nice and
Genoa.
Two ladies at an hotel here met with a small adventure that might have
ended in something more serious but for one fortunate circumstance. They
were a mother and daughter, staying at Nice about the same time as
ourselves, and related that having started one fine afternoon to walk to
Villafranca, on getting out of sight of all signs of habitation, they
were much alarmed to find they were being followed by two ill-looking
Italians. The men passed them, and disappeared round the promontory
which shuts Nice out of sight, and forms one side of the natural harbour
of Villafranca. The ladies, wishing to give them a wide berth, walked
very slowly, hoping to be left far in their wake; but soon after, on
reaching a particularly dull part of the road, they came on the men
again, who were evidently waiting for them. Still hoping they might be
mistaken, the two ladies stopped likewise, as if to admire the scenery
and consult their guide-books, but the men held their ground, and
presently walked towards them. Just as they were approaching, a carriage
containing a gentleman came in sight, and they thereupon walked on for a
short distance, as if they were only returning the way they had come;
but as soon as the carriage had fairly passed, they once more turned.
The ladies were now thoroughly alarmed, and the younger one flew down
the dusty road after the carriage, in hopes of overtaking it and
soliciting protection. She was fortunately observed by the occupant, who
at once stopped the horses, and very kindly invited them to continue
their journey in his carriage, remarking that many of the roads along
the Riviera were decidedly unsafe for foot-passengers, and that he had
been surprised at two ladies undertaking such a risk alone. They
gratefully accepted his offer, and proceeded to the Villafranca station
without meeting a single human being--a fact which they noted with a
shudder and a deep sense of thankfulness at their narrow escape.
We made a second trip up the hill-side to the Roman Catholic cemetery,
which gave us a charming view of the town, environed by gardens. The
place itself was peacefully beautiful and full of mournful interest. We
noticed at one of the tombs a young lady, evidently a German, who,
assisted by her maid, was diligently employed in cleaning a marble
statue placed over the grave. It was difficult to refrain from offering
to help her in this labour of love, which appealed so pathetically to
the heart. I do not think we care to display so much outward proofs of
loving reverence for our dead as we often see abroad, in the shape of
flowers and _immortelles_ placed upon the graves by affectionate
relatives and friends. Still, I believe it is only an external
indifference. We have as much true and deep love in our hearts for our
dear ones as those who are more demonstrative, though perhaps it _is_ a
pity that we do not allow ourselves to indulge in the pretty reverential
sentiments of our French and Italian neighbours.
We were much amused during our stay here at the constant chorus the
frogs kept up. They croak almost unceasingly, especially in the evening.
It would seem that they wish to take the place of the song-birds, which
we seldom hear in this part, as they are all shot to supply the table,
nearly every kind being eaten--a needless cruelty, one would think, not
only to the poor little birds, but also to those who miss their grateful
song of joy and praise.
We had a pleasant carriage excursion to Monte Carlo, by the Corniche
road, starting one brilliant morning soon after breakfast. Leaving
Mentone behind us, we commenced the circuit of the cliff road, which
gradually got higher and higher, occasionally passing through olive
plantations, and then suddenly emerging from their sombre shade to the
dazzling bright sea once more; then we doubled a finely wooded
promontory, almost a sheer precipice, catching a glimpse of the
beautiful little circling bays sparkling in the abyss below; sometimes
passing sharp curves in the road, which required very skilful driving,
there being but a low wall--and that partly broken in many places--to
divide us from a fall of about sixty feet! Still ascending, we gained
the summit of the first fine headland (I believe, the highest point),
and from thence had a most entrancing outlook. On the extreme left, a
lovely retrospective and bird's-eye view of charming Mentone; the towns
and little villages on the distant shore as far as Bordighera; dimpling
in the glowing sunshine, and before us, the long stretch of inimitable
blue sea, with just a feathery ripple on the golden sandy shores below,
winding in and out in a series of tiny bays and creeks; while beyond us,
like a realized dream of Paradise, lay the beautiful plague-spot of the
Riviera--the town of Monte Carlo, nested amid luxuriant gardens of
semi-tropical foliage, the mosque-like minarets and cupolas of the
casino standing boldly out on the heights and glittering in the sun.
