Part 20

The villas about Mentone are, as already mentioned, like the generality in the Riviera, painted in lively colours, and surmounted by tidy–looking red–tiled roofs. Slate is unknown, though sometimes roofs are covered with what appears to be lead or zinc, imparting a little variety. The windows of all the houses have outside jalousies, generally painted green. These Riviera houses resemble somewhat in colouring the houses in a German box of toys, or one of those vividly–coloured dolls’ houses sold in toyshops. They give a remarkable brightness to the landscape, more especially where the hills are covered extensively and monotonously with the sombre olive tree. All houses are painted, and sometimes very fantastically, in imitation of shaped stones, carvings, projections, and other architectural features, and even of roofs, and they are so cleverly executed that a stranger has often to approach close to them to detect the illusion. So far is this sometimes carried, that I have seen a good substantial house painted to represent it in a state of decay—an odd freak; at other times, painted as if vegetation were, under neglect or abandonment, springing out of chinks between the painted layers of stones. The houses are built—with a certain amount of substantiality, though with wonderful rapidity—of a species of rubble, which is plastered over and sometimes neatly ornamented with stucco mouldings. Internally, they are in general nicely finished with abundance of decoration, particularly at the painter’s hands; though one is sometimes annoyed to find that the plaster work is of such inferior quality as to be full of cracks, and even to give way and tumble down. The paintings on the ceilings are certainly wonderful specimens of art. Accustomed as people so often are at home to paper ornamentation, they are apt to suppose at first that these ceilings must simply be stained paper pieces pasted on; but on examination, it is found that they are, with some occasional imitations, all hand–painted. And although there are many coarse specimens of this style of decoration, they are frequently finished with great delicacy. The rooms we ourselves had in Mentone were in this respect, as well as in others, finished with good taste and skill; and although the ceilings were prettily painted, they were light and suitable. Sometimes the decoration of houses is carried the length of painting cleverly outside garden walls with scenic views, imitation staircases and theatrical trees, fountains, grottoes, etc. Marble is used in abundance in the houses, in chimney–pieces, staircases (outside sometimes as well as inside), and other portions of the buildings. Proximity to Italy renders cheap the carriage of the rough marble, which is wrought up according to requirement at local marble workshops. Windows are all constructed on the French fashion of opening up the centre—a method which is suitable to the climate, although, not being so close–fitting as our window–sashes, it would not answer in our own sterner climate. They are fastened by a bolt, the working of which the inhabitant requires to understand, as, if not properly fastened, a window may blow open, as it once did to us in a gale at Marseilles during the night; and in ignorance of the way of turning the bolt, much trouble will be occasioned in the dark. Nearly all rooms open into those adjoining, on both sides, by a door, sometimes two–leaved. The consequence is, especially when the partition walls are thin, that all that goes on in your neighbour’s apartment is overheard. To remedy this inconvenience, in part, as well as to add to the warmth of the chambers, the doors are in first–class houses double, for which a certain degree of thickness of walls is necessary. Terraces and balconies are common adjuncts, and enable the inhabitants in many cases to enjoy the air and the views without leaving their houses, or scarcely their rooms.

The gardens attached to villas are usually planted with orange, lemon, and red pepper trees, with aloes, and the ever–green, and health–producing, rapid–growing Eucalyptus, besides other trees and plants, natives of a warm climate.

At Cannes we were taken by a French gentleman through a large villa he had just built for his own occupation. Upon the first floor (what we would term the street floor), above the ground floor, or that occupied by the offices and servants’ accommodation, and opening out of a large hall, there was a suite of public rooms, consisting of dining–room and drawing–room, with intermediate ante–drawing–room—all looking to the sun, and of a library and another room upon the north or non–sunny side of the house. On the floor above, there were six bed–rooms, separate sleeping chambers being devoted to the husband and wife. The south windows opened out on each floor to a broad terrace, looking down upon a large garden, beyond which fine views were had of the sea and Estrelles. Every room was finished in the best style.

