Chapter I: Part 1

WINTERING IN THE RIVIERA

WITH

NOTES OF TRAVEL IN ITALY AND FRANCE

AND

_PRACTICAL HINTS TO TRAVELLERS_

BY

WILLIAM MILLER, S.S.C.

EDINBURGH

With Illustrations

LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 1879.

[_All Rights Reserved._]

MORRISON AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY’S STATIONERY OFFICE.

THIS VOLUME,

CONTAINING MEMORIES OF HIS BELOVED DAUGHTER’S LAST JOURNEYINGS,

IS INSCRIBED TO

CHRISTOPHER GODWIN, ESQ., J.P.,

STOKE BISHOP, BRISTOL.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

PREFACE, x

I.

_CONTINENTAL TRAVELLING._

Former and Present
Times—Bugbears—Language—Passports—Impedimenta—Guide–Books—
Hotels—Money and Exchange—Routes to Paris—Cook’s and Gaze’s
Railway Tickets—_Voyages circulaires_—Supplementary Billets
—Customs Examination—Time—Railway Arrangements—Billets—_Salle
d’attente_—Guards and Porters—Carriages—_Dames seules_—Smoking
—Carriage Windows—Speed—Train Peculiarities—Stations—Omnibuses
—_Petite vitesse_, 1

II.

_HOTEL AND PENSION LIFE._

Hotels—Railway
Results—Construction—Lifts—Charges—Bougies—Service—Rooms—Meals
—Breakfast—Lunch—_Table–d’hôte_ Dinner—Supplies—Wine—Dining
_à la Carte_—Foreign Practices—Life at Table—Pension—Charges
—Extras—Fires—Gratuities—Bills—Cook’s and Gaze’s Coupons
—Amusements—Tarantella Dance—Remuneration to Performers
—Charades—Readings—Plays—Amateur Performances—Musical Bands
—Furnished Villas—Cost—Servants, 43

III.

_LOCAL MEANS OF CONVEYANCE._

Private Carriages—Horses—Carriages for Hire—Whip–Cracking
—Cruelty to Horses—Italian Cabs and Cabmen—Horse Bells
—Fares—_Pour boire_ and _buona mano_—Drives beyond Town
—Crossing Swiss Passes—Diligences—Steamboat Travelling
—Omnibuses—Tramways, 82

IV.

_POSTAL ARRANGEMENTS._

Post Rates for Letters—Underpaid Letters—Newspapers—Registration
—Letters for Interior—Post Cards—Delivery—_Poste restante_
—Pillars—Postmen, 98

V.

_SUNDAY ABROAD._

As observed by Natives—English Influence—Public Music—Museums,
etc.—Carnival—Fêtes—Elections—Post Delivery—Dinner—Evening
Engagements—Sunday Books—Roman Catholic Service—Protestantism
—Native Protestant Churches—France—Mentone—Italy—Switzerland
—Protestant Churches for English—Presbyterian—The Chapels
—Ministers—English Episcopal—Ritualism abroad—Hours of Service
—Growing Liberality of Feeling—A Practical Suggestion
—Conclusion of Service, 105

FIRST WINTER IN THE RIVIERA.

VI.

_LONDON TO SOUTH OF FRANCE._

_Folkestone_—Passage—_Paris_—Railway Journey from Paris—
_Fontainebleau_—_Dijon_—_Macon_—The Rhone—_Avignon_—_Nimes_
—_Marseilles_, 127

VII.

_CANNES._

Arrival—Description of Cannes—The Bays—Estrelles—Grasse—Lord
Brougham—Duke of Vallombrosa’s Villa—the Eucalyptus—Croix
de Garde—Promenade—Bathing Places—Drains—Garden of the
Hesperides—Arbutus—Croisette—California—S. Marguerite—Fort
Monterey—Use of Marble—Mosquitoes, Snakes, and Lizards, 144

VIII.

_NICE._

Cannes to Nice—Appearance of—The Chateau—The Paillon Torrent
Bed—Nice as a Health Resort—Hotels and Public Places—Nice
to Mentone, 159

IX.

_MENTONE._

First Impression—Old Town—Mountain Shelter—West Bay—Tideless
Sea—Drains—Olive Terraces—Valleys—Rivers—Rurality—Quarters
—Doctors—The Hotels—Pension Charges—Furnished Houses or
Rooms—Helvetia—Churches—School and Classes—Public Institutions
—Newspapers—Guide–Books—Mentone by Night—Donkey Excursions
—Castellar—Rain and Storm—Gorge of St. Louis—The Carrei Valley
—View from Bridge—Boirigo Valley—St. Agnes—Castle—Monastery of
S. Annunciata and Chapel—The Gorbio Valley—Gorbio—Rochebrune
—Cape Martin—Red Rocks and Caves—The Fossil Skeleton—Hanging
Gardens—Belinda—Grimaldi—Promenade du Midi—Life on the
Promenade—French Attire and Customs—_Monte Carlo_—Gaming Tables
—the Garden—Pigeon–shooting—_Monaco_—Mentone Villas—Gardens
—Shops—Circulating Libraries—Industrial Occupations—Washing
Clothes—Fishing—Sheep–keeping—Donkey–letting—Woodwork—Town and
Rural Labourers—Animal Labour—Birds—Mosquitoes—Deaths—Funerals
—Cemetery—the Evenings—Red–letter Days—Christmas Day—New Year’s
Day—Conscription Day—Carnival—Corsica—Weather during Winter, 166

ITALY.

