VI.

FIRST WINTER IN THE RIVIERA.——◆——VI.LONDON TO SOUTH OF FRANCE.Selectingthe route to Paris by Folkestone, we left London on the afternoon of 1st November 1876, and slept at Folkestone. The steamboat was to sail the following morning at 9.15, and to have proceeded direct would have involved leaving London at the inconveniently early hour of 7.10A.M.The train by Dover and Calais departs fixedly at 7.40A.M., so that one is not much better off by taking that route. But on proceeding by Boulogne, there is a chance that the state of the tide may throw the time of sailing to a later hour; only when this is the case, it involves arriving at the journey’s end late in the evening. The train in connection with the boat by which we were to sail, was due in Paris at 4.40 afternoon—a nice time at which to arrive.One does not get a chance of observing whether there be any attractions about Folkestone by just sleeping a night there. It may be a very Paradise upon earth; and, from its facilities for popping over to France, to its residents it probably is. One cannot say, but it does not look like it. Possibly the quarter to which summer visitors resort may be more inviting than the portion disclosed at the harbour. Anyhow, it seems a less dreary, out-of-the-world place thanNewhaven. But Britannia rebels a little at her children quitting their native land to get enamoured with strange countries, and frowns upon their departure; for these nights before crossing are by no means pleasurable. One is brought into rather close proximity to the dreaded passage; and if the wind should howl or be even but moderately fresh, or if the sea, unwitting of its gigantean power, be only sporting in joyous freedom, the prospect for the morrow is far from assuring. Then it is a busy, bustling, uncomfortable scene at the hotel. Piles of luggage strew the hall. Apprehensive passengers are arriving by successive trains, and others in a woe-begone condition, and in all sorts and manners of wraps and disguises, by the boats. They are dining, teaing, suppering in a confused disagreeable way in the coffee-room. Anxious waiters and active chamber-maids are hurrying about. Porters meet you in narrow corners laden with luggage. There is nothing to invite you to remain in the public room. There is nothing to induce you to venture long out of doors. People depart early to bed. But the search for petty utilities by the feeble light of candle, the cramped bedroom, the cheerless difference from home, produce a feeling of discomfort which, combined with the early retirement, the noise and tramping about the corridors, the creaking of ships’ gearing dimly heard, and the thoughts arising,—which have little in them of the land of promise and more of the morn,—all keep the pilgrim long restless upon bed; and, after an unrefreshing night of broken sleep, he is glad to get up betimes for an early breakfast, call, with twenty others simultaneously, for the bill, settle it up quick if correct, and, after an impatient waiting for his goods, which seem never likely to make their appearance, and seeing that every little thing is brought along, to be off to the steamboat; for nobody stays, unless in exceptional circumstances, such as pending a storm, more than a night. After a little, the train arrives, and an endless procession of unassorted passengers moves slowly onboard; the luggage and merchandise brought by it tediously follow. At last the gangway is dragged ashore, the vessel is released, and, after the usual backings and easings and tender movements, it tardily steams out of harbour, increases its speed, and we sit looking on the land, the return to which may be in the far future; and, thinking much of dear friends from whom we have parted, we gradually, as the distance widens, lose sight of Old England, and passing here and there a gallant ship, with its snowy sails catching, fortunately for us, but a gentle balmy breeze, we near the other—once hostile, now friendly—shore, and landing find ourselves among a foreign race, and gazing upon foreign habitations, and soon encountering foreign customs and institutions.We made the mistake of registering our luggage at London when we left London, instead of taking it on with us to Folkestone and registering it there for Paris. The consequence was that, on arrival of the train at Paris, we were compelled to wait nearly an hour at the station, which was cold, dark, and drafty, until all the luggage which had come by the train by which we had arrived had been arranged, examined by thedouaniers, and delivered to their owners. We disconsolately saw our luggage standing within a barred enclosure, but the men would on no account touch it till then, and no doubt where thieves abound some precaution of this kind is needful.We had repeatedly visited Paris before, but in one respect it was new to us—to see it in its wintry aspect. On former occasions, we had visited it in the sunshine of summer. But how changed did it look now! The trees were yellow with the tints of autumn, and were nearly stripped of their foliage. The air was cold and frosty, and Paris looked bleak and miserable. We spent one or two days in it; and one of the places to which we paid a visit was beyond the range of ordinary sight-seeing. Thedaughters of some Edinburgh friends were at a large boarding-school in Paris, in the Faubourg d’Auteuil. We drove there to see them, and after some search discovered the establishment, the name of which, ‘Une Institution des Demoiselles,’ was painted up in letters a yard high. It had quite a conventual aspect. The house was entered through a narrow little door, hinged on a panel of a large one (just like what one sees in the large door of a prison), which, upon ringing the bell, was opened by a pull from the opposite side of the court-yard, around which the buildings of the school were placed. Crossing to the dwelling-house, we were shown into a parlour, where our young friends shortly came to us. They were all habited in black, with a red leather belt, being the uniform compulsory on all the pupils while in school. They informed us there were 150 boarders, of whom only 17 were English. Having introduced us to one of the governesses, this lady very kindly showed us all over the place. Ranges of large rooms were occupied as bedrooms, containing a separate bed for each of the young ladies—all kept in the highest order, and in white, spotless purity. Separate adjoining rooms were fitted up as lavatories. Other rooms were schoolrooms; others, dining-rooms, orsalles à manger, where the young people were then at lunch or early dinner, and evidently enjoying a hearty meal. A separate building was kept as an infirmary for the sick—a very prudent arrangement, where so many young persons were brought together. For those who were in good health, there was a large garden and playground attached to the house.On Monday, 6th November, having taken Gaze’s tickets from London to Nice, we left Paris by the Lyons Railway, registering our heavy luggage for Cannes; and we were free to travel to any station on the line to Cannes, at which our tickets permitted us to stop, only taking with us what we would require for a week by the way. Some people prefermaking the journey from Paris to Cannes, Nice, or Mentone without break, and say there is less fatigue in doing so; but it is a long journey, occupying from Paris to Mentone—journeying by the express leaving at 11.20A.M.—twenty-eight hours, arriving at Mentone at 3.24 next day. For invalids in a feeble condition, it is in some respects preferable. It is only one fatigue to be overcome, and it avoids the risk of exposure to damp or rain. In cold, winter weather at Paris, the one journey is certainly preferable, and at the end of it people arrive in what is by contrast a genial summer. So proceeding, passengers have, besides other shorter stoppages, an interval of half an hour at Dijon, at 5.45p.m., to dine; 25 minutes at Lyons, at 10.18p.m.; and the following morning, at 6.30A.M., 1 hour 25 minutes at Marseilles to wash and breakfast.We desired to take the journey leisurely, and to see a little by the way. After the usual difficulty on French railways of getting accommodation in the train, we proceeded as far as Dijon. There is little to interest one by the route. Fontainebleau, at which the express trains do not stop, is passed soon after leaving Paris, but is nearly two miles from the station. Its palace with its gardens is really the only thing worth seeing, but to see them involves spending a day at the town. If not pushed for time, they are, however, well worthy of a visit. We stopped a night on our way home to see them. The palace is extensive, consisting of four distinct but united chateaux, erected at different times, with splendid suites of rooms full of historical interest. The forest, which covers 25,000 acres, is disappointing. The charges at the hotel to which we went, were as high as those of any in Paris.We rested the first night at Dijon, a convenient halting-place. The Hotel du Jura is near to the railway station, and is most comfortable. The landlord of it is attentive, andhis charges moderate. Dijon was the former residence of the Dukes of Burgundy, and is a curious old place, well worthy of a visit for a day or two days. People often break their journey at Dijon merely to sleep there, but, arriving at night and departing next morning, do not always visit the town. A forenoon may be very profitably spent in walking about its promenades and its streets, with houses adorned by quaint carvings and architecture, and seeing its large, massively-built churches, particularly St. Michael and St. Benigne, and its interesting old public buildings. On the card of the hotel there is a little plan of the town, in which the Place Grande is shown about its centre. Here there is a large edifice which was formerly the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, now the Hotel de Ville, one part of which has been converted into a museum and picture gallery, the most interesting portion being the old banqueting hall of the dukes, with its colossal chimney-piece and its monuments, carrying one away back to the times of boisterous mirth and probably lawless deeds.Dijon stands high, and the weather being cold on our journey south, we were glad of fires. We considered we had made a mistake in travelling so late in the season. Had we started about the middle of October, it would have been better. The fact is, the larger part of the people going for health to the Riviera make the grievous mistake of delaying their departure till winter has commenced. Many, indeed, do not come to the Riviera till the month of January, in order to enjoy the gratification—dearly purchased, in some cases—of a Christmas at home. By doing so, they are obliged to travel through France during a season when the weather is often piercingly chill, while they are exposed in crossing the Channel to the risk of encountering winter storms.We proceeded next day to Lyons, passing through a rich wine country, in the midst of which Macon lies, where, atthe station, on high days and holidays, the women may be seen wearing a witch-like hat of peculiar build. The cycle of fashion will no doubt in due course make the whole world acquainted with it, till which time the world may wait and wonder. It may require some fortitude to don this sweet marvel of a bonnet for the first time. But what observation will not the ladies brave to follow their leader in fashion!At Lyons it was keenly cold. There is not much to be seen at the ancient city, situated on the banks of the Rhone and Saone, which effect their junction just below it. The railway journey from Dijon occupies five or six hours, according to the trains. We arrived in the dark, and drove to the Hotel Collet, one of the best in the place. It is situated in the main street, which may be said to be the only good street of shops, formerly called the Rue Napoleon, and now since the Republic, which changes even the names of streets, the Rue Nationale. On entering the large hall, round which were distributed palm trees and other tropical plants in tubs and pots, we had the first suggestion of approaching a southern clime.Lyons is populous without being lively, and stately without being imposing. We took a close carriage next morning, and drove about for nearly four hours to see what could be seen—almost the whole of which time was occupied in visiting the junction of the rivers and ascending Fourvières, a steep hill on the right bank of the Saone, from which an extensive panoramic view is in clear weather obtained, and Mont Blanc, about 130 miles distant, is sometimes seen—its visibility being a circumstance symptomatic of approaching wet weather, as we found did happen on a subsequent occasion, when the white mountain was seen as we were nearing Lyons from Geneva. Lyons at this season was looking very dreary, and the cold necessitated our burning fires in the bedrooms.On a former visit, in summer, the heat had been almost unendurable. In the evening of the second day, we found the large central hall of the hotel—which was lighted from the roof, and afforded access by encircling corridors and concealed stairs to the different floors—was covered in by an awning, and thesalle à mangerwas laid for a magnificent dinner. It turned out that the principal rooms were engaged for a wedding party (noces), the ordinary guests being conducted to other rooms. It was, however, a very quiet, solemn-looking affair; although the number assembled was large, they made no noisy demonstrations. At breakfast-time next morning the waiters seemed but half aroused.We left Lyons by train at 11 o’clock forenoon. Our through tickets required to bevise’dat the booking-office before they would admit us to thesalle-d’attente. The route from Lyons southward is very interesting. The railway skirts the Rhone nearly the whole way. The river has been said to vary in width from a quarter of a mile to two miles, although from the railway it does not appear to be so wide. In the sunshine everything looked beautiful. The farther south we got, the foliage became fresher, and it was very charming to see the river rolling softly on, fringed by trees, and through valleys, from which rise the vine-clad hills. We passed the Côtes d’Or, and other regions, where the famous Burgundy wines are grown. Some of the mountain ranges are lofty. We thought how much more beautiful would the river appear during summer months, and our wish as regards time was actually fulfilled the following September; but, alas! it was then obscured by clouds and rain.The railway to Marseilles passes several interesting places, and among others, the towns of Orange, Avignon, and Arles, which all contain relics of Roman occupation. On occasion of our going south in September 1877, westopped at Avignon, which is 230 kilometres, or about 140 miles, from Lyons,[16]the train taking about six hours. When one can manage it, Avignon is a place well worth stopping to see. Leaving the station, we drove through some narrow dirty streets till we reached the Hotel de l’Europe, the situation of which is not at first inviting; but it is considered the best hotel, and our rooms were very comfortable. It was kept by a young landlady, who spoke English, and was very attentive. On the following morning we took a cab to drive about and see the town, and,inter alia, saw the Calvi Museum, which contains many paintings, some of which are good, and a large collection of coins and books. Then we went to the cathedral, which is well worth a visit. Here are the tombs of several popes. The construction of the gallery of the church is peculiar. I desired to have a photograph of the interior at a shop, but they had it not. Photographs, however, were sold outside the cathedral, and possibly I might have procured it there; but we had so often found photographs sold at the show places themselves so dear, that I had not asked for them at the cathedral door. It does, however, sometimes happen, as probably it did here, that they can only be had at the place itself; and when time is limited, it is better to secure what may be wanted, especially interiors, at once. The pope’s old palace adjoins the cathedral. This is a large building with very massive walls 100 feet high. It is now occupied as a caserne or barrack for French soldiers. The lofty rooms, for greater accommodation, have had a floor interposed. The rooms, fitted upwith beds and filled with the soldiery, are in a very different condition from what they must at one time have been when this was the papal residence. One of the rooms into which we were shown, was the upper interposed half of what had formerly been the chamber of torture of the Inquisition. There was nothing very special now to be seen in this dismal unoccupied apartment, which at one time echoed with the groans and cries of the tortured.In the Place de l’Hotel de Ville, in the centre of the town, are a handsome-looking theatre and other public buildings; but one of the most interesting objects in Avignon is the old Roman bridge across the river. Avignon was a fortified city, and is still surrounded by walls having many gates, and in our drive we passed outside the walls till we reached the Roman bridge. Only part of it is now standing, the remainder having, I presume, been swept away by floods. The river is now crossed by a good modern bridge, not far from the site of the old one, and conducts to a town upon the other bank of the river which forms a suburb to Avignon.We did not, in November 1876, stop at Avignon; but being then desirous of seeing the old Roman city of Nismes, we procured through the guard, when stopping at the station of Valence, supplementary tickets enabling us to change at Tarascon, which we reached in the dusk about five o’clock. Here we had to change carriages, and cross the platform, and enter a dingy station orsalle-d’attente, and to wait wearily for nearly an hour till the train proceeded to Nismes. It was cold, and we had, as usual, no assistance from porters with ourpetits bagages. Nismes is about an hour’s journey by rail from Tarascon. The mistral was blowing, and it was bitterly cold. The coldness of this wind is, I believe, greatly produced by the cutting down of the trees on the mountains in the south of France; and if so, the sooner they are replanted the better. It is piercinglyfelt all over the south of France, even Mentone, at its extreme east point, not being wholly sheltered from its influence. I fancy that in the Roman times, when such places as Nismes, Avignon, and Arles were selected for habitation, the mistral was not felt, at least to the extent it is now. It prevented our invalid from leaving the house while at Nismes on this occasion.Nismes, as a capital city of a department of France, is a town of importance. It is the seat of the departmental courts, and it possesses various educational establishments as well as a variety of manufactures. It is beautifully situated in a fertile district. The town itself is attractive. The principal streets are wide and clean, and the Boulevards are pleasant; but it is as an ancient city, full of vestiges of old Roman occupation, that it possesses charms to attract the stranger.The most famous of these Roman remains is the Arena, and attention is naturally drawn to it from being situated fronting a large open space in the heart of the town, called the Esplanade. It was the first of the Roman amphitheatres we had at that time seen. Exposed to the mistral, it was then intensely cold; and one could hardly suppose that it would have been built on that site if it had not been at the time a place to which the people could go without fear of colds (for, odd though it may sound, I fancy the grand old Roman nose did suffer occasionally from colds). However, an arena seems to have been then as necessary