[1] Life of Watt, 1839, p. 198.

[2] A compilation recently published gives an account of the means of conveyance had in times past in Great Britain, but does not, except very incidentally, touch upon those on the Continent. See Croal’s Book about Travelling, Past and Present, W. P. Nimmo, Edinburgh.

[3] The following table, taken from Croal’s Book about Travelling, p. 575, shows the extent of the railway system in 1875 on the European Continent:—

[4] The normal value of a sovereign is 25 francs 20 centimes.

[5] It may be interesting to give, as far as I have preserved note of it, the rate of exchange received at different places during part of the period we were away:—

[6] Little monthly time bills or leaflets can be got at the Company’s offices in London and Paris, for which see Bradshaw. Some of them also, like Cook’s and Gaze’s Lists, contain through fares to most places on the Continent.

[7] A quarto publication, called Voyages circulaires vi le Mont Cenis et la Corniche, is issued by ‘Agence de Paris, Rue Auber 1, Maison du Grand Hotel,’ containing circular tours in Italy, starting from Paris, Nice, and Marseilles.

[8] The following may be given as specimens of the menu:—

At the Grand Hotel du Louvre, Paris.

Potage.—ConsommÉ aux Quenelles; Hors d’oeuvre; Melon. RelevÉes.—Saumon Sauce Hollandaise; Pommes de terre nature; Train de CÔtes À la broche; Aubergines À la ProvenÇale. EntrÉes.—Timbales À la Joinville; Poulardes À la Demidoff. Rot.—Canetons de Rouen au Cresson; Salade de Romaine. Entremets.—Petits Pois À l’Anglaise; Biscuits Princesse; Garnis d’Allumettes. Desserts.

At a Provincial Hotel in France, somewhat more meagre than usual, however (verbatim).

Potage.—Tapioca. RelevÉes.—Epigrammes d’Agneau Bretonne. EntrÉes.—Poulets SautÉs Maringa. Legumes.—Choux de Bruxelles. RÔtis.—Ros bief. Entremets.—Charlotte de Pommes Parisien, etc. Dessert.

[9] A Winter’s Sketches in the South of France and the Pyrenees, p. 7.

[10] At Naples I sat next a German who helped himself to four thick slices of roast beef, then, according to German custom, began by placing one above another, and cutting the whole into little squares by drawing his knife first lengthways and then crossways through them, and having so divided the beef, took his knife and shovelled, in quick succession, all the pieces into his mouth. Fish is often a scarce commodity, yet I have seen German ladies, after having liberally helped themselves to it, call for more as they would for more of any other course, though it is unusual for others to ask a second supply of any course.

[11] Since this chapter was written, alterations have been made on the French postal rates, and, inter alia, the postage to England is reduced to 25 centimes, and for the interior to 15 centimes; but I have allowed the text to stand as referring to the time we were away. There may be other changes of which I am not aware.

[12] The Guide, arranged alphabetically, contains information regarding the following countries and places:—Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Italy, Norway, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey in Europe, and the Mediterranean. In Denmark and Greece the number of Protestant churches is very limited. The Mediterranean embraces fifty-four towns, including towns in Egypt and Palestine.

[13] The figures in this chapter are all given subject to correction.

[14] Bowing the head or bowing the knee at the mention of the name of Jesus, is one of those literal renderings sometimes put upon words of Scripture, of which in reading through, long ago, as a student, the Corpus Juris Canonici, I found examples. The subject is disposed of in Mr. Thomas Spalding’s Scripture Difficulties, p. 269.

[15] In Mr. Birrel’s interesting Life of Dr. Brock, a man of great power and, I believe, of much liberality of mind, the following passage (p. 241) occurs in reference to a Sunday in crossing the Atlantic:—’Next day was all that a Sunday at home could be. We had service, Mr. Nolan again officiating—the captain, however, this time reading the prayers himself. One thing struck me painfully: when the absolution came to be read, the captain gave way to the priest, who alone stood and alone spoke; he alone had authority in the great matter of remission. The captain had none. Of what is this the germ?’

