Part 16

Such are the general outlines of the landscape. I shall have to recur to some of them hereafter. To those who can appreciate scenery, the _tout ensemble_ cannot fail to produce a feeling of intense admiration; but added to all, there is that which lends its peculiar charm to Mentone. This is its rurality. While it contains many large hotels, which do not contribute much to the adornment of the scene,—though year by year becoming more essential to meet the demands for accommodation,—none of the buildings in Mentone possess the palatial appearance of those at Nice, neither in the large hotels nor in the street buildings. Indeed, with regard to the latter, there is only one street proper in Mentone, not half a mile long. On issuing from the railway station, which stands on high ground, the town is, or was, hid from view by a curtain of trees, which afford a beautiful fringe to the ocean, seen lying placidly beyond. The road to town is along an avenue of tall plane trees by the bank of the Carrei, one of the torrent beds. The road on the other side of the Carrei is also flanked by trees, as yet young. On arriving at the main road, which crosses the river bed by a wooden suspension bridge, there is a piece of ground, not large, on either side, laid out as a public garden. From this point, the road each way, east and west, continues to be lined with plane trees. The villas passed on the way are built in gardens, wherein orange, lemon, pepper, and palm trees grow; and so it is everywhere, except in the heart of the town. I fear much that, from year to year, as people continue to flock to Mentone, and more lodging–room becomes requisite (for in sixteen or eighteen years Mentone has risen from being, so far as strangers are concerned, a mere wayside stopping–place to its present ample dimensions, embracing a native population of above 5000, besides a stranger population of probably 3000 more), and as land becomes in consequence more valuable, this peculiar charm of rurality will disappear; and though, mainly from the impossibility of its becoming a great seaport, it will never be a large commercial town like Nice; and although it will always continue to possess natural features which no buildings can obliterate, and which neither Nice nor any other town wanting them can secure, yet it may in time rival in towny aspect such a place as Cannes, which is at present very considerably larger.

* * * * *

As the first duty of the visitor is to see to his quarters, it is only right here to make some observations relative to the hotels such as they were during our stay. They were then reckoned, in 1877, to amount to forty–four in number; but the number is year by year increasing, and at least one large hotel (the National) has been built since we left, although the advertisements do not disclose its whereabouts. The hotels are found either fronting the sea or back from it, and either in the west or the east bay; and as the question of locale is not unimportant, invalids should endeavour in this respect to suit their particular case, noting, too, that, like every other place, some hotels are more expensive than others.

It is not unusual for those who have not been previously in Mentone, or who have not secured apartments before arriving, to take rooms for a night in the Hotel Mediterranée or the Hotel Royal, or some other hotel in the town (of which there are several), and then look about. At the beginning of the season there is abundance of choice; but if the visit be delayed, as so often is the case, till after Christmas, it is not unlikely to be discovered that the best rooms have, for the most part, been taken; and it is much more difficult to secure what is suitable, and especially good south or sun–visited rooms. When such delay is unavoidable, the better course is, if possible, to write to a friend in Mentone previously to make inquiries and engage rooms. In the spring, many migrate from Cannes and Nice on to Mentone, _en route_ a little later for Italy. As proximity to the sea air, or to be within hearing of the monotonous noise of the waves, does not suit some persons, while the proximity may benefit others, and as the temperature of the east and west bays differs considerably, it is not inadvisable for those in delicate health to consult a medical man, who should decide which part of Mentone is best suited to the particular case. There are about twenty doctors practising in Mentone. Of these, the English doctors are, I believe, the following:—In the west bay, Drs. Siordet, Marriott, Gent, and Sparks; and in the east bay, Dr. Bennett. It is also well to know that the fees of the resident English medical men are high, and are paid at each visit. If the visit be to two persons of the same party, two fees, I have been told, are charged or expected. The fees of the French medical men are greatly less. It would seem, on some points, the doctors of the two countries differ,—as, for example, English doctors advocate sitting in the sun, and foreign doctors, sitting in the shade; and knowing how foreigners abhor their friend the sun, I can well believe they do.