an appendage to a Roman town as a church is to an English village. The building is oval in shape, and is 412 feet long by 306 feet in breadth, and rises in upwards of 30 massive tiers from the centre to the circumference, resting on strong stone arches, and containing perfect means of ingress and egress—every separate external arch having been, no doubt, a separate vomitory. The building is computed to have accommodated 32,000 persons. The arena, though in partruinous, is still in a very fair state of preservation, but is undergoing a process of restoration by the insertion of new stones in place of the old ones, to strengthen the structure, which, as the old stone is grey with age and the new stone is a beautiful pearly white, looks most incongruous. One could almost wish that the building were let alone, although it is to be hoped that in the course of years the new stone will assume a colour in keeping with the rest. Perhaps it might be stained to bring it into harmony. Of this same kind of stone, two beautiful churches have recently been built: one of them, St. Perpetué, is completed and in use; the other, a very large one,—I presume to be occupied as a cathedral, with a double spire far in advance when we saw it first,—was in the following year not yet finished. The designs of these churches, particularly in their spires, are remarkably graceful. There is another very elegant modern building adjoining the Arena, the Courts of Justice, which also fronts the Esplanade, in the centre of which open space has been erected a very handsome modern marble fountain at a cost of £10,000.Leaving the Arena and passing up the Boulevard St. Antoine, we arrive at theMaison Carrée, or the Square House—a small but beautiful temple, with a peristyle of the Corinthian order, in admirable preservation. It is situated in a space enclosed by railings, and is occupied as a museum and picture gallery, for which it affords but limited room. From the Maison Carrée the visitor proceeds through public gardens to the Roman Baths, which are in wonderful condition, although the marble statues have nearly all lost their noses, the common fate of all marble statues long exposed to the weather. These baths are very elegant enclosures of water, now looking very stagnant and green. Upon the west side are the ruins of what has been termed a temple of Diana, in which are preserved many of the antiquities found in the vicinity of it. To the south issues, through an elegant iron rail and gateway, a very long wideavenue or boulevard calledCours Neuf, on a straight line, flanked by trees which, when completed, will extend, I think, a full mile in length. The north extremity is terminated by a hill, reached by magnificent stairs, and commanding a fine view of the Baths or fountains, of the long wide avenue beyond and the surrounding country. This hill is surmounted by theTour Magne, the ruin of a building the object of which has not been definitely ascertained.Nismes in summer in fine weather is very hot, but is a charming residence for a few days. We stayed two nights on this occasion at the Hotel Luxembourg, which is recommended to English travellers. The men-servants here, who are also thefemmes-de-chambres, had quite an Italian look and cut, and were in their morning attire very comically dressed in a short jacket, somewhat like those schoolboys used to wear.We returneden routefor Marseilles by Tarascon, passing by the way several stone quarries and fields in which olive trees had been planted by way of experiment. These were the first olive trees we had seen. They were young and short, and were disappointing, as in fact are all olive trees, however large or old they be, to those who, like ourselves, having read of sitting under the olive tree as a species of luxurious enjoyment, found them very different from our expectations, being in leaf like the willow. But their existence indicated approach to a warmer climate.The old Roman town of Arles lies between Tarascon and Marseilles, and is said to be, though I doubt it, as much worth seeing as Nismes; but, owing to the difficulty of finding trains to fit in to meet our time, we have not in passing visited it.It rained heavily all the way from Tarascon to Marseilles,when it fortunately cleared up. Part of the way is flanked by what appears to be barren desert land, possibly occasioned by the ground being high and level, so that it is not watered by rivers.At Marseilles, we found thecommissionaireof the Hotel du Louvre et de la Paix, to which we had written for rooms, waiting. Owing to some odd arrangement then prevailing, all carriages were kept out of sight till the luggage was sorted, so that we were fortunate to get him to send for one. The hotel we found to be a large many-storeyed one, but it had a lift. There is another large hotel at Marseilles, to which we went on the next occasion. It is hard to say which is the better. The Noailles has a large and beautifulsalle à manger, and a good-sized drawing-room. Both are expensive. We found at Marseilles, as at Dijon, Lyons, Avignon, Nismes, and afterwards at Hyères, that the charge fortable-d’hôtedinner includedvin ordinaire. We had an agreeable surprise at dinner in meeting two families—old friends—from Bristol.Marseilles is seldom visited, except as a place of halt for further travel. After staying one or two nights, those arriving depart either landward by railway or seaward by steamboat to other parts. But it is well worth at least one day’s visit to see it thoroughly. It is a very ancient city, being upwards of 2500 years old, and the population is above 300,000. In contrast to Lyons, it has all the appearance of a busy place. The principal streets are always crowded, the port is the largest in the Mediterranean, and may be considered the Liverpool of France, though the docks are not so extensive. On occasion of our first visit, the weather was cold and wet, and we had only a Sunday there, so that we did not see much; but when we paid it a second visit in October 1877, we had a little more time, and drove round the town and docks. The ancient port isa large natural harbour filled with good-sized vessels, while additional docks of large extent stretch away to the westward. Outside them, a breakwater has been built, which extends about two miles in length. Bædeker says that, on an average, nearly 20,000 vessels, of an aggregate burden of 2,000,000 tons, enter and quit Marseilles annually. Our driver pointed out as we passed, in one of the docks (the Basin de la Joillette), a P. & O. steamer; and it would have been interesting to have visited it, but we were afraid we should not have had time. A large cathedral was being built facing the docks, and will be a very prominent object to those arriving at Marseilles by sea. Another very prominent and striking object, and from which a fine view of the town, harbour, and district is to be had, is an eminence to the south-east, crowned by the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde. Leaving the docks, we proceeded round the town to the Palais de Longchamps, which stands on a height. It is a large, elegant columnar structure, with spacious staircases leading up to and through it to the gardens beyond. The palace contains two museums. A fine view is obtained from the top.Marseilles is a busy commercial and manufacturing place. The central streets are always bustling—teeming with life. An interesting part of it is the flower market, where the women are to be seen perched up on tables or platforms tying up their pretty bouquets of flowers and selling them to purchasers. The heights to the north of the town are bare, but, together with the islands which stud the sea outside the harbour, give picturesqueness to the view. But although it stands as far south as Mentone and San Remo, or rather farther south, it wants the shelter of the health resorts on the Riviera, and suffers severely from exposure to the mistral.On leaving Marseilles for Cannes, we had not gone far by railway before we obtained a complete change of temperature.It was like passing from winter into summer, and from dreary stony mountain ranges to verdant slopes covered with mature olive trees, and with orange and lemon trees—all indicative of a warmer climate. We did not on this first occasion stop at any place between Marseilles and Cannes, but on the following year visited Hyères, and it will therefore be adverted to in the sequel.On this first occasion, we left by an early train on the Monday morning with our friends. We had much difficulty in getting seat-room, with no assistance from guards. The carriages were filled with people who had travelled all night from Paris. In the compartment which fell to our lot, the remainder of the seats were all filled by French gentlemen who were or had been smoking, and were begrimed with dust, and looked like very ogres. The morning was splendid, the sun, pouring out his beams in rich effulgence, gave gladness to the bright scene, which we especially felt after the cold weather to which we had, ever since our arrival in France, been exposed. After leaving Toulon, the railway goes inland and does not again touch the coast till it reaches Frejus, 91 kilometres, or above 50 miles on; but the country is very beautiful. This route, between Marseilles and Genoa, and on to Pisa, passes through constantly-occurring tunnels. It is said that between Marseilles and Genoa alone there are no less than 200, and it certainly looks like it. The train is for ever rushing into and darting out of tunnels; and as French people never think of closing windows in tunnels, and always put and keep down the glass, the transit through them is very cold and trying, particularly to invalids or to those who may be afflicted with a cold in the head. After leaving Frejus, the railway skirts the coast, and as the train emerges from a tunnel, the passengers have the opportunity of seeing the most lovely bays formed by the jutting promontories and the blue Mediterranean. In saying they have the opportunity,however, this is a chance depending upon whether there are no foreigners at the windows. If there be, most mercilessly, and without leave asked, much less obtained, down go the blue blinds on both sides of the carriage. Fortunately, on this first occasion (I was not so lucky on the second), I got seated near the south or sea window, and managed to get one of the three curtains kept up; but just as we approached within sight of Cannes, where the view was becoming exquisitely beautiful, a little of the bright sun darted in: the intruder was expelled in double haste, and the blind most uncourteously and ruthlessly pulled down. It saved some sunburnt ogre from being, if possible, a little more browned or reddened, and it signified not that his fellow-passengers were deprived of an enjoyment into which he could not enter.VII.CANNES.Whenwe arrived at Cannes, we could see by an occasional glimpse through a chink in the obstructive blinds, that everything was bright and beautiful and gay in the sunshine. It was quite a new scene to us, and gave a charming idea of Riviera life.Waiting the arrival of the Paris train at Cannes, there are often, besides the usual very long row of omnibuses, many private carriages and always carriages for hire. Relatives had preceded us by about eight or ten days, and we desired, if possible, to join them. Just outside the station, looking for one of them, I was at once besieged by porters wanting to take ourpetits bagages. I asked one by whom I was importuned, how much he demanded to carry them to our friends’ quarters, little more than half a mile off. ‘Five francs.’ I doubt if I thanked him sufficiently; and we drove off in one of the little carriages which were there waiting employment, the fare for which was 1 franc 50 centimes. The house in which our friends were was full, and we found accommodation in the neighbouring Hotel du Pavillon. This is a large, good, first-class hotel, frequented by English people, and is situated on the west bay, with a garden, such as most of the hotels at Cannes have, in which were palm and orange trees, the latter bearing their goldenfruit. They sent for our heavy luggage, which had been lying for a week at the station, suffering no loss save that of a new rope which had been tied round one of the boxes, and which was feloniously stolen and theftuously away taken, as in Scotland Her Majesty’s advocate for Her Majesty’s interest would have charged the culprits if he had only known who they were.Cannes is very picturesquely situated. The old town, which is not savoury, fortunately rests out of sight upon an elevation or ridge which is crowned by the cathedral church and two old towers, which give a distinctive mark to the place, and are seen in most representations of Cannes. From this height, and still better from greater heights behind the town, an admirable view is obtained all round. But taking our position on the ridge, we find the hill slopes down from it away to the south, and reaching the road below, extends seaward by a short projection, partly natural and partly artificial, forming a breakwater on one side, and pier on the other, terminated by a lighthouse. The ridge and this projection divide the waters into two distinct portions, constituting the east and west bays. About two to three miles to the southward, Les Isles de Lerins, two long strips of islands—Ste. Marguerite, with its fortifications fronting the town, and St. Honorat—lie stretched along, giving a natural shelter on the south to the little port of Cannes, and, except in the neighbourhood of the fort, both covered with tall pine trees. The harbour or port, surrounded on two sides by lofty houses, warehouses, and public buildings or hotels, is right under us, on the east side of the ridge, and does not aspire to receiving more than a few sloops or vessels of small burden and a large number of boats, apparently intended principally for pleasure sailing—although, if this be their purpose, the number seemed out of all proportion to the slender demand. On the north side of this bay, the new town—the business part of Cannes—has beenbuilt. The main street, long, and lined with numerous shops, runs through the centre of it, with streets branching off right and left. It is the highway to Nice, and forms part of the famous Corniche road, which proceeds from Marseilles to Genoa along the coast. Immediately behind the town, the ground rises, and at one part becomes a low hill crowned by a few straggling houses and solitary trees. A handsome promenade has been constructed along the beach, upon which a few of the best hotels and some magnificent villas, with their large interposing gardens full of exotic trees and plants, are situated, imparting a bright and gay look to the walk. About a mile and a half or two miles to the eastward of our point of view, we see a range of hills, the shoulder of which is called California. This range, covered with pine trees, affords shelter to Cannes from the east wind; and from its extremity at California, the hill slopes sharply down, and then the ground runs far out into the water, forming a projecting arm. The last portion, of level ground, called the Croisette, reaches to a point not far from the island of St. Marguerite, and constitutes a natural breakwater to the bay and harbour on the east side. Some miles farther to the eastward, the long, low, hilly, narrow, projecting promontory called the Antibes protrudes still more into the sea, and affords additional protection, while it creates another fine bay, greater in extent, in which a fleet of French men-of-war is often seen lying at anchor or at exercise.147THE ESTRELLES FROM STHONORAT,CANNES.On the west side of the old ridge, the sea retreats in a large, beautiful bay, called the Gulf of Napoule,—or more commonly, the west bay,—the west boundary of which, several miles distant across the sea, is formed by the glorious range of mountains called the Estérels or Estrelles. These stretch out a long way seaward, and are always a picturesque feature in views of Cannes. They are covered principally with a rich dark green, which, I suppose, is due to the existence of pine forests; but in some parts, especially towards the ocean, they are bare, steep, and rocky. Irregular, and in some places even ragged-looking in outline, and varying in height, some of them are said to be as high as 4000 feet. Though much less extensive, they are to Cannes very much what the mountains of Mull are to Oban. Only they have not the constantly-changing aspect which confers so great a charm upon the Scottish hills. This is partly owing to the greater serenity of the atmosphere, three-fourths of the days being clear and sunny, without a cloud; but chiefly because the sun gets so soon round upon the mountains that they are early in the forenoon thrown into shade, giving no doubt a murkier and grander aspect, but making the separate markings less distinctly visible. The Estrelles have been photographed as in moonlight, in which they are very beautiful, but the moonlight effect so shown is a mere trick of the photographer.To the north of Cannes, and about three or four miles inland, the village of Cannet lies upon rising ground; and, I presume, from being away from the sea, it is preferred by some invalids to Cannes. Farther off, and distant about nine or ten miles from Cannes, the town of Grasse, famous for its manufacture of perfumes, is built among gardens devoted to the culture, for their essences, of roses, orange trees, heliotropes, and other odoriferous plants. Indeed, Cannes itself manufactures perfumes, and around are some gardens filled with a short or stunted species of acacia, growing to about the size of a large gooseberry bush, and bearing globular yellow flowers from which perfume is extracted. Beyond Grasse, the landward panorama is bounded on the north by distant mountain chains.It is at all times difficult to realize a place from description, even with the aid of the pictorial art; but perhaps from this short delineation it may be perceived that there is a marked character about the site, locality, and features of Cannes. But when to the natural formation the gloriouscolouring is added which it derives from the brilliant blue of the ocean and the scarcely less brilliant blue of the sky in the bright sunny days which usually mark the weather; the rich varied greens of the abounding foliage; the tropical character of the gardens; and the enlivening effect produced by the often fanciful forms of the houses, painted in luminous whites and yellows picked out upon their jalousies with green and other contrasting tints, and glowing in their red-tiled roofs, it will at once be seen that there must be a signal beauty and picturesqueness about the landscape which cannot fail to arrest the eyes of those to whom this phase of scenery is new.But Cannes was never a town of any importance until Lord Brougham took up his residence there. It happened in the year 1831 that his lordship was detained at Cannes by the prevalence somewhere of a pestilence. He was so much struck with the natural features of the landscape and the suitability of the place for winter residence, and so impressed, that he soon thereafter acquired ground on the west bay, where he built a house, to which he used regularly every winter to resort, and where, on 7th May 1868, he died. His example brought many English people to the locality, and Cannes is now in the winter season such a place of fashionable resort for English and Scotch families, that it may be regarded as completely an English colony, there being but a sprinkling of other nationalities. It is accordingly in both bays studded with villas, and filled with numerous large hotels, the latter said to number upwards of fifty. There are no less than three English (Episcopal) churches, and in the west bay, near