A little higher up on the left are the beautiful mountain gardens of Dr. Bennett. By his kind courtesy, all visitors are welcome to roam about therein, though, of course, within certain hours. It is indeed a wonderful example of botanical skill combined with excellent taste. Every inch of ground, right up to the rocky mountain-side, is turned to advantage, for the production both of the most lovely flowers and ferns and also for miniature aqueducts and water-courses to refresh them. I have never before seen a collection of flowers, ferns, and trees brought to so great a perfection under such difficulties. All are most systematically named and classified.
A little further on is the Italian custom-house, picturesquely situated on a promontory, and commanding a very fine view of the sea and surrounding country. Every person and vehicle has here to undergo the usual delightful examination by the custom-house officials. This is the high-road to Ventimiglia and Genoa, and a high road indeed it is, running right along the edge of the cliff, forming a most magnificent drive, and commanding grand views.
Not far from here is the residence, with its superb gardens, of Mr. Hanbury. Some friends who have visited these gardens assure me they even surpass those of Dr. Bennett. It is said that next time the Queen visits Mentone, she will take up her abode at this house. Mr. Hanbury is equally courteous in welcoming visitors to his beautifully cultivated grounds and gardens.
Mentone is more sheltered than either Cannes or Nice, the mountains encircling the town more closely; there is consequently more hill-climbing, and fewer extended walks and excursions for invalids. It was occasionally bleak and cold after sunset during this early part of the year, and invalids were all obliged to gain the shelter of their dwellings by about four p.m. These cold, biting winds generally blew from north or east, the main streets being like drafty narrow gorges.
We had one exceedingly pretty walk up the valley to the right of our hotel. The river, now almost dry, flowing silently along on one side; on the other, hills and orange groves, and a little church or monastery perched among the trees in the far distance—it resembled a Swiss mountain valley. It was a very romantic road, and I incidentally remarked to my wife that it was just the kind of place where, a few years ago, we might have heard a shrill whistle from the hills, then an answering echo, and by-and-by a band of brigands suddenly swooping down upon us to carry us off to their lair upon the mountains. This was quite enough to make her nervous, and, despite my pacifying assurances that in these days of enlightened progress no such thrilling adventure would be likely to befall us, she begged that we might return at once; and, as our walk had already been a somewhat extended one into the still recesses of the mountain valley, I thought it just as well to follow her prudent advice and retrace our steps. For although I laughed at my wife's fears, they were really not so utterly without foundation as might at first appear, for we had recently heard of a most daring case of brigandage in the neighbourhood. As I have before remarked, there are a great many very questionable characters loitering between Nice and Genoa.
Two ladies at an hotel here met with a small adventure that might have ended in something more serious but for one fortunate circumstance. They were a mother and daughter, staying at Nice about the same time as ourselves, and related that having started one fine afternoon to walk to Villafranca, on getting out of sight of all signs of habitation, they were much alarmed to find they were being followed by two ill-looking Italians. The men passed them, and disappeared round the promontory which shuts Nice out of sight, and forms one side of the natural harbour of Villafranca. The ladies, wishing to give them a wide berth, walked very slowly, hoping to be left far in their wake; but soon after, on reaching a particularly dull part of the road, they came on the men again, who were evidently waiting for them. Still hoping they might be mistaken, the two ladies stopped likewise, as if to admire the scenery and consult their guide-books, but the men held their ground, and presently walked towards them. Just as they were approaching, a carriage containing a gentleman came in sight, and they thereupon walked on for a short distance, as if they were only returning the way they had come; but as soon as the carriage had fairly passed, they once more turned. The ladies were now thoroughly alarmed, and the younger one flew down the dusty road after the carriage, in hopes of overtaking it and soliciting protection. She was fortunately observed by the occupant, who at once stopped the horses, and very kindly invited them to continue their journey in his carriage, remarking that many of the roads along the Riviera were decidedly unsafe for foot-passengers, and that he had been surprised at two ladies undertaking such a risk alone. They gratefully accepted his offer, and proceeded to the Villafranca station without meeting a single human being—a fact which they noted with a shudder and a deep sense of thankfulness at their narrow escape.
We made a second trip up the hill-side to the Roman Catholic cemetery, which gave us a charming view of the town, environed by gardens. The place itself was peacefully beautiful and full of mournful interest. We noticed at one of the tombs a young lady, evidently a German, who, assisted by her maid, was diligently employed in cleaning a marble statue placed over the grave. It was difficult to refrain from offering to help her in this labour of love, which appealed so pathetically to the heart. I do not think we care to display so much outward proofs of loving reverence for our dead as we often see abroad, in the shape of flowers and immortelles placed upon the graves by affectionate relatives and friends. Still, I believe it is only an external indifference. We have as much true and deep love in our hearts for our dear ones as those who are more demonstrative, though perhaps it is a pity that we do not allow ourselves to indulge in the pretty reverential sentiments of our French and Italian neighbours.
We were much amused during our stay here at the constant chorus the frogs kept up. They croak almost unceasingly, especially in the evening. It would seem that they wish to take the place of the song-birds, which we seldom hear in this part, as they are all shot to supply the table, nearly every kind being eaten—a needless cruelty, one would think, not only to the poor little birds, but also to those who miss their grateful song of joy and praise.
We had a pleasant carriage excursion to Monte Carlo, by the Corniche road, starting one brilliant morning soon after breakfast. Leaving Mentone behind us, we commenced the circuit of the cliff road, which gradually got higher and higher, occasionally passing through olive plantations, and then suddenly emerging from their sombre shade to the dazzling bright sea once more; then we doubled a finely wooded promontory, almost a sheer precipice, catching a glimpse of the beautiful little circling bays sparkling in the abyss below; sometimes passing sharp curves in the road, which required very skilful driving, there being but a low wall—and that partly broken in many places—to divide us from a fall of about sixty feet! Still ascending, we gained the summit of the first fine headland (I believe, the highest point), and from thence had a most entrancing outlook. On the extreme left, a lovely retrospective and bird's-eye view of charming Mentone; the towns and little villages on the distant shore as far as Bordighera; dimpling in the glowing sunshine, and before us, the long stretch of inimitable blue sea, with just a feathery ripple on the golden sandy shores below, winding in and out in a series of tiny bays and creeks; while beyond us, like a realized dream of Paradise, lay the beautiful plague-spot of the Riviera—the town of Monte Carlo, nested amid luxuriant gardens of semi-tropical foliage, the mosque-like minarets and cupolas of the casino standing boldly out on the heights and glittering in the sun. Beyond this, another fine bay and promontory, on the summit of which stands the Castle of Monaco; and below, surrounded by groves and gardens, the town and principality of Monaco, with roads stretching out, leading towards Villafranca and Nice.
I had seen Constantinople, Madeira, and many other parts of this fair earth of ours, but I do not remember anything that compares with this bit of Italian coast scenery, which I think is surely the loveliest in the world.
Dismissing our carriage, we walked through Monte Carlo to Monaco, and ascended to the palace of the prince. It stands on the summit of a bold headland, surrounded by fortifications, from which we had another splendid view. One can readily see how fair and beautiful a place, full of the sweetest harmonies of nature, and filling the human heart with a grateful sense of God's love, has, by the sordid wickedness of man, been perverted into a paradise of the Prince of Darkness, who, knowing too well the weakness
