Читать книгу Fair Italy, the Riviera and Monte Carlo - W. Cope Devereux - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Leaving Marseilles—Toulon—Hyères—Fréjus—Coast scenery—The Hotel Windsor—An unexpected meeting, and a pleasant walk—Isles de Lerins—The Mediterranean—Defective drainage—Mosquitos and Nocturnal Pianos—Christmas Day—Cannes—The Pepper tree—The English cemetery—Antibes—Miscalled Health Resorts—Grasse—Orange blossoms—Leaving Cannes.

The mistral blew us away from Marseilles, which we left on the afternoon of the 25th by the two o'clock train for Cannes. The route lay through rocky defiles, with numerous tunnels, for we were cutting through the promontories on the sea coast, of which we occasionally caught magnificent glimpses.

Of Toulon, the great naval arsenal of France, we saw but little as we passed quickly through its suburbs. Here it was that Napoleon, then a young lieutenant-colonel of artillery, first made his mark in the capture of the place by storm from the English in 1793. Englishmen, however, do not forget that it was accomplished only after a long and stubborn defence of its garrison, consisting of only a tenth of the storming party.

The little islands off Hyères look like gems in the clear dark sea. They were known in ancient times as the Stoechades, signifying "the arranged" islands, a name indicative of their position in a line from east to west. The town of Hyères seems tempting enough as a place of quiet residence, but the air is very unhealthy from the marshes in the vicinity.

So far our journey has been pretty close to the sea, but now we quitted the coast for a time, winding through the Montagnes des Maures, with an endless succession of tunnels, yet still obtaining frequent peeps at the coast scenery.

At Fréjus we were greatly pleased at the beautiful ruins of the ancient Roman amphitheatre, quite close to the station: the railway being on a viaduct here enabled us to get a good view, looking downwards. This amphitheatre, though not nearly so large as the coliseum at Rome, is far more perfect. This was the port where, in 1799, Napoleon landed on his return from Egypt; and from whence, fifteen years later, he embarked when banished to Elba. Fréjus was the ancient Forum Julii established by Augustus Cæsar as a naval station.

At Les Arcs we again approached the coast. The country as we drew nearer Cannes is very interesting and romantic—great rocky glens and chasms, with here and there glimpses of the beautiful Mediterranean. It was about here that we first caught sight of the snow-crested Alps, forming a grand and sublime background to the lovely scenery.

Many of the little towns en route are finely and picturesquely situated on the hill-side, overlooking great ravines. Their churches perched on the highest pinnacle, the wonder being how their congregations get to them! But probably many of them are only convents.

What very different lives people lead on this fair earth! What a contrast between the inhabitants of a great city, with its wearing cares and its exciting pleasures, and the dweller in these isolated, peaceful, silent mountain homes! To some the latter life would be intolerable while strength and human passion last; but these poor yet happy people, being nearer to Nature, are often nearer also to Nature's God.

We now pass through groves of olive trees, whose sombre and silver tinted foliage, and wonderfully gnarled and twisted trunks, give quite a foreign tone to the landscape. Also the orange trees, with their green and golden fruit and enchantingly fragrant white blossoms; and the lordly palm, with its graceful outline clearly defined against the blue sky.

It has frequently been a question with me which tree is the most useful to man, especially in the east—the olive, bamboo, palm, or cocoa-nut. The first carries my mind back to pleasant memories of the Holy Land and Mount Olivet, where a single tree is said to bear fruit for more than a thousand years. We know the fine and wholesome oil it yields. Its fruit is used as food, and its beautifully grained wood is highly valued for cabinet purposes. Then the bamboo, which, growing by the water-side, is so refreshing to hear whispering in the breeze, is used for very many purposes, being at once so light and strong; for carrying great burdens, for aqueducts, house-building, musical instruments, and for numerous other purposes and articles useful and ornamental; while the graceful palm, or cocoa-nut, provides food, drink, clothing, and building material. Each doubtless in its region and sphere is equally prized. But the more we examine and understand the bountiful gifts of God for our use and happiness, harmonizing so well with our needs, the greater wonder we feel that there is such an ungrateful animal as an Atheist.