the town (the handsome gift of Sir John M’Neill, who has a residence in the suburbs), a Scotch Presbyterian church. There are also both French and German churches. The population of Cannes has increased wonderfully since Lord Brougham led the fashion to it, and it is now, I believe, considerably over10,000. A monument has been erected to his lordship in the cemetery where he is buried, and a marble bust of him has, on a long square pillar pedestal, been placed in the public gardens of the west bay. When we were last at Cannes (November 1877), it was proposed by the municipal authorities to hold a centenary celebration of the birth of Lord Brougham as the virtual founder of the town; and this festival has since (April 1879) been held, lasting four days. Nor is it any wonder that the Cannais should feel themselves under a debt of gratitude to the great English, or rather Scottish, lord. The following paragraph from an account of the fête, contained in theScotsmanof 4th April 1879, speaks for itself:—‘It is a matter of unquestionable fact, that, since the days of Lord Brougham’s example to his countrymen, prosperity has flowed steadily in upon the fortunate people of Cannes. Those of them who were lucky enough to possess land, have had golden opportunities, and must have made ample fortunes out of the weak-chested but strong-pursed stranger to whom this winter climate is simply a necessity of life. The price of ground here, fit to build upon, is almost fabulous. Eight to ten thousand pounds an acre is a common rate for small lots near the town, and a site was quite recently sold, in the principal boulevard, at the enormous rate of £19,200 per acre. Even in the remotest suburbs, outside the cab radius, nothing available for building can be had under 10 francs a metre, or £1600 an acre.’The Corniche road runs westward through, for upwards of two miles, a nearly continuous line of charming villas, and thence on to Napoule, upon the west of the bay of that name. Upon the right or east side of this road, about half a mile from the old town ridge, which may be said to bound on the west the town proper, the villa of Lord Brougham may be seen standing at the top of a gentle slope, where it commands a beautiful view of the bay and the Estrelles, though exposed to the west winds. It is of good size, but nothing remarkable. We did not, however, see the interior, nor does it seem to be shown to strangers. In being enclosed by an iron railing towards the road, it offers an exemplary exception to the rule, as nearly all the villas in that direction are enclosed by high walls which shut outthe sight of the grounds within, and make the road for a long stretch dull walking. Nor is there a footpath except for a short way, although one was, when we were last there, in progress of formation, and very needful too, as after rain the road is particularly muddy, so that walking in that direction is not always inviting. But generally on an afternoon, when the occupants of the villas are out driving, their gateways are left open, and passers-by get glimpses into fascinating gardens exuberant with palm and other tropical trees, which, freed from their unsightly enclosing walls, would so enliven the way without the privacy of the inhabitants being really disturbed.One of the most delightful residences in this neighbourhood is the chateau of the Duke of Vallombrosa. This Italian nobleman asked, as the sole recompense of services rendered to the King of Italy, the title which he now bears. His villa is in the castellated style, and stands upon an eminence—a very picturesque object in the landscape, and seen from all parts round. The grounds attached to the house—extending, I suppose, to at least eight or ten acres, and the oldest about Cannes—are, in the duke’s absence, open to visitors. To those who have not previously seen any gardens of the kind, it appears a sort of fairy-land, if such a term can be applied to a place where much of the timber is gigantic. The vegetation is rich, luxuriant, tropical, and the place looks delicious on a sunny day, under the cool shelter afforded by the trees from the rays of the sun, while here and there a fountain sends up its refreshing stream of water. Below the battlemented castle terrace, a shady grotto has been built—a cool retreat in hot weather, perhaps too cool to be safe. This garden contains many lofty specimens of a tree recently introduced into the Riviera, and everywhere to be seen there, called the Eucalyptus. A relic of the Eocene period,[17]when everything was on a hugescale, it shoots up with amazing rapidity, apparently something like ten feet in a year, and I believe ultimately reaches sometimes a height of nearly 500 feet. I have seen it stated in a colonial paper that the largest known, grown in (I think, speaking from recollection) New Zealand, has reached the height of 480 feet, and is claimed to be the highest tree in the world. Probably it is not of great age, as the growth of the Eucalyptus is much more rapid than that of the Californian trees. As it matures, it changes the form of its leaf from what it was when young, and sheds its bark. It possesses some very health-bringing properties, or is an antidote to what is insalubrious, and bears a beautiful white flower. In the duke’s gardens some of these trees are very lofty. They were, I presume, planted about twelve or fifteen years previous to our visit, and appeared to be then considerably over 100 feet.A hill called the Croix de Garde slopes up behind the Villa Vallombrosa, or rather to the northward. It is several hundred feet high, and its summit, crowned with pine trees, commands an extensive prospect, and forms a delightful walk to those who are able to make the ascent. The view comprises the bays and all that I have already described. A little iron cross, inserted in a stone upon the top, to which no doubt some legend attaches, gives its name to the height.The Corniche road below, running between the lines of villas, conducts to a little village called Verviers, about three miles from town. Here there is a large forest of umbrella pines bordering the coast, furnishing opportunities of study to the artist and to the photographer, and where one can enjoy a forenoon’s rambling about. The railway cuts the forest off from the shore, and flanks the beach all the way till it arrives close upon Cannes, and must therefore operate injuriously to the amenity. So far as the villas are concerned, they have, by means of bridges or otherwise, communicationwith the sea. Fortunately, however, for Cannes, the railway leaves the coast about half a mile from town, and passing through a tunnel proceeds by the back of the town, where the station is.From near the point where the railway diverges from the shore, the public promenade on the west bay commences. This is lined by palm trees, but the dust and the sea air together seem inimical to their development. The main promenade is that which, commencing with the harbour, runs eastward to the point of Croisette, a distance of from two to three miles. It is a great resort of visitors both on foot and in carriages. A band of music plays alternate days on the east and west bays. In each of these bays there are bathing establishments of a construction peculiar to the Riviera, being somewhat of the nature of the Lacustrian dwellings. They are simply wooden sheds for undressing and dressing in, resting upon poles stuck firmly into the beach, with depending ladders to enable the bathers to descend to the water. As the beach shelves very rapidly down, I presume that bathers who cannot swim must always be in charge of an attendant or be tied by a rope; but whether it was that the bathing may have taken place at an early hour, I have hardly ever seen any person indulging in a bath at Cannes during our brief visits, although the temperature is seldom such throughout the winter as to forbid the exercise to persons in good health either at this or at other parts of the province. I have seen at Nice (a colder place than Cannes) people bathing towards the end of November. By a strange fatality, for one can hardly suppose it to be the result of deliberate arrangement, we observed that close by each of the bathing establishments a drain has been run into the sea, the same practice occurring also at Biarritz. These drains are so odoriferously disagreeable as to make it unpleasant to walk along the promenade, while one would think that some parts of Cannes ought in consequence to be unhealthy.At all events, they must to a certain extent nullify the good got from residence at this otherwise agreeable and fashionable watering-place.Near the point of Croisette, there is a large orange garden which has been dignified with the name of the garden of the Hesperides. The oranges are cultivated for sale, and the trees are covered with the yellow fruit. In all the private gardens orange trees grow, and sometimes, though rarely, lemons, which I understand do not flourish at Cannes so well as elsewhere in the Riviera—a symptomatic sign indicative of a colder climate; for the lemon is a very delicate tree, requiring warmth and shelter, and being injured or killed by frost. There are also many arbutus trees in the gardens, bearing rich red soft berries nearly an inch in diameter, which are edible, and become ripe about November or December, and are sometimes, I have been informed, put down as dessert at hotel tables. The oranges do not ripen till February, although the fruit is on the trees all the year round.At Croisette there is a depôt for the sale of the earthenware, tinted with a peculiar blue or with a livid green, of which many fancy articles are made in the neighbouring town of Vallauris; but the stuff is brittle, and it is not advisable to purchase for bringing home any articles with slender handles—they break so easily off, while they can be bought at home in china shops.One of the favourite drives is to California, upon the slope of which some new large hotels have been built, from which the views must be fine; but the situation, though healthy, is rather inconveniently distant from the town, and involves a pull up hill, which perhaps puts walking up beyond the power of invalids. We drove there on the 18th November. The sun had risen gloriously in the morning. There was not a speck of cloud on the sky. The day wasbroiling hot, and it was difficult to realize that we were no longer in July, but in a time of year when at home we should have had cold wintry weather. So warm, indeed, had we felt it at Cannes, that we were under the necessity of throwing off the extra clothing we had donned at Paris and Lyons. The road is steep, and the ascent fatiguing to horse and man, to the point where the reservoir, which supplies Cannes with water, is placed. Here we left the carriage and climbed to the top of the hill over above, the view from which amply repaid the exertion. Had we gone to a farther height, we should have seen the Alpes Maritimes; but from the height at which we arrived, the view was magnificent, the Estrelles lying straight out to the west, Antibes to the east, and the Lerins lying, to appearance, almost below us to the south. In a glowing sunshine such as we then had, the Mediterranean is always of a brilliant deep blue, while the sky is also of a rich blue of a lighter shade. One can hardly realize the beauty of the scenery beheld on such a day without having previously witnessed another like it. Such days would live in our recollection even more than they do, were they not, during several months’ residence in the Riviera, of so frequent occurrence.During the winter season, there is, for the accommodation of visitors, a tiny steamer, perhaps about the magnitude of Fulton’s first steamboat, mayhap the identical one, which, for a fare of 2 francs (return ticket), crosses to the islands of Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat. We resolved to spend a forenoon on Ste. Marguerite, and, with about twenty or thirty passengers on board, crossed, leaving at eleven o’clock and returning at four. The boat stopped at a little quay below the high walls of Fort Monterey. Here we got out, and the whole party landing, went up to see the fort, which is doubly famous as the place where Bazaine was confined and from which he escaped, and where ‘the man in the iron mask’ was so long imprisoned. Like some other Frenchforts, it is not at present occupied by soldiers, though a regular fortification in masonry, and capable of affording protection against vessels seeking to attack Cannes. A man placed as resident in the fort accompanied us to the rooms which had been occupied by Bazaine. The suite of apartments was extensive, and bore anything but the appearance of a prison-house. Except for the involuntary confinement, one might regard it as a charming residence; and in its recent occupation was a public remonstrance against the barbarity of laws which imprison convicted persons who have hitherto enjoyed a good social position in the same cells as ordinary criminals, to whom such cells are in truth more comfortable than their own miserable dirty homes. We were then taken to the spot where it is said that Bazaine escaped by descending the wall and rock. The height is not great, and a descent in the daylight would be no great achievement. It would no doubt be more difficult and perhaps dangerous in the dark, and it is even alleged that the Marshal was allowed to walk out by the gate. There is no great improbability in this story, seeing that the French had gained all they wanted by a condemnation of this officer as a scapegoat for their want of success. The room in which the ‘man in the iron mask’ was confined, was much more like a prison—a cell with massive thick walls. We saw the hole through which he is said to have dropped the billet which was picked up by a fisherman.There has been placed in this fort one of those semaphores which are studded along the coast of France, by which signals are or used to be made, and which, before the introduction of the electric telegraph, were no doubt useful. From the battlements we had a clear view of the magnificent landscape before us, which embraced on the extreme right distance the snowy peaks of the Maritime Alps. We left the fort, and wandered over the island and through the trees, with which the greater part of it is covered, lunchedal fresco, and enjoyed our forenoon very much. It is an island we could have wished transported, with all its surroundings and its sunshine, to our own shores.We spent fifteen days on this occasion at Cannes. It is a nice place for winter residence for those who are in good health; but I doubt whether, notwithstanding the records of the thermometer, it be sufficiently warm—at least, whether it affords sufficient shelter—for delicate invalids, being apparently a good deal more open to north and west winds than some other places in the Riviera. Before we arrived, there had been not a little rain, and the roads were very dirty. While we remained, we had still more; but the usual weather all along the Riviera is dry and fair, and it is of dust one has most to complain. There is no river meriting the name debouching within the limits of the town, although their insignificant beds are speedily filled when heavy rain falls.Like most places on the Riviera, there is abundance of marble used in the houses and hotels. It is not altogether without its drawbacks and its dangers. Stair steps are of marble, and it is requisite to be careful in descending. On one occasion I slipped upon a marble step and fell on my back, and might, had the fall been more direct, have received permanent injury; but in the winter time carpets are usually laid on the stairs.It is said that there are snakes and venomous green lizards. We never saw any snakes, and though there are plenty of lizards running nimbly about and up the walls, diving out of sight into hiding holes, yet sometimes leaving a little of their long tails sticking out, I cannot vouch for these being either venomous or innocuous. They look pretty gentle creatures, and one is rather savage to see men and boys throwing stones at them.A real pest, however, to which all are exposed at Cannes and kindred places, is the plague of the mosquitoes, which abound in hot weather. We were told they were off by the 1st of November, but we found upon arrival at Cannes, and throughout our stay there, that this insect plague was in full force. It is a small gnat, with long legs and yellowish-brown wing. The first thing that we did was to kill as many as we could see resting on ceiling, walls, or bed, and this is best effected by coming quickly down upon them with a damp towel; but they are very agile, and unless the arm be vigorous and prompt, they escape the swish. They are also remarkably knowing and cunning, and soon discover when an enemy is bent on their destruction, when they manage unaccountably to disappear. Nay, even without attack made, they will hide themselves during the day, conscious that they will get a good feed during the night. Every now and then they came buzzing about you with a peculiar hum, which becomes more loud just when the insect is about to strike. This it does by driving its proboscis like a lancet into the skin, extracting a drop of blood, and leaving behind, I fancy, a minute drop of poison or other cause of irritation, producing a small red mark. Most people do not suffer inconvenience from the bite itself beyond the mark it leaves, and with which the brow, a favourite point of attack, soon gets dotted over. One lady at Cannes was so severely bitten that she could hardly see, her eyes being nearly closed by the effects of the bites, so much so as to prevent her coming to the table. Another lady was so affected by the bites that the parts bitten rose in large swellings, requiring her to consult a doctor, by whom they were lanced; and the cure was tedious, leaving long after marks on the skin. But the great annoyance which they occasion is their tormenting vicious hum, revealing their presence, and showing that at any moment they may be down upon you. If you wake through the night and hear this hum, it is impossible to getany further sleep. If there be anything worse than a mosquito humming about you, it is to have two of them; but one is enough to keep you lively, and furnish you with incessant employment; and where one is, there are generally plenty more. Apparently the mosquito, like the king, never dies, for as fast as one is slain another reigns in his stead. All sorts of remedies for the bite are prescribed, but we found that prevention is better than cure; and the most effectual prevention, besides taking care to close windows early and not to light a candle before closing, was to burn a pastille, specially prepared for the purpose, by placing it on an iron shovel, and just before bed-time carrying it burning round the room and holding it within the bed curtains. The smoke of it appears to stupefy the insect, although it does not kill it; and in the morning the mosquitoes, evidently wanting to get out to breathe the fresh air and take their revenge at night, fly in a sickly condition to the windows, where, or elsewhere about the room, they are easily killed. When killed, a bloody streak is left, indicating they have been fed somewhere. One extraordinary circumstance is that, although the fecundity of this creature is enormous,[18]yet those which find their way into rooms are comparatively few, and it puzzles one to know where the rest go to. I believe the insect’s existence is not so much due to great heat as to bad drainage. We found Cannes to be worse than Mentone, and Hyères worse than Cannes; but by Christmas-time, when cold weather has set in, they nearly vanish, although, when a fire is lighted, sometimes they are either attracted or revived, but are then in a weakly condition.