X.

_SAN REMO AND GENOA._

Cross Frontier—The _douane_—_Ventimiglia_—_Bordighera_—_San
Remo_—Climate—San Remo described—Excursions—Hotels
and Pensions—Visitors—Doctors—Churches—Industries–The
Women—Photographs—San Remo to Genoa—Italian Money—Fares—Coast
Towns—Savona—Pegli—_Genoa_—Position and Appearance—Statue of
Columbus—Hotel Rooms—Drive through Town—S. Maria di Carignano
—The Streets—Palaces—Churches—Public Park—Campo Santo, 237

XI.

_SPEZIA, PISA, SIENNA._

Railway to Spezia—Hotel—Cold Weather—_Spezia_, a Summer
Place—Described—Carrara Marble Quarries—_Pisa_—Leaning Tower
—Cathedral Baptistery—Campo Santo—The Town—Drive to _Lucca_
—_Sienna_—Position—Collegio Tolomei—Cathedral—Its Library
—Frescoes—Piazza Vittorio Emanuele—Town Hall and other Places
—Citadel—Italian Soldiers, 263

XII.

_ROME._

Quarters—Piazza di Spagna—Carriages—The seeing Rome—First Sunday
—Scotch Church—Castle of St. Angelo—St. Peter’s—Piazza—Interior
—Apostle Peter in Rome—St. Peter’s Aisles and Altars—Mosaics
—Ascent of Dome—Palm Sunday—The Vatican—Sculptures—Pictures
—Sistine Chapel—Preliminary Drive through Town—The Streets,
Buildings, etc.—Lecturers on Rome—The Colosseum—Rome’s Birthday
Illuminations—Arches of Constantine and Titus—Old Roman Roads
—Forum Romanum—The Capitol—Church of Ara Cœli—The Museums
—Palatine Hill—Palace of the Cæsars—Temple of Vesta—Cloaca
Maxima—Monumental Pillars, Trajan’s—M. Aurelius—The Obelisks
—Aqueducts—Baths of Caracalla—Columbaria—Catacombs of Callixtus
—Appian Way—The Churches—Pantheon—S. Pietro in Vincoli—Jesuit
Church—Capuccini—S. Clemente—SS. Cosma e Damiano—The Lateran
—Santa Scala—S. Maria Maggiore—S. Paolo fuori le mura—The
Palaces—Contents of Galleries—Engravings and Photographs of
Pictures—Copying Pictures—The Rospigliosi—Guido’s Aurora—The
Barberini—Beatrice Cenci—Other Galleries and Studios—The Royal
Palace—Borghese Grounds and Casino—Pincian Hill Gardens—Drive
to Tivoli—The Campagna—Hadrian’s Villa—_Tivoli_—S. Lorenzo fuori
le mura—Shop Purchases—Photographs—Mosaic Jewellery—Bronzes
—Copies of Paintings—Old Rome as it was, 275

XIII.

_NAPLES, POMPEII, SORRENTO._

_Naples_, Drive through—Cabs and
Cabmen—Population—Thieving—Bay of Naples—Town
described—Cathedral—Hotels—Museum—Chiaja—Aquarium—Photographs
—Bijouterie—_Castellamare_—_Pompeii_—Museum—Excavations—Old
City—Public Buildings—Private Dwellings—Streets—Shops—
_Sorrento_—Excursions—Capri Blue Grotto—Sorrento Woodwork
—Beggars—Return to Naples—_Puteoli_—Amphitheatre—Solfatara, 322

XIV.

_FLORENCE AND BOLOGNA._

_Florence_—Situation—Lung’Arno—Florence described—Bridges—S.
Miniato—Piazza Michel Angelo—Fiesole—The Streets—Cascine
—Historical Associations—Churches—Cathedral—Campanile
—Baptistery—Misericordia—S. Croce—Chapel and Tombs of the
Medici—Museum of S. Marco—S. Spirito—Piazza della Signoria
—Loggia—Palazzo Vecchio—House of Michael Angelo—Uffizi Gallery
—Pitti Gallery—Artists copying—National Museum—Palazzo Corsini
—Academia delle Belle Arti—Association for Encouragement of
Fine Arts—Florentine Marbles and Mosaics—Italian Lungs—
_Bologna_—Drive through Town—Leaning Towers—Museum and Library
—S. Petronio—Villa Reale—Campo Santo—S. Domenico—S. Pietro
—Academia delle Belle Arti, 343

XV.

_VENICE AND VERONA._

_Venice_—Railway Station—Hotel Danieli—Bridge of Sighs—S. Marco
—The Presbyterio—Clock Tower—Piazza and its Shops—Venetian
Glass—Gondola—Island of S. Georgio—La Guidica—Churches of
Venice—Palaces—Doge’s Palace—S. Marco—Whitsunday—Mosaics
—Campanile—Ponte di Rialto—Museo Correr—Academia delle Belle
Arti—Arsenal—Lido—Moonlight—Is Venice healthy? Grand Canal
—_Verona_—Drive through Town—Market–Place—Piazza dei Signori
—Tombs of Scaligers—Arena—S. Zenone—Other Churches—Tomb and
Window of Juliet, 361

XVI.