At some of the little railway stations we passed, the Gloire de Dijon and other lovely roses were clustering the walls, and growing almost wild in the hedges, loading the air with their sweet perfume. The days were gradually lengthening, and we felt as if fast approaching a warmer latitude, where—

"The green hills

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass

The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills

Of summer birds sing welcome as ye pass;

Flowers, fresh in hue, and many in their class,

Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes

Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass;

The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes,

Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies."

We reached Cannes in the last glow of the setting sun, the crimson, purple, green and orange contrasting, harmonizing, blending, and slowly settling into the neutral tints of evening. By six o'clock we were at the Hotel Windsor, and fortunately secured a bedroom on the fourth floor, from the windows of which we had a splendid view of the sea.

The "Windsor" is beautifully situated on the hillside, some ten minutes' walk from the shore. It is surrounded by very pretty and tasteful gardens, well stocked with flowers of all kinds, roses being most conspicuous, while the perfume of the orange trees ascends from the valley below. I should think this hotel was much more healthy than those situate lower down and close to the sea, catching the upper drainage.

The interior is well appointed in every way, with a comfortable, homely air about it. The landlord, a man of some refinement, is not above personally looking after the welfare of his visitors. But he is evidently a little too indulgent, for he allows pianofortes in the bedrooms, and the young ladies in the room next to ours strummed away till a very late hour at night, when we wished to sleep, tired with the day's travel, and anxious to rise early the next morning. We thought two good pianos in the drawing-room below quite sufficient for the musical exercise of young ladies, and for the comfort of all at an hotel. We supposed, however, that its being Christmas-time was probably the cause of the nocturnal music, of which we were the somewhat reluctant and suffering listeners.

After engaging our room, we sauntered out on a voyage of discovery and as an appetizer for dinner, and were so fortunate as to meet an old friend, who was staying at the same hotel. Under his kind pilotage we had a very pleasant walk on the sea-shore, listening to the waves dashing and tumbling against the sea-wall.

At Cannes there is neither harbour nor roadstead, but only a small bay or cove, appropriately called Gulfe de la Napoul; and it is indeed worthy of its name, being a miniature Bay of Naples—but without its Vesuvius. It is, however, so shallow that the coasting vessels that use it are obliged to anchor at some distance from the shore, exposed to the full action of the swell. Yet in spite of this disadvantage, Cannes is for its size a busy and populous little town.

Immediately opposite are the Isles de Lerins, St. Honorat and St. Marguerite. On the latter is Fort Montuy, where the "man with the iron mask" was confined from 1686 to 1698, and which has more recently been the prison of Marshal Bazaine. St. Honorat has its name from a monastery founded in the fifth century by St. Honoratius, Bishop of Arles. These islands abound in rabbits and partridges.

Until modern scientists discovered it to be otherwise, the Mediterranean was supposed to have no tide, and was called by poets "the tideless sea." It has but a very slight ebb and flow, and this in most places is scarcely perceptible. The greatest rise and fall of tide in any part of this great inland sea does not exceed about six feet. Here it appears always high water; the long stretches of sand, shingle, and rock that provide such delightful strolls to those visiting the shores of our own dear island home at low tide, are nowhere to be found in this part of the world, and thus on coming to the Mediterranean we lose one of the usual charms of a visit to the sea coast.

We found it necessary to walk briskly, as the fall in temperature is very great in one short hour after sunset. Indeed, those who come here essentially for health generally contrive to get housed about four p.m.

Our olfactory nerves had already told us that in this lovely little seaside paradise there are such prosaic things as defective drains. This is more detectable in the evening on the beach, than elsewhere, in the daytime; but is being rectified as the town grows.

It was Christmas Day, and on returning to the Hotel Windsor we found the large dining-room tastefully decorated with evergreens and flowers, and, by the kind and thoughtful attention of the landlord, we felt the absence from dear home at this joyous time less than we might otherwise have done. We had our tête-à-tête dinner, and toasted our friends in Old England, who probably included us in their "absent friends and dear ones abroad."