FIRST WINTER IN THE RIVIERA.——◆——VI.LONDON TO SOUTH OF FRANCE.Selectingthe route to Paris by Folkestone, we left London on the afternoon of 1st November 1876, and slept at Folkestone. The steamboat was to sail the following morning at 9.15, and to have proceeded direct would have involved leaving London at the inconveniently early hour of 7.10A.M.The train by Dover and Calais departs fixedly at 7.40A.M., so that one is not much better off by taking that route. But on proceeding by Boulogne, there is a chance that the state of the tide may throw the time of sailing to a later hour; only when this is the case, it involves arriving at the journey’s end late in the evening. The train in connection with the boat by which we were to sail, was due in Paris at 4.40 afternoon—a nice time at which to arrive.One does not get a chance of observing whether there be any attractions about Folkestone by just sleeping a night there. It may be a very Paradise upon earth; and, from its facilities for popping over to France, to its residents it probably is. One cannot say, but it does not look like it. Possibly the quarter to which summer visitors resort may be more inviting than the portion disclosed at the harbour. Anyhow, it seems a less dreary, out-of-the-world place thanNewhaven. But Britannia rebels a little at her children quitting their native land to get enamoured with strange countries, and frowns upon their departure; for these nights before crossing are by no means pleasurable. One is brought into rather close proximity to the dreaded passage; and if the wind should howl or be even but moderately fresh, or if the sea, unwitting of its gigantean power, be only sporting in joyous freedom, the prospect for the morrow is far from assuring. Then it is a busy, bustling, uncomfortable scene at the hotel. Piles of luggage strew the hall. Apprehensive passengers are arriving by successive trains, and others in a woe-begone condition, and in all sorts and manners of wraps and disguises, by the boats. They are dining, teaing, suppering in a confused disagreeable way in the coffee-room. Anxious waiters and active chamber-maids are hurrying about. Porters meet you in narrow corners laden with luggage. There is nothing to invite you to remain in the public room. There is nothing to induce you to venture long out of doors. People depart early to bed. But the search for petty utilities by the feeble light of candle, the cramped bedroom, the cheerless difference from home, produce a feeling of discomfort which, combined with the early retirement, the noise and tramping about the corridors, the creaking of ships’ gearing dimly heard, and the thoughts arising,—which have little in them of the land of promise and more of the morn,—all keep the pilgrim long restless upon bed; and, after an unrefreshing night of broken sleep, he is glad to get up betimes for an early breakfast, call, with twenty others simultaneously, for the bill, settle it up quick if correct, and, after an impatient waiting for his goods, which seem never likely to make their appearance, and seeing that every little thing is brought along, to be off to the steamboat; for nobody stays, unless in exceptional circumstances, such as pending a storm, more than a night. After a little, the train arrives, and an endless procession of unassorted passengers moves slowly onboard; the luggage and merchandise brought by it tediously follow. At last the gangway is dragged ashore, the vessel is released, and, after the usual backings and easings and tender movements, it tardily steams out of harbour, increases its speed, and we sit looking on the land, the return to which may be in the far future; and, thinking much of dear friends from whom we have parted, we gradually, as the distance widens, lose sight of Old England, and passing here and there a gallant ship, with its snowy sails catching, fortunately for us, but a gentle balmy breeze, we near the other—once hostile, now friendly—shore, and landing find ourselves among a foreign race, and gazing upon foreign habitations, and soon encountering foreign customs and institutions.We made the mistake of registering our luggage at London when we left London, instead of taking it on with us to Folkestone and registering it there for Paris. The consequence was that, on arrival of the train at Paris, we were compelled to wait nearly an hour at the station, which was cold, dark, and drafty, until all the luggage which had come by the train by which we had arrived had been arranged, examined by thedouaniers, and delivered to their owners. We disconsolately saw our luggage standing within a barred enclosure, but the men would on no account touch it till then, and no doubt where thieves abound some precaution of this kind is needful.We had repeatedly visited Paris before, but in one respect it was new to us—to see it in its wintry aspect. On former occasions, we had visited it in the sunshine of summer. But how changed did it look now! The trees were yellow with the tints of autumn, and were nearly stripped of their foliage. The air was cold and frosty, and Paris looked bleak and miserable. We spent one or two days in it; and one of the places to which we paid a visit was beyond the range of ordinary sight-seeing. Thedaughters of some Edinburgh friends were at a large boarding-school in Paris, in the Faubourg d’Auteuil. We drove there to see them, and after some search discovered the establishment, the name of which, ‘Une Institution des Demoiselles,’ was painted up in letters a yard high. It had quite a conventual aspect. The house was entered through a narrow little door, hinged on a panel of a large one (just like what one sees in the large door of a prison), which, upon ringing the bell, was opened by a pull from the opposite side of the court-yard, around which the buildings of the school were placed. Crossing to the dwelling-house, we were shown into a parlour, where our young friends shortly came to us. They were all habited in black, with a red leather belt, being the uniform compulsory on all the pupils while in school. They informed us there were 150 boarders, of whom only 17 were English. Having introduced us to one of the governesses, this lady very kindly showed us all over the place. Ranges of large rooms were occupied as bedrooms, containing a separate bed for each of the young ladies—all kept in the highest order, and in white, spotless purity. Separate adjoining rooms were fitted up as lavatories. Other rooms were schoolrooms; others, dining-rooms, orsalles à manger, where the young people were then at lunch or early dinner, and evidently enjoying a hearty meal. A separate building was kept as an infirmary for the sick—a very prudent arrangement, where so many young persons were brought together. For those who were in good health, there was a large garden and playground attached to the house.On Monday, 6th November, having taken Gaze’s tickets from London to Nice, we left Paris by the Lyons Railway, registering our heavy luggage for Cannes; and we were free to travel to any station on the line to Cannes, at which our tickets permitted us to stop, only taking with us what we would require for a week by the way. Some people prefermaking the journey from Paris to Cannes, Nice, or Mentone without break, and say there is less fatigue in doing so; but it is a long journey, occupying from Paris to Mentone—journeying by the express leaving at 11.20A.M.—twenty-eight hours, arriving at Mentone at 3.24 next day. For invalids in a feeble condition, it is in some respects preferable. It is only one fatigue to be overcome, and it avoids the risk of exposure to damp or rain. In cold, winter weather at Paris, the one journey is certainly preferable, and at the end of it people arrive in what is by contrast a genial summer. So proceeding, passengers have, besides other shorter stoppages, an interval of half an hour at Dijon, at 5.45p.m., to dine; 25 minutes at Lyons, at 10.18p.m.; and the following morning, at 6.30A.M., 1 hour 25 minutes at Marseilles to wash and breakfast.We desired to take the journey leisurely, and to see a little by the way. After the usual difficulty on French railways of getting accommodation in the train, we proceeded as far as Dijon. There is little to interest one by the route. Fontainebleau, at which the express trains do not stop, is passed soon after leaving Paris, but is nearly two miles from the station. Its palace with its gardens is really the only thing worth seeing, but to see them involves spending a day at the town. If not pushed for time, they are, however, well worthy of a visit. We stopped a night on our way home to see them. The palace is extensive, consisting of four distinct but united chateaux, erected at different times, with splendid suites of rooms full of historical interest. The forest, which covers 25,000 acres, is disappointing. The charges at the hotel to which we went, were as high as those of any in Paris.We rested the first night at Dijon, a convenient halting-place. The Hotel du Jura is near to the railway station, and is most comfortable. The landlord of it is attentive, andhis charges moderate. Dijon was the former residence of the Dukes of Burgundy, and is a curious old place, well worthy of a visit for a day or two days. People often break their journey at Dijon merely to sleep there, but, arriving at night and departing next morning, do not always visit the town. A forenoon may be very profitably spent in walking about its promenades and its streets, with houses adorned by quaint carvings and architecture, and seeing its large, massively-built churches, particularly St. Michael and St. Benigne, and its interesting old public buildings. On the card of the hotel there is a little plan of the town, in which the Place Grande is shown about its centre. Here there is a large edifice which was formerly the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, now the Hotel de Ville, one part of which has been converted into a museum and picture gallery, the most interesting portion being the old banqueting hall of the dukes, with its colossal chimney-piece and its monuments, carrying one away back to the times of boisterous mirth and probably lawless deeds.Dijon stands high, and the weather being cold on our journey south, we were glad of fires. We considered we had made a mistake in travelling so late in the season. Had we started about the middle of October, it would have been better. The fact is, the larger part of the people going for health to the Riviera make the grievous mistake of delaying their departure till winter has commenced. Many, indeed, do not come to the Riviera till the month of January, in order to enjoy the gratification—dearly purchased, in some cases—of a Christmas at home. By doing so, they are obliged to travel through France during a season when the weather is often piercingly chill, while they are exposed in crossing the Channel to the risk of encountering winter storms.We proceeded next day to Lyons, passing through a rich wine country, in the midst of which Macon lies, where, atthe station, on high days and holidays, the women may be seen wearing a witch-like hat of peculiar build. The cycle of fashion will no doubt in due course make the whole world acquainted with it, till which time the world may wait and wonder. It may require some fortitude to don this sweet marvel of a bonnet for the first time. But what observation will not the ladies brave to follow their leader in fashion!At Lyons it was keenly cold. There is not much to be seen at the ancient city, situated on the banks of the Rhone and Saone, which effect their junction just below it. The railway journey from Dijon occupies five or six hours, according to the trains. We arrived in the dark, and drove to the Hotel Collet, one of the best in the place. It is situated in the main street, which may be said to be the only good street of shops, formerly called the Rue Napoleon, and now since the Republic, which changes even the names of streets, the Rue Nationale. On entering the large hall, round which were distributed palm trees and other tropical plants in tubs and pots, we had the first suggestion of approaching a southern clime.Lyons is populous without being lively, and stately without being imposing. We took a close carriage next morning, and drove about for nearly four hours to see what could be seen—almost the whole of which time was occupied in visiting the junction of the rivers and ascending Fourvières, a steep hill on the right bank of the Saone, from which an extensive panoramic view is in clear weather obtained, and Mont Blanc, about 130 miles distant, is sometimes seen—its visibility being a circumstance symptomatic of approaching wet weather, as we found did happen on a subsequent occasion, when the white mountain was seen as we were nearing Lyons from Geneva. Lyons at this season was looking very dreary, and the cold necessitated our burning fires in the bedrooms.On a former visit, in summer, the heat had been almost unendurable. In the evening of the second day, we found the large central hall of the hotel—which was lighted from the roof, and afforded access by encircling corridors and concealed stairs to the different floors—was covered in by an awning, and thesalle à mangerwas laid for a magnificent dinner. It turned out that the principal rooms were engaged for a wedding party (noces), the ordinary guests being conducted to other rooms. It was, however, a very quiet, solemn-looking affair; although the number assembled was large, they made no noisy demonstrations. At breakfast-time next morning the waiters seemed but half aroused.We left Lyons by train at 11 o’clock forenoon. Our through tickets required to bevise’dat the booking-office before they would admit us to thesalle-d’attente. The route from Lyons southward is very interesting. The railway skirts the Rhone nearly the whole way. The river has been said to vary in width from a quarter of a mile to two miles, although from the railway it does not appear to be so wide. In the sunshine everything looked beautiful. The farther south we got, the foliage became fresher, and it was very charming to see the river rolling softly on, fringed by trees, and through valleys, from which rise the vine-clad hills. We passed the Côtes d’Or, and other regions, where the famous Burgundy wines are grown. Some of the mountain ranges are lofty. We thought how much more beautiful would the river appear during summer months, and our wish as regards time was actually fulfilled the following September; but, alas! it was then obscured by clouds and rain.The railway to Marseilles passes several interesting places, and among others, the towns of Orange, Avignon, and Arles, which all contain relics of Roman occupation. On occasion of our going south in September 1877, westopped at Avignon, which is 230 kilometres, or about 140 miles, from Lyons,[16]the train taking about six hours. When one can manage it, Avignon is a place well worth stopping to see. Leaving the station, we drove through some narrow dirty streets till we reached the Hotel de l’Europe, the situation of which is not at first inviting; but it is considered the best hotel, and our rooms were very comfortable. It was kept by a young landlady, who spoke English, and was very attentive. On the following morning we took a cab to drive about and see the town, and,inter alia, saw the Calvi Museum, which contains many paintings, some of which are good, and a large collection of coins and books. Then we went to the cathedral, which is well worth a visit. Here are the tombs of several popes. The construction of the gallery of the church is peculiar. I desired to have a photograph of the interior at a shop, but they had it not. Photographs, however, were sold outside the cathedral, and possibly I might have procured it there; but we had so often found photographs sold at the show places themselves so dear, that I had not asked for them at the cathedral door. It does, however, sometimes happen, as probably it did here, that they can only be had at the place itself; and when time is limited, it is better to secure what may be wanted, especially interiors, at once. The pope’s old palace adjoins the cathedral. This is a large building with very massive walls 100 feet high. It is now occupied as a caserne or barrack for French soldiers. The lofty rooms, for greater accommodation, have had a floor interposed. The rooms, fitted upwith beds and filled with the soldiery, are in a very different condition from what they must at one time have been when this was the papal residence. One of the rooms into which we were shown, was the upper interposed half of what had formerly been the chamber of torture of the Inquisition. There was nothing very special now to be seen in this dismal unoccupied apartment, which at one time echoed with the groans and cries of the tortured.In the Place de l’Hotel de Ville, in the centre of the town, are a handsome-looking theatre and other public buildings; but one of the most interesting objects in Avignon is the old Roman bridge across the river. Avignon was a fortified city, and is still surrounded by walls having many gates, and in our drive we passed outside the walls till we reached the Roman bridge. Only part of it is now standing, the remainder having, I presume, been swept away by floods. The river is now crossed by a good modern bridge, not far from the site of the old one, and conducts to a town upon the other bank of the river which forms a suburb to Avignon.We did not, in November 1876, stop at Avignon; but being then desirous of seeing the old Roman city of Nismes, we procured through the guard, when stopping at the station of Valence, supplementary tickets enabling us to change at Tarascon, which we reached in the dusk about five o’clock. Here we had to change carriages, and cross the platform, and enter a dingy station orsalle-d’attente, and to wait wearily for nearly an hour till the train proceeded to Nismes. It was cold, and we had, as usual, no assistance from porters with ourpetits bagages. Nismes is about an hour’s journey by rail from Tarascon. The mistral was blowing, and it was bitterly cold. The coldness of this wind is, I believe, greatly produced by the cutting down of the trees on the mountains in the south of France; and if so, the sooner they are replanted the better. It is piercinglyfelt all over the south of France, even Mentone, at its extreme east point, not being wholly sheltered from its influence. I fancy that in the Roman times, when such places as Nismes, Avignon, and Arles were selected for habitation, the mistral was not felt, at least to the extent it is now. It prevented our invalid from leaving the house while at Nismes on this occasion.Nismes, as a capital city of a department of France, is a town of importance. It is the seat of the departmental courts, and it possesses various educational establishments as well as a variety of manufactures. It is beautifully situated in a fertile district. The town itself is attractive. The principal streets are wide and clean, and the Boulevards are pleasant; but it is as an ancient city, full of vestiges of old Roman occupation, that it possesses charms to attract the stranger.The most famous of these Roman remains is the Arena, and attention is naturally drawn to it from being situated fronting a large open space in the heart of the town, called the Esplanade. It was the first of the Roman amphitheatres we had at that time seen. Exposed to the mistral, it was then intensely cold; and one could hardly suppose that it would have been built on that site if it had not been at the time a place to which the people could go without fear of colds (for, odd though it may sound, I fancy the grand old Roman nose did suffer occasionally from colds). However, an arena seems to have been then as necessary an appendage to a Roman town as a church is to an English village. The building is oval in shape, and is 412 feet long by 306 feet in breadth, and rises in upwards of 30 massive tiers from the centre to the circumference, resting on strong stone arches, and containing perfect means of ingress and egress—every separate external arch having been, no doubt, a separate vomitory. The building is computed to have accommodated 32,000 persons. The arena, though in partruinous, is still in a very fair state of preservation, but is undergoing a process of restoration by the insertion of new stones in place of the old ones, to strengthen the structure, which, as the old stone is grey with age and the new stone is a beautiful pearly white, looks most incongruous. One could almost wish that the building were let alone, although it is to be hoped that in the course of years the new stone will assume a colour in keeping with the rest. Perhaps it might be stained to bring it into harmony. Of this same kind of stone, two beautiful churches have recently been built: one of them, St. Perpetué, is completed and in use; the other, a very large one,—I presume to be occupied as a cathedral, with a double spire far in advance when we saw it first,—was in the following year not yet finished. The designs of these churches, particularly in their spires, are remarkably graceful. There is another very elegant modern building adjoining the Arena, the Courts of Justice, which also fronts the Esplanade, in the centre of which open space has been erected a very handsome modern marble fountain at a cost of £10,000.Leaving the Arena and passing up the Boulevard St. Antoine, we arrive at theMaison Carrée, or the Square House—a small but beautiful temple, with a peristyle of the Corinthian order, in admirable preservation. It is situated in a space enclosed by railings, and is occupied as a museum and picture gallery, for which it affords but limited room. From the Maison Carrée the visitor proceeds through public gardens to the Roman Baths, which are in wonderful condition, although the marble statues have nearly all lost their noses, the common fate of all marble statues long exposed to the weather. These baths are very elegant enclosures of water, now looking very stagnant and green. Upon the west side are the ruins of what has been termed a temple of Diana, in which are preserved many of the antiquities found in the vicinity of it. To the south issues, through an elegant iron rail and gateway, a very long wideavenue or boulevard calledCours Neuf, on a straight line, flanked by trees which, when completed, will extend, I think, a full mile in length. The north extremity is terminated by a hill, reached by magnificent stairs, and commanding a fine view of the Baths or fountains, of the long wide avenue beyond and the surrounding country. This hill is surmounted by theTour Magne, the ruin of a building the object of which has not been definitely ascertained.Nismes in summer in fine weather is very hot, but is a charming residence for a few days. We stayed two nights on this occasion at the Hotel Luxembourg, which is recommended to English travellers. The men-servants here, who are also thefemmes-de-chambres, had quite an Italian look and cut, and were in their morning attire very comically dressed in a short jacket, somewhat like those schoolboys used to wear.We returneden routefor Marseilles by Tarascon, passing by the way several stone quarries and fields in which olive trees had been planted by way of experiment. These were the first olive trees we had seen. They were young and short, and were disappointing, as in fact are all olive trees, however large or old they be, to those who, like ourselves, having read of sitting under the olive tree as a species of luxurious enjoyment, found them very different from our expectations, being in leaf like the willow. But their existence indicated approach to a warmer climate.The old Roman town of Arles lies between Tarascon and Marseilles, and is said to be, though I doubt it, as much worth seeing as Nismes; but, owing to the difficulty of finding trains to fit in to meet our time, we have not in passing visited it.It rained heavily all the way from Tarascon to Marseilles,when it fortunately cleared up. Part of the way is flanked by what appears to be barren desert land, possibly occasioned by the ground being high and level, so that it is not watered by rivers.At Marseilles, we found thecommissionaireof the Hotel du Louvre et de la Paix, to which we had written for rooms, waiting. Owing to some odd arrangement then prevailing, all carriages were kept out of sight till the luggage was sorted, so that we were fortunate to get him to send for one. The hotel we found to be a large many-storeyed one, but it had a lift. There is another large hotel at Marseilles, to which we went on the next occasion. It is hard to say which is the better. The Noailles has a large and beautifulsalle à manger, and a good-sized drawing-room. Both are expensive. We found at Marseilles, as at Dijon, Lyons, Avignon, Nismes, and afterwards at Hyères, that the charge fortable-d’hôtedinner includedvin ordinaire. We had an agreeable surprise at dinner in meeting two families—old friends—from Bristol.Marseilles is seldom visited, except as a place of halt for further travel. After staying one or two nights, those arriving depart either landward by railway or seaward by steamboat to other parts. But it is well worth at least one day’s visit to see it thoroughly. It is a very ancient city, being upwards of 2500 years old, and the population is above 300,000. In contrast to Lyons, it has all the appearance of a busy place. The principal streets are always crowded, the port is the largest in the Mediterranean, and may be considered the Liverpool of France, though the docks are not so extensive. On occasion of our first visit, the weather was cold and wet, and we had only a Sunday there, so that we did not see much; but when we paid it a second visit in October 1877, we had a little more time, and drove round the town and docks. The ancient port isa large natural harbour filled with good-sized vessels, while additional docks of large extent stretch away to the westward. Outside them, a breakwater has been built, which extends about two miles in length. Bædeker says that, on an average, nearly 20,000 vessels, of an aggregate burden of 2,000,000 tons, enter and quit Marseilles annually. Our driver pointed out as we passed, in one of the docks (the Basin de la Joillette), a P. & O. steamer; and it would have been interesting to have visited it, but we were afraid we should not have had time. A large cathedral was being built facing the docks, and will be a very prominent object to those arriving at Marseilles by sea. Another very prominent and striking object, and from which a fine view of the town, harbour, and district is to be had, is an eminence to the south-east, crowned by the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde. Leaving the docks, we proceeded round the town to the Palais de Longchamps, which stands on a height. It is a large, elegant columnar structure, with spacious staircases leading up to and through it to the gardens beyond. The palace contains two museums. A fine view is obtained from the top.Marseilles is a busy commercial and manufacturing place. The central streets are always bustling—teeming with life. An interesting part of it is the flower market, where the women are to be seen perched up on tables or platforms tying up their pretty bouquets of flowers and selling them to purchasers. The heights to the north of the town are bare, but, together with the islands which stud the sea outside the harbour, give picturesqueness to the view. But although it stands as far south as Mentone and San Remo, or rather farther south, it wants the shelter of the health resorts on the Riviera, and suffers severely from exposure to the mistral.On leaving Marseilles for Cannes, we had not gone far by railway before we obtained a complete change of temperature.It was like passing from winter into summer, and from dreary stony mountain ranges to verdant slopes covered with mature olive trees, and with orange and lemon trees—all indicative of a warmer climate. We did not on this first occasion stop at any place between Marseilles and Cannes, but on the following year visited Hyères, and it will therefore be adverted to in the sequel.On this first occasion, we left by an early train on the Monday morning with our friends. We had much difficulty in getting seat-room, with no assistance from guards. The carriages were filled with people who had travelled all night from Paris. In the compartment which fell to our lot, the remainder of the seats were all filled by French gentlemen who were or had been smoking, and were begrimed with dust, and looked like very ogres. The morning was splendid, the sun, pouring out his beams in rich effulgence, gave gladness to the bright scene, which we especially felt after the cold weather to which we had, ever since our arrival in France, been exposed. After leaving Toulon, the railway goes inland and does not again touch the coast till it reaches Frejus, 91 kilometres, or above 50 miles on; but the country is very beautiful. This route, between Marseilles and Genoa, and on to Pisa, passes through constantly-occurring tunnels. It is said that between Marseilles and Genoa alone there are no less than 200, and it certainly looks like it. The train is for ever rushing into and darting out of tunnels; and as French people never think of closing windows in tunnels, and always put and keep down the glass, the transit through them is very cold and trying, particularly to invalids or to those who may be afflicted with a cold in the head. After leaving Frejus, the railway skirts the coast, and as the train emerges from a tunnel, the passengers have the opportunity of seeing the most lovely bays formed by the jutting promontories and the blue Mediterranean. In saying they have the opportunity,however, this is a chance depending upon whether there are no foreigners at the windows. If there be, most mercilessly, and without leave asked, much less obtained, down go the blue blinds on both sides of the carriage. Fortunately, on this first occasion (I was not so lucky on the second), I got seated near the south or sea window, and managed to get one of the three curtains kept up; but just as we approached within sight of Cannes, where the view was becoming exquisitely beautiful, a little of the bright sun darted in: the intruder was expelled in double haste, and the blind most uncourteously and ruthlessly pulled down. It saved some sunburnt ogre from being, if possible, a little more browned or reddened, and it signified not that his fellow-passengers were deprived of an enjoyment into which he could not enter.

