CHAPTER XVI
At Marseilles: Our Hotel; Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Green and Mrs. Martin: The sights of the City: The Cathedral, etc.: En route for Mentone: Toulon: Passing Nice: Cannes: Arrival at Mentone: Our Hotel: Meeting Mr. and Miss Brown: The scenery, etc.: Visit to Monte Carlo.
Our visit to Marseilles was made in the earlier part of the year, also to the Riviera. On reaching Marseilles after a long and tedious journey, we proceeded to the “Grand Hotel du Louvre et Paix,” that we had previously arranged should be our stopping place, during our stay in the city. The hotel ’bus was at the station and we were soon safely inside and our baggage on the top; through some rambling streets we soon found ourselves at an hotel of no mean pretensions. The front is facing a very fine street, and is of massive proportions. Inside is even better than the outside. Everything up-to-date; lovely chandeliers with electric light; mirrors, carpets of the richest and best quality; writing rooms, coffee rooms, dining rooms and several hundreds of bed rooms. We just looked round and got the number of our bed room and were about to step into the lift, which had just descended, when to our surprise we met face to face, a dear old friend of ours, Mrs. Martin, of Glasgow, and she was apparently as much surprised to see us. We hurried through our toilet and went down stairs to learn why she was here alone. She told us her father, G. Green, Esq. (a very dear and almost life-long friend of ours) was returning from a visit to America and the West Indies, and she expected him and Mrs. Green arriving at Marseilles at once; indeed, she was just going down to the docks to see if the boat was in. In the meantime we had lunch, which just then was very necessary and most acceptable. We wanted to see a bit of the city, as our time was limited, and we could ill afford to lose any of it. We found the shops fairly good, but prices very high for anything that was worth having. We omitted spending at present, so went back to our hotel where we met Mr. and Mrs. Green to our great surprise and pleasure. After the usual salutations, etc., we wanted to know each other’s programme, to see if we could not have at least a few days together. We had arranged to go on to Mentone, and had booked hotel beforehand; they had decided, with Mrs. Martin, to go to Cannes the same day, so we arranged to return from Mentone earlier than we had thought, and visit Cannes; and they arranged to stay at Cannes till we arrived, and have at least two days with us. So they left us for Cannes after having some refreshments. We further explored the city; the population now numbers nearly half a million, it is the next largest city in France save Paris. There is a grand Triumphal Arch not far from the railway termini, erected to commemorate the French campaign in Spain. The docks are most extensive, as they cover an area of about one hundred and seventy acres, and they must have cost many millions of pounds sterling. On the south side of the city may be seen, a long distance off, “The Notre Dame de la Garde.” It stands on a bare rock hill. To reach it you pass through an enclosure protected by iron railings, you take tickets and get into an elevator which quickly raises you over three hundred feet. From here, however, you have to reach this curious old Cathedral by many steps. When you have just gained the summit, there is a very fine view of the city at your feet, and of the Mediterranean Sea, with the graceful curves of the coast line lending enchantment to the view. The island of Monte Cristo is also well in sight, reminding you of Dumas’ novel. It is said that, on the spot where this church stands, the Druids celebrated their crafts and mysteries. Inside there are some very fine columns of blue marble from the Alps. The ceilings and walls are hung with pious offerings, commemorating strange deliverances at sea. There is an image of the Virgin in the shape of a flying mermaid, appearing to a ship in a storm. The Cornish Road or Chemin de Centure, is a great attraction, as it runs along the coast for a long distance, indeed, it is said to run along the coast to Naples, following the sea all the way; curving and jutting out, just as the sea has apparently found the bays and the promontories. The principal streets of Marseilles are very broad, and there is some lovely architecture. I give a picture, as I took the snap-shot of what stands at the junction of three or four of their main streets. The city is well surrounded by hills, covered with vineyards and oliveyards; and the country round, for some distance, is specked with white country houses. Our stay is of short duration, so good-bye to the port, to the shops, to the Cathedral. Our hotel bill is to be settled, and, this done, the great lumbering ’bus is awaiting us. We say adieu to our French waiters, boots and Concierge, and are soon at the railway station and in the train for Mentone. Leaving Marseilles we noticed the scenery began to be rugged and rocky, for some distance. The sea, however, was a great attraction, the blue Mediterranean is I think always pleasing to look at; and we could feel the pure bracing air as it came up from the sea. About two hours brought us to an important station called Toulon. This is said to be the Plymouth of France. The dockyard and fleet of Toulon were destroyed by a British force under Sir Sidney Smith, detached from the fleet of Lord Hood, in November, 1793. There is a wonderful history attached to this city, which I have neither the time nor the disposition to enter upon. Our train was delayed here, so I dismounted to get some oranges, when, to my dismay, the train moved on and left me hatless on an open platform. However, I found it was only to move to the tank to take water. In ten minutes’ time it returned, so set at rest my little wife’s troubles and my own. We soon left behind us this apparently prosperous and busy town, and were again surrounded by hills