As I have already said, there is only in reality one street in Mentone occupied with shops. This is in the heart of the town, and the shops are few in number, some of them evidently having a struggle to exist; but coupled with a vegetable and fruit market, they are abundantly sufficient, if not more than sufficient, for the wants of the inhabitants and visitors. None of the shops can be said to be of any size—except, perhaps, one of the bazaars, of which there are several, and in which almost every description of ware except eatables is sold. And at Christmas–time they are packed with purchasers in quest of nicknacks for presents—toys, photographs, woodwork, and ornaments of divers descriptions, many of which are marked with the letters ‘Mentone;’ for it is curious that the old Italian name is thus preserved in preference to the French Menton, which is not so euphonious. Things are generally dear in the shops; in fact, nearly every description of article is dearer than at home, unless, perhaps, it may be French writing–paper, which is sold at a moderate price. All articles of household consumption are dear; sugar, for instance, is 8d. or 10d. per lb., showing the French people themselves do not benefit by their system of bounty on sugar enjoyed by their refiners. Many things, however, have to be brought from a great distance,—butter, I believe, comes from Milan, and is good; fish, from Bordeaux and other distant ports; books, from Paris and London,—and a large percentage is added to the price. I have been told, but cannot say from experience, that shopkeepers follow the Italian custom of asking more than they will take or than the goods are worth, and that the disagreeable custom of bargaining is necessary. But the things we have bought have generally been such that there could be little room for difference of price. However, it is extremely likely that, in the market, bargaining is absolutely needful, and possibly also in some shops. A lady said to me that at Nice they had to bargain about dress.

The booksellers have circulating libraries, in which are many English books, including a quantity of Tauchnitz editions; but the collections are principally of works of fiction and light reading, and for our second winter at Mentone I thought it advisable to have a box of selected books from home.

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If asked to say what is the great industrial occupation of the inhabitants of Mentone, I think I could not be far wrong in naming that for women as consisting in the washing of clothes. In fact, all along the Riviera, as well as in other parts of France, washing of clothes seems to the women portion of the working population the sole vocation of life; although it is difficult to comprehend from whom all the clothes to fill their hands and baskets come, unless France be the washing field of the world. At Mentone, go where one might, women were washing clothes, and that in a manner most disgusting and repulsive to English notions. Instead of washing them in some rural part with pure hot water and soap, wringing out the water and bleaching on the grass, these women will walk to any spot where a drop of water can be had, no matter how foul, or whence it comes, or what are its surroundings. Thus at Mentone they haunt the rivulets, which are full of olive juice sent down from the olive mills, the water passing over, as it trickles down, beds thick with the deposited accumulations of months of olive refuse, mud, and other dirt; and then, ensconcing themselves in the baskets in which the clothes are brought, and on their knees, they stoop down, put the clothes into the filthy water, and with a wooden roller–pin beat the unfortunate articles till one might suppose they were beat into a jelly, or at least into a thousand holes.[24] The clothes are thereupon hung up or spread on stones to dry, all in the view of the population, and along the beach and elsewhere. There was, indeed—for it is now disused, in consequence of the remonstrance made as after mentioned—one public washing–place, constructed for the purpose of washing in; but this was nothing but one long continuous stone trough, for the use of which, I presume, a small charge was made. Here I have counted fifty–two women washing at one time, as close as they could be packed, upon both sides of this trough, which seemed about sixty feet long and three or four feet wide. All the garments were washed in one water, which, I presume, could scarcely be said to have been changed oftener than once a day at best, although a trickle of new water might ooze through it. The washing in this trough, however, was purity itself compared with what took place elsewhere. I have seen women washing at one pool of dirty water for weeks together, any fresh water which could possibly percolate through it being utterly unable to carry off the soap and dirt of the washings which stuck to the sides and bottom. Nor was this the worst. At one narrow aqueduct, full of the blackest dirt, and with the veriest drop of water struggling through it, little more than an inch deep, and only secured by damming it up, and only changed when a flood unexpectedly came, women were to be seen constantly engaged, it is to be hoped only on their own clothes.

So offensive has this custom been considered by the English, that a representation was made to the civic authorities, and some change for the better was promised; but whether it has been or will be such as will adequately meet and remove all the evil complained of, or whether it will simply remove them out of sight, I cannot say. It is most uncomfortable to think, were there no other objection, that one’s clothes may be washed in the same water as that in which, it may be, the clothes of those who have been suffering from disease are being soaked. Towels and sheets have, when fresh, a most disagreeable soapy smell. Linen articles of wearing apparel, however, seem to come home remarkably pure, and it is to be hoped that they are, after the first bleaching, put through clean water. Buttons, however, soon get loose after the violent treatment to which linens are subjected.[25]