FIRST WINTER IN THE RIVIERA.

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LONDON TO SOUTH OF FRANCE.

Selectingthe route to Paris by Folkestone, we left London on the afternoon of 1st November 1876, and slept at Folkestone. The steamboat was to sail the following morning at 9.15, and to have proceeded direct would have involved leaving London at the inconveniently early hour of 7.10A.M.The train by Dover and Calais departs fixedly at 7.40A.M., so that one is not much better off by taking that route. But on proceeding by Boulogne, there is a chance that the state of the tide may throw the time of sailing to a later hour; only when this is the case, it involves arriving at the journey’s end late in the evening. The train in connection with the boat by which we were to sail, was due in Paris at 4.40 afternoon—a nice time at which to arrive.

One does not get a chance of observing whether there be any attractions about Folkestone by just sleeping a night there. It may be a very Paradise upon earth; and, from its facilities for popping over to France, to its residents it probably is. One cannot say, but it does not look like it. Possibly the quarter to which summer visitors resort may be more inviting than the portion disclosed at the harbour. Anyhow, it seems a less dreary, out-of-the-world place thanNewhaven. But Britannia rebels a little at her children quitting their native land to get enamoured with strange countries, and frowns upon their departure; for these nights before crossing are by no means pleasurable. One is brought into rather close proximity to the dreaded passage; and if the wind should howl or be even but moderately fresh, or if the sea, unwitting of its gigantean power, be only sporting in joyous freedom, the prospect for the morrow is far from assuring. Then it is a busy, bustling, uncomfortable scene at the hotel. Piles of luggage strew the hall. Apprehensive passengers are arriving by successive trains, and others in a woe-begone condition, and in all sorts and manners of wraps and disguises, by the boats. They are dining, teaing, suppering in a confused disagreeable way in the coffee-room. Anxious waiters and active chamber-maids are hurrying about. Porters meet you in narrow corners laden with luggage. There is nothing to invite you to remain in the public room. There is nothing to induce you to venture long out of doors. People depart early to bed. But the search for petty utilities by the feeble light of candle, the cramped bedroom, the cheerless difference from home, produce a feeling of discomfort which, combined with the early retirement, the noise and tramping about the corridors, the creaking of ships’ gearing dimly heard, and the thoughts arising,—which have little in them of the land of promise and more of the morn,—all keep the pilgrim long restless upon bed; and, after an unrefreshing night of broken sleep, he is glad to get up betimes for an early breakfast, call, with twenty others simultaneously, for the bill, settle it up quick if correct, and, after an impatient waiting for his goods, which seem never likely to make their appearance, and seeing that every little thing is brought along, to be off to the steamboat; for nobody stays, unless in exceptional circumstances, such as pending a storm, more than a night. After a little, the train arrives, and an endless procession of unassorted passengers moves slowly onboard; the luggage and merchandise brought by it tediously follow. At last the gangway is dragged ashore, the vessel is released, and, after the usual backings and easings and tender movements, it tardily steams out of harbour, increases its speed, and we sit looking on the land, the return to which may be in the far future; and, thinking much of dear friends from whom we have parted, we gradually, as the distance widens, lose sight of Old England, and passing here and there a gallant ship, with its snowy sails catching, fortunately for us, but a gentle balmy breeze, we near the other—once hostile, now friendly—shore, and landing find ourselves among a foreign race, and gazing upon foreign habitations, and soon encountering foreign customs and institutions.

We made the mistake of registering our luggage at London when we left London, instead of taking it on with us to Folkestone and registering it there for Paris. The consequence was that, on arrival of the train at Paris, we were compelled to wait nearly an hour at the station, which was cold, dark, and drafty, until all the luggage which had come by the train by which we had arrived had been arranged, examined by thedouaniers, and delivered to their owners. We disconsolately saw our luggage standing within a barred enclosure, but the men would on no account touch it till then, and no doubt where thieves abound some precaution of this kind is needful.

We had repeatedly visited Paris before, but in one respect it was new to us—to see it in its wintry aspect. On former occasions, we had visited it in the sunshine of summer. But how changed did it look now! The trees were yellow with the tints of autumn, and were nearly stripped of their foliage. The air was cold and frosty, and Paris looked bleak and miserable. We spent one or two days in it; and one of the places to which we paid a visit was beyond the range of ordinary sight-seeing. Thedaughters of some Edinburgh friends were at a large boarding-school in Paris, in the Faubourg d’Auteuil. We drove there to see them, and after some search discovered the establishment, the name of which, ‘Une Institution des Demoiselles,’ was painted up in letters a yard high. It had quite a conventual aspect. The house was entered through a narrow little door, hinged on a panel of a large one (just like what one sees in the large door of a prison), which, upon ringing the bell, was opened by a pull from the opposite side of the court-yard, around which the buildings of the school were placed. Crossing to the dwelling-house, we were shown into a parlour, where our young friends shortly came to us. They were all habited in black, with a red leather belt, being the uniform compulsory on all the pupils while in school. They informed us there were 150 boarders, of whom only 17 were English. Having introduced us to one of the governesses, this lady very kindly showed us all over the place. Ranges of large rooms were occupied as bedrooms, containing a separate bed for each of the young ladies—all kept in the highest order, and in white, spotless purity. Separate adjoining rooms were fitted up as lavatories. Other rooms were schoolrooms; others, dining-rooms, orsalles à manger, where the young people were then at lunch or early dinner, and evidently enjoying a hearty meal. A separate building was kept as an infirmary for the sick—a very prudent arrangement, where so many young persons were brought together. For those who were in good health, there was a large garden and playground attached to the house.

On Monday, 6th November, having taken Gaze’s tickets from London to Nice, we left Paris by the Lyons Railway, registering our heavy luggage for Cannes; and we were free to travel to any station on the line to Cannes, at which our tickets permitted us to stop, only taking with us what we would require for a week by the way. Some people prefermaking the journey from Paris to Cannes, Nice, or Mentone without break, and say there is less fatigue in doing so; but it is a long journey, occupying from Paris to Mentone—journeying by the express leaving at 11.20A.M.—twenty-eight hours, arriving at Mentone at 3.24 next day. For invalids in a feeble condition, it is in some respects preferable. It is only one fatigue to be overcome, and it avoids the risk of exposure to damp or rain. In cold, winter weather at Paris, the one journey is certainly preferable, and at the end of it people arrive in what is by contrast a genial summer. So proceeding, passengers have, besides other shorter stoppages, an interval of half an hour at Dijon, at 5.45p.m., to dine; 25 minutes at Lyons, at 10.18p.m.; and the following morning, at 6.30A.M., 1 hour 25 minutes at Marseilles to wash and breakfast.

We desired to take the journey leisurely, and to see a little by the way. After the usual difficulty on French railways of getting accommodation in the train, we proceeded as far as Dijon. There is little to interest one by the route. Fontainebleau, at which the express trains do not stop, is passed soon after leaving Paris, but is nearly two miles from the station. Its palace with its gardens is really the only thing worth seeing, but to see them involves spending a day at the town. If not pushed for time, they are, however, well worthy of a visit. We stopped a night on our way home to see them. The palace is extensive, consisting of four distinct but united chateaux, erected at different times, with splendid suites of rooms full of historical interest. The forest, which covers 25,000 acres, is disappointing. The charges at the hotel to which we went, were as high as those of any in Paris.

We rested the first night at Dijon, a convenient halting-place. The Hotel du Jura is near to the railway station, and is most comfortable. The landlord of it is attentive, andhis charges moderate. Dijon was the former residence of the Dukes of Burgundy, and is a curious old place, well worthy of a visit for a day or two days. People often break their journey at Dijon merely to sleep there, but, arriving at night and departing next morning, do not always visit the town. A forenoon may be very profitably spent in walking about its promenades and its streets, with houses adorned by quaint carvings and architecture, and seeing its large, massively-built churches, particularly St. Michael and St. Benigne, and its interesting old public buildings. On the card of the hotel there is a little plan of the town, in which the Place Grande is shown about its centre. Here there is a large edifice which was formerly the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, now the Hotel de Ville, one part of which has been converted into a museum and picture gallery, the most interesting portion being the old banqueting hall of the dukes, with its colossal chimney-piece and its monuments, carrying one away back to the times of boisterous mirth and probably lawless deeds.

Dijon stands high, and the weather being cold on our journey south, we were glad of fires. We considered we had made a mistake in travelling so late in the season. Had we started about the middle of October, it would have been better. The fact is, the larger part of the people going for health to the Riviera make the grievous mistake of delaying their departure till winter has commenced. Many, indeed, do not come to the Riviera till the month of January, in order to enjoy the gratification—dearly purchased, in some cases—of a Christmas at home. By doing so, they are obliged to travel through France during a season when the weather is often piercingly chill, while they are exposed in crossing the Channel to the risk of encountering winter storms.

We proceeded next day to Lyons, passing through a rich wine country, in the midst of which Macon lies, where, atthe station, on high days and holidays, the women may be seen wearing a witch-like hat of peculiar build. The cycle of fashion will no doubt in due course make the whole world acquainted with it, till which time the world may wait and wonder. It may require some fortitude to don this sweet marvel of a bonnet for the first time. But what observation will not the ladies brave to follow their leader in fashion!

At Lyons it was keenly cold. There is not much to be seen at the ancient city, situated on the banks of the Rhone and Saone, which effect their junction just below it. The railway journey from Dijon occupies five or six hours, according to the trains. We arrived in the dark, and drove to the Hotel Collet, one of the best in the place. It is situated in the main street, which may be said to be the only good street of shops, formerly called the Rue Napoleon, and now since the Republic, which changes even the names of streets, the Rue Nationale. On entering the large hall, round which were distributed palm trees and other tropical plants in tubs and pots, we had the first suggestion of approaching a southern clime.

Lyons is populous without being lively, and stately without being imposing. We took a close carriage next morning, and drove about for nearly four hours to see what could be seen—almost the whole of which time was occupied in visiting the junction of the rivers and ascending Fourvières, a steep hill on the right bank of the Saone, from which an extensive panoramic view is in clear weather obtained, and Mont Blanc, about 130 miles distant, is sometimes seen—its visibility being a circumstance symptomatic of approaching wet weather, as we found did happen on a subsequent occasion, when the white mountain was seen as we were nearing Lyons from Geneva. Lyons at this season was looking very dreary, and the cold necessitated our burning fires in the bedrooms.On a former visit, in summer, the heat had been almost unendurable. In the evening of the second day, we found the large central hall of the hotel—which was lighted from the roof, and afforded access by encircling corridors and concealed stairs to the different floors—was covered in by an awning, and thesalle à mangerwas laid for a magnificent dinner. It turned out that the principal rooms were engaged for a wedding party (noces), the ordinary guests being conducted to other rooms. It was, however, a very quiet, solemn-looking affair; although the number assembled was large, they made no noisy demonstrations. At breakfast-time next morning the waiters seemed but half aroused.

We left Lyons by train at 11 o’clock forenoon. Our through tickets required to bevise’dat the booking-office before they would admit us to thesalle-d’attente. The route from Lyons southward is very interesting. The railway skirts the Rhone nearly the whole way. The river has been said to vary in width from a quarter of a mile to two miles, although from the railway it does not appear to be so wide. In the sunshine everything looked beautiful. The farther south we got, the foliage became fresher, and it was very charming to see the river rolling softly on, fringed by trees, and through valleys, from which rise the vine-clad hills. We passed the Côtes d’Or, and other regions, where the famous Burgundy wines are grown. Some of the mountain ranges are lofty. We thought how much more beautiful would the river appear during summer months, and our wish as regards time was actually fulfilled the following September; but, alas! it was then obscured by clouds and rain.

The railway to Marseilles passes several interesting places, and among others, the towns of Orange, Avignon, and Arles, which all contain relics of Roman occupation. On occasion of our going south in September 1877, westopped at Avignon, which is 230 kilometres, or about 140 miles, from Lyons,[16]the train taking about six hours. When one can manage it, Avignon is a place well worth stopping to see. Leaving the station, we drove through some narrow dirty streets till we reached the Hotel de l’Europe, the situation of which is not at first inviting; but it is considered the best hotel, and our rooms were very comfortable. It was kept by a young landlady, who spoke English, and was very attentive. On the following morning we took a cab to drive about and see the town, and,inter alia, saw the Calvi Museum, which contains many paintings, some of which are good, and a large collection of coins and books. Then we went to the cathedral, which is well worth a visit. Here are the tombs of several popes. The construction of the gallery of the church is peculiar. I desired to have a photograph of the interior at a shop, but they had it not. Photographs, however, were sold outside the cathedral, and possibly I might have procured it there; but we had so often found photographs sold at the show places themselves so dear, that I had not asked for them at the cathedral door. It does, however, sometimes happen, as probably it did here, that they can only be had at the place itself; and when time is limited, it is better to secure what may be wanted, especially interiors, at once. The pope’s old palace adjoins the cathedral. This is a large building with very massive walls 100 feet high. It is now occupied as a caserne or barrack for French soldiers. The lofty rooms, for greater accommodation, have had a floor interposed. The rooms, fitted upwith beds and filled with the soldiery, are in a very different condition from what they must at one time have been when this was the papal residence. One of the rooms into which we were shown, was the upper interposed half of what had formerly been the chamber of torture of the Inquisition. There was nothing very special now to be seen in this dismal unoccupied apartment, which at one time echoed with the groans and cries of the tortured.

In the Place de l’Hotel de Ville, in the centre of the town, are a handsome-looking theatre and other public buildings; but one of the most interesting objects in Avignon is the old Roman bridge across the river. Avignon was a fortified city, and is still surrounded by walls having many gates, and in our drive we passed outside the walls till we reached the Roman bridge. Only part of it is now standing, the remainder having, I presume, been swept away by floods. The river is now crossed by a good modern bridge, not far from the site of the old one, and conducts to a town upon the other bank of the river which forms a suburb to Avignon.

We did not, in November 1876, stop at Avignon; but being then desirous of seeing the old Roman city of Nismes, we procured through the guard, when stopping at the station of Valence, supplementary tickets enabling us to change at Tarascon, which we reached in the dusk about five o’clock. Here we had to change carriages, and cross the platform, and enter a dingy station orsalle-d’attente, and to wait wearily for nearly an hour till the train proceeded to Nismes. It was cold, and we had, as usual, no assistance from porters with ourpetits bagages. Nismes is about an hour’s journey by rail from Tarascon. The mistral was blowing, and it was bitterly cold. The coldness of this wind is, I believe, greatly produced by the cutting down of the trees on the mountains in the south of France; and if so, the sooner they are replanted the better. It is piercinglyfelt all over the south of France, even Mentone, at its extreme east point, not being wholly sheltered from its influence. I fancy that in the Roman times, when such places as Nismes, Avignon, and Arles were selected for habitation, the mistral was not felt, at least to the extent it is now. It prevented our invalid from leaving the house while at Nismes on this occasion.

Nismes, as a capital city of a department of France, is a town of importance. It is the seat of the departmental courts, and it possesses various educational establishments as well as a variety of manufactures. It is beautifully situated in a fertile district. The town itself is attractive. The principal streets are wide and clean, and the Boulevards are pleasant; but it is as an ancient city, full of vestiges of old Roman occupation, that it possesses charms to attract the stranger.

The most famous of these Roman remains is the Arena, and attention is naturally drawn to it from being situated fronting a large open space in the heart of the town, called the Esplanade. It was the first of the Roman amphitheatres we had at that time seen. Exposed to the mistral, it was then intensely cold; and one could hardly suppose that it would have been built on that site if it had not been at the time a place to which the people could go without fear of colds (for, odd though it may sound, I fancy the grand old Roman nose did suffer occasionally from colds). However, an arena seems to have been then as necessary an appendage to a Roman town as a church is to an English village. The building is oval in shape, and is 412 feet long by 306 feet in breadth, and rises in upwards of 30 massive tiers from the centre to the circumference, resting on strong stone arches, and containing perfect means of ingress and egress—every separate external arch having been, no doubt, a separate vomitory. The building is computed to have accommodated 32,000 persons. The arena, though in partruinous, is still in a very fair state of preservation, but is undergoing a process of restoration by the insertion of new stones in place of the old ones, to strengthen the structure, which, as the old stone is grey with age and the new stone is a beautiful pearly white, looks most incongruous. One could almost wish that the building were let alone, although it is to be hoped that in the course of years the new stone will assume a colour in keeping with the rest. Perhaps it might be stained to bring it into harmony. Of this same kind of stone, two beautiful churches have recently been built: one of them, St. Perpetué, is completed and in use; the other, a very large one,—I presume to be occupied as a cathedral, with a double spire far in advance when we saw it first,—was in the following year not yet finished. The designs of these churches, particularly in their spires, are remarkably graceful. There is another very elegant modern building adjoining the Arena, the Courts of Justice, which also fronts the Esplanade, in the centre of which open space has been erected a very handsome modern marble fountain at a cost of £10,000.

