In the present case, our luggage had been sent on to Mentone by mistake, although properly labelled for Nice, and when we regained possession, one of the trunks was so knocked about that it cost fifteen francs to have it repaired, and in reply to my application to the railway authorities to recoup me, I was simply told, with the usual French shrug of the shoulders as if to get rid of a disagreeable burthen, that it could not be entertained.
One of the great secrets of comfortable travel consists in carrying as little luggage with you as possible, and as there is no difficulty in procuring the services of a laundress at a few hours' notice, this rule may be readily complied with. It is always well, however, to be provided with a good-sized hand-bag, containing all the necessaries you require for one or two days, and this you should never lose sight of.
Nice is a charming town, with its beautiful promenades facing the sea, its palatial hotels, fine streets, and gardens. The Promenade des Anglais, and the graceful, waving palm trees planted along the streets, give it quite a different character to the French towns we had visited. We were much struck, and again reminded of the Italian nature of the place, by the elaborate way in which the houses and villas are decorated on the outside with paintings, giving the flat surface all the effect of being embellished with beautiful frescoes and works of statuary. Some of the villas, which are on the hill overlooking the town and sea, and surrounded by their gardens full of orange and lemon trees, are most delightful residences. Among other places of interest, we were pointed out the villa where the young Czarowitch, the elder brother of the present Emperor of Russia, died, attended in his last moments by his mother, and his betrothed wife Princess Dagmar, who afterwards married the brother of her first fiancé. The house is in no wise remarkable, save for the lovely views it commands, and the large and beautiful gardens which surround it, where almost every variety of orange and lemon trees grow to perfection. Before the Czarowitch's death visitors were allowed the privilege of viewing the grounds, but this is now refused.
Nice is divided into two distinct parts, known as the Old and New Town. The latter is well laid out—there are two very fine squares, one being surrounded by very handsome porticoes; while the other is supplemented by a raised terrace, which serves both as a sea-wall and public promenade. Part of this promenade is on the flat roofs of a row of low houses, which at harvest-time are utilized as drying-floors for wheat and other grain, which are spread in the hot sun. This is, of course, before the season for visitors sets in, and while there are but few strangers in the town.
The shops are remarkably good, the confectioners' windows being very tempting with their array of airy-looking pastry, which is as nice as it is novel to us, accustomed to the more substantial and perhaps slightly heavy preparations of the kind in our own country. Especially to be noticed, too, are the displays of corals in all its most exquisite varieties, which may be purchased at a very reasonable rate, as also various kinds of lace. Indeed, this modern part of Nice is quite a little seaside Paris: the tramcars pass smoothly up and down, and the fashionable equipages, sometimes with bells attached to the horses' heads, dash gaily along.
The Old Town consists of narrow, dirty-smelling labyrinths, unworthy the name of streets, with blocks of shops of every kind. It is, however, interesting, as one here sees the working population "at home." In a large market-square we saw one of the lumbering old-fashioned diligences arrive, which recalled all that we had read of the days of continental travel before railways. There can be no doubt that the smart stage-coaches of England were very superior conveyances to the cumbersome, cobwebby diligence, which seems better adapted for night than for day travelling.
The flower-shops are one of the most interesting features of Nice, especially to ladies. Bouquets composed of the most exquisite flowers, of every size and description, from tiny button-hole sprays to masses of blossoms two feet in diameter, surround you on every side. Yet, after all, I believe no people arrange flowers so tastefully as the English. Our bouquets are not so large or so closely packed, and the flowers may be less rare, though scarcely less beautiful, yet they are grouped with more discernment and harmonious taste than elsewhere. The great business in these little "floral arsenals" is to pack the fragrant blossoms carefully in cotton-wool, for transmission to all parts of the world, especially to Covent Garden. Some are stowed in large round boxes like cheese-tubs, with a hole for the stalks to come through. I could have bought a bouquet here for seven francs which in London would have cost almost as many guineas. There are also small boxes, which you can get addressed and sent, post-free, for three or four francs inclusive. In fact, almost the first thing visitors do on their arrival here, is to send off one or more of these tiny boxes of dainty flowers to dear friends in England. You simply pay for them and give the address, and they are at once despatched. So large a trade is done that there is a special Flower Post, and at the station a warehouse is set apart which is generally filled with these flower-boxes, ready to send off by the night train.
The culture of flowers in this part of the world is a very profitable and important industry, and, remembering all the distilleries—such as at Grasse—for making perfume, we can well understand the numerous beautiful flower-gardens in Italy, particularly along the shores of the Mediterranean. Italy may truly be called the "Garden of Europe," but it is rather difficult to imagine that she sends her vegetables away as far as St. Petersburg!
The river Var passes though the town, and falls into the Mediterranean. Its valley, or bed, being spanned by a number of bridges, adds not a little to its picturesqueness. At this season the river is almost dry; a few slender streams wind in and out of the rough stones which form the river-bed, and at these streams are to be seen hosts of women and children, most busily engaged in washing, and the whole valley by the river is white with the clothes of the numerous visitors, hanging out to bleach and dry in the hot sun. At times, when the snow on the Maritime Alps melts, this dry bed suddenly becomes a foaming, roaring torrent, and signals are given from the upper stream to warn people of the approaching rush of water. Instances of women engaged at their washing being carried away by the torrent have frequently occurred.
The harbour of Nice is but a small affair, and only capable of accommodating fishing-craft and small vessels; but at little Villafranca, a mile or so away to the eastward, is an excellent port, affording shelter to large ships; occasionally men-of-war are to be seen there. The harbour of Villafranca is very prettily situated, surrounded, as it is on the land side, by high hills rising from the water's edge, and beautifully timbered. The walk from Nice to Villafranca, either by way of the sea, along the face of the rocks, where the road is lined with aloes and cacti (which impart quite a semi-tropical aspect to the country); or by the higher road, over a steep hill and deeply shaded roads—is very beautiful, and well rewards the wayfarer for his fatigue; for fatiguing it is in the broiling sun, along a dusty road. On approaching the port from the upper road, the first view obtained from the high ground, looking down into the land-locked basin of the harbour, is very charming.
Nice is so surrounded by beautiful walks and drives, that one fails in the attempt to describe the half of them. View after view breaks on the admiring gaze, till you cease to exclaim at the varying loveliness, and content yourself by drinking in the grandeur and beauty of nature in silent admiration.
It is colder and more bracing here than at Cannes, but on the whole the climate is more equable, there being no such sudden fall in the temperature after sunset; it is, however, I fear, less suited for invalids of a consumptive nature than other parts of the Riviera. It is dangerous to be out late, almost less on account of the heavy dews and chill atmosphere than for the very questionable people one meets, in every grade, from princes to pick-pockets. Nice is literally infested with doubtful characters, for, being so near the frontier, numbers of Italian vagabonds, who have been in prison and find it best to leave their country, assemble here, and tragedies are constantly occurring. There are also many wretched desperadoes from the gaming-tables.
On one occasion, two men attacked an old lady who was reading a placard on a wall. They were fortunately observed by a woman from a small shop near, who called her husband, and also summoned two gens d'armes. The