[16] A French kilometre is equal to 1093·633 yards; an English mile is 1760 yards. Two miles are therefore more than three kilometres, and two kilometres are equal to about one mile and a quarter (1¼). But all the foreign measures differ, and it is puzzling therefore to know from the railway guides and others what are the distances in English miles. A uniform mileage system would be exceedingly useful. In fact, the statesman who could effect uniformity in measures, weights, and coinage throughout Europe, would do more real good than is obtained by more glittering acts.

[17] Vide Figuier’s World before the Deluge, p. 317.

[18] I have seen the numbers produced by a single insect in the course of a year stated in a newspaper, but unfortunately did not preserve a note of the information, which is not given in the usual books about insects.

[19] It would be hardly possible for me to give from recollection a complete list of all the hotels and pensions in Mentone, but I may note some at least of the most prominent. Having had friends in many of them, we had occasional opportunities of seeing them, and learning a little regarding them; but only residence in each could enable anybody to speak authoritatively, and therefore observations now made must be taken in a very general way, and subject to all allowances, and as perhaps mistaken.

At the extreme west, the Pavillon is, I believe, a well-appointed hotel; but it is fully half a mile outside the town, to some a recommendation. Between it and a small house, now called the Hotel Anglo-Americaine, near to the Boirigo Bridge, there are several elegant villas, some of them to let furnished. East of this bridge, facing the promenade, are the Pension Condamine (small and moderate) and some other minor houses and pensions; then the Hotel de Russie (one on Gaze’s list); and crossing the Carrei, the first house beyond, and overlooking the public gardens, is called the Pension Americaine, in reality an hotel, with good cuisine, kept by an active, clever, and attentive landlady; near to it, the Pension Camous, a tall, overtopping, narrow building, at which the town street may be said to commence; adjoining it, the Pension or Hotel de Londres; and a little farther east, and more in town, the Hotels Westminster, Victoria, and Menton—all large, and, I believe, expensive; and, last of all, the Hotel du Midi. Beyond the Promenade, close to the market-place, and not far from the harbour, the Hotel Bristol. With the exception of the two last, all have gardens of more or less size between them and the promenade, and all have access on the other side to the public street.

Back from or on the other side of the main street, there are many other hotels and pensions, among which may be mentioned, west of the Carrei, the Splendide (on Gaze’s list), a comfortable hotel within a garden; the Hotel du Parc, on the avenue leading to the railway station, with good rooms, although the entrance or site is not promising. On the east side of the Carrei and some way up beyond the railway, which it dominates, the Hotel du Louvre, a large, well-appointed hotel, apparently frequented by Germans and Dutch; behind it, and rather higher, there is the great Hotel des Îles Britanniques, commanding good views, in every respect first class, patronized by the English (though not exclusively so, one long table being set for the English and another long one for the foreigners). The landlord claims it to be the most expensive hotel in Mentone. Both these last-mentioned hotels are near to the railway station, but carriages have to make a circuit to reach them. Both are under shelter of an olive-covered hill rising high and steep immediately behind, which also affords similar shelter to the Hotels des Princes, Venise, D’Orient, Turin, and others, lying nearly in a line to the eastward. The D’Orient and Turin have both gardens in front,—that of the former is large, and in the garden of the latter a bed of roses flourishes in full flower all the winter through. Both are good houses, but the views from the windows and grounds are confined, and street houses shut them out almost entirely from the view of the sea. If, however, view be not considered important, the position is comparatively sheltered. There are also about this part several pensions, such as the ‘Des Alpes,’—a small house, and moderate charges.