Leaving the Arena and passing up the Boulevard St. Antoine, we arrive at theMaison Carrée, or the Square House—a small but beautiful temple, with a peristyle of the Corinthian order, in admirable preservation. It is situated in a space enclosed by railings, and is occupied as a museum and picture gallery, for which it affords but limited room. From the Maison Carrée the visitor proceeds through public gardens to the Roman Baths, which are in wonderful condition, although the marble statues have nearly all lost their noses, the common fate of all marble statues long exposed to the weather. These baths are very elegant enclosures of water, now looking very stagnant and green. Upon the west side are the ruins of what has been termed a temple of Diana, in which are preserved many of the antiquities found in the vicinity of it. To the south issues, through an elegant iron rail and gateway, a very long wideavenue or boulevard calledCours Neuf, on a straight line, flanked by trees which, when completed, will extend, I think, a full mile in length. The north extremity is terminated by a hill, reached by magnificent stairs, and commanding a fine view of the Baths or fountains, of the long wide avenue beyond and the surrounding country. This hill is surmounted by theTour Magne, the ruin of a building the object of which has not been definitely ascertained.

Nismes in summer in fine weather is very hot, but is a charming residence for a few days. We stayed two nights on this occasion at the Hotel Luxembourg, which is recommended to English travellers. The men-servants here, who are also thefemmes-de-chambres, had quite an Italian look and cut, and were in their morning attire very comically dressed in a short jacket, somewhat like those schoolboys used to wear.

We returneden routefor Marseilles by Tarascon, passing by the way several stone quarries and fields in which olive trees had been planted by way of experiment. These were the first olive trees we had seen. They were young and short, and were disappointing, as in fact are all olive trees, however large or old they be, to those who, like ourselves, having read of sitting under the olive tree as a species of luxurious enjoyment, found them very different from our expectations, being in leaf like the willow. But their existence indicated approach to a warmer climate.

The old Roman town of Arles lies between Tarascon and Marseilles, and is said to be, though I doubt it, as much worth seeing as Nismes; but, owing to the difficulty of finding trains to fit in to meet our time, we have not in passing visited it.

It rained heavily all the way from Tarascon to Marseilles,when it fortunately cleared up. Part of the way is flanked by what appears to be barren desert land, possibly occasioned by the ground being high and level, so that it is not watered by rivers.

At Marseilles, we found thecommissionaireof the Hotel du Louvre et de la Paix, to which we had written for rooms, waiting. Owing to some odd arrangement then prevailing, all carriages were kept out of sight till the luggage was sorted, so that we were fortunate to get him to send for one. The hotel we found to be a large many-storeyed one, but it had a lift. There is another large hotel at Marseilles, to which we went on the next occasion. It is hard to say which is the better. The Noailles has a large and beautifulsalle à manger, and a good-sized drawing-room. Both are expensive. We found at Marseilles, as at Dijon, Lyons, Avignon, Nismes, and afterwards at Hyères, that the charge fortable-d’hôtedinner includedvin ordinaire. We had an agreeable surprise at dinner in meeting two families—old friends—from Bristol.

Marseilles is seldom visited, except as a place of halt for further travel. After staying one or two nights, those arriving depart either landward by railway or seaward by steamboat to other parts. But it is well worth at least one day’s visit to see it thoroughly. It is a very ancient city, being upwards of 2500 years old, and the population is above 300,000. In contrast to Lyons, it has all the appearance of a busy place. The principal streets are always crowded, the port is the largest in the Mediterranean, and may be considered the Liverpool of France, though the docks are not so extensive. On occasion of our first visit, the weather was cold and wet, and we had only a Sunday there, so that we did not see much; but when we paid it a second visit in October 1877, we had a little more time, and drove round the town and docks. The ancient port isa large natural harbour filled with good-sized vessels, while additional docks of large extent stretch away to the westward. Outside them, a breakwater has been built, which extends about two miles in length. Bædeker says that, on an average, nearly 20,000 vessels, of an aggregate burden of 2,000,000 tons, enter and quit Marseilles annually. Our driver pointed out as we passed, in one of the docks (the Basin de la Joillette), a P. & O. steamer; and it would have been interesting to have visited it, but we were afraid we should not have had time. A large cathedral was being built facing the docks, and will be a very prominent object to those arriving at Marseilles by sea. Another very prominent and striking object, and from which a fine view of the town, harbour, and district is to be had, is an eminence to the south-east, crowned by the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde. Leaving the docks, we proceeded round the town to the Palais de Longchamps, which stands on a height. It is a large, elegant columnar structure, with spacious staircases leading up to and through it to the gardens beyond. The palace contains two museums. A fine view is obtained from the top.

Marseilles is a busy commercial and manufacturing place. The central streets are always bustling—teeming with life. An interesting part of it is the flower market, where the women are to be seen perched up on tables or platforms tying up their pretty bouquets of flowers and selling them to purchasers. The heights to the north of the town are bare, but, together with the islands which stud the sea outside the harbour, give picturesqueness to the view. But although it stands as far south as Mentone and San Remo, or rather farther south, it wants the shelter of the health resorts on the Riviera, and suffers severely from exposure to the mistral.

On leaving Marseilles for Cannes, we had not gone far by railway before we obtained a complete change of temperature.It was like passing from winter into summer, and from dreary stony mountain ranges to verdant slopes covered with mature olive trees, and with orange and lemon trees—all indicative of a warmer climate. We did not on this first occasion stop at any place between Marseilles and Cannes, but on the following year visited Hyères, and it will therefore be adverted to in the sequel.

On this first occasion, we left by an early train on the Monday morning with our friends. We had much difficulty in getting seat-room, with no assistance from guards. The carriages were filled with people who had travelled all night from Paris. In the compartment which fell to our lot, the remainder of the seats were all filled by French gentlemen who were or had been smoking, and were begrimed with dust, and looked like very ogres. The morning was splendid, the sun, pouring out his beams in rich effulgence, gave gladness to the bright scene, which we especially felt after the cold weather to which we had, ever since our arrival in France, been exposed. After leaving Toulon, the railway goes inland and does not again touch the coast till it reaches Frejus, 91 kilometres, or above 50 miles on; but the country is very beautiful. This route, between Marseilles and Genoa, and on to Pisa, passes through constantly-occurring tunnels. It is said that between Marseilles and Genoa alone there are no less than 200, and it certainly looks like it. The train is for ever rushing into and darting out of tunnels; and as French people never think of closing windows in tunnels, and always put and keep down the glass, the transit through them is very cold and trying, particularly to invalids or to those who may be afflicted with a cold in the head. After leaving Frejus, the railway skirts the coast, and as the train emerges from a tunnel, the passengers have the opportunity of seeing the most lovely bays formed by the jutting promontories and the blue Mediterranean. In saying they have the opportunity,however, this is a chance depending upon whether there are no foreigners at the windows. If there be, most mercilessly, and without leave asked, much less obtained, down go the blue blinds on both sides of the carriage. Fortunately, on this first occasion (I was not so lucky on the second), I got seated near the south or sea window, and managed to get one of the three curtains kept up; but just as we approached within sight of Cannes, where the view was becoming exquisitely beautiful, a little of the bright sun darted in: the intruder was expelled in double haste, and the blind most uncourteously and ruthlessly pulled down. It saved some sunburnt ogre from being, if possible, a little more browned or reddened, and it signified not that his fellow-passengers were deprived of an enjoyment into which he could not enter.