My wife admired the handsome net mosquito curtains around our bed, but I rather shuddered at the memories they awakened, having had some experience of tropical climates—the river Zambezi, for instance, where a single tiny insect of the Zebra species nearly drove me out of my senses when suffering from fever. Probably, however, the mosquito only visits Cannes in the summer, though my wife declared she heard a buzz, and experienced a bite. It was certainly consolatory to think that I was no longer considered tempting enough, by these insatiable torments.

The next morning we realized something of the beauty of Cannes. It was so pleasant to dress by the open French windows, and enjoy the freshness of the morning air, the warmth of the sun, and the delicious perfume of the roses and orange blossoms rising from the gardens beneath. The birds flitting about, with joyous song; the lovely blue sea in the distance; and above, the cloudless sky. We felt in no hurry for breakfast, and in imagination pictured to ourselves dear foggy London, cold and wet as we had left it. This was indeed a grateful contrast!

When we did descend, however, our tea and toast were thoroughly enjoyed, thanks to the appetizing air; and it was a pleasure to see our fellow-guests sunning themselves in the gardens, and making plans for the day's excursion and pleasure.

Cannes is essentially the beautiful and peaceful abode of the invalid, whose desire is health. A few years since, it was a very small place indeed, but can now boast of its sixty large hotels; and new roads and boulevards are being opened in all directions. The Count de Chambord,[B] and other lucky owners of property here, must feel highly gratified at the rise in the value of land.

Cannes stretches along the sea-shore from north to south, and is protected from the mistral and other cold winds by the fine Esterel mountain range. There is one long main street running parallel to the beach, which contains many good shops and cafés. Some of the houses are built in a line facing the sea, and divided from it by gardens and promenades; others are clustered on the slope of the hill, which is surmounted by a picturesque old castle. At the north end, high up at the back of Cannes, is the charming little village of Le Cainet: a new boulevard is now opened connecting the two. This is the warmest part, and the most suitable for patients. There are many exceedingly pretty and luxuriously appointed villas nestled amidst the trees and gardens, looking refreshingly cool with their green jalousie verandahs. Handsome carriages roll along, and one is reminded of some of the most fashionable of our own watering-places. The stabling for the horses is beautifully clean and neat; roses, jessamine, and flowers of every kind climbing over and around the walls and trellis-work, affording a pleasant shade from the scorching heat of the December sun.

Among other fine trees, such as the blue gum and eucalyptus, the pepper tree, with its graceful acacia-like leaf and pendant clusters of red berries, is to be seen overhanging the roads. After sunset its pepper may distinctly be smelt, almost sufficiently so to make one sneeze. This prolific and beautiful tree seems to be indigenous to Cannes, Nice, and Mentone.

We determined, first of all, to visit the English cemetery. Our kind friend whom we had met the evening before accompanied us as cicerone. We set off in a northerly direction. It was a warm walk up the hill, but we were soon at the gates of the cemetery, and, passing through, were both astonished and gratified at the natural beauty of the position, and the cultivated loveliness, of this truly peaceful resting-place of those of our dear country who had come to this little paradise on earth, alas! to die. But, then, what a beautiful spot to die in! and how very much loving hearts have done to render their last resting-place even more lovely than Nature has made it! The very flowers, roses, honeysuckle, and jessamine, planted by loving hands, seemed to cling fondly and sympathetically to the spotless marble monuments.

Then we crossed over rivulet and ravine, up to the forest-clad hill overlooking the cemetery, and who can describe the truly magnificent and extensive views before us? There lay the lovely valley beneath, the grand semicircle of Esterel hills and the snow-capped Alps outlining the azure sky; and behind us the broad, blue sea, rippling its white-crested wavelets upon the warm, sandy shores, while further away to the left, the little town of Cannes lay peacefully reposing on the mountain slopes towards the sea.