_MILAN AND THE ITALIAN LAKES._

_Milan_—Cathedral—Ceremonies—Ascent—Piazza—Galleria—Drive about
Town—Piazza d’Armi—Arco della Pace—Amphitheatre—S. Ambrogio—S.
Lorenzo—Public Park—Novel Mode of Watering—Temperature
—_Italian Lakes_—Arona—_Maggiore_—Baveno—_Lugano_—S. Salvatore
—Luini’s Frescoes—_Bellaggio_—Hotel Grand Bretagne—_Lake Como_
—Villa Serbelloni—Villa Carlotta—Villa Melzi—Sail to _Como_—St.
Giovanni—Hot Days, 380

SWITZERLAND—FRANCE.

XVII.

_THE SPLUGEN PASS, SWITZERLAND._

Sail to Colico—_Chiavenna_—_Splugen Pass_—Campo Dolcino—Madesimo
Fall—Summit of Pass—Descent to Splugen—_Switzerland_—_Splugen_
—Via Mala—Thusis—_Ragatz_—Pfäffers Gorge—Lucerne—_Interlachen_
—Run Home—_Chateau d’Œx_—Sepey—Aigle—_Montreux_—_Geneva_, 401

XVIII.

_BIARRITZ._

Lyons—_Cette_—_Toulouse_—Lourdes—Pau—Bayonne—_Biarritz_—Railway
Station—Hotels—Cold Winds—Recent Origin of Town—Description
—The Season—Natural Attractions—Storms—Breakwater—Boating—Rocks
—Tide—Drains—Bathing Establishments—Bathing—The Bathers—Dresses
—The Scene—Aquatics—Walks—Light–house—Villa Eugenie—Drive to
_Bayonne_—Its Fortifications—Bridges—_St. Jean de Luz_—Excursion
to _S. Sebastian_, Spain—Season ends, 415

XIX.

_PAU._

Imposing Appearance—Pension Colbert—The Season—Climate—Writers
on—Rise of Pau—Town—View of Pyrenees—Chateau—Public Park
—Environs—Excursions—The Cemetery—French General Election, 439

XX.

_SECOND WINTER IN THE RIVIERA._

Pau to Toulouse—_Montpellier_—Climate—Town—Train to Marseilles
—_Toulon_—_Hyères_—Hotels—Climate—Garden—La Plage—Hyères to
Cannes—Mentone—Cold Weather—Improvements—More Building
—Political Position in France—Eastern Question—English Position
causes Anxiety—Death of Victor Emmanuel and Pope—Services in
Cathedral—Carnival—Gaieties—Mentone to S. Remo—S. Remo to
Alassio—_Alassio_—Hotels—Town—Situation—Walks and Views—Dr.
Schneer on Climate—_Genoa_—Via Orifici—Galleria, etc.—_Turin_
—View of Alps from Monastery—The Town—Monuments—Waldensian
Church—Mont Cenis Tunnel—_Aix les Bains_—Return Home, 450

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

1. Frontispiece—View from Footbridge up the Carrei to North
Mountain Range, Mentone.

2. The Estrelles from St. Honorat, Cannes, Facing 147

3. Oil Mills, Carrei Valley, Mentone, ” 191

4. Promenade du Midi, Mentone, ” 205

5. Corsica as occasionally seen before Sunrise, Mentone, ” 235

6. A City set upon a Hill on Road to Lucca, ” 271

7. Sorrento from the West, ” 337

8. Ponte Vecchio, Florence, ” 345

9. Tomb of Juliet, Verona, ” 379

10. Bellaggio, Lake Como, ” 393

11. Port Vieux Bathing Establishment, Biarritz, ” 421

12. Biarritz Bathers, ” 429

PREFACE.

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_.

ERRATA.

Page 27, 19th line, instead of _for_ read _from_.

” 38, 9th line from bottom, for _any_ read _every_.

” 60, 5th line, for _visible_ read _visibile_.

” 91–3–4, for _manu_ read _mano_.

” 272, 7th line from bottom, for _tombs_ read _tomes_.

” ” 5th ” for _his_ read _this_.

” 305, for _Clementi_ read _Clemente_.

” 320, 11th line, for _have_ read _leave_.

” 369, 1st line, for _et_ read _e_.

I.

_CONTINENTAL TRAVELLING._

I HAVE sometimes thought that if it were possible for a person of mature years now living to return to the world, with memory unimpaired, after a period of five hundred or even of one hundred years hence, how strangely new to him everything would appear! Events succeed each other in these times with such startling rapidity, that he would be a bold man who would venture to predict what even a generation will bring forth. We may speculate on the effects likely to result from agencies now in operation,—as to what, for example, may be the future of Great Britain, looking to the gigantic scale on which hazardous enterprise is carried on; to the contests of labour with capital in which natural laws are set at defiance; to the growth of Ritualism in the English Church; to the penchant which our rulers seem to have for annexing or conquering remote provinces, stern and wild or insalubrious; to a thousand other things which are with more or less force influencing or disquieting our country commercially, socially, or politically,—but none of us can possibly foresee the actual consequences and the condition of things to which they will lead. In the future there is so much dependent on occurrences which appear to us to be fortuitous (though truly under the guidance of Supreme Wisdom), that we can only feel that over all there hangs an impenetrable veil of mysterious darkness. A single unexpected event may turn aside the policy of an age, or even alter the divisions of the world. A single man by a foolish blunder may plunge nations into protracted war. A single happy discovery, a single clever invention, may affect the fortunes or alter the habits of a whole people. A single convulsion of nature may change the aspect of a state. But when we turn from the future to the past, the case is different, and we can pretty well realize what the feelings of one who has lived, say, sixty years ago would be if he could now return to earth. It would, indeed, be some time ere he would begin to grasp the extent of the wonderful changes which, since he formerly lived, have been effected. But of all the changes flowing from the inventions and discoveries which the long peace succeeding Waterloo was instrumental in producing, he would probably be most struck by the revolution accomplished in the matter of travelling.