VII.CANNES.Whenwe arrived at Cannes, we could see by an occasional glimpse through a chink in the obstructive blinds, that everything was bright and beautiful and gay in the sunshine. It was quite a new scene to us, and gave a charming idea of Riviera life.Waiting the arrival of the Paris train at Cannes, there are often, besides the usual very long row of omnibuses, many private carriages and always carriages for hire. Relatives had preceded us by about eight or ten days, and we desired, if possible, to join them. Just outside the station, looking for one of them, I was at once besieged by porters wanting to take ourpetits bagages. I asked one by whom I was importuned, how much he demanded to carry them to our friends’ quarters, little more than half a mile off. ‘Five francs.’ I doubt if I thanked him sufficiently; and we drove off in one of the little carriages which were there waiting employment, the fare for which was 1 franc 50 centimes. The house in which our friends were was full, and we found accommodation in the neighbouring Hotel du Pavillon. This is a large, good, first-class hotel, frequented by English people, and is situated on the west bay, with a garden, such as most of the hotels at Cannes have, in which were palm and orange trees, the latter bearing their goldenfruit. They sent for our heavy luggage, which had been lying for a week at the station, suffering no loss save that of a new rope which had been tied round one of the boxes, and which was feloniously stolen and theftuously away taken, as in Scotland Her Majesty’s advocate for Her Majesty’s interest would have charged the culprits if he had only known who they were.Cannes is very picturesquely situated. The old town, which is not savoury, fortunately rests out of sight upon an elevation or ridge which is crowned by the cathedral church and two old towers, which give a distinctive mark to the place, and are seen in most representations of Cannes. From this height, and still better from greater heights behind the town, an admirable view is obtained all round. But taking our position on the ridge, we find the hill slopes down from it away to the south, and reaching the road below, extends seaward by a short projection, partly natural and partly artificial, forming a breakwater on one side, and pier on the other, terminated by a lighthouse. The ridge and this projection divide the waters into two distinct portions, constituting the east and west bays. About two to three miles to the southward, Les Isles de Lerins, two long strips of islands—Ste. Marguerite, with its fortifications fronting the town, and St. Honorat—lie stretched along, giving a natural shelter on the south to the little port of Cannes, and, except in the neighbourhood of the fort, both covered with tall pine trees. The harbour or port, surrounded on two sides by lofty houses, warehouses, and public buildings or hotels, is right under us, on the east side of the ridge, and does not aspire to receiving more than a few sloops or vessels of small burden and a large number of boats, apparently intended principally for pleasure sailing—although, if this be their purpose, the number seemed out of all proportion to the slender demand. On the north side of this bay, the new town—the business part of Cannes—has beenbuilt. The main street, long, and lined with numerous shops, runs through the centre of it, with streets branching off right and left. It is the highway to Nice, and forms part of the famous Corniche road, which proceeds from Marseilles to Genoa along the coast. Immediately behind the town, the ground rises, and at one part becomes a low hill crowned by a few straggling houses and solitary trees. A handsome promenade has been constructed along the beach, upon which a few of the best hotels and some magnificent villas, with their large interposing gardens full of exotic trees and plants, are situated, imparting a bright and gay look to the walk. About a mile and a half or two miles to the eastward of our point of view, we see a range of hills, the shoulder of which is called California. This range, covered with pine trees, affords shelter to Cannes from the east wind; and from its extremity at California, the hill slopes sharply down, and then the ground runs far out into the water, forming a projecting arm. The last portion, of level ground, called the Croisette, reaches to a point not far from the island of St. Marguerite, and constitutes a natural breakwater to the bay and harbour on the east side. Some miles farther to the eastward, the long, low, hilly, narrow, projecting promontory called the Antibes protrudes still more into the sea, and affords additional protection, while it creates another fine bay, greater in extent, in which a fleet of French men-of-war is often seen lying at anchor or at exercise.147THE ESTRELLES FROM STHONORAT,CANNES.On the west side of the old ridge, the sea retreats in a large, beautiful bay, called the Gulf of Napoule,—or more commonly, the west bay,—the west boundary of which, several miles distant across the sea, is formed by the glorious range of mountains called the Estérels or Estrelles. These stretch out a long way seaward, and are always a picturesque feature in views of Cannes. They are covered principally with a rich dark green, which, I suppose, is due to the existence of pine forests; but in some parts, especially towards the ocean, they are bare, steep, and rocky. Irregular, and in some places even ragged-looking in outline, and varying in height, some of them are said to be as high as 4000 feet. Though much less extensive, they are to Cannes very much what the mountains of Mull are to Oban. Only they have not the constantly-changing aspect which confers so great a charm upon the Scottish hills. This is partly owing to the greater serenity of the atmosphere, three-fourths of the days being clear and sunny, without a cloud; but chiefly because the sun gets so soon round upon the mountains that they are early in the forenoon thrown into shade, giving no doubt a murkier and grander aspect, but making the separate markings less distinctly visible. The Estrelles have been photographed as in moonlight, in which they are very beautiful, but the moonlight effect so shown is a mere trick of the photographer.To the north of Cannes, and about three or four miles inland, the village of Cannet lies upon rising ground; and, I presume, from being away from the sea, it is preferred by some invalids to Cannes. Farther off, and distant about nine or ten miles from Cannes, the town of Grasse, famous for its manufacture of perfumes, is built among gardens devoted to the culture, for their essences, of roses, orange trees, heliotropes, and other odoriferous plants. Indeed, Cannes itself manufactures perfumes, and around are some gardens filled with a short or stunted species of acacia, growing to about the size of a large gooseberry bush, and bearing globular yellow flowers from which perfume is extracted. Beyond Grasse, the landward panorama is bounded on the north by distant mountain chains.It is at all times difficult to realize a place from description, even with the aid of the pictorial art; but perhaps from this short delineation it may be perceived that there is a marked character about the site, locality, and features of Cannes. But when to the natural formation the gloriouscolouring is added which it derives from the brilliant blue of the ocean and the scarcely less brilliant blue of the sky in the bright sunny days which usually mark the weather; the rich varied greens of the abounding foliage; the tropical character of the gardens; and the enlivening effect produced by the often fanciful forms of the houses, painted in luminous whites and yellows picked out upon their jalousies with green and other contrasting tints, and glowing in their red-tiled roofs, it will at once be seen that there must be a signal beauty and picturesqueness about the landscape which cannot fail to arrest the eyes of those to whom this phase of scenery is new.But Cannes was never a town of any importance until Lord Brougham took up his residence there. It happened in the year 1831 that his lordship was detained at Cannes by the prevalence somewhere of a pestilence. He was so much struck with the natural features of the landscape and the suitability of the place for winter residence, and so impressed, that he soon thereafter acquired ground on the west bay, where he built a house, to which he used regularly every winter to resort, and where, on 7th May 1868, he died. His example brought many English people to the locality, and Cannes is now in the winter season such a place of fashionable resort for English and Scotch families, that it may be regarded as completely an English colony, there being but a sprinkling of other nationalities. It is accordingly in both bays studded with villas, and filled with numerous large hotels, the latter said to number upwards of fifty. There are no less than three English (Episcopal) churches, and in the west bay, near the town (the handsome gift of Sir John M’Neill, who has a residence in the suburbs), a Scotch Presbyterian church. There are also both French and German churches. The population of Cannes has increased wonderfully since Lord Brougham led the fashion to it, and it is now, I believe, considerably over10,000. A monument has been erected to his lordship in the cemetery where he is buried, and a marble bust of him has, on a long square pillar pedestal, been placed in the public gardens of the west bay. When we were last at Cannes (November 1877), it was proposed by the municipal authorities to hold a centenary celebration of the birth of Lord Brougham as the virtual founder of the town; and this festival has since (April 1879) been held, lasting four days. Nor is it any wonder that the Cannais should feel themselves under a debt of gratitude to the great English, or rather Scottish, lord. The following paragraph from an account of the fête, contained in theScotsmanof 4th April 1879, speaks for itself:—‘It is a matter of unquestionable fact, that, since the days of Lord Brougham’s example to his countrymen, prosperity has flowed steadily in upon the fortunate people of Cannes. Those of them who were lucky enough to possess land, have had golden opportunities, and must have made ample fortunes out of the weak-chested but strong-pursed stranger to whom this winter climate is simply a necessity of life. The price of ground here, fit to build upon, is almost fabulous. Eight to ten thousand pounds an acre is a common rate for small lots near the town, and a site was quite recently sold, in the principal boulevard, at the enormous rate of £19,200 per acre. Even in the remotest suburbs, outside the cab radius, nothing available for building can be had under 10 francs a metre, or £1600 an acre.’The Corniche road runs westward through, for upwards of two miles, a nearly continuous line of charming villas, and thence on to Napoule, upon the west of the bay of that name. Upon the right or east side of this road, about half a mile from the old town ridge, which may be said to bound on the west the town proper, the villa of Lord Brougham may be seen standing at the top of a gentle slope, where it commands a beautiful view of the bay and the Estrelles, though exposed to the west winds. It is of good size, but nothing remarkable. We did not, however, see the interior, nor does it seem to be shown to strangers. In being enclosed by an iron railing towards the road, it offers an exemplary exception to the rule, as nearly all the villas in that direction are enclosed by high walls which shut outthe sight of the grounds within, and make the road for a long stretch dull walking. Nor is there a footpath except for a short way, although one was, when we were last there, in progress of formation, and very needful too, as after rain the road is particularly muddy, so that walking in that direction is not always inviting. But generally on an afternoon, when the occupants of the villas are out driving, their gateways are left open, and passers-by get glimpses into fascinating gardens exuberant with palm and other tropical trees, which, freed from their unsightly enclosing walls, would so enliven the way without the privacy of the inhabitants being really disturbed.One of the most delightful residences in this neighbourhood is the chateau of the Duke of Vallombrosa. This Italian nobleman asked, as the sole recompense of services rendered to the King of Italy, the title which he now bears. His villa is in the castellated style, and stands upon an eminence—a very picturesque object in the landscape, and seen from all parts round. The grounds attached to the house—extending, I suppose, to at least eight or ten acres, and the oldest about Cannes—are, in the duke’s absence, open to visitors. To those who have not previously seen any gardens of the kind, it appears a sort of fairy-land, if such a term can be applied to a place where much of the timber is gigantic. The vegetation is rich, luxuriant, tropical, and the place looks delicious on a sunny day, under the cool shelter afforded by the trees from the rays of the sun, while here and there a fountain sends up its refreshing stream of water. Below the battlemented castle terrace, a shady grotto has been built—a cool retreat in hot weather, perhaps too cool to be safe. This garden contains many lofty specimens of a tree recently introduced into the Riviera, and everywhere to be seen there, called the Eucalyptus. A relic of the Eocene period,[17]when everything was on a hugescale, it shoots up with amazing rapidity, apparently something like ten feet in a year, and I believe ultimately reaches sometimes a height of nearly 500 feet. I have seen it stated in a colonial paper that the largest known, grown in (I think, speaking from recollection) New Zealand, has reached the height of 480 feet, and is claimed to be the highest tree in the world. Probably it is not of great age, as the growth of the Eucalyptus is much more rapid than that of the Californian trees. As it matures, it changes the form of its leaf from what it was when young, and sheds its bark. It possesses some very health-bringing properties, or is an antidote to what is insalubrious, and bears a beautiful white flower. In the duke’s gardens some of these trees are very lofty. They were, I presume, planted about twelve or fifteen years previous to our visit, and appeared to be then considerably over 100 feet.A hill called the Croix de Garde slopes up behind the Villa Vallombrosa, or rather to the northward. It is several hundred feet high, and its summit, crowned with pine trees, commands an extensive prospect, and forms a delightful walk to those who are able to make the ascent. The view comprises the bays and all that I have already described. A little iron cross, inserted in a stone upon the top, to which no doubt some legend attaches, gives its name to the height.The Corniche road below, running between the lines of villas, conducts to a little village called Verviers, about three miles from town. Here there is a large forest of umbrella pines bordering the coast, furnishing opportunities of study to the artist and to the photographer, and where one can enjoy a forenoon’s rambling about. The railway cuts the forest off from the shore, and flanks the beach all the way till it arrives close upon Cannes, and must therefore operate injuriously to the amenity. So far as the villas are concerned, they have, by means of bridges or otherwise, communicationwith the sea. Fortunately, however, for Cannes, the railway leaves the coast about half a mile from town, and passing through a tunnel proceeds by the back of the town, where the station is.From near the point where the railway diverges from the shore, the public promenade on the west bay commences. This is lined by palm trees, but the dust and the sea air together seem inimical to their development. The main promenade is that which, commencing with the harbour, runs eastward to the point of Croisette, a distance of from two to three miles. It is a great resort of visitors both on foot and in carriages. A band of music plays alternate days on the east and west bays. In each of these bays there are bathing establishments of a construction peculiar to the Riviera, being somewhat of the nature of the Lacustrian dwellings. They are simply wooden sheds for undressing and dressing in, resting upon poles stuck firmly into the beach, with depending ladders to enable the bathers to descend to the water. As the beach shelves very rapidly down, I presume that bathers who cannot swim must always be in charge of an attendant or be tied by a rope; but whether it was that the bathing may have taken place at an early hour, I have hardly ever seen any person indulging in a bath at Cannes during our brief visits, although the temperature is seldom such throughout the winter as to forbid the exercise to persons in good health either at this or at other parts of the province. I have seen at Nice (a colder place than Cannes) people bathing towards the end of November. By a strange fatality, for one can hardly suppose it to be the result of deliberate arrangement, we observed that close by each of the bathing establishments a drain has been run into the sea, the same practice occurring also at Biarritz. These drains are so odoriferously disagreeable as to make it unpleasant to walk along the promenade, while one would think that some parts of Cannes ought in consequence to be unhealthy.At all events, they must to a certain extent nullify the good got from residence at this otherwise agreeable and fashionable watering-place.Near the point of Croisette, there is a large orange garden which has been dignified with the name of the garden of the Hesperides. The oranges are cultivated for sale, and the trees are covered with the yellow fruit. In all the private gardens orange trees grow, and sometimes, though rarely, lemons, which I understand do not flourish at Cannes so well as elsewhere in the Riviera—a symptomatic sign indicative of a colder climate; for the lemon is a very delicate tree, requiring warmth and shelter, and being injured or killed by frost. There are also many arbutus trees in the gardens, bearing rich red soft berries nearly an inch in diameter, which are edible, and become ripe about November or December, and are sometimes, I have been informed, put down as dessert at hotel tables. The oranges do not ripen till February, although the fruit is on the trees all the year round.At Croisette there is a depôt for the sale of the earthenware, tinted with a peculiar blue or with a livid green, of which many fancy articles are made in the neighbouring town of Vallauris; but the stuff is brittle, and it is not advisable to purchase for bringing home any articles with slender handles—they break so easily off, while they can be bought at home in china shops.One of the favourite drives is to California, upon the slope of which some new large hotels have been built, from which the views must be fine; but the situation, though healthy, is rather inconveniently distant from the town, and involves a pull up hill, which perhaps puts walking up beyond the power of invalids. We drove there on the 18th November. The sun had risen gloriously in the morning. There was not a speck of cloud on the sky. The day wasbroiling hot, and it was difficult to realize that we were no longer in July, but in a time of year when at home we should have had cold wintry weather. So warm, indeed, had we felt it at Cannes, that we were under the necessity of throwing off the extra clothing we had donned at Paris and Lyons. The road is steep, and the ascent fatiguing to horse and man, to the point where the reservoir, which supplies Cannes with water, is placed. Here we left the carriage and climbed to the top of the hill over above, the view from which amply repaid the exertion. Had we gone to a farther height, we should have seen the Alpes Maritimes; but from the height at which we arrived, the view was magnificent, the Estrelles lying straight out to the west, Antibes to the east, and the Lerins lying, to appearance, almost below us to the south. In a glowing sunshine such as we then had, the Mediterranean is always of a brilliant deep blue, while the sky is also of a rich blue of a lighter shade. One can hardly realize the beauty of the scenery beheld on such a day without having previously witnessed another like it. Such days would live in our recollection even more than they do, were they not, during several months’ residence in the Riviera, of so frequent occurrence.During the winter season, there is, for the accommodation of visitors, a tiny steamer, perhaps about the magnitude of Fulton’s first steamboat, mayhap the identical one, which, for a fare of 2 francs (return ticket), crosses to the islands of Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat. We resolved to spend a forenoon on Ste. Marguerite, and, with about twenty or thirty passengers on board, crossed, leaving at eleven o’clock and returning at four. The boat stopped at a little quay below the high walls of Fort Monterey. Here we got out, and the whole party landing, went up to see the fort, which is doubly famous as the place where Bazaine was confined and from which he escaped, and where ‘the man in the iron mask’ was so long imprisoned. Like some other Frenchforts, it is not at present occupied by soldiers, though a regular fortification in masonry, and capable of affording protection against vessels seeking to attack Cannes. A man placed as resident in the fort accompanied us to the rooms which had been occupied by Bazaine. The suite of apartments was extensive, and bore anything but the appearance of a prison-house. Except for the involuntary confinement, one might regard it as a charming residence; and in its recent occupation was a public remonstrance against the barbarity of laws which imprison convicted persons who have hitherto enjoyed a good social position in the same cells as ordinary criminals, to whom such cells are in truth more comfortable than their own miserable dirty homes. We were then taken to the spot where it is said that Bazaine escaped by descending the wall and rock. The height is not great, and a descent in the daylight would be no great achievement. It would no doubt be more difficult and perhaps dangerous in the dark, and it is even alleged that the Marshal was allowed to walk out by the gate. There is no great improbability in this story, seeing that the French had gained all they wanted by a condemnation of this officer as a scapegoat for their want of success. The room in which the ‘man in the iron mask’ was confined, was much more like a prison—a cell with massive thick walls. We saw the hole through which he is said to have dropped the billet which was picked up by a fisherman.There has been placed in this fort one of those semaphores which are studded along the coast of France, by which signals are or used to be made, and which, before the introduction of the electric telegraph, were no doubt useful. From the battlements we had a clear view of the magnificent landscape before us, which embraced on the extreme right distance the snowy peaks of the Maritime Alps. We left the fort, and wandered over the island and through the trees, with which the greater part of it is covered, lunchedal fresco, and enjoyed our forenoon very much. It is an island we could have wished transported, with all its surroundings and its sunshine, to our own shores.We spent fifteen days on this occasion at Cannes. It is a nice place for winter residence for those who are in good health; but I doubt whether, notwithstanding the records of the thermometer, it be sufficiently warm—at least, whether it affords sufficient shelter—for delicate invalids, being apparently a good deal more open to north and west winds than some other places in the Riviera. Before we arrived, there had been not a little rain, and the roads were very dirty. While we remained, we had still more; but the usual weather all along the Riviera is dry and fair, and it is of dust one has most to complain. There is no river meriting the name debouching within the limits of the town, although their insignificant beds are speedily filled when heavy rain falls.Like most places on the Riviera, there is abundance of marble used in the houses and hotels. It is not altogether without its drawbacks and its dangers. Stair steps are of marble, and it is requisite to be careful in descending. On one occasion I slipped upon a marble step and fell on my back, and might, had the fall been more direct, have received permanent injury; but in the winter time carpets are usually laid on the stairs.It is said that there are snakes and venomous green lizards. We never saw any snakes, and though there are plenty of lizards running nimbly about and up the walls, diving out of sight into hiding holes, yet sometimes leaving a little of their long tails sticking out, I cannot vouch for these being either venomous or innocuous. They look pretty gentle creatures, and one is rather savage to see men and boys throwing stones at them.A real pest, however, to which all are exposed at Cannes and kindred places, is the plague of the mosquitoes, which abound in hot weather. We were told they were off by the 1st of November, but we found upon arrival at Cannes, and throughout our stay there, that this insect plague was in full force. It is a small gnat, with long legs and yellowish-brown wing. The first thing that we did was to kill as many as we could see resting on ceiling, walls, or bed, and this is best effected by coming quickly down upon them with a damp towel; but they are very agile, and unless the arm be vigorous and prompt, they escape the swish. They are also remarkably knowing and cunning, and soon discover when an enemy is bent on their destruction, when they manage unaccountably to disappear. Nay, even without attack made, they will hide themselves during the day, conscious that they will get a good feed during the night. Every now and then they came buzzing about you with a peculiar hum, which becomes more loud just when the insect is about to strike. This it does by driving its proboscis like a lancet into the skin, extracting a drop of blood, and leaving behind, I fancy, a minute drop of poison or other cause of irritation, producing a small red mark. Most people do not suffer inconvenience from the bite itself beyond the mark it leaves, and with which the brow, a favourite point of attack, soon gets dotted over. One lady at Cannes was so severely bitten that she could hardly see, her eyes being nearly closed by the effects of the bites, so much so as to prevent her coming to the table. Another lady was so affected by the bites that the parts bitten rose in large swellings, requiring her to consult a doctor, by whom they were lanced; and the cure was tedious, leaving long after marks on the skin. But the great annoyance which they occasion is their tormenting vicious hum, revealing their presence, and showing that at any moment they may be down upon you. If you wake through the night and hear this hum, it is impossible to getany further sleep. If there be anything worse than a mosquito humming about you, it is to have two of them; but one is enough to keep you lively, and furnish you with incessant employment; and where one is, there are generally plenty more. Apparently the mosquito, like the king, never dies, for as fast as one is slain another reigns in his stead. All sorts of remedies for the bite are prescribed, but we found that prevention is better than cure; and the most effectual prevention, besides taking care to close windows early and not to light a candle before closing, was to burn a pastille, specially prepared for the purpose, by placing it on an iron shovel, and just before bed-time carrying it burning round the room and holding it within the bed curtains. The smoke of it appears to stupefy the insect, although it does not kill it; and in the morning the mosquitoes, evidently wanting to get out to breathe the fresh air and take their revenge at night, fly in a sickly condition to the windows, where, or elsewhere about the room, they are easily killed. When killed, a bloody streak is left, indicating they have been fed somewhere. One extraordinary circumstance is that, although the fecundity of this creature is enormous,[18]yet those which find their way into rooms are comparatively few, and it puzzles one to know where the rest go to. I believe the insect’s existence is not so much due to great heat as to bad drainage. We found Cannes to be worse than Mentone, and Hyères worse than Cannes; but by Christmas-time, when cold weather has set in, they nearly vanish, although, when a fire is lighted, sometimes they are either attracted or revived, but are then in a weakly condition.

CANNES.

Whenwe arrived at Cannes, we could see by an occasional glimpse through a chink in the obstructive blinds, that everything was bright and beautiful and gay in the sunshine. It was quite a new scene to us, and gave a charming idea of Riviera life.

Waiting the arrival of the Paris train at Cannes, there are often, besides the usual very long row of omnibuses, many private carriages and always carriages for hire. Relatives had preceded us by about eight or ten days, and we desired, if possible, to join them. Just outside the station, looking for one of them, I was at once besieged by porters wanting to take ourpetits bagages. I asked one by whom I was importuned, how much he demanded to carry them to our friends’ quarters, little more than half a mile off. ‘Five francs.’ I doubt if I thanked him sufficiently; and we drove off in one of the little carriages which were there waiting employment, the fare for which was 1 franc 50 centimes. The house in which our friends were was full, and we found accommodation in the neighbouring Hotel du Pavillon. This is a large, good, first-class hotel, frequented by English people, and is situated on the west bay, with a garden, such as most of the hotels at Cannes have, in which were palm and orange trees, the latter bearing their goldenfruit. They sent for our heavy luggage, which had been lying for a week at the station, suffering no loss save that of a new rope which had been tied round one of the boxes, and which was feloniously stolen and theftuously away taken, as in Scotland Her Majesty’s advocate for Her Majesty’s interest would have charged the culprits if he had only known who they were.

Cannes is very picturesquely situated. The old town, which is not savoury, fortunately rests out of sight upon an elevation or ridge which is crowned by the cathedral church and two old towers, which give a distinctive mark to the place, and are seen in most representations of Cannes. From this height, and still better from greater heights behind the town, an admirable view is obtained all round. But taking our position on the ridge, we find the hill slopes down from it away to the south, and reaching the road below, extends seaward by a short projection, partly natural and partly artificial, forming a breakwater on one side, and pier on the other, terminated by a lighthouse. The ridge and this projection divide the waters into two distinct portions, constituting the east and west bays. About two to three miles to the southward, Les Isles de Lerins, two long strips of islands—Ste. Marguerite, with its fortifications fronting the town, and St. Honorat—lie stretched along, giving a natural shelter on the south to the little port of Cannes, and, except in the neighbourhood of the fort, both covered with tall pine trees. The harbour or port, surrounded on two sides by lofty houses, warehouses, and public buildings or hotels, is right under us, on the east side of the ridge, and does not aspire to receiving more than a few sloops or vessels of small burden and a large number of boats, apparently intended principally for pleasure sailing—although, if this be their purpose, the number seemed out of all proportion to the slender demand. On the north side of this bay, the new town—the business part of Cannes—has beenbuilt. The main street, long, and lined with numerous shops, runs through the centre of it, with streets branching off right and left. It is the highway to Nice, and forms part of the famous Corniche road, which proceeds from Marseilles to Genoa along the coast. Immediately behind the town, the ground rises, and at one part becomes a low hill crowned by a few straggling houses and solitary trees. A handsome promenade has been constructed along the beach, upon which a few of the best hotels and some magnificent villas, with their large interposing gardens full of exotic trees and plants, are situated, imparting a bright and gay look to the walk. About a mile and a half or two miles to the eastward of our point of view, we see a range of hills, the shoulder of which is called California. This range, covered with pine trees, affords shelter to Cannes from the east wind; and from its extremity at California, the hill slopes sharply down, and then the ground runs far out into the water, forming a projecting arm. The last portion, of level ground, called the Croisette, reaches to a point not far from the island of St. Marguerite, and constitutes a natural breakwater to the bay and harbour on the east side. Some miles farther to the eastward, the long, low, hilly, narrow, projecting promontory called the Antibes protrudes still more into the sea, and affords additional protection, while it creates another fine bay, greater in extent, in which a fleet of French men-of-war is often seen lying at anchor or at exercise.

147

THE ESTRELLES FROM STHONORAT,CANNES.

THE ESTRELLES FROM STHONORAT,CANNES.

THE ESTRELLES FROM STHONORAT,CANNES.

On the west side of the old ridge, the sea retreats in a large, beautiful bay, called the Gulf of Napoule,—or more commonly, the west bay,—the west boundary of which, several miles distant across the sea, is formed by the glorious range of mountains called the Estérels or Estrelles. These stretch out a long way seaward, and are always a picturesque feature in views of Cannes. They are covered principally with a rich dark green, which, I suppose, is due to the existence of pine forests; but in some parts, especially towards the ocean, they are bare, steep, and rocky. Irregular, and in some places even ragged-looking in outline, and varying in height, some of them are said to be as high as 4000 feet. Though much less extensive, they are to Cannes very much what the mountains of Mull are to Oban. Only they have not the constantly-changing aspect which confers so great a charm upon the Scottish hills. This is partly owing to the greater serenity of the atmosphere, three-fourths of the days being clear and sunny, without a cloud; but chiefly because the sun gets so soon round upon the mountains that they are early in the forenoon thrown into shade, giving no doubt a murkier and grander aspect, but making the separate markings less distinctly visible. The Estrelles have been photographed as in moonlight, in which they are very beautiful, but the moonlight effect so shown is a mere trick of the photographer.