In viewing the hotels in order to make a selection, it will be observed that some are more sheltered than others, and a certain preference may be given to those which seem to be the better protected from the north wind, which in winter months, especially during December and January, prevails and blows sometimes with a piercing cold during night and in the morning. I am afraid this is a circumstance but seldom studied by the builders of the hotels, for I suspect there are few houses—particularly on the Promenade du Midi—which are not exposed to cold in consequence of having doors opening to the north side. This of itself is not desirable, and perhaps in most cases is unavoidable; but the evil is increased when such door is in direct communication with the staircase without outer porch and lobby, or if a corridor connect it with an entrance on the other or south side. Considering, also, how important it is for invalids that the temperature in–doors should be maintained throughout the house at a proper degree, I have been surprised to find that means are not universally taken to heat the staircases and lobbies, delicate people being very apt to suffer great harm by passing out of heated rooms into cold corridors. So far as I am aware, there is but one hotel in Mentone which fully attends to this important particular—the Hotel des Îles Britanniques. Possibly, however, there may be others. If not, this may be taken as a valuable hint.[19]

The rate of pension varies according to the hotel and to the floor, and runs from 8 to 16 francs per day, exclusive of wine, candles, and firewood.

To those who prefer taking either a furnished house or rooms in a lodging–house, choice of villas or rooms can be had in abundance at very varying rates, but generally, like the hotels, high. The number of villas is constantly on the increase. When last in Mentone, there were no fewer than about 250. During a bad season, many remain unlet. Lists of houses can be had from the house–agents, of whom the principal apparently was M. Amarante, Avenue Victor Emanuele.

An institution maintained by subscription, and called Helvetia, provides at a small rate of board (£1 per week), a home for, I believe, fifteen invalid ladies, who are not in circumstances to incur the much heavier expense of boarding at a hotel.

* * * * *

Six Roman Catholic churches supply the wants of the Roman worshippers in Mentone.

There are two English Episcopal churches. One, in the west bay, succeeds in obtaining good music and good congregations. The chaplain of this church was till recently the Rev. W. Barber, who, after officiating for many years, died on 24th February 1878, and was succeeded by his assistant, the Rev. Henry Sidebottom. One of Mr. Barber’s sons was the able organist and choirmaster. The other and earlier church in the east bay, built in 1863, is more simple in its services, and, I fear, was therefore not so much in favour as the more fashionable chapel in the west bay, to which, notwithstanding the distance, many of the east bay visitors resorted. The regular minister was Mr. Morant Brock. But last winter (1877–78) his place was supplied by Mr. Boudillon, the author of some books, and a good old man.

The Free Church of Scotland has Presbyterian service in a room of a villa in the east bay; but, whether owing to the distant and elevated situation, or to not having a church building, or to the paucity of Scotch people, it was generally attended by only a few, though the small room was filled when the preacher was popular.

There were also a German church and a French Protestant church, the latter being under the pastoral care of M. Delapierre. The Scotch church had no afternoon service, while that held in the French church in the afternoon was usually poorly attended. A good arrangement might be, were the Scotch to give up their room, for which they pay £30 per annum, and to have the use of the French church for one service in the afternoon; and the second French service might, with advantage in that case, be held in the evening.

* * * * *

Having had occasion to make inquiry for a good school, we found most highly recommended an excellent French school kept by M. and Mme. Arnulf in a house adjoining the Hotel Bristol, and which was attended by young ladies from several of the principal hotels. The teachers are Roman Catholics; but many of their pupils being Protestants, they made a point of avoiding any allusion to religion in their classes. The school was mainly intended for girls, but M. Arnulf had a class for boys. French, music, and the ordinary elementary branches of education, including a little English, were taught, the pupils receiving tuition also in drawing from M. Bouché, who paints pretty little pictures of Mentone, which are occasionally seen in book–shop windows for sale, and which are valuable to purchasers as agreeable reminiscences of their visit. The charge for all branches, music included, for the hours from 9 till 12 (lunch hour), six days per week, was 90 francs per month; if lunch and additional hour’s tuition were taken, then so much more. Mme. Arnulf, a most pleasing French lady, had an excellent mode of retaining the interest of the pupils by giving a donkey excursion party (which all the young people could attend) about once a month. This was looked forward to by all the scholars with great glee, and sad was the disappointment if any unexpected sickness seemed likely to disable one of them from being of the cavalcade. In their daily walks, the young people were freely allowed to play after getting out of town, showing a great amount of good sense in the management of children, of which in other parts of France, I have seen it stated, teachers are in this respect innocent.

Young ladies and others can likewise obtain lessons in Italian, music, and other branches from resident masters and governesses. Young men who are not invalids are scarce in Mentone, and I doubt whether, in the midst of so much else to attract, their ardour for study is intense.

A botany class was successfully formed during the winter of 1877–78 by Mr. Henry Robertson, a visitor. The study of botany is very suitable for the Riviera.

Pianofortes can be hired for the season, though not by the month; but the charge made is usually high—from 150 to 300 francs.

* * * * *

There is, besides a public library, a small museum of natural history, etc., in the Hotel de Ville, consisting principally of flint implements found in the caves of the Rochers Rouges, and of specimens of snakes, fishes, and other animals caught in the neighbourhood.