We have only to go back half a century to the time when a tour upon the Continent of Europe was attended by great expense, inconvenience, and even danger. It consumed much time, and no Englishman upon whom business did not lay a necessity to travel, could undertake any very extensive pilgrimage in these foreign countries unless possessed of ample means united to ample leisure. It was thus generally reserved for young noblemen and gentlemen of wealth, as the completion of their education, to take, with a tutor, a courier, and a sufficient retinue, the grand tour of Europe, the limit of which was usually, though not always, Constantinople. I suppose this circumstance has given rise to the Continental idea, which at least formerly prevailed, that every Englishman was a _milord Anglais_, and to its practical consequence, from which present travellers continue to suffer—the custom, gradually disappearing, of charging English persons upon a different scale from that applied to natives. No doubt many of those men of former days scattered money profusely, and to a certain extent their successors continue to do so, and are even exceeded by some of the American travellers who, accustomed to pay in dollars where shillings with us often suffice, contrive by their extravagance to spoil for others the places they frequent.

Times are now changed since the days of our grandfathers. The treacherous sailing vessel (the smack, which would take at one time three days, and at another, because of adverse winds, three weeks to go from Leith to London) is supplanted by the steady, expeditious, and almost faultlessly punctual steamboat; while the lumbering diligence or almost equally lumbering post–chaise has been driven out of the field by, wherever it exists, the rapid railway train. Nevertheless, as regards Continental railway rapidity, M. Arago’s expectations that Parisians might ‘on the same day examine the preparations of our squadron at Toulon; may breakfast on juicy rougets at Marseilles; may bathe at mid–day their relaxed limbs in the mineral waters of Bagnères, and return in the evening by way of Bordeaux to attend a ball or the Opera House,’[1] have hardly as yet, at least, been realized; for the railway train abroad bears about the same proportion in point of speed to the English train as the clumsy diligence did of old to our high–flyers and our ten–mile–an–hour stage–coaches.[2] Sometimes, indeed, people in former times, who were able to do so, travelled on the Continent in pursuit of health; and a very interesting account of a tour of this description, made to a large extent over the same ground as that which forms the subject of description in the following pages, is contained in _The Diary of an Invalid_, by Henry Matthew, A.M., made during a journey, performed in the years 1817–18–19, through Italy, Switzerland, and France, from which an idea of the difference of travelling in those days—sixty years ago—from what it is now, may to some extent be gathered. Since the introduction of railways, which now form a complete network all over the Continent of Europe, reaching some of its wildest parts, and not hesitating even to penetrate some of its loftiest mountains, and often by means of costly tunnels connecting long stretches of country, travelling has been made so easy, and the facilities for availing themselves of the means of locomotion have been rendered so great, that there are comparatively few persons of the better classes who have not at some time or other, and in a greater or lesser measure, visited Continental lands. Our very mechanics have, especially by means of excursion trains, sometimes in connection with such great occasions as foreign Exhibitions, been enabled to see a little of other lands; and even the seeing a little of another land is calculated to remove prejudices, to enlarge the ideas, and to extend the amount of one’s information.[3]

People in the present day travel sometimes for pleasure and to obtain acquaintance with what cannot be seen at home, and sometimes for the sake of health; and it is astonishing to what an extent this latter reason has operated on the people of Great Britain, who rush from the rigours of their northern climate—its clouds, its fogs, and its rains—to enjoy the sunshine of warmer places, avoiding and exchanging wet, foggy, and chilly winter quarters at home for pleasant sunny places abroad. So much is this the case, that whole colonies of English people, many of them owning houses, built or bought for their residence, are found scattered over the Continent, particularly on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. They go to winter there, and the places they frequent become remarkably English in their habits and in their language—the force of the English character, and still more of the English money, bearing down and upon the native population. Indeed, it may rather be said that towns have been built by or for the occupation of the English—as, for example, Cannes, which, if it do not altogether owe its existence, is acknowledged by the natives to owe its new creation, its growth and extent, to Lord Brougham.

* * * * *

We had on various previous occasions taken a summer’s run abroad. The protracted visit we paid to the Continent which forms the subject of this volume was dictated by considerations of health; but we combined with it, and advantageously, even for that end, some tours of pleasure. The countries visited by us on this occasion were France, Italy, and Switzerland; and it is with special reference to them that the remarks offered in this and the succeeding introductory chapters apply. I propose in this chapter to deal shortly with some of the bugbears which frighten many from crossing the Channel, to state some of the peculiarities of foreign travel, and to note a few other matters with which those new to the subject may find it useful to be acquainted previous to setting out.

* * * * *

The first great stumbling–block in the way of going abroad is to many, especially elderly persons, the want of knowledge of the language of the country to which they wish to direct their steps, or the want of power to converse in it freely.

