village of St. Martin du Var, a village of five hundred and odd souls,
only within the last year or two accessible by railway. The new line,
which was to have connected Nice with Digne and Cap, had been stopped
short half-way, the enterprising little company who projected it being
thereby brought to the verge of ruin. This fiasco, due, I am told, to
the jealous interference of the P.-L.-M., is a great misfortune to
travellers, the line partially opened up leading through a most wildly
picturesque and lovely region, and being also of great commercial and
strategic importance. But that terrible monopoly, the
Paris-Lyon-Méditerranée, will tolerate no rivals. Folks bound from Gap
to Nice must still make the long round by way of Marseilles in order
to please the Company; merchandise--and, in case of a war with Italy,
which may Heaven avert!--soldiers and ammunition must do the same.
The pretty new "Gare du Sud" invites patronage, and three services are
performed daily. On this little line exists no third class. I imagine,
then, that either the very poor are too poor to take train at all, or
that there are none unable to pay second-class fare. In company of
priests, peasants, and soldiers, I took a second-class place, the guard
joining us and comfortably reading a newspaper as soon as we were
fairly off.
It is a superb little journey to St. Martin du Var. The line may be
described as a succession of tunnels, our way lying between lofty
limestone cliffs and the Var, at the present time almost dry. As we
slowly advance, the valley widens, and on either side are broad belts
of verdure and fertility; fields, orchards, gardens, olive trees
feathering the lower slopes, here and there, little villages perched
high above the valley. One charming feature of the landscape is the
aspen; so silvery were its upper leaves in the sun that at first I
took them for snow-white blossoms. These verdant stretches on either
side of the river were formerly mere waste, redeemed and rendered
cultivable by means of dykes.
My destination is reached in an hour, a charmingly placed village amid
beautiful mountain scenery, over against it towering the hamlet of La
Roquette, apparently inaccessible as cloudland. Here a tributary
stream joins the Var, the long winding valley, surrounded by lofty
crags and olive-clad slopes, affording a delightful and most
exhilarating prospect. The weather on this 20th of October was that of
a perfect day in July.
St. Martin du Var has its Mairie, handsome communal schools, and large
public walks or recreation ground, a parallelogram planted with trees.
The place has a neglected, Italian aspect; at the same time an aspect of
ease and contentment. The black-eyed, olive-complexioned,
Italian-looking children are uniformly well dressed, with good shoes and
stockings. French children, even of the poorest class, are always
decently shod.
I found my host at dinner with his wife, little daughter, and
sister-in-law. The first impression of an uninitiated traveller would be
of poverty. The large bare kitchen was unswept and untidy; the family
dishes--soup, vegetables, olives, good white bread, wine--were placed on
the table without cloth or table-cover. As will be seen, these
hard-working, frugal people were rich; in England they would have
servants to wait upon them, fine furniture, and wear fashionable
clothes. My letter of introduction slowly read and digested, the head of
the family placed himself at my disposal. We set off on a round of
inspection, the burning mid-day sun here tempered by a delicious breeze.
We first visited the olive-presses and corn-mill--this farmer was
village miller as well as olive grower--all worked by water-power and
erected by himself at a heavy outlay. Formerly these presses and mills
were worked by horses and mules after the manner of old-fashioned
threshing-machines, but in Provence as in Brittany, progress is now the
order of the day.
In order to supply these mills, a little canal was dug at my host's own
expense, and made to communicate with the waters of the Var; thus a good
supply is always at hand.
The enormous olive-presses and vats are now being got in for the first
or October harvest. This is the harvest of windfalls or fallen fruit,
green or black as the case may be, and used for making an inferior kind
of oil. The second harvest or gathering of the olives remaining on the
trees takes place in April. Linen is spread below, and the berries
gently shaken off. I may add that the periods of olive harvests vary in
different regions, often being earlier or later. An olive tree produces
on an average a net return of twelve francs, the best returns being
alternate or biennial; the roots are manured from time to time,
otherwise the culture is inexpensive. The trees are of great age and,
indeed, are seldom known to die. The "immortal olive" is, indeed, no
fiction. In this especial district no olive trees have, within living
memory, been killed by frost, as was the case in Spain some years ago.