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Another grand pursuit of the Mentonnais is that of fishing. Two or more fishing boats are engaged almost every morning in this occupation. A boat takes out the net a long distance, when it is dropped in the water. By two long lines the nets are then laboriously drawn in upon the shore by from twelve to twenty men or women. A great deal of this labour might easily be saved by the use of windlasses. When the net comes near the shore, a crowd of visitors and other idle persons surround the fishermen to witness the result. Often I have seen the net pulled up without a single fish in it; at other times, a small basketful of little fish which they call sardines. Sometimes a few larger fish, a dozen or half a dozen mackerel, may be taken; but at other times I have seen little more brought up after all this waste of exertion and time than a quantity of minute fry about an inch or so long, the young of fish which might otherwise have attained maturity. The result is miserable, and one could wish not merely that the men were better employed, but that there might be some stoppage put to a mode of catching which must prove so injurious to the fishings. Is it not likely that a deep–sea line, baited with so many hooks (such as our fishermen use), would take large fish and leave the young to develop? But the fishermen have no doubt fished for two thousand years or more in the same way, and could not possibly take in the thought of any novelty; and, patient as they are, one would wish to see this patience change to enterprising and inventive vigour. It is, however, to be kept in view that the sardines for which they lay their snares may apparently be caught only on the surface, as when there is a surf falling on the shore I have seen the nets dragged into the boats upon the sea, and many sardines thereby caught. In stormy weather, a rare occurrence, the fishing is altogether stopped. Judging from what I have seen, I should say it was unlikely that the fishermen earn more than the merest pittance (a few pence a day) by their calling, in pursuing which they dress in their worst clothes; and it is well they do so. I have seen an active young man knocked over and sucked in by the surf, disappear for a moment, and come out dripping.

But wretched as this occupation is, there is a still more pitiable phase of the fishing life, consisting in grown men—not one alone, but many—angling the whole day with a long reed rod and a hook baited with chewed bread. After enduring hours of waiting, during which their hearts may have been rejoiced by glorious nibbles, they will entrap some unfortunate little fish—generally a small sardine, only fit to be tossed back into its element; while around the noble fisher, various idle spectators are congregated, watching his float and deeply interested in his success.

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Another pursuit, curious in its mode, is that of the shepherd. Hardly a morning passed but we saw an Italian shepherd standing about, singularly attired in shaggy coat and rough knee–breeches, and a species of stocking leggings, with a short, tawny–coloured Italian cloak on his shoulder, and a long, conical, Italian wide–awake on his head, the whole suit bearing traits of the wear of a lifetime. Sometimes he was accompanied by a boy, a representation or copy in miniature of the same; the copper–brown complexion and bright dark eyes of both revealing them to be children of the sun. Near to them on the hard stony beach, a flock of thin small sheep as gaunt–looking as their herds were hobbling about on the stones and picking up dried leaves and anything that once was green which they could find in this, to them, barren land. He moves, and they follow. No dog scares them, or collects or pursues them. They hear his voice and, as if affectionately attached, obey. When they have traversed the beach, he produces a sack and spreads upon the ground what looks like sawdust, but is probably bran, which they eagerly devour. It would seem as if the sheep never had a chance of browsing on the hillside, for I do not recollect ever seeing a sheep upon the grass. Whence they come I know not, but their food by the road is just the fallen leaves.

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A better occupation than the fishing, although it is dependent on the weather, is that of letting out donkeys. What we would regard as great fortunes cannot, of course, be made out of the small remuneration which the donkey people receive, but it seems enough to enable them to appear respectable.

Some employment is also had in the making of wooden inlaid articles for sale in the shops, generally with the word ‘Mentone’ on them. The articles sell well; but it is said that many of them come from Sorrento, which is the headquarters of this description of work, and where it is carried to the highest perfection, or at least to its largest extent. The prices asked at Mentone are sometimes double what are asked for similar work at Sorrento; while the same variety and beauty of work cannot, I think, be procured, although a Mentone workman laboured to make me believe his _modus operandi_ was superior.