There can be no doubt that it is of great consequence to have an acquaintance with the language of the country in which one desires to travel or reside for a time. People are saved much inconvenience and often money when they can talk it with fluency, and can comprehend what the natives say—usually the more difficult operation. At the same time, in all frequented parts of France, Italy, and Switzerland, either English or French will carry any one through. French is spoken by nearly every educated person who travels on the Continent, with perhaps the exception of the Germans, who, though they may know a little French, seem to give a preference to the acquisition of the English language, in which frequently they converse with great purity and ease. At the hotels, the landlord, or one of the waiters, sometimes all of them, can speak English more or less perfectly. Nay, what is very surprising is, that the man sometimes called _portier_, who sits in a little chamber at the door, has often a better acquaintance with English than even landlord or waiter. This porter or, as he is more correctly designated, _concierge_, is attached to all large hotels, and his ostensible duty is not that of carrying luggage (for which business there are men of a different stamp under him), but consists in keeping the keys of the rooms, attending to letters, and answering inquiries. In reality he is a man of superior intelligence, and acts often as the interpreter of the house; for he is generally acquainted with many languages, and usually with at least French, English, and German, and has to reply to questions in these different languages almost in the same breath. In frontier places, his acquaintance is extended to the language of the neighbouring country—it may be, for instance, Italian or Spanish. However, among employees and others with whom the traveller has to do, the knowledge of many languages is not confined to the _gens portier_. At Mentone I was informed that a hairdresser there could speak five languages; and how else could he hope, from a hairdresser’s point of view, to please his patients? At Rome, having gone to the wrong shop, I had to experience the difficulties of undergoing an operation by a gentleman of the fraternity who could speak nothing but Italian; and we should never have succeeded in coming to a mutual understanding, but for the kindly intervention of a priest who was being shaved and could speak French, and after all it did not wholly save me from that ‘croppiness’ in which the foreign _coiffeur_ delights. This linguistic faculty does not stop at hairdressers, who may be considered to be men of an advanced race. At Mentone we used to employ a donkey girl, who also could speak a little in five languages. Philippina was a bright, intelligent girl, much liked by her employers, and no doubt she found her advantage in knowing something of their different tongues. In Switzerland, for the most part, the German language prevails, and it is occasionally uncommonly hard, if one is not acquainted with German or has but a smattering of it, to get on, say, with a coachman who knows nothing else. At Ragatz, where they speak German, I put a question to a stallkeeper selling goods on the street, and was promptly answered by a young girl of the adjoining stall in English. I asked her how she came to know English. She learnt it at school. Were they all taught English, I asked. ‘Oh, no; those who desired to be taught had to pay for it.’ The shopkeepers abroad, however, have in many cases acquaintance with English sufficient to enable them to effect sale of their wares. They quickly discover us to be English, and when they speak our language they like to air it, and answer questions put in their, the shopkeepers’ language (made, we imagine, with all correctness of expression and of accent), in our own. In Rome we found that all the cab–drivers could speak French, which, of course, facilitates going about to those who cannot speak much Italian. In Italy generally, unless it might be in speaking to women–servants, and not even always in their case, we did not find much necessity for using Italian. Either French or English was in most places understood. Sometimes we have even had English landladies, as at the Grand Hotel in Sienna, and at the Tramontano at Sorrento; but this is a species of good fortune, telling on the English traveller’s comfort in many ways, which is seldom to be enjoyed. It only suggests that other English women might find Italy a good field for similar enterprise.

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In former days the passport system was a difficulty which afflicted the minds of timorous travellers. Apart from the surveillance implied, there was the trouble and expense of procuring it, and having the proper _visas_ affixed by the representatives of Continental Governments; the anxiety lest in passing some corner of a foreign territory—some debateable land—it might not be _en règle_; the detentions it occasioned, and the perturbation of spirit which arose, should it by any accident have been mislaid or lost, there being no absolute certainty that if imprisoned in a cold, damp, dreary dungeon for want of the necessary safe–conduct, our Government after a suitable period of fruitless negotiation would go to war with the foreign power for the defaulter’s release. On one occasion (in 1855), on entering Geneva by diligence, I missed my passport (which on arrival I found lying at my feet), and did not know what would happen, but the man in collecting passports from the passengers fortunately overlooked me. This was a species of the rarest good luck, upon which of course it was utterly impossible to reckon; and the passport system was one which was felt by people living in a land in which every one is free, without inquiry of any kind, to travel where and when he pleases, to be an intolerable annoyance. It is still maintained; but with a view, I presume, not to discourage English travelling (a source of immense profit to the natives), a British subject has only on passing a frontier to declare his nationality, and he is at once passed through, except at some places where he is asked for his carte–de–visite; and if he have not one at hand, even this is not insisted on if it be apparent that he is what he represents himself to be, _un Anglais_, or, what is the same thing to them, an American. Yet a passport is sometimes useful; it now costs little, and should always be taken. It is easily got under the directions contained in Bradshaw’s _Continental Guide_, and the _visas_ of the foreign consuls seem now to be unnecessary, at least for the countries in which we were to travel. It is particularly important in some towns, to facilitate the obtaining of registered letters. Even ordinary letters occasionally, as I have found (1872) at Brussels on a former trip (having unfortunately lost my passport at Strasburg), will scarcely be delivered at the Poste Restante without production of the passport or other presumable evidence of identity; and it is said in guide–books, although we have never experienced the benefit of the information, that it operates as an admission to certain places of public resort.

Although to the _mens conscia recti_ it may matter little, it does not follow that, with all this relaxation of former rigour, people are altogether free from surveillance. The spy may not crop up here and there as, according to Doyle, he did, to afflict Messrs. Brown, Jones, and Robinson, yet travellers do meet with evidences of the existence of a secret and prying police. At Aix–les–Bains, which, however, may be regarded as a frontier town, we found the register of visitors kept in a book furnished by the police, and containing instructions for the entry of all names and particulars; and almost everywhere, immediately upon arrival at a hotel, a waiter comes to take down the name, address, profession, etc., which, apart from police regulations, is only proper.