Nevertheless, the peaks around St. Martin du Var are tipped with snow in
winter. The olive harvests and necessary preparations require a large
number of hands, the wages of men averaging three francs, of women, the
half. Thus at the time I write of, day labourers in remote regions of
Provence receive just upon fourteen shillings and sixpence per week;
whereas I read in the English papers that Essex farmers are reducing the
pittance of twelve and even ten shillings per week for able-bodied men.
Ten days later, my cicerone said that the first harvest would be in
active progress, and he most cordially invited me to revisit him for
the purpose of looking on. From the lees of the crushed berries a
third and much inferior oil is made and used in the manufacture of
soap, just as what is called _piquette_ or sour wine is made in
Brittany from the lees of crushed grapes. I was assured by this farmer
that the impurity of olive oil we so often complain of in England,
arises from adulteration at the hands of retailers. Table oil as it
issues from the presses of the grower is absolutely pure; merchants add
inferior qualities or poppy oil, described by me in an earlier page,
and which my present host looked upon with supreme contempt. The olive,
with the vine and tobacco, attains the maximum of agricultural profits.
This farmer alone sells oil to the annual value of several thousand
pounds, and to the smaller owner also it is the principal source of
income. Peasant owners or tenants of an acre or two grow a little corn
as well, this chiefly for their own use.
The interior of the corn-mill presented an amusing scene. Two or three
peasants were squabbling with my host's subordinate over their sacks of
flour; one might have supposed from the commotion going on and the
general air of vindictive remonstrance that we were suddenly transported
to a seigneurial mill. A few conciliatory words from the master put all
straight, and soon after we saw the good folks, one of them an old
woman, trotting off on donkeys with their sack of corn slung before
them. I need hardly say that the talk of these country-people among
themselves is always in patois, not a word of which is intelligible to
the uninitiated.
Just above the mills are groves of magnificent old olive trees, and
alongside the little railway were bright strips of lucerne and pasture,
folks here and there getting in their tiny crops of hay.
The iron road is not yet regarded as an unmixed good. My host told me
that local carters and carriers had been obliged in consequence to sell
their horses and carts and betake themselves to day labour. Such
drawbacks are, of course, inevitable, but the ulterior advantage
effected by the railway is unquestionable. I should say that nowhere are
life and property safer than in these mountain-hemmed valleys. The
landlady of the little hotel at St. Martin du Var assured me that she
always left her front door open all night. Nothing had ever happened to
alarm her but the invasion of three English ladies at midnight, one of
these of gigantic stature and armed with a huge stick. The trio were
making a pedestrian journey across country, apparently taking this
security for granted. Neither brigands nor burglars could have given
the poor woman a greater fright than the untimely appearance of my
countrywomen.
It was now too hot to visit the open tracts of pasture and cultivation
alongside the Var. The farmer's wife proposed a shady walk to a
neighbouring farm instead, our errand being to procure milk for my five
o'clock tea. Without hat or umbrella, my companion set off, chatting as
we went. She explained to me that on Sundays she wore bonnet and mantle
after the fashion of a _bourgeoise_; in other words, she dressed like a
lady, but that neither in summer nor winter at any other time did she
cover her head. She was a pleasant-mannered, intelligent, affable woman,
almost toothless, as are so many well-to-do middle-aged folks in France.
Dentists must fare badly throughout the country. No one ever seems to
have a guinea to spend upon false teeth.
We were soon out of the village, and passing the pretty garden of the
Gendarmerie, reached a scene of unimaginable, unforgettable beauty.