A theatre exists, but the performances seem to be rare. I never was in it.

In an open place or square, there is what is called the Cercle Philharmonique, or Club, admission to which is by ballot and subscription (annual, monthly, or by the season). Here are held concerts, dances, and occasional dramatic entertainments, while newspapers lie in the reading–room.

Two newspapers are published in Mentone—the _Avenir_ and _Le Mentonnais_; but newspapers from Marseilles, Nice, and other places are brought by train daily, and are procurable at the railway station, shops, and a kiosk, or covered round stall in the middle of the Place Nationale.

* * * * *

Having given this general description of Mentone, and noted some of the institutions which are of the nature of essentials to the visitor’s comfort, and being now settled down in the place for the winter, the natural wish is to know what is to be seen which will help to make residence agreeable.

There are various guide–books[20] which may be bought and consulted for this purpose, and it is no part of my plan in these pages to take their place or to describe after their manner. One of them, titled, _The Splendide Hotel Handbook to Mentone and its Environs_, would be more useful were it less of a puff of the Splendide Hotel, which really does not require any puffing. This book, in tagging and dragging the unhappy hotel into almost every paragraph, reminds one of De Foe’s puff of _Drelincourt on Death_, which he brought or endeavoured to bring into notice by repeated mention of it in his remarkable _Vision of Mrs. Veal_. The author of the guide—(who doubtless laughs in his own sleeve and not that of De Foe)—mentions that there are fifty–nine excursions from Mentone, all of which he describes shortly, and I would refer to the book for its recital. Fifty–nine is a tolerably large number, and will, in any view, afford constant employment to those who are of an exploring disposition. However, people cannot always be on the trot, more especially if they be not in strong, good health. Much less will suffice for ordinary existence, and if all be accomplished in three or four winters, these winters will not have witnessed inactive lives. The number, however, is an odd one; and to make it even, I must add one which the writer fails to describe. It fell to my lot the very first night.

* * * * *

I was impatient to look about me, and on the evening of my first day took, with a young Scotch gentleman residing in the hotel, a walk as far as the gorge of St. Louis. It is the evening aspect of Mentone which I regard as my first and the additional excursion, and it is one of, if it be not, the most lovely. The moon was full and shining brightly. Now, the moonlight at Mentone is so clear and strong that everything comes out sharply, and all objects on which it rests are seen with almost the same distinctness as in daylight. Even quarter moon illuminates surprisingly. The great orb of night sheds her effulgence upon the grand, steep, abrupt mountains, upon the rugged rocks, upon the glittering trees, upon the hill–tops, upon the white houses, upon all I have already attempted to depict as contributing to the magnificence of the landscape. Bold and varied as everything looks, as usually seen when the sun is in the heavens, the soft, wondrous silvering on the parts which are moonlit, set in contrast against the deep, sombre, unrelieved blackness of the parts which are cast into shade, developes the features of the panorama, with an impressive _chiaro oscuro_ effect which can never be observed or attained in the broad light of day; while, turning round and looking upon the ocean below, we see the waves roll softly ashore in lambent lines of dazzling light, and the yielding water is dancing and glancing with the restrained restlessness of girlish glee, and tossing up little flickering tongues of fire, which cover the sea in the moonlight gleam as with thousands of short–lived electric sparks, darting up to snatch a kiss from their pale but glorious mother, and expiring in the vain and feeble effort. We had not far to go for this lovely tableau, which, when beheld for the first time, produces the sensation of being in the presence of a scene of enchantment.

* * * * *

But the scene is scarcely less beautiful, though different, when, the sky being clear, and especially on those evenings which are slightly touched by frost, the moon averts her face; for then the stars assemble with a twofold brilliancy, sparkling with a lustre which is unknown in our dull and foggy northern clime. Venus first of all appears like a great lamp in the west. We have had simultaneously other planets shining brightly, and particularly Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, the last two having been in the winter of 1877–78 in close conjunction, but ruddy Mars not being so full as we had at Interlachen seen it some months before, when it was nearer the earth. The sky glows with constellations, chief among which stands prominently out Orion, which rises from the sea in the south–east, and passes slowly and majestically over the firmament to the north–west, every star in it, with generous but governed emulation, stinting not its oil and burning with redoubled energy. Then, almost right below Orion’s belt, Sirius, the largest and most beautiful star visible from earth, radiates in full intensity, shining and scintillating with a luminous green splendour which has emanated from that grand orb twenty–two years previously—a light so strong that it casts a streak or tail across the Mediterranean like that of the moon, though fainter and less. Then overhead are galaxies of glory, in the midst of which the Milky Way, the nearest of the nebulæ (for it is that to which we ourselves belong), stretches over the great expanse its belt of pearly sheen, the dwelling–place of countless myriads of starry habitants whose light as now seen dates back to a period anterior to the creation of man—all of them far too distant to be discernible by the unassisted eye. Cold though the evenings sometimes were, I was often tempted to turn out and see the matchless sight. The promenade was close by, and there all was open to the view.