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Besides a passport, there are other things to be attended to in order that the way may be made smooth.

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People do not always, when they resolve to travel, sit upon their boxes—I mean, of course, metaphorically; yet in travelling abroad, at least for a period of any duration, some thought must be bestowed upon the _impedimenta_, and it is very proper to take such boxes as will stand the immense fatigue to which all luggage is exposed, and to which the foreign system of registration greatly adds. Very little regard is paid by porters to the conservation of the luggage. It is tossed and dragged along over iron–bound tables; and huge heavy iron–bound and iron–cornered American chests, with their piercing little iron castors, are often thrown or deposited remorselessly on the top of smaller and weaker packages. Very small articles, indeed, should never be put in the vans. It is better, and in the long run cheaper, to have fewer packages and of a larger size. At the same time, they are very inconvenient if unwieldily large, as too often one sees them to be, requiring two men for their carriage, and needing to be left outside the bedroom—an inconvenience both to the traveller herself and her fellow–travellers; for it is the ladies who are in this respect the great transgressors. Some ladies seem to travel with their whole wardrobe, or at all events with a useless number of changes of raiment. On one occasion we met a gentleman and lady, who had with them nine huge boxes, nearly filling up the top of a large omnibus, besides smaller articles, including their maid’s modest provision. This is a grievous mistake. Ladies ought to travel with the least possible quantity of changes. More than is fairly needful is inconvenient in many ways. Apart from causing detentions to others, it is a source of anxiety, and is most expensive in countries where the luggage is all weighed, and every pound or extra pound must be paid for.

Among the little things to be taken, no good traveller will, of course, omit a pocket corkscrew and a flask of cognac; nor will he neglect soap. If he have not made it a rule in all travelling to use his own soap, he is charged at foreign hotels 1 franc for _savon_. I have heard a man growling over the ‘imposition,’ but it served him right, while the article was just sold to him like anything else, with the usual 200 or 300 per cent. hotel profit added.

We considered it advisable, especially in view of travelling in Italy, where the water is said to be often impure, and consequently unsafe to drink, to take with us a small filter; but although we used our filter occasionally, I cannot say we were frequently conscious of drinking bad water. It is, however, a proper precaution, as water may be bad without betraying its quality by the taste. An Ashantee filter with a quart tin bottle, to be had from Atkins and Co., 62 Fleet Street, London, occupies little space, and costs 8s. Were Messrs. Atkins to devise a portable little filter for use at the table by insertion in a tumbler, so as to purify the drinking water without the fuss of a large filter, which it is inconvenient to carry, and which one cannot bring to the public room, it would be of much use. It must be borne in mind, however, that filters do not destroy organic matter suspended in the water, and for this purpose permanganite of potash may be employed. A drop or two of a solution of this substance, which may be purchased in dry grains at any chemist’s (easily dissolved when wanted), effects destruction of organic matter, but gives so unpleasant a bitterness to the flavour of the water that we scarcely ever used it.

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There are, however, things more important to provide, and among them are good guide–books. The rapid growth and extraordinary ramifications of the railway system have created a new branch of literature in the railway time–tables. It is curious to take up an early copy of Bradshaw, consisting only of a few pages, small pocket size, neatly got up, and to contrast it with English Bradshaw of the present time. If such a book be needful in Great Britain, people are even more helpless without it abroad. Bradshaw’s _Continental Guide_, special edition, will always be found to be most useful, both as a preparatory and as an accompanying handbook. It contains a great deal of information, which, however, ought to be taken in a general way, or as the lawyers say, _cum nota_. Perfect reliance cannot always be placed upon the accuracy of its railway and other time–tables and its tariffs. On arriving in a country, it is especially necessary to secure, in addition, one of its latest official railway guides. In France there is published once a week, on the Sundays, _L’Indicateur des Chemins de fer et de la Navigation service officielle_. This costs 60 centimes (6d.), and is a long folio of inconvenient size. As nearly all French travellers purchase a copy when they start on a journey, it doubtless obtains a large sale. The _Livret Chaix Spécial pour France_ (there is another edition for Europe generally) is an official guide of a more convenient size. It is published once a month, book shape duodecimo, costs 1 franc, and has no advertisements, which are scattered through the _Indicateur_ in a tormenting way, though sometimes useful when desired information is thereby discovered, which it might much more readily be if, as in Bradshaw, all the advertisements were thrown systematically to the end of the book. It is, however, troublesome to follow these French guides when divergence from the main lines is desired to be made. The lines are cut up into fragments without the references contained in Bradshaw to other pages where the connecting railways occur, and the neat little well–engraved maps in the _Livret Chaix_ do not bear, as in Bradshaw’s map, the page references where the tables of the railways are to be found. Bradshaw is puzzling enough, but sometimes it is felt that the _Livret Chaix_ is one of those mysteriously–arranged productions ‘which no fella can understand.’

In Italy there is published once a month, costing 1 franc or lira, _L’Indicatore Ufficiale_. This is peculiarly arranged, and requires study; but the Italian lines are so few, compared with those of France, that there is no insuperable difficulty in discovering the time–bills of particular railways. The Italian _Indicatore_ contains various preliminary directions which it is well to read. They are curious, and embrace, _inter alia_, regulations relative to the transport of cats and monkeys.