The great mass of the Mentone men, however, seem to be occupied in the various trades connected with house–building—in quarrying stones; and upon the works of the town, such as metalling and watering the roads forming the promenades, etc.; and I must say that the men appear to be industrious and steady in their application to their appointed tasks, as well as sober, for during all the time we were in Mentone, I never witnessed but once a case of drunkenness, and it was that of two men who apparently were not of the town, but from the rural parts. Not that they do not drink, for even the women carry to their work a huge litre bottle, but their drinking must be in great moderation and of a weak quality of wine. It is, however, very desirable to have some saving of human fatigue effected. For example, instead of lifting large stones by means of cranes, three or four men may be seen tediously and laboriously moving them by means of levers, keeping time to an unearthly sound ejaculated by the foreman or leader of the group. Labour is no doubt cheap. I suppose that wages do not exceed 2 francs per day, but the employment of so many men unnecessarily must add to the expense of public improvements. I suspect, however, that in this also, as in other things, there is a conservative clinging to old habits and customs, and fear of innovations, which it is very difficult to eradicate, and that men follow in their fathers’ ways just because their fathers had always done so before them.

Necessarily the visitors bring with them employment to the inhabitants, such as in dressmaking and the various other requirements of life; and if one be passing along the main street of Mentone after the sun has reached the meridian, for no public clock strikes or bell sounds, he will find it crowded with girls and men leaving work and going to dinner.

The rural population is mainly occupied with the cultivation of the olive and the gathering of the olive berries, which are beaten off the trees by long rods, and picked off the ground by women and girls; and also, but to a much more limited extent, with the cultivation of the lemon and orange trees, and the gathering of their fruit, which is borne off by the women in large baskets on their heads. There appear to be few vines about Mentone, although there are a good many kitchen gardens to supply the needful vegetables for the population. Connected with the olive cultivation, is the employment of building terraces on the sides of the hills for the planting of trees. These are very neatly executed with a smooth facing of stone. The crushing of the olives in the olive mills also affords employment to a small class of men; while the building of water reservoirs or tanks in connection with the terraces, in order to secure supplies of water for the trees, gives further occupation. These reservoirs, and the conduits which are found running all over the hill–slopes to supply them, or to turn the mill wheels, are scattered everywhere: the tanks look ugly places to tumble into.

The wages of agricultural labourers, I believe, do not exceed from 1 to 2 francs per day.

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Assisting the operations of labourers of different kinds, there are horses, mules, and asses. Frequently a cart will be drawn by a combination of all the three, a small ass leading the van, followed by the larger mule, the rear being brought up by a horse yoked within the shafts of the cart. The carts are, as a rule, laden far beyond the strength of the animals drawing them, and it would be well that the police could sometimes interfere. The horses are willing, though it is sad to see them occasionally brutally beaten, to urge them to efforts under which every muscle is strained to the utmost. But the mountaineers depend mainly on the ass. On this animal they throw the burden of carrying up and down the steep and rough hill paths, stones, barrels, bags, wood, and agricultural produce, etc., and patiently and intelligently do they perform their work.

One sees here and there poultry, but few comparatively to the number which are requisite to meet the daily consumption at the hotels.

Small wild birds are scarcely ever seen. I have counted up six sparrows fluttering about or chirping in the trees; but a sparrow, like every other small bird, is in France a _rara avis_. Three broad–shouldered men, dressed in blouses like labourers, go out daily with guns to shoot them. One could almost wish a visitation upon France of the Colorado beetle, or if birds do not feed on it, of some other insect plague, to open the eyes of the French to the impolicy of allowing these small birds to be shot. One of the most pleasing diversions in Mentone is to sit and watch the flock (perhaps now only two or three hundred in number) of sea–gulls which frequent its shores. While you are witnessing the joyful flights of these beautiful birds, suddenly you hear a shot fired, and the whole flight rises and skims away, leaving perhaps a distressed comrade, who has probably had its wing broken by a bullet. It is making frantic attempts to rise or to get out to sea. With right good–will could one pitch into the fellow who had done this wanton, cruel harm. I believe that the consequence of the shooting is that the poor birds find their muster roll greatly reduced, and they may in time disappear or migrate to some safer locality.

There is one animal which everybody could more readily wish to disappear, and that is the mosquito. I have previously mentioned that we did not find this plague so great at Mentone as at Cannes and Hyères. This may partly have arisen from our having visited these other places earlier in the winter; but I think a good deal also is due to Mentone being better drained, or at least to the drains not being so offensive.

At Cannes we were also more plagued than at Mentone with flies. These little animals are very impudent. They walk over your face and hands, nibbling as they go, and play at hide–and–seek in your hair. They are not to be deterred by the most stringent prohibitions; and while one has no mercy on mosquitoes, you hesitate to inflict the extreme penalty of the law upon a fly—nay, rather help your tormentors out of their scrapes when they tumble into water, milk, treacle, or the like.

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