This delightful excursion occupied us until nearly one o'clock, and we had only just time to catch the train leaving for Antibes. Not, however, without first making a successful forage at the station, to provide luncheon, our tall friend cramming half a yard of bread into each of his tunic pockets, which caused him to cut rather a comical figure, especially as he wore knickerbockers; and he was consequently a source of great amusement to people we met, who laughed good naturedly enough, setting us down in their own minds, I doubt not, as mad English people, in whom any amount of eccentricity was allowable.

The journey to Antibes, accomplished in a short half-hour, was very interesting, different views and aspects of the snow-clad Maritime Alps giving us from time to time ever-varying features of sublime beauty, and moving our heartfelt admiration.

Antibes, the ancient Antipolis, a colony of the Massilians, was once a Roman arsenal; there still remain two towers to mark this period. The present fortifications were erected about the time of the first Francis, and of Henry of Navarre, and afterwards greatly improved by Vauban under Louis le Grand. Their erection had the salutary effect of draining the marshy ground, and rendering the air healthy; but the sanitary arrangements both here and elsewhere are still very defective. Before Nice was annexed by France, this was her frontier line, which accounts for its being still so strongly fortified. The remains of a theatre and other ancient buildings attest to its former importance.

On reaching our destination, we strolled along the road leading to the ramparts, and from these heights enjoyed a most glorious sea view. The snowy Alps rising majestically on the opposite shore, and a fine old Genoese fort, with wedge-shaped bastions, boldly standing at the end of a peninsula, stretching out into the sea and agreeably breaking the distance.

Antibes is almost surrounded by the sea, and, from the beauty of its position and the natural purity of its air, is fast becoming a favoured health resort, in spite of the dirtiness of the town and the inadequacy of hotel accommodation. Nowadays doctors call all kinds of places "health resorts," but they should first of all make sure that the sanitary condition of the place justifies their recommendation. The sublime and lovely views in this neighbourhood cannot fail to make a lasting impression on any lover of fine scenery.

Catching our train back, we arrived at our hotel in time to make up for our meagre lunch and rectify the danger of neglecting the inner man, as travellers are sometimes prone to do when so deeply interested in the objects around them. Later, in the cool of the evening, we had a deliciously pleasant walk through the town towards the beautiful gardens of Hesperides, and along the beach.

On the road from Cannes towards Fréjus is the villa of the late Lord Brougham, whose eccentricities were as remarkable as his almost universal talents. At the time of the formation of the second French Republic in 1848, when the cry of "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity!" was in every one's mouth, Lord Brougham somewhat astonished the world by enrolling himself as a citizen of the Republic, resting his qualification upon the fact of his being a land-owner—propriétaire—at Cannes.

Our excursion on the morrow was to have been to Grasse, but unfortunately we had to go on to Nice early in the day. At Grasse flowers are largely cultivated, especially roses, jessamine, heliotrope, and orange and lemon blossoms, from which are manufactured most of our delicious scents and essences—this being one of the principal places where the culture of the lemon is most successful. Eugene Rimmel, and also Dr. Piesse, of Piesse and Lubin, have large flower farms near Cannes and Nice, from which their perfumes are produced. This to some extent accounts for the neglect of the fruit itself, which frequently lies scattered unheeded on the ground. Whilst returning from the expedition to the cemetery, we had passed whole terraces of orange and lemon trees covered with white blossom, their exquisite fragrance filling the evening air. It was a pure pleasure to me to stretch out my hand and pluck a beautiful spray from an orange tree, and, placing it on my wife's shoulder, remind her of the "day of days"—especially as she had scarcely seen the blossoms au naturel, but only their skilful imitation daintily modelled in wax for the adornment of some fair bride.

That day's excursion will ever be remembered, both for our visit to the charming little English cemetery and the trip to Antibes. We were indeed sorry to leave beautiful Cannes, containing so much of the loveliness and grandeur of Nature.

We found the Hotel Windsor very quiet, comfortable, and moderate in charge, and hope some day to renew our agreeable impressions of it.

I think, to comprehend in full the beauty of Cannes and other parts of the coast, they should be seen from the sea from the deck of a yacht or packet some three or four miles off.

On the 27th we left by train for Nice, arriving there towards evening.