The Italians have also a long _Indicatore_ similar to the French weekly one; and in both countries smaller and cheaper district guides, with more limited information, are to be had.

In Switzerland, a _Guide des Voyageurs en Suisse_ is published, apparently twice a year—at least those procured in the Swiss travelling season are marked ‘Saison d’été,’ 1877 or 1878, as the case may be.

It is never safe to trust to a guide of a past month, although changes are generally only made in the beginning of the winter season, or about 15th or 16th October, and in the beginning of the summer or spring season. By not observing a change of this kind which had just been made, we were detained at Toulon for three or four hours waiting for the next train to Hyères.

Although it is not desirable to burden oneself with many books in travelling, Bædeker’s Guide–Books, which on the whole are very accurate and useful, ought not to be dispensed with. Italy is embraced in three little volumes—Northern, Central, and Southern; and Bædeker has separate Guides to Switzerland, France, and other countries; so that if one has to travel much, quite a little library requires to be taken. Bædeker’s Northern Italy, however, embraces the Riviera di Ponente, in which Cannes and Mentone are, and the journey thither from Paris, and towns on the way, such as Lyons, Avignon, Nismes, and Marseilles, while southward it extends as far as Florence. Murray’s Guide–Books are very useful, and are much more full and detailed, but consequently are more bulky, and are therefore more suitable for protracted visits to a town such as Venice. Neither Bædeker nor Murray, however, are to be wholly relied upon, especially for the latest information. For example, we found in Italy that while it is said in Bædeker there are no fees to pay, in the different Academie delle Belle Arti there is now charged 1 franc per person for admission. I would add, also, that Bædeker’s estimates of hotel charges can by no means be relied on as exact, although they may at one time have been so, or they may in some cases be those with which Germans are charged, Bædeker being a publication originating in Germany.

These books all require from time to time careful revision; and considering the importance to the traveller of having the latest information, and the large sale they command, they ought to be revised at short intervals.

There are certain very useful guide–books published in France, of two sorts—the _Guides Diamant_, which are little pocket volumes in small type; and the _Guides Grand Format_, which are of a larger size. Each class (published only in French) contains a series of volumes applicable to the different parts of France, as well as volumes devoted to other countries. The divisional volumes for France are exceedingly useful, as containing detailed information respecting the districts to which they apply.

I may also mention that Mr. Cook, the tourist, publishes a series of handbooks for the countries to which his tours apply; and that recently Black has also added to his list of guide–books, guides to the south of France.

To those visiting Rome, _Hare’s Walks in Rome_ (2 vols.) will be found extremely serviceable. Unfortunately we did not take it with us, as adding to the quantity of books with which we had to travel. It is a little heavy to carry about in the hand, but it directs attention to what is best worth seeing, and may be consulted at one’s lodgings before and after visiting the attractions of Rome.

In the old coaching days, when the mail or the diligence drove through a town, and generally stopped at one of the principal inns, there was not much deliberation needed or even much choice granted as to where the passenger should sleep. But it is one of the inconveniences attendant upon the railway system,—to a certain extent obviated by the erection of station hotels,—that he has not an opportunity from ocular inspection beforehand, on arriving at a strange town, of forming an idea as to where he should go. And it is an observation on Bradshaw (more or less applicable to other guide–books), that it does not do to rely implicitly on its recommendations of hotels,—a circumstance which probably arises from the notice of given hotels having been written years previously, and means not having been used to obtain a complete revision from year to year. More reliance in this respect is to be placed on Bædeker’s Guide–Books. Hotels marked by Bædeker with an * will almost always be found of a good character. In the absence of other means of intelligence, we have sometimes been driven, like many others, to ask information from chance fellow–travellers, at other times to get it at the hotel from which we started in the morning—not infrequently the less trustworthy method of the two. But as it is most desirable to have reliable information on this subject, it is, where practicable, by far the best plan, before setting out upon a tour, to settle as nearly as possible the route to be taken, and to obtain a note from friends who have travelled along it of the hotels they would recommend. In possession of this knowledge beforehand, all anxiety is removed, and one is enabled to write previously, requesting the landlord to retain rooms. Letters and telegrams with such requests are always carefully attended to, the hotelkeeper no doubt considering that application to him is made from choice and not from chance.

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The great increase of travelling produced by the railways, has led bankers to contrive convenient methods in which people may take the requisite supply of money with them; and of all the methods which have been devised, the best and safest is that afforded by the system of circular notes. These notes are granted by certain banks in London and Edinburgh, and are drafts upon London for £20 each, or for the usually more convenient amount of £10 each, according to the tourist’s desire. They can be cashed at any town on the Continent, hotelkeepers also accepting them in payment of their bills, but without benefit of any exchange which would be allowed by the banks. Along with the notes, the banker delivers what is called a ‘Letter of Indication,’ which contains a list of all the banks with which he corresponds, embracing almost every place which may be visited in Europe. This letter, for security’s sake, it is advisable to keep in a different pocket or box from the circular notes, which require his signature and endorsement. The banker’s correspondents ought not to cash the notes without production of this letter of indication; but sometimes they are negligent or lax in this respect, particularly if the presenter appear to be respectable or a _bona fide_ traveller. At some places, however, such as at Paris, the bankers are more cautious, and not only invariably ask for the letter, but they put sundry questions and take the hotel address—the object being, quite properly, in a quiet way to make sure that the notes are presented by the right person. A friend had his notes stolen from him at a railway station in Paris on arrival from England, having unfortunately put them with other things in a small hand–bag, instead of carrying them in a secure pocket about his person. His letter of indication, however, was not with the notes, and so far, though not altogether, was he safe. The thief took them at once to a bank in Paris, and, I suppose, not having the letter of indication, and perhaps not being able to give a satisfactory account of himself, they were forwarded to London, and within fifteen hours after being stolen were presented to the banker on whom they were drawn, and they were refused because the signature attached by the thief did not correspond with the usual signature of my friend.