* * * * *

Visitors, however, are no sooner settled in a place than, according to immemorial usage, it seems to be their paramount duty to escape out of it and see its environs, and perhaps I shall best illustrate the locality by describing some of our excursions.

* * * * *

Besides the main road which leads in one direction to Monaco and Nice, and in the other to San Remo and Genoa, and another road up the Carrei valley to Turin, and roads which go a short way up the Boirigo and Gorbio valleys, there is not much opportunity for varied driving; but the mountains which connect themselves by their ridgy tentacula with the very coast, afford innumerable excursions on foot and on donkeys, and parties, often large in number, are daily in good weather to be seen starting on such expeditions. The donkeys are patient, sure–footed, know every inch of the way, and require little encouragement by means of the whip. There are many roads or paths constructed expressly for them up and over the ridges, although rather intended for the rural traffic than for excursionizing. The animals are let out for hire at 5 francs per day, or 2½ francs for the half day, the day being considered divided by the lunch or dinner hour of twelve, and detention of half an hour beyond twelve reckoned as a whole day. Girls or boys, sometimes women or even men, attend the donkeys and act as guides, expecting a trifle of a fee to themselves—generally half a franc per donkey per day, and half that for half a day. There are plenty of carriages of all kinds, but principally light basket–carriages with one or more horses. The only other mode of conveyance is the railway. Steamboats do not touch at the port, and boating is not much indulged in, the open sea not being particularly safe, although near shore usually placid, and offering imposing views towards the land.

* * * * *

A few days after our arrival, we joined a party of friends for Castellar, which is about three miles distant. We started after lunch, about half–past one, having six donkeys for those who rode. It was the 2d of December, and the day was overpoweringly hot. The ascent commences at once from the town, and the mounting was almost continuous, diversified, however, by stretches of level path. For protection of the road, which would otherwise be soon worn away, it is, like most other donkey paths, in its steeper parts paved sometimes with the small round stones commonly called petrified kidneys, which are very trying to the feet of the walkers, at least till they get accustomed to them. After we had gone up a short way, we obtained the shelter of trees, which lessened the fatigue. It was a lovely walk the whole way, the views at every turn being so fine; the sky overhead, bright, clear, blue, against which the bold outlines of the adjacent mountains broke in most picturesque lines; while, whether we looked down the thickly–covered slopes below or across the ravines to the wooded slopes of the Berceau above, or to the hill ridges fringed with trees or capped by picturesque buildings, it was a scene of grandeur and beauty blended; while the silver–lined blue–green of the olive leaf, mingling with the dark green of the pines, and the grass and the wild shrubbery, combined with the bright glitter of the sun through the branches to make it fairy–land. Notwithstanding the shade afforded by the trees, I felt the ascent very hot work, and perspired at every pore. At last, in about an hour and a half, we reached Castellar, perched upon the summit of the rock or acclivity, which is 1200 feet above the level of the sea. We found it a very curious old Italian village—a type, however, of others which we subsequently saw. It consists of two long narrow streets, and of three ranges of miserable old houses, offering wretched uncomfortable holes for the inhabitants, the wretchedness being probably to some extent redeemed by the natural purity of the air. On the outside walls, the windows, where they exist, stand high, and are small (in many places merely loopholes for guns), the town being so built as to afford some protection against the roving expeditions of the Moors. Poor and miserable as the place looks, it has, like all such villages, a grand church—that is, grand in comparison with the dwellings and with the apparent poverty of the people. The church is adorned by the usual spire, which forms a feature of the little town or village, which, though picturesque at a short distance, does not afford as much scope for the pencil of the artist as some other similar villages. From the platform on which the town stands, we obtained a splendid view of the mountains of Mentone and of the bay below. After halting a very brief time, the party descended, to be back before sunset—a precaution essentially needful to be attended to by those who are subject to any weakness in the chest, and by no means to be neglected even by those in robust health, as just before sunset, and for an hour afterwards, a cold clammy air descends or envelopes these regions. Going and returning occupied altogether about three hours. We returned highly satisfied with this our first expedition. On the way down, the graceful towers of the churches at several points came prominently into view.

* * * * *