and the sea. Landscapes of bays and promontories, rocks and ravines. To my mind I have seen nothing in all my travels (and I have been over four continents) to equal the stretch of coast and country from Marseilles to Mentone. It is beyond all question the loveliest part of the fair land of France. On all sides as the train steams along it is pretty, gay and captivating, as the sunny shores are washed by the rolling sea, and an azure sky is overhead; and beyond, in the background, you can occasionally see lines of lofty hills crowned with eternal snow. As we passed the various stations, as Nice, the scenery becomes richer and more beautiful. Lovely avenues bordered with flowers, winding through the plain; and shady footpaths meandering among fields of asphodel and lavender. As we passed St. Raphael Station we noticed a very peculiar formation of the sea-shore. On we sped through the most beautiful scenery, palm trees began to seem plentiful; the first I saw looked so lovely I took my camera and got a snap-shot; but as we proceeded they became quite common. At Nice, the races were just over, and we saw numerous horses and horsemen leaving the race course. We had passed Cannes, and after which, Monte Carlo, and soon reached our destination where we remained for a few days (Mentone). We had selected, as was our custom, a hotel beforehand, this time it was “Hotel de Mentone.” So on the arrival of our train in the station we looked out for the hotel omnibus. We were surrounded by porters to carry our baggage, and almost a quarrel ensued which should have the job. However, we were conducted to the ’bus and very quickly driven to the hotel named. We found it all we could wish, indeed, the most comfortable and best managed we had found in all our travels. The manager, M. C. Husson, is the very acme of kindness and attention, our wants seemed to be anticipated and met most expeditiously. Our bedroom, large and airy, facing and within one hundred yards of the blue Mediterranean; the garden full of the most lovely palm trees. My little wife said: “this is like paradise.” The climate of this lovely town is very mild, and fogs, they tell us, are unknown. It is surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains, consequently no north or east winds affect them; the hills intervening between these Alpine Mountains and the town and the sea, are covered with gardens of the orange tree (in full fruitage when we saw them January 18th); also the lemon and olive tree. Mentone is a favourite winter resort for English visitors.
In our hotel we found some interesting people, some of them from England; and those who could speak English were to us, more than usually interesting. We seemed to be specially drawn toward a lady and gentleman from Southend-on-Sea—a Mr. Brown and Miss Brown, his daughter. She made herself particularly useful and nice to my little wife. We were strangers, and all about us a strange tongue was spoken and new customs in vogue. Miss Brown most kindly offered her aid at any time and on any point that was desired. This was most gratefully accepted, and in a few days we were fast friends. A correspondence has been kept up since we left, so that in all likelihood the friendship formed in Mentone will be continuous and pleasant. We took our walks each morning along the fine promenade in the clear fresh sunshine and bracing sea breeze, so we could feel we were gaining strength and getting a real good bracing up. We took lunch, more than once, at a sweet little Swiss restaurant, everything was scrupulously clean and sweet. We visited the Park Gardens, where the band was every day discoursing sweet music. These gardens are filled on two sides with orange trees; and as we passed them the fruit was just lovely, ripe and ready for plucking. The borders and beds were full of the most beautiful flowers in full bloom. I got two or three snapshots of this pretty place and surroundings.
We visited the cemetery on the hillside. It is difficult to reach, as there are so many steps, but it is well worth a visit. Here are laid to rest the dust of many generations. We found marble monuments in memory of several English residents, who had died in Mentone and were buried here. The graves or mausoleums are carefully kept. Flowers bloom most luxuriantly, and intertwine themselves in and around the sculpture on all sides. Some graves have, built over them, a small tent or room, which is adorned with pictures and filled with flowers. Here the relations of the deceased come, and seem to commune with the departed; at any rate they find some kind of solace in spending a little time near the sacred dust of loved ones. We visited the Market Place, and on market day too, to see the costers from the country in dresses quaint and queer, with their donkeys and carts of the rudest make. One would really have liked to have laughed at their simplicity. The fruit, flowers and vegetables were of a very fine quality; nothing so large in England. New potatoes in January, and new green peas, tomatoes; indeed, everything that our gardens will produce in June, they get here in January. Monte Carlo is only a few miles from Mentone, and there is a tram running; so we determined to pay a visit to this interesting place before we left the Riviera. A lovely day found us on the tram en route for Monte Carlo. Up the hillsides our tram went, and round some curves that to us seemed dangerous, across some deep ravines, ascending, then descending, for the road is along the rocky mountain side. In about forty minutes we reached this place of notoriety. It is certainly one of the loveliest places under the sun. Someone has said “it is my ideal, in outward appearance, of what heaven will be.” Words are too poor to paint the beauties of Monte Carlo. Some of the places in my native county, Derbyshire, such as “Lovers’ Leap,” “Monsale Dale,” “High Tor,” and others, but on a small and insignificant scale, remind me of the Riviera, only the sea and climate is lacking.