Beyond this, another fine bay and promontory, on the summit of which
stands the Castle of Monaco; and below, surrounded by groves and
gardens, the town and principality of Monaco, with roads stretching out,
leading towards Villafranca and Nice.
I had seen Constantinople, Madeira, and many other parts of this fair
earth of ours, but I do not remember anything that compares with this
bit of Italian coast scenery, which I think is surely the loveliest in
the world.
Dismissing our carriage, we walked through Monte Carlo to Monaco, and
ascended to the palace of the prince. It stands on the summit of a bold
headland, surrounded by fortifications, from which we had another
splendid view. One can readily see how fair and beautiful a place, full
of the sweetest harmonies of nature, and filling the human heart with a
grateful sense of God's love, has, by the sordid wickedness of man, been
perverted into a paradise of the Prince of Darkness, who, knowing too
well the weakness and folly of poor erring humanity, lures by every
artificial attraction and fascination even the poor pilgrim invalid, who
hopefully journeys here to breathe the pure fresh air and to recover
health; and also does his best to complete the moral degradation of the
less innocent but infatuated gambler, who stakes his life upon the cast
of a die and rushes madly and miserably to unutterable ruin.
I have already mentioned the plantations of olive trees we passed in our
drive on the cliffs. Nothing strikes one more singularly, in coming to
this part of the world, than the contrast in appearance between the
olive tree and the rich, luxuriant foliage of the orange, lemon, myrtle,
and other beautiful vegetation so prolific here. Toward evening
especially, the gnarled and twisted olive has a strangely sad and sombre
effect, with its long, pointed leaves of dull green lined with a chilly
pale tint--as it were, a thing of a past period in the earth's
existence, ancient and venerable, almost sacred, and little in harmony
with the gay, luxuriant vegetable life around. I think nothing
describes better its cold sombre aspect than the remark Marianne Hunt
made to her husband during their first unfortunate visit to Italy. "They
look," she said, "as if they were always standing in the moonlight."
And, indeed, this is just the effect they have, as though having been
once lighted on by Cynthia's cold, chaste glance, they had ever remained
petrified and blanched. Still, there is much grace and beauty in the
outlines of olive trees against a sunlit, blue-grey sky, the silver
tints of their leaves quivering in the light.
It was interesting to watch a procession of caterpillars on the road to
Monte Carlo, a distance of about a mile. They were moving from one part
to another, probably because there was disease amongst them, or else in
the trees in that neighbourhood, for there were many dead ones lying
about. They advanced in one long line, following their leader, the head
of the second joining the tail of the first, and so on. There were more
than a hundred in a chain, a company of ten coming to join them, and
large masses waiting in different parts of the road, and taking their
places one by one as the procession approached. They looked like a long,
thin snake. The marvellous instinct of these small insects,
notwithstanding Mark Twain's ingenious stricture on the proverbial
"ant," will ever remain a source of the deepest interest and wonder to
thinking, reasoning, intellectual man.
This wonderful army of caterpillars suggested, as things in nature will
often do if one takes heed of them, that it might be possible to
introduce the culture of the silkworm here, and so substitute a
profitable and honest industry for the present curse of this beautiful
and otherwise highly favoured place. Silk is almost a staple of Italian
industry, and doubtless the mulberry tree would flourish here as in
other parts, and with as much success as at Beyrout, on the coast of
Syria, a place not at all unlike Monte Carlo in its climate, the beauty
of coast scenery, and luxuriance of vegetation.
[C] The recent destruction of the Grand Hotel at Giessbach is a
convincing proof of the truth of these remarks. Had it occurred but a
month earlier, there would inevitably have been a terrible loss of
life.