In the east bay, after passing the old town, which in the afternoon always casts a dank shadow on the part of the road which underlies it, called the Quai Bonaparte, requiring the invalid to take special precautions, and passing the drain pipe, the first hotel met is the Grande Bretagne, one of the oldest houses. It is that upon Cook’s list for Mentone, and consequently seems to be always well filled. Up on the height behind, a little to the eastward, are the Hotels d’Italie and Belle Vue, both comfortable; but the ascent to them is steep, the fatigue being, however, rewarded by the fine view from the terraces and windows. Returning to the road below, which is a part of the Corniche, we observe the East English Church, and next to it the Hotel de la Paix close to the street, but having a garden to the back. Facing it across the road is the only bathing establishment of Mentone. Adjoining its east side, but back from the road within a garden, the Hotel des Anglais where Dr. Bennett obtains his quarters. A little beyond, a small piece of ground, probably an acre in extent, has recently been acquired and laid out as a public garden, in which the band occasionally plays; and amidst a cluster of other hotels and pensions farther east, the Grand Hotel, a comfortable, large house, charging moderately. If the visitor prefer or is recommended to reside in the east bay, he will find the extreme east (called the Quartier Garavent, though so much farther from town, and though hot and dusty) is the choicer situation. There is, however, an omnibus to town every hour from the far east to about the Hotel du Pavillon, at the extreme west end.

[20] A recently-published guide-book to the south of France says, with regard to Mentone:—’A kind of gloom pervades Menton. The strip of ground on which it stands is narrow, and so are the streets.’ ‘The valleys are narrow and sombre. The roads up the mountains are steep, badly paved, and are generally traversed on donkeys, which go slowly and require so much chastisement that an ordinary walker will find it less fatiguing to dispense with them.’ It also sets down the population at 12,000, and that of Cannes, by far the larger town, at 7000. These are statements which require revision, as they do not accord with the facts.

[21] See Frontispiece.

[22] It is impossible to place reliance on the exactness of such figures. They must throughout be taken as obtained from different sources, and possibly in no one case correct. I should, for example, here doubt whether Castiglione stands as high as the castle of Ste. Agnese.

[23] It is the custom in the Riviera, and probably elsewhere in France, to give free of charge, to those who are on pension, their lunch to take with them on such excursions, which they would otherwise have had at the hotel.

[24] At Biarritz a different practice prevails. Instead of beating the linen, the linen is employed to beat the stone. We have seen a lady’s fancy petticoat thus thrashed against the stones without mercy.

[25] The expense of washing at Mentone, though not moderate, is less than in Paris.

[26] Mr. C. Home-Douglas (p. 177) publishes observations giving much lower mean temperatures. I suppose in these matters observers seldom agree.

[27] I shall use henceforth franc for lira, the Italian name, for simplicity’s sake.

[28] The ceremony of baptism in the Greek Church is even more trying to the poor child. See The Englishwoman in Russia, p. 265.

[29] I have since seen a different account given of this stone.

[30] So called from its colossal size. It is sometimes spelt Coliseum, a corruption of the word.

[31] The arena of Nismes is 148 by 112 yards, height 74 feet, and accommodated 32,000 spectators; arena, 74 by 42 yards. The Colosseum, 205 by 170 yards, height 156 feet, accommodating 87,000 spectators (besides containing standing room for 23,000 more in the porticoes and surrounding passages); arena, 93 by 58 yards. But in stating these and other measurements, it is always right to keep in mind that in different books the figures do not correspond, and one well-informed and most reliable writer states the dimensions of the Colosseum at about 40 feet more each way than the above. Mr. Storey’s figures for the Colosseum also vary from the above several yards in each measurement. For a pretty full account of the Colosseum, reference may be made to Storey’s Roba di Roma, vol. i. chap. ix.

[32] The extent, however, is variously computed. One writer, generally very exact, says: ‘According to Romani and Nibby’s plan of Rome,’ Caracalla’s baths ‘covered an area of 370 yards square, or 28 English acres.’ ‘Eustace makes the extent twice as great.’ Gibbon states that they were a mile in circumference, which would be 193,600 square yards, or 40 acres. Hare says they covered a space of 2,625,000 square yards, which is equal to 542 acres. It is not improbable that some measurements may refer merely to the ground covered by buildings, and that others comprehend ground not so covered. But even this explanation will not account for such extraordinary discrepancies.