CHAPTER XVII
Monte Carlo: Its Casino and gardens: Leave taking at Mentone of Mr. and Miss Brown: Arrival at Cannes: Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Green: Cannes, its scenery, etc.: Visit to Grasse: Journey to Paris: London: Home, Sweet Home.
It seems as if Nature had lavished her richest treasures on Monte Carlo. Its terraces covered with palms; its orange groves and oliveyards; its massive hotels of marble; its azure sky and ever blue Mediterranean sparkling at its foot. Then there is the Casino, “the gambling hell,” as it has been called. A building upon which no money or care has been spared to make it an attraction, and it has undoubtedly been a success, for thousands throng its rooms daily. We had no difficulty in getting inside. I presented my card to an official in braided coat, who, when he saw it, and had given a look at us, I presume, thought it would be safe to give us admission, and took us to a ticket box where the usual entrance ticket was granted, and we were admitted inside. Oh! what a scene! Tables covered with green baize and marked with figures; the gamblers or players crowded round every table, staking mostly five franc pieces; sometimes one five franc piece and sometimes five. Two men representing the bank with hooks or rakes, drew in the cash, as the Roulette declared for the bank; the winners raking their gains in as the tale of the Roulette was in their favour. The faces of the players were a study and tempted one to moralize and try to predict the effect of this sort of thing on the character of the gamblers. It is an awful thing to be caught in the clutches of a gambling saloon—this one in particular. There are many tables, all full; and crowds round waiting for an opportunity. We went through the vast building, it is richly carpeted and the upholstering is of the best; settees, mirrors, chandeliers, etc., all give to it an appearance of wealth. Monte Carlo is in the territory of Monaco, which is the smallest independent state in Europe at least. It only covers about eight square miles. It formerly included Mentone and Roccabruna, but these have been ceded to France for four million francs. The Palace of the Prince is on the promontory or rock just below the Casino. Surrounding it are some lovely gardens, and the appearance of some protection in the shape of cannon, etc.; these, however, would be useless if they were ever needed. It is said that his chief revenue is from the Casino, which pays him about two hundred thousand pounds per annum. The population under the Prince is now about ten thousand. I took a snap-shot or two, and we strolled about until weary, then we found our way to the tram and in about an hour were in our hotel enjoying table-de-hote. Our time for leaving Mentone had arrived, and again we packed, at least, my little wife did. We said good-bye, with reluctance, to a place that had given us so much pleasure; also to our new found friends—specially Miss Brown—my dear wife had grown quite fond of her. I think it was because she showed such kindness to us when we arrived, also she spoke English; and that, in itself, attracts an Englishman when away from home. The leave taking between them was quite affectionate and, doubtless, correspondence will follow. We left Mentone in the lovely sunshine, and from under the lovely palm trees, and were soon passing Monaco, Monte Carlo and Nice. We reached Cannes all safe and sound. A lovely motor carriage was at our disposal for the “Hotel de la Plage.” We were met by our old friend—George Green, Esq., and his good wife and daughter, Mrs. Martin, who also had a friend with her from Glasgow, Mrs. Giles. They gave us a hearty welcome to our hotel, second to none on the continent, I think, and lovely for situation, close by the sea; and surrounded with the most lovely semi-tropical plants, as the photo or snap-shot shows. We enjoyed the two or three days immensely with our friends in this lovely spot; for Cannes is lovely. The Bay of Cannes surpasses, it is said, the Bay of Naples for beauty. “Then there is the Cape of Antibes, with its gardens of dreamland and fairies!” The Estrel, with its profound solitude, and with its masses of red porphyry, like buildings erected by the Titians; with its arid soil covered with crooked pines, raising their branches towards the pure azure sky. Cannes is said to be a vast garden, where the flowers are scattered in profusion by Nature with a lavish and never wearying hand. There is also the orange, the lemon, the oleander, the pepper plant, and the palm tree; all growing side by side with the olive, the oak, and the stone pine. Of Cannes, it is said: “She is the daughter of the Sirens, and sprang into existence one morning under the glowing kisses of the sun.” It has had a chequered history, but it is now merged into the liberty of a gay and prosperous town of thirty-five thousand inhabitants.