To the north of Cannes, and about three or four miles inland, the village of Cannet lies upon rising ground; and, I presume, from being away from the sea, it is preferred by some invalids to Cannes. Farther off, and distant about nine or ten miles from Cannes, the town of Grasse, famous for its manufacture of perfumes, is built among gardens devoted to the culture, for their essences, of roses, orange trees, heliotropes, and other odoriferous plants. Indeed, Cannes itself manufactures perfumes, and around are some gardens filled with a short or stunted species of acacia, growing to about the size of a large gooseberry bush, and bearing globular yellow flowers from which perfume is extracted. Beyond Grasse, the landward panorama is bounded on the north by distant mountain chains.

It is at all times difficult to realize a place from description, even with the aid of the pictorial art; but perhaps from this short delineation it may be perceived that there is a marked character about the site, locality, and features of Cannes. But when to the natural formation the gloriouscolouring is added which it derives from the brilliant blue of the ocean and the scarcely less brilliant blue of the sky in the bright sunny days which usually mark the weather; the rich varied greens of the abounding foliage; the tropical character of the gardens; and the enlivening effect produced by the often fanciful forms of the houses, painted in luminous whites and yellows picked out upon their jalousies with green and other contrasting tints, and glowing in their red-tiled roofs, it will at once be seen that there must be a signal beauty and picturesqueness about the landscape which cannot fail to arrest the eyes of those to whom this phase of scenery is new.

But Cannes was never a town of any importance until Lord Brougham took up his residence there. It happened in the year 1831 that his lordship was detained at Cannes by the prevalence somewhere of a pestilence. He was so much struck with the natural features of the landscape and the suitability of the place for winter residence, and so impressed, that he soon thereafter acquired ground on the west bay, where he built a house, to which he used regularly every winter to resort, and where, on 7th May 1868, he died. His example brought many English people to the locality, and Cannes is now in the winter season such a place of fashionable resort for English and Scotch families, that it may be regarded as completely an English colony, there being but a sprinkling of other nationalities. It is accordingly in both bays studded with villas, and filled with numerous large hotels, the latter said to number upwards of fifty. There are no less than three English (Episcopal) churches, and in the west bay, near the town (the handsome gift of Sir John M’Neill, who has a residence in the suburbs), a Scotch Presbyterian church. There are also both French and German churches. The population of Cannes has increased wonderfully since Lord Brougham led the fashion to it, and it is now, I believe, considerably over10,000. A monument has been erected to his lordship in the cemetery where he is buried, and a marble bust of him has, on a long square pillar pedestal, been placed in the public gardens of the west bay. When we were last at Cannes (November 1877), it was proposed by the municipal authorities to hold a centenary celebration of the birth of Lord Brougham as the virtual founder of the town; and this festival has since (April 1879) been held, lasting four days. Nor is it any wonder that the Cannais should feel themselves under a debt of gratitude to the great English, or rather Scottish, lord. The following paragraph from an account of the fête, contained in theScotsmanof 4th April 1879, speaks for itself:—

‘It is a matter of unquestionable fact, that, since the days of Lord Brougham’s example to his countrymen, prosperity has flowed steadily in upon the fortunate people of Cannes. Those of them who were lucky enough to possess land, have had golden opportunities, and must have made ample fortunes out of the weak-chested but strong-pursed stranger to whom this winter climate is simply a necessity of life. The price of ground here, fit to build upon, is almost fabulous. Eight to ten thousand pounds an acre is a common rate for small lots near the town, and a site was quite recently sold, in the principal boulevard, at the enormous rate of £19,200 per acre. Even in the remotest suburbs, outside the cab radius, nothing available for building can be had under 10 francs a metre, or £1600 an acre.’

The Corniche road runs westward through, for upwards of two miles, a nearly continuous line of charming villas, and thence on to Napoule, upon the west of the bay of that name. Upon the right or east side of this road, about half a mile from the old town ridge, which may be said to bound on the west the town proper, the villa of Lord Brougham may be seen standing at the top of a gentle slope, where it commands a beautiful view of the bay and the Estrelles, though exposed to the west winds. It is of good size, but nothing remarkable. We did not, however, see the interior, nor does it seem to be shown to strangers. In being enclosed by an iron railing towards the road, it offers an exemplary exception to the rule, as nearly all the villas in that direction are enclosed by high walls which shut outthe sight of the grounds within, and make the road for a long stretch dull walking. Nor is there a footpath except for a short way, although one was, when we were last there, in progress of formation, and very needful too, as after rain the road is particularly muddy, so that walking in that direction is not always inviting. But generally on an afternoon, when the occupants of the villas are out driving, their gateways are left open, and passers-by get glimpses into fascinating gardens exuberant with palm and other tropical trees, which, freed from their unsightly enclosing walls, would so enliven the way without the privacy of the inhabitants being really disturbed.

One of the most delightful residences in this neighbourhood is the chateau of the Duke of Vallombrosa. This Italian nobleman asked, as the sole recompense of services rendered to the King of Italy, the title which he now bears. His villa is in the castellated style, and stands upon an eminence—a very picturesque object in the landscape, and seen from all parts round. The grounds attached to the house—extending, I suppose, to at least eight or ten acres, and the oldest about Cannes—are, in the duke’s absence, open to visitors. To those who have not previously seen any gardens of the kind, it appears a sort of fairy-land, if such a term can be applied to a place where much of the timber is gigantic. The vegetation is rich, luxuriant, tropical, and the place looks delicious on a sunny day, under the cool shelter afforded by the trees from the rays of the sun, while here and there a fountain sends up its refreshing stream of water. Below the battlemented castle terrace, a shady grotto has been built—a cool retreat in hot weather, perhaps too cool to be safe. This garden contains many lofty specimens of a tree recently introduced into the Riviera, and everywhere to be seen there, called the Eucalyptus. A relic of the Eocene period,[17]when everything was on a hugescale, it shoots up with amazing rapidity, apparently something like ten feet in a year, and I believe ultimately reaches sometimes a height of nearly 500 feet. I have seen it stated in a colonial paper that the largest known, grown in (I think, speaking from recollection) New Zealand, has reached the height of 480 feet, and is claimed to be the highest tree in the world. Probably it is not of great age, as the growth of the Eucalyptus is much more rapid than that of the Californian trees. As it matures, it changes the form of its leaf from what it was when young, and sheds its bark. It possesses some very health-bringing properties, or is an antidote to what is insalubrious, and bears a beautiful white flower. In the duke’s gardens some of these trees are very lofty. They were, I presume, planted about twelve or fifteen years previous to our visit, and appeared to be then considerably over 100 feet.

A hill called the Croix de Garde slopes up behind the Villa Vallombrosa, or rather to the northward. It is several hundred feet high, and its summit, crowned with pine trees, commands an extensive prospect, and forms a delightful walk to those who are able to make the ascent. The view comprises the bays and all that I have already described. A little iron cross, inserted in a stone upon the top, to which no doubt some legend attaches, gives its name to the height.

The Corniche road below, running between the lines of villas, conducts to a little village called Verviers, about three miles from town. Here there is a large forest of umbrella pines bordering the coast, furnishing opportunities of study to the artist and to the photographer, and where one can enjoy a forenoon’s rambling about. The railway cuts the forest off from the shore, and flanks the beach all the way till it arrives close upon Cannes, and must therefore operate injuriously to the amenity. So far as the villas are concerned, they have, by means of bridges or otherwise, communicationwith the sea. Fortunately, however, for Cannes, the railway leaves the coast about half a mile from town, and passing through a tunnel proceeds by the back of the town, where the station is.

From near the point where the railway diverges from the shore, the public promenade on the west bay commences. This is lined by palm trees, but the dust and the sea air together seem inimical to their development. The main promenade is that which, commencing with the harbour, runs eastward to the point of Croisette, a distance of from two to three miles. It is a great resort of visitors both on foot and in carriages. A band of music plays alternate days on the east and west bays. In each of these bays there are bathing establishments of a construction peculiar to the Riviera, being somewhat of the nature of the Lacustrian dwellings. They are simply wooden sheds for undressing and dressing in, resting upon poles stuck firmly into the beach, with depending ladders to enable the bathers to descend to the water. As the beach shelves very rapidly down, I presume that bathers who cannot swim must always be in charge of an attendant or be tied by a rope; but whether it was that the bathing may have taken place at an early hour, I have hardly ever seen any person indulging in a bath at Cannes during our brief visits, although the temperature is seldom such throughout the winter as to forbid the exercise to persons in good health either at this or at other parts of the province. I have seen at Nice (a colder place than Cannes) people bathing towards the end of November. By a strange fatality, for one can hardly suppose it to be the result of deliberate arrangement, we observed that close by each of the bathing establishments a drain has been run into the sea, the same practice occurring also at Biarritz. These drains are so odoriferously disagreeable as to make it unpleasant to walk along the promenade, while one would think that some parts of Cannes ought in consequence to be unhealthy.At all events, they must to a certain extent nullify the good got from residence at this otherwise agreeable and fashionable watering-place.

Near the point of Croisette, there is a large orange garden which has been dignified with the name of the garden of the Hesperides. The oranges are cultivated for sale, and the trees are covered with the yellow fruit. In all the private gardens orange trees grow, and sometimes, though rarely, lemons, which I understand do not flourish at Cannes so well as elsewhere in the Riviera—a symptomatic sign indicative of a colder climate; for the lemon is a very delicate tree, requiring warmth and shelter, and being injured or killed by frost. There are also many arbutus trees in the gardens, bearing rich red soft berries nearly an inch in diameter, which are edible, and become ripe about November or December, and are sometimes, I have been informed, put down as dessert at hotel tables. The oranges do not ripen till February, although the fruit is on the trees all the year round.

At Croisette there is a depôt for the sale of the earthenware, tinted with a peculiar blue or with a livid green, of which many fancy articles are made in the neighbouring town of Vallauris; but the stuff is brittle, and it is not advisable to purchase for bringing home any articles with slender handles—they break so easily off, while they can be bought at home in china shops.

One of the favourite drives is to California, upon the slope of which some new large hotels have been built, from which the views must be fine; but the situation, though healthy, is rather inconveniently distant from the town, and involves a pull up hill, which perhaps puts walking up beyond the power of invalids. We drove there on the 18th November. The sun had risen gloriously in the morning. There was not a speck of cloud on the sky. The day wasbroiling hot, and it was difficult to realize that we were no longer in July, but in a time of year when at home we should have had cold wintry weather. So warm, indeed, had we felt it at Cannes, that we were under the necessity of throwing off the extra clothing we had donned at Paris and Lyons. The road is steep, and the ascent fatiguing to horse and man, to the point where the reservoir, which supplies Cannes with water, is placed. Here we left the carriage and climbed to the top of the hill over above, the view from which amply repaid the exertion. Had we gone to a farther height, we should have seen the Alpes Maritimes; but from the height at which we arrived, the view was magnificent, the Estrelles lying straight out to the west, Antibes to the east, and the Lerins lying, to appearance, almost below us to the south. In a glowing sunshine such as we then had, the Mediterranean is always of a brilliant deep blue, while the sky is also of a rich blue of a lighter shade. One can hardly realize the beauty of the scenery beheld on such a day without having previously witnessed another like it. Such days would live in our recollection even more than they do, were they not, during several months’ residence in the Riviera, of so frequent occurrence.

During the winter season, there is, for the accommodation of visitors, a tiny steamer, perhaps about the magnitude of Fulton’s first steamboat, mayhap the identical one, which, for a fare of 2 francs (return ticket), crosses to the islands of Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat. We resolved to spend a forenoon on Ste. Marguerite, and, with about twenty or thirty passengers on board, crossed, leaving at eleven o’clock and returning at four. The boat stopped at a little quay below the high walls of Fort Monterey. Here we got out, and the whole party landing, went up to see the fort, which is doubly famous as the place where Bazaine was confined and from which he escaped, and where ‘the man in the iron mask’ was so long imprisoned. Like some other Frenchforts, it is not at present occupied by soldiers, though a regular fortification in masonry, and capable of affording protection against vessels seeking to attack Cannes. A man placed as resident in the fort accompanied us to the rooms which had been occupied by Bazaine. The suite of apartments was extensive, and bore anything but the appearance of a prison-house. Except for the involuntary confinement, one might regard it as a charming residence; and in its recent occupation was a public remonstrance against the barbarity of laws which imprison convicted persons who have hitherto enjoyed a good social position in the same cells as ordinary criminals, to whom such cells are in truth more comfortable than their own miserable dirty homes. We were then taken to the spot where it is said that Bazaine escaped by descending the wall and rock. The height is not great, and a descent in the daylight would be no great achievement. It would no doubt be more difficult and perhaps dangerous in the dark, and it is even alleged that the Marshal was allowed to walk out by the gate. There is no great improbability in this story, seeing that the French had gained all they wanted by a condemnation of this officer as a scapegoat for their want of success. The room in which the ‘man in the iron mask’ was confined, was much more like a prison—a cell with massive thick walls. We saw the hole through which he is said to have dropped the billet which was picked up by a fisherman.

There has been placed in this fort one of those semaphores which are studded along the coast of France, by which signals are or used to be made, and which, before the introduction of the electric telegraph, were no doubt useful. From the battlements we had a clear view of the magnificent landscape before us, which embraced on the extreme right distance the snowy peaks of the Maritime Alps. We left the fort, and wandered over the island and through the trees, with which the greater part of it is covered, lunchedal fresco, and enjoyed our forenoon very much. It is an island we could have wished transported, with all its surroundings and its sunshine, to our own shores.

We spent fifteen days on this occasion at Cannes. It is a nice place for winter residence for those who are in good health; but I doubt whether, notwithstanding the records of the thermometer, it be sufficiently warm—at least, whether it affords sufficient shelter—for delicate invalids, being apparently a good deal more open to north and west winds than some other places in the Riviera. Before we arrived, there had been not a little rain, and the roads were very dirty. While we remained, we had still more; but the usual weather all along the Riviera is dry and fair, and it is of dust one has most to complain. There is no river meriting the name debouching within the limits of the town, although their insignificant beds are speedily filled when heavy rain falls.

Like most places on the Riviera, there is abundance of marble used in the houses and hotels. It is not altogether without its drawbacks and its dangers. Stair steps are of marble, and it is requisite to be careful in descending. On one occasion I slipped upon a marble step and fell on my back, and might, had the fall been more direct, have received permanent injury; but in the winter time carpets are usually laid on the stairs.

It is said that there are snakes and venomous green lizards. We never saw any snakes, and though there are plenty of lizards running nimbly about and up the walls, diving out of sight into hiding holes, yet sometimes leaving a little of their long tails sticking out, I cannot vouch for these being either venomous or innocuous. They look pretty gentle creatures, and one is rather savage to see men and boys throwing stones at them.

A real pest, however, to which all are exposed at Cannes and kindred places, is the plague of the mosquitoes, which abound in hot weather. We were told they were off by the 1st of November, but we found upon arrival at Cannes, and throughout our stay there, that this insect plague was in full force. It is a small gnat, with long legs and yellowish-brown wing. The first thing that we did was to kill as many as we could see resting on ceiling, walls, or bed, and this is best effected by coming quickly down upon them with a damp towel; but they are very agile, and unless the arm be vigorous and prompt, they escape the swish. They are also remarkably knowing and cunning, and soon discover when an enemy is bent on their destruction, when they manage unaccountably to disappear. Nay, even without attack made, they will hide themselves during the day, conscious that they will get a good feed during the night. Every now and then they came buzzing about you with a peculiar hum, which becomes more loud just when the insect is about to strike. This it does by driving its proboscis like a lancet into the skin, extracting a drop of blood, and leaving behind, I fancy, a minute drop of poison or other cause of irritation, producing a small red mark. Most people do not suffer inconvenience from the bite itself beyond the mark it leaves, and with which the brow, a favourite point of attack, soon gets dotted over. One lady at Cannes was so severely bitten that she could hardly see, her eyes being nearly closed by the effects of the bites, so much so as to prevent her coming to the table. Another lady was so affected by the bites that the parts bitten rose in large swellings, requiring her to consult a doctor, by whom they were lanced; and the cure was tedious, leaving long after marks on the skin. But the great annoyance which they occasion is their tormenting vicious hum, revealing their presence, and showing that at any moment they may be down upon you. If you wake through the night and hear this hum, it is impossible to getany further sleep. If there be anything worse than a mosquito humming about you, it is to have two of them; but one is enough to keep you lively, and furnish you with incessant employment; and where one is, there are generally plenty more. Apparently the mosquito, like the king, never dies, for as fast as one is slain another reigns in his stead. All sorts of remedies for the bite are prescribed, but we found that prevention is better than cure; and the most effectual prevention, besides taking care to close windows early and not to light a candle before closing, was to burn a pastille, specially prepared for the purpose, by placing it on an iron shovel, and just before bed-time carrying it burning round the room and holding it within the bed curtains. The smoke of it appears to stupefy the insect, although it does not kill it; and in the morning the mosquitoes, evidently wanting to get out to breathe the fresh air and take their revenge at night, fly in a sickly condition to the windows, where, or elsewhere about the room, they are easily killed. When killed, a bloody streak is left, indicating they have been fed somewhere. One extraordinary circumstance is that, although the fecundity of this creature is enormous,[18]yet those which find their way into rooms are comparatively few, and it puzzles one to know where the rest go to. I believe the insect’s existence is not so much due to great heat as to bad drainage. We found Cannes to be worse than Mentone, and Hyères worse than Cannes; but by Christmas-time, when cold weather has set in, they nearly vanish, although, when a fire is lighted, sometimes they are either attracted or revived, but are then in a weakly condition.

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