These circular notes are exchanged for the money of the country in which they are presented for payment; but French gold is always useful, and fetches full value abroad. In exchanging, one generally gets the benefit of the exchange, subject to a fractional deduction. The usual exchange in France for a sovereign is 25 francs 10 centimes;[4] but this is seldom got, and in some places, such as Biarritz and Mentone, the bankers only give the 25 francs nett, and in other places slightly more or slightly less according to the state of the exchange. At a bank in Cannes a friend exchanged Bank of England notes simultaneously with my exchanging a circular note for £10. While I obtained 7½d. (75 centimes) of premium, he got nothing, because the banker said there was always much more trouble about Bank of England notes, which required registration. Eighteen months later, however, I found in Paris, oddly enough, that Bank of England notes were at a premium, while circular notes were at a discount. At Cannes, in 1877, I had occasion to cash a bank draft on London received from one of the colonies, and found that nominally the allowance was greater than upon circular notes; but as the banker charged a commission, it practically reduced the exchange to about the same amount. Another notable circumstance was, that while at Mentone the bankers would give nothing beyond the 25 francs, at the neighbouring town of Nice the bankers always gave exchange varying from 75 centimes to 1 franc per £10. At Pau I found that while the correspondent of the bank only gave ½ franc per £10, another banker gave 1 franc, and upon an exchange of £50 even a shade more. Again, at Montreux, in Switzerland, I obtained 1 franc 25 centimes per £10, and within little more than a week afterwards at Biarritz, in accordance with invariable practice, nothing beyond the 25 francs per £. The same difference occurred in two other places. Within a similar short space, I changed in Paris and got 25 francs per £. Within a day or two afterwards, I had to change other notes at Interlachen, and received 25 francs 10 centimes. The only explanation I ever got for these anomalies was that given at Biarritz, the banker there saying, that at Montreux they were near the Italian border (in fact, a long way off from it), and could make more money out of the notes. But this was obviously an unsatisfactory reason, and certainly could not explain the position of matters at Mentone, which is within two miles of the Italian frontier.

In Italy the exchange of gold or notes on London into Italian paper is a matter of considerable importance to the holder, for the exchange allowed, though it fluctuates, is always high.[5] The lowest we received anywhere was 27·03 at Rome, 23d March 1877, and at San Remo 1878. The highest was at Venice, in May 1877, 28·25. This last was during the Eastern War, which had been declared in April, and considerably raised the value of gold in Italy. I presume the uncertainty as to whether Italy would be involved in the war helped to depress the value of the paper. It is difficult for one who has not been engaged in commerce or in banking to understand why these fluctuations occur, or to be acquainted with the causes which influence them. The current value is said to be dependent upon the position of the commercial relations between Great Britain and the Continent; but there are obviously other circumstances, such as national credit, political disturbances, war, and the abundance or scarcity of money, which affect or bias the barometer. But whatever may be the cause, the traveller obtains the benefit of the effect when the exchange is high, as his money goes so much further. The Italian paper money is, unless otherwise specially bargained for, taken everywhere in Italy—in hotels, in shops, and even at railways. It is only necessary to be particular in seeing that paper of the right sort is given. It is always safe to receive paper of the National Bank of Italy. This circulates everywhere throughout Italy, but notes of district or provincial banks are not accepted out of the province; and there are certain notes which have been called in (with which one soon becomes familiar), which, though taken in shops, are refused at railway stations and other public places, sometimes provokingly.

One curious circumstance about the Continental banks is, that they seem to possess marvellously limited stores of money, whether of notes or of gold and silver. People have just to take what the bankers can give. I have more than once been obliged in France to take a note for 1000 francs, or £40, which is practically useless, unless where residence in a place is to be of sufficient duration to enable the holder to tender the note in payment of his hotel bill. I have often had the greatest difficulty in getting small change even for half a napoleon. For a napoleon (20 francs) one is fortunate to get, as a favour from a bank, four large 5 franc pieces, the banker saying that he has no smaller change, which perhaps only means he cannot spare his lesser money. This state of matters, I believe, arises from the scarcity of silver money in France, produced by the people hoarding up their savings, which are thus withdrawn from circulation. In Italy (where apparently the same hoarding must take place, though probably not so extensively) I have for the most part had to take, except to a very limited extent, the notes proffered by the banks; and one very useful kind of note, that for half a franc, is very difficult to procure. Even 1 franc notes are scarce; the bankers will give you a pocketful of copper instead. These ½ franc and 1 franc notes are essentially necessary for fees in going about such places as Rome; but copper is freely taken as payment of fees, carriage drives, etc. Fancy tendering a London cabman his fare in copper!

At first one feels a little repugnance to the use of these small Italian notes, which are of all values; but after getting habituated to them, a preference arises for their use over metal money, which is so much heavier. A special purse with divisions for the different values should be procured.

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