Never shall I forget the splendour of the olive trees set around a
wide, brilliantly green meadow; near the farmhouse groves of
pomegranate, orange and lemon with ripening fruit; beside these, medlar
and hawthorn trees (_cratoegus azarolus_), the golden leafage and
coral-red fruit of the latter having a striking effect; beyond, silvery
peaks, and, above all, a heaven of warm, yet not too dazzling blue. At
the farther end of the meadow, in which a solitary cow grazed at will,
a labourer was preparing a ribbon-like strip of land for corn, beside
him, pretending to work too, his little son of five years. My hostess
held up her jug and stated her errand, proposing that the cow should be
milked a trifle earlier in order to suit my convenience. The man
good-naturedly replied that, as far as the matter concerned himself, he
was agreeable enough, but that the cow was not so easily to be put out
of her way. She was milked regularly as clockwork at a quarter to five,
the clock had only just struck four; he might leave his work and take
her home, but not a drop of milk would she give before the proper time!
Leaving our jug, we roamed about this little paradise, unwilling to
quit a scene of unblemished beauty. A more bewitching spot I do not
recall; and it seemed entirely shut off from the world, on all sides,
unbroken quiet, nothing to mar the exquisiteness of emerald turf,
glossy foliage of orange and lemon trees, silvery olive in striking
contrast, and above, a cloudless sky. In the heart of a primeval forest
we could not feel more alone.
The thought occurred to me how perfect were such a holiday resort could
a clean little lodging be found near! With some attention to
cleanliness and sanitation, the little hotel at St. Martin du Var might
satisfy the unfastidious. I am bound to admit that in French phrase it
leaves much to desire.
My host gave me a good deal of interesting information about the place
and the people. Excellent communal schools with lay teachers of both
sexes have been opened under French régime; and the village of five
hundred and odd souls has, of course, its Mairie, Hôtel de Ville, and
Gendarmerie, governing itself after the manner of French villages.
Whilst the ladies of the house chatted with me they knitted away at
socks and stockings, in coarse, bright-coloured wool. Such articles are
never bought, the home-made substitute being much more economical in the
end. As an instance of the solid comfort of these apparently frugal
folks, let me mention their homespun linen sheets. My hostess showed me
some coarse bed-linen lately woven for her in the village. Calico
sheets, she said, were much cheaper, but she preferred this durable
home-spun even at three times the price. An old woman in the village
still plied the loom, working up neighbours' materials at three francs a
day. The flax has to be purchased also, so that the homespun sheet is a
luxury; "and at the same time," the housewife added, "a work of
charity. This poor old woman lives by her loom. It is a satisfaction to
help her to a mouthful of bread."
The moon had risen when I took leave, hostess, little daughter, and
sister all accompanying me to the station, reiterating their wish to see
me again. Nothing, indeed, would have been pleasanter than to idle away
weeks amid this adorable scenery and these charming people. But life is
short and France is immense. The genially uttered _au revoir_ becomes
too often a mere figure of speech.
I add, by the way, that the little daughter, now trotting daily to the
village school, is sure to have a handsome dowry by and by. Four
thousand pounds is no unusual portion of a rich peasant's daughter in
these regions. As an old resident at Nice informed me, "The peasants are
richer than the _bourgeoisie_"--as they deserve to be, seeing their
self-denial and thrift.
XII
PESSICARZ AND THE SUICIDES' CEMETERY
Pessicarz is a hamlet not mentioned in either French or English
guide-books; yet the drive thither is far more beautiful than the
regulation excursions given in tourists' itineraries. The road winds in
corkscrew fashion above the exquisite bay and city, gleaming as if built
of marble, amid scenes of unbroken solitude. Between groves of veteran
olives and rocks rising higher and higher, we climb for an hour and a
half, then leaving behind us the wide panorama of Nice, Cimiez, the sea,
and villa-dotted hills, take a winding inland road, as beautiful as can
be imagined. Here, nestled amid chestnut woods, lay the little farm I
had come to see, consisting of three hectares let at a rent of five
hundred francs (between seven and eight acres, rented at twenty pounds a
year), the products being shared between owner and tenant. This modified
system of _métayage_ or half profits is common here, and certainly
affords a stepping-stone to better things. By dint of uncompromising
economy, the metayer may ultimately become a small owner. The farmhouse
was substantially built and occupied by both landlord and tenant, the
latter with his family living on the ground floor. This arrangement
probably answers two purposes, economy is effected, and fraud prevented
on the part of the metayer. Pigs and poultry are noisy animals, and if a
dishonest tenant wanted to smuggle any of these away by night, they
would certainly betray him. The housewife, in the absence of her
husband, received me very kindly. I was of course introduced by a
neighbour, who explained my errand, and she at once offered to show me
round. She was a sturdy, good-natured-looking woman, very well-dressed
and speaking French fairly. The first thing she did was to show me her
poultry, of which she was evidently very proud. This she accomplished by
calling out in a loud voice, "Poules, poules, poules" ("chickens,
chickens, chickens"), as if addressing children, whereupon they came
fluttering out of the chestnut woods, fifty or more, some of fine breed.
