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The health of my wife having rendered it advisable to spend a winter in the South of France, I made arrangements to accompany her, and we left home in October 1876. After a short stay at Cannes and three months in Mentone, with marked improvement, we made a tour of four months in Italy, and then passing the remainder of the summer of 1877 in Switzerland, and the autumn chiefly in Biarritz and Pau, we spent a second winter in the Riviera, principally in Mentone, returning to England viâ Turin in May 1878.

We had visited so many places, and seen so much while thus travelling during our first year, that it occurred to me, during our second sojourn at Mentone, to write out some notes of what had come within our knowledge which might prove both useful and interesting to others, and particularly to those who desired to winter in the Riviera. The field, however, was large, and to bring observation into reasonable compass I could only present general views—indications merely—of what we had seen; and, indeed, more than this I could scarcely have ventured upon, because I had not travelled with any idea of writing on the subject, and the notes I had kept were therefore scanty, although sufficient, with a vivid recollection of so much calculated to impress, to enable me to describe, as far as description is perhaps desirable. We saw much, and might have seen more within the time, but it was necessary to avoid fatigue.

The descriptions contained in the following pages are therefore to be regarded not as finished pictures, but rather as the scenes of a moving panorama, exhibiting in succession views of the more salient points in the various places to which the reader will be taken, and depicted according to the fashion of such scenes, too roughly to bear close inspection or minute criticism.

When people were compelled to travel slowly, they could take with them, and had time to read and digest full narratives of all they were about to see. It was by no means impossible to carry in the lumbering carriage, or to read during the leisurely journey, a whole library of such voluminous and now forgotten books as the Modern Traveller. But the rapidity of railway travelling has changed even the character of the guide-book, which, with more copious and complete information, has been so clipped and condensed, been made so concisely and methodically useful—such a veritable multum in parvo—that every other virtue is forgotten, and to take up a volume of Bædeker in order to beguile an hour, or even to obtain a general notion of a place, would be one of those freaks of which wise men are not readily guilty.

People are therefore more than ever thrown upon reading of a different description; and notwithstanding the various books which have been published upon the Riviera, and the still larger list of those upon Italy, I think none of them, so far as I have seen, are exactly on the same lines as the present. It is, indeed, not a little noticeable that so many, in writing upon Italy, should have chosen to wrap their descriptions in some strange, weird story. In Corinne ou L’Italie, Madame de Staël depicts an exotic Scotch nobleman wildly drawn about from one part of Italy to another by a most extraordinary platonic love for an Italian improvisatrice, in order that the different localities may obtain description. The Improvisatore of Hans Christian Andersen, with a difference of mode, is much upon the same model for the same purpose, the machinery by which the hero is blown hither and thither being much more prominent than the places upon which he alights. The Transformation of Hawthorne, in order to describe Rome, forces us into strange scenes and into company with a mysterious ‘faun’ and a beautiful murderess; while Romola, by George Eliot, in describing Florence, drags us after a smooth-faced, smooth-tongued, heartless villain, who attains to power with an odd facility, and after blasting a lovely life, is, to every reader’s relief, tragically removed from the world. Even Ruffini’s Dr. Antonio, commencing amidst placid scenes with all the softness of a pastorale, terminates by breaking hearts, and in the din of a revolution, with guns crashing and roll of death-dealing musketry on the streets of Naples.

Amongst its many deficiencies, the present volume is undoubtedly wanting in this sensational element of popularity.

Neither, on the other hand, can it lay claim to the merit of filling the place either of the guide-book or of the medical adviser. Its chief utility may be in giving in a general way to those designing to go abroad for a period of time, some knowledge which may perhaps aid them where to go and what to see; while there is furnished for the benefit of novices, in the preliminary chapters, some practical information, which the experienced traveller, who knows it all and could state it much better, will be graciously pleased, if so inclined, to skip.

In revising at home what was written abroad, I have studied to ensure accuracy of statement, and have been rather surprised, on comparing authorities, to find how widely they frequently differ regarding matters involving figures, so much so that occasionally I have withheld any statement on the subject. Some of these discrepancies I have noticed.

Accurate ideas of places can be best formed with the aid of the pictorial art. A book of this nature is susceptible of endless illustration, and but for adding to the bulk and the expense, there could have been no difficulty in illustrating every page of the travels. I have preferred selecting a few subjects, nearly all from my own sketches, which have been lithographed by Waterston of Edinburgh. That of the Estrelles is from a sketch in colours by a lady friend.

Of these illustrations, Mentone has carried off the lion’s share, and perhaps rightly, because of all the places of health resort visited by us, we conceived it to be the most charming, and it was in the winter-time our headquarters. There are those who prefer Cannes, Hyères, Bordighera, or San Remo. Even Alassio may become a favourite residence. But it was our opinion that Mentone unites to a well-sheltered, dry, sunny, winter climate (which is, however, not suitable for all invalids), the most beautiful and picturesque scenery, the most delightful walks and excursions, with a fascinating rurality which, I fear, the natives, looking at the matter from a French point of view, are bent on destroying, by way of raising it up as a sort of rival in gaiety to such places as Nice. There is one drawback, in its proximity to the Monte Carlo gambling tables. But to those who can resist temptation, a trip to Monte Carlo—a bright, beautiful, sunny spot, clean and tidy, with its tropical gardens, its broad terraces, flanked by elegant white stone balustrades—is only an additional attraction; while the adjoining unique peninsula of Monaco, running out into the sea from the mountains of the Tête de Chien, and crowned by its palace, its fortifications, its dwellings, its trees, is one of the many attractive points which, combined with the beautiful blue of the Mediterranean, lend such a charm to this part of the Riviera.

This book would probably never have been written had it not been begun and all but completed abroad, while in the sunshine of gladness and hope. Looking to the cause of our travels, it was unavoidable that I should mention at its close how sadly all hopes were crushed. But I have striven as far as possible to eschew the introduction of all merely personal allusions. I feel, however, I must take this opportunity of thanking the members of the legal body to which I belong, and of which I had, at the time it became advisable to leave home, the honour of being chief office-bearer, for their courtesy to me then, and for the heartfelt sympathy which so many of them have since expressed. I would only say to them as to others, that we have had of late not a few examples of valued friends who, long after it became really necessary, have toiled, and fagged, and wearied their brains out in the pursuit of an anxious and laborious profession till they have spent their last days or years in utter prostration. Better far, when they can, to obtain thorough relaxation in the enjoyment of a year, or even two years, of Continental travel over such interesting ground as in this book I have attempted in some small measure to describe.

W. M.

George Square,

Edinburgh, July 1879.