[33] BÆdeker says: ‘At the back of the Pantheon are situated the ruins of the ThermÆ of Agrippa, the proximity of which to the Pantheon once gave rise to the absurd conjecture that the temple originally belonged to the baths, and was afterwards converted into a temple.’ In a matter of this kind, however, the authority of such a man as Mr. Thomson is much to be preferred to that of any writer in a guide-book.

[34] It seems that at Tre Fontane, above a mile westward, which we did not visit, the Eucalyptus tree has now been largely planted; and if it will grow, it is expected to render the locality healthy.

[35] Miss Kate Thompson’s Handbook to the Public Picture Galleries of Europe, Macmillan, 1877, is a useful little volume in its way, but its illustration would occupy volumes.

[36] After being in several shops, we concluded that C. Roccheggiani, Via Condotti, had the largest and most varied stock.

[37] This number is stated upon an authority which differs in the further figures here given, some of which seem almost incredibly large. How the 9025 baths can be reconciled with the statement (p. 299) of sixteen bathing establishments, I do not pretend to say.

[38] I see it stated that in 1851 the number of Romish priests in Great Britain was 958; of Romish chapels, 683; of monasteries, 17; of religious houses for women, 53. In 1879 these numbers were increased to 1238, 1386, 118, and 272 respectively. The number of the laity doubtless has increased, though possibly, and as it is to be hoped, not correspondingly.

[39] So named after the present proprietrix, Mme. Barbensi. It seems quite a foreign or at least an Italian practice to call houses after the name of the proprietor. Molini was either her maiden name or the name of the previous proprietor.

[40] ‘Were I now to begin the world again, I would tread in the steps of that great master; to kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for an ambitious man.’—15th Discourse.

[41] A large valuable work in small folio, copiously illustrated—veritable volumes de luxe—has recently been published: ‘Venise: Histoire, Art, Industrie, la Ville, la Vie. Par Charles Yriarte.’

[42] Here, as in other things, measurements differ, one authority having it 443 feet long, another 477 feet, interior measurement. Though it may be shorter than St. Paul’s of London, it is no doubt considerably wider, and covers, therefore, a greater area.

[43] It is stated in one book that in December 1845 the thermometer registered as low as—82·90°, equal to about—185° Fahr. This was incredible; and on looking the Austrian official records I found it should have been—2·9°, showing with what caution such statements in non-official books should be taken.

[44] Afterwards, at Interlachen, when standing on a rustic bridge, she saw a small snake crawling on the path, and called to me. It was about 15 to 18 inches long. I went and pitched it into the stream.

[45] I am told the winter season is now becoming very gay and very dear too.

[46] The accompanying illustration, depicting three gentlemen and seven ladies in bathing costume, was taken (tell it not in Gath) from jottings made at a safe distance. The stout lady in the centre was doubtless a Spaniard.

[47] As this is passing through the press, the sad news has come which has sent a thrill of sympathy through every British breast for the heartbroken bereaved mother. Any objection on the part of France which might formerly have prevailed against her return to Biarritz, if she should desire it, can no longer possibly exist. Let us hope that a generous kindly feeling will pervade all parties in France towards one who once filled a place so high among so great a people, and upon whom such overwhelming sorrows have fallen.

[48] Some additional information, particularly regarding places in the vicinity, will be found in Biarritz and Basque Countries, by Count Henry Russell, though the chapter on Biarritz itself is brief and scanty.

[49] I have his third edition, published in 1861. It is possible there may be a later one. Dr. Taylor was knighted, at the request of the Emperor Napoleon III., in recognition of his efforts to develop the resources of Pau as a residence for invalids. He has just (May 1879) died.