These fowls are kept for laying, and not for market, the eggs being sent
daily into Nice. She then asked me indoors, the large kitchen being on
one side of the door, the outhouses on the other. Beyond the kitchen was
a large bedroom, her children, she explained, sleeping upstairs. Both
rooms were smoke-dried to the colour of mahogany, unswept and very
untidy, but the good woman seemed quite sensible of these disadvantages
and apologized on account of narrow space. A large supply of clothes
hung upon pegs in the bed-chamber, and it possessed also a very handsome
old upright clock. The kitchen, besides stores of cooking utensils, had
a stand for best china, and on the walls were numerous unframed
pictures. I mention these trifling details to show that even among the
poorer peasant farmers something is found for ornament; they do not live
as Zola would have us believe, for sordid gains alone.
We next visited the pigs, of which she possessed about a dozen in three
separate styes. These are fed only upon grain and the kitchen wash
supplied from hotels; but she assured me that the disgusting story I
had heard at Nice was true. There are certain pork-rearing
establishments in the department at which carrion is purchased and
boiled down for fattening pigs. My hostess seemed quite alive to the
unwholesomeness of such a practice, and we had a long talk about pigs,
of which I happen to know something; that they are dirt-loving animals
is quite a mistake; none more thoroughly enjoy a good litter of clean
straw. I was glad to find this good woman entirely of the same opinion.
She informed me with evident satisfaction that fresh straw was always
thrown down on one side of the piggery at night, and that the animals
always selected it for repose.
The first lot were commodiously housed, but I reasoned with her with
regard to the other two, the pig-styes being mere caverns without light
or air, and the poor creatures grunting piteously to be let out. She
told me that they were always let out at sundown, and heard what I had
to say about pigs requiring air, let us hope to some purpose. Certainly,
departmental professors have an uphill task before them in
out-of-the-way regions. These poor people are said to be extremely
frugal as a rule, but too apt to squander their years' savings at a
paternal fête, wedding or any other festivity. Generations must elapse
ere they are raised to the level of the typical French peasant. On the
score of health they may compare favourably with any race. A fruit and
vegetable diet seems sufficient in this climate. Besides her poultry and
pigs my farmeress had not much to show me; but a plot of flowers for
market, a little corn, and a few olive trees added grist to the mill. On
the whole, want of comfort, cleanliness, and order apart, I should say
that even such a condition contrasts favourably with that of an English
agricultural labourer. Without doubt, were we to inquire closely into
matters, we should discover a sum of money invested or laid by for
future purchases utterly beyond the reach of a Suffolk ploughman.
Just below the little farm I visited a philanthropic experiment
interesting to English visitors. This was an agricultural orphanage
founded by an Englishman two years before, seventeen waifs and strays
having been handed over to him by the Municipal Council of Nice. The
education of the poor little lads is examined once a year by a school
inspector, in other respects the protégés are left to their new patron.
Here they are taught household and farm work, fruit and flower culture,
the business of the dairy, carpentering, and other trades; being
afterwards placed out. I question whether an English Board of Guardians
would so readily hand over seventeen workhouse lads to a foreigner, but
it is to be hoped that the Niçois authorities will have no reason to
regret their confidence. The boys do no work on Sundays, and once a year
have a ten days' tramp in the country; the buildings are spacious and
airy, but I was sorry to see a plank-bed used as a punishment.