Over twenty thousand visitors come to Cannes for the winter to escape the northern fogs and frosts. Mr. Green and I strolled the Promenade and talked over olden times. The ladies enjoyed their tete-a-tete and their shopping expeditions; so the days slipped quickly away and we must lose our friends, who go to Marseilles, then by sea to Glasgow. So again we say good-bye, expecting, however, to meet again soon in London. They leave early for Marseilles in order to catch their steamer. We visited Grasse the day after they left us. This is about twenty miles from Cannes by rail, and it lies up in the mountains; it is about one thousand feet above the sea level, yet it is surrounded by the Alps, at least east and north. The town has a population about fifteen thousand, and is built on the slope of a hill. It is steep climbing up from the station. Facing the town is a lovely valley or plain, where they cultivate flowers. The town is largely supported by the manufacturing of scent. There are several factories; one factory sends away over eleven million francs worth of scents yearly. It is a town of great interest. It has a fine old Cathedral, also some fairly good shops. The streets being on the hillside are not easy to walk along. Our stay was only for a few hours, but long enough to satisfy us; the place was health-giving and very interesting. On arriving at our hotel in Cannes we were tired; so after the usual table-de-hote and rest, we went to bed early, as the following morning we were to pack up and go. After the usual tips, bill settling, etc., we left Cannes and its many attractions, and as we rounded the bay we could see the town for miles with its white hotels, etc., amidst the luxuriant palm trees. We soon lost sight of the town and were spinning over deep ravines with rugged sides; there with jutting spurs of rock; here the sea pushing up in inlets and creeks, sparkling in the rays of the southern sun. Our train hurried us away from scenes of such perfect loveliness, past Toulon, and about 7.30 we reached Marseilles. Here we met again Mrs. Martin and her friend Mrs. Giles. We only stayed here about half-an-hour, but we began to feel the change in the atmosphere, and our rugs were brought into use, as we were travelling all night. About midnight we reached Lyons, and on looking out we found the snow was falling thick and fast. Oh! what a change in a few hundred miles! The sunny south was now behind us, and again we must face the biting frost and snow of winter.
We reached Paris about 11 a.m., and soon found our way to “Hotel du Nord.” We spent a night at the “Magenta Hotel,” where we found friends in Dr. Mochwyn Hughes and his sister, who were going into Switzerland. We decided to “do Paris,” as they say, in a motor. So we engaged one and were quickly through some of the busy streets of this wonderful city. We visited Notre Dame, of course, and went inside. There was a funeral cortege, and the mourners sitting by the bier; while the priests, with their incantations, mummeries and ceremonies, and genuflections, just by. We felt how little was the comfort to be had here for the grief stricken relatives. From here we passed the great Eiffel Tower, the Bourse, the Louvre, the Tuileries, the Champs Elysees, the Bois de Boulogne, and the New Opera House. The Pont Neuf or the New Bridge over the Seine. Then to the tomb where lies all that remains of the great Napoleon. Here, with uncovered heads, we gazed into the grand mausoleum, and were constrained to moralize on the vanity of human ambition; and of how short-lived and unsatisfactory all worldly wealth, pomp and pleasure. We passed the Pantheon and several places of great interest, but time flies and we must away from Paris. My wife, however, had become quite friendly and even affectionate with Miss Hughes, so at parting there was the usual promise of postcards, etc. We spent a little time with Mrs. Martin and her French friend, then to the railway, and in a few hours ride we found ourselves once again in Calais. We were not long in finding our way to the boat, our travels had made us quite experts in getting from boat to train and from train to boat. My little wife had to go below; Mrs. Martin, who travelled with us, bravely stood it. However, we faced the sea bravely because we knew that beyond it lay our home and loved ones anticipating our home-coming. I spent my time on deck, and really got a good blow from the briny. We landed at Dover safe and well; and, after a very little time, we were on the train, bound for the great city of London. It was dark as we travelled through the country, so we could not see the places of interest. We were glad to reach the “Manchester Hotel,” our home from home. The Manager, Mr. Hanscomb, received us with a warm welcome; and soon we felt we were amongst English people and could again enjoy an English meal in the English fashion. Only a night in the city and again we are entrained for Nottingham. We had travelled now nearly two thousand five hundred miles. Oh! the anticipation! The slowness of the train, as we thought; though it was a fast train. We, however, reached Home, sweet Home, safely and well, after many strange experiences; and Oh! what a Welcome! from my precious daughter, Ivy, and son Gordon, and dear Auntie; then our dearest baby boy, with his smiles and his dimples; and oh! what a hug! Welcome home, was apparent even from the servants, and we thought there is much truth in Leonard Cooke’s poetry:
“We have basked in the far off Eastern Sun,
’Neath skies of unchanging gold;
Held by the spell of the Orient
With its mystery and charm untold.
But, Oh! to the heart that is English,
There is nought in a distant clime
As fair as a field in England
Decked out in the summer time.
There is joy in the white faced daisy,
No country afar can excel;
There’s a charm that out rivals the orchids
In the tints of the pimpernel.
There’s a scent in the fields of England
Rich spices can ne’er surpass,
A pang to the heart of the exile;
’Tis the scent of the cool green grass.”