Indeed, I should say that the system pursued savours too much of the
military. Here, be it remembered, no juvenile criminals are under
restraint, only foundlings guilty of burdening society. Whether this
school exists still I know not.
Very different was the impression produced by the State Horticultural
College recently opened at Antibes.
Around the lovely little bay the country still remains pastoral and
unspoiled; a mile or two from the railway station and we are in the
midst of rural scenes, tiny farms border the road, patches of corn,
clover, vineyard, and flower-garden--flowers form the chief harvest of
these sea-board peasants--orange, lemon and olive groves with here and
there a group of palms, beyond these the violet hills and dazzling blue
sea, such is the scenery, and could a decent little lodging be found in
its midst, the holiday resort were perfect.
One drawback to existence is the treatment of animals. As I drove
towards the college a countryman passed with a cart and pair of horses,
the hindmost had two raw places on his haunches as large as a penny
piece. I hope and believe that in England such an offender would have
got seven days' imprisonment. The Italians, as we all know, have no
feeling for animals, and the race here is semi-Italian--wholly so, if we
may judge by physiognomy and complexion.
Until the foundation of the Horticultural College here, the only one in
existence on French soil was that of Versailles. Whilst farm-schools
have been opened in various parts of the country, and special branches
have their separate institutions, the teaching of horticulture remained
somewhat in abeyance. Forestry is studied at Nancy, husbandry in general
at Rennes, Grignan, and Amiens, the culture of the vine at Montpellier,
drainage and irrigation at Quimperlé, all these great schools being made
accessible to poorer students by means of scholarships.
In no other region of France could a Horticultural College be so
appropriately placed as in the department of the Alpes Maritimes. It is
not only one vast flower-garden, but at the same time a vast
conservatory, the choice flowers exported for princely tables in winter
being all reared under glass. How necessary, then, that every detail of
this delightful and elaborate culture should be taught the people, whose
mainstay it is, a large proportion being as entirely dependent upon
flowers as the honey bee! Here, and in the neighbourhood of Nice, they
are cultivated for market and exportation, not for perfume distilleries
as at Grasse.
The State School of Antibes was created by the Minister of Agriculture
in 1891, and is so unlike anything of the kind in England that a brief
description will be welcome. The first point to be noted is its
essentially democratic spirit. When did a farm-labourer's son among
ourselves learn any more of agriculture than his father or
fellow-workmen could teach him? At Antibes, as in the numerous
farm-schools (fermes-écoles) now established throughout France, the
pupils are chiefly recruited from the peasant class.
How, will it be asked, can a small tenant farmer or owner of three or
four acres afford to lose his son's earnings as soon as he quits school,
much less to pay even a small sum for his education? The difficulty is
met thus: in the first place, the yearly sum for board, lodging and
teaching is reduced to the minimum, viz. five hundred francs a year; in
the second, large numbers of scholarships are open to pupils who have
successfully passed the examination of primary schools, and whose
parents can prove their inability to pay the fees. No matter how poor he
may be, the French peasant takes a long look ahead. He makes up his mind
to forfeit his son's help or earnings for a year or two in view of the
ulterior advantage. A youth having studied at Antibes, would come out
with instruction worth much more than the temporary loss of time and
money. That parents do reason in this way is self-evident. On the
occasion of my visit, of the twenty-seven students by far the larger
proportion were exhibitioners, sons of small owners or tenants. Lads are
admitted from fourteen years and upwards, and must produce the
certificate of primary studies, answering to that of our Sixth Standard,
or pass an entrance examination. The school is under State supervision,
the teaching staff consisting of certificated professors. The discipline
is of the simplest, yet, I was assured, quite efficacious. If a lad,
free scholar or otherwise, misbehaves himself, he is called before the
director and warned that a second reprimand only will be given, the
necessity of a third entailing expulsion. No more rational treatment
could be devised.