a

as

THE approach of winter is again giving the signal for that annual dispersion which has become one of the commonplaces of English life. The days when the British matron of the e middle class took her stand by the at once proud and sagacious maxim of Miss Pross, that if she had been intended to cross the Channel Providence would not have had her born in an island, are far gone by; and now t the chief object of many of our countrymen seems to be to toime escape as often and for as long possible from their natural surroundings. Vain expectation! Wherever he wanders the modern rover finds that every place is monotonously and disgustingly like home. What exile from his country, says the poet, can fly from himself also what British refugee can escape from the everencircling crowd of his compatriots, from the rigidly Britannic atmosphere that radiates from them-nay, even from the boiled mutton and Irish stew which, at least, he might have confidently hoped to NEW SERIES.-VOL. LVII., No. 2.

have left behind him among the fogs of his native isle? The Briton is everywhere, a familiar object in all foreign parts, with his shooting-coat and his pipe, his golf and his his lawn-tennis, his beers and his spirits, and the execrable cookery which he has imposed upon the hapless hotel-keepers of a naturally wiser land. It is hopeless to try to escape from him. We knew a man nonce-it is not long since his adventurous career came to a quiet end in the calm, scholastic atmosphere of one of our greatest public schools-who, being of an ardent and daring turn of mind, went forth to seek his fortune in the most distant parts he could find, and ultimately entered the service of a native prince in a remote corner of India. The Maharajab, his master-we think he was a Maharajah, but it doesn't matter raised him to great honor, and once sent him to meet the representative of a neighboring potentate

"

"To treat of high affairs touching that time."

10

The two envoys were to meet on the frontier of the two States in a pavilion specially constructed for the purpose, and skilfully contrived so that each, on entering, should meet the other on exactly equal terms. Our friend entered with the grave and solemn demeanor befitting the occasion, and was confronted with a still graver and more solemn Oriental, who, however, at the sight of him, started, rubbed his eyes, and finally held out his hand with a shout of recognition, "Why, Brown, old boy, how are you?" They had been schoolfellows. But this was an

extreme case.

Yet, though it may be impossible to get free of the British social atmosphere, there is still reason to thank Providence that one can fly from the English weather. We would not say that this is necessarily always an advantage. Is it not a matter of notoriety that one of the most talented of our American brethren deliberately chose England as a residence on account of its superiority in the matter of climate ? But there are more desirable places than the British Isles in the cold or rainy winter and the unutterably dismal spring. Few regions are specially cheerful at these times; but we may say that, though an Arcadian climate is not to be expected anywhere, though the mistral cuts with a keenness unknown to the British east wind, though we have known the streets of Nice deep in snow at the end of February, though it rains at Mentone (on occasion) with a vigor and pertinacity which would excite admiration in the West Highlands-yet it is a fact that from January to May at least, and sometimes from October to May, the sun does shine upon the Riviera with a power which is felt as well as seen, and to find which is worth travelling the thousand miles or so of railway. To be able merely to sit out in the sun and enjoy its heat without thinking of anything else, is peculiarly one of the pleasures of the Riviera in the beginning of the year; perhaps an extra spice of enjoyment may be added for the cynical by a reflection upon the probable weather at home.

The Riviera, in the sense in which the term is usually understood nowadays, may be regarded as extending from Marseilles on the west side to Spezia on the east, though some would prolong it as far as Massa or even Pisa. It may be taken,

There

however, for granted that the ordinary visitor's knowledge does not extend westward beyond Toulon, nor does the country in which he is interested go much farther than San Remo to the east. is a group of health-resorts in the neighborhood of Genoa, chiefly frequented by Germans, but they belong to a rather different class. In the limited district to which we have reduced the frequented part of the Riviera-something under a hundred and fifty miles of coastland-are many widely differing stations, marked by various distinct characteristics, and worshipping various strange gods. For it is a peculiarity of this country that almost every prominent locality is provided with a tutelar deity of its own. Nice is to some extent an exception, for Nice is blasé with all the greatness that is so familiar to it, and nothing less than the arrival of a Russian Grand-Duke-or of Mr. Gordon Bennett-can produce the least effect there; but respectable Niçois have been known to contemplate suicide on hearing a report that the Prince of Wales would not be present at the battle of flowers. This, of course, occurred in the happy past, when the battle of flowers was something of an event; nowadays there are so many of them that no one but a society journalist has time to notice who is there and who is not. Cannes, looking back upon the past, reveres the memory of Lord Brougham, but its most active interest in the present is apparently fixed upon the movements of Mr. Renshaw. Beaulieu pins its faith upon Lord Salisbury, while Valescure is stirred to its inmost depths when Mrs. Humphry Ward is expected. The neighboring St. Raphael still weeps over the lamented decease of M. Alphonse Karr. At Mentone it is usual to raise one's hat when pronouncing the name of Dr. Bennett; while no self-respecting person can stay a week at Bor: dighera unless enjoying the patronage of Mr. George Macdonald. A certain knowledge to start with of the particular fetich of the district he intends to reside in will always be of use to the visitor; there are also other points of more material interest which we will try to lay before any one who has as yet so little knowledge of the Riviera as to be uncertain which portion of it he should choose.

The most westerly health-resort is Hyères, a small town of considerable an

tiquity, now much enlarged by the usual addition of villas and immense hotels, rather more than ten miles east of Toulon. It is the principal misfortune of Hyères that it lies in a valley cunningly constructed by Nature in the exact line of the mistral, the prevalence of which in that locality-it usually continues for almost exactly three days-makes life a temporary burden to those who are well enough to venture abroad in spite of it. After dry weather it is even worse, for the highroads then become very dusty, and the clouds of dust which sweep across the valley are intensely disagreeable to all, and somewhat dangerous to those whose lungs are delicate. This danger may, however, be escaped by going not to the town of Hyères itself, but to the little group of hotels and villas, about a mile and a half south of Hyères, which is dignified by the name of Costebelle. These lie snugly under the protection of a mass of low wooded hills, bearing the general name of the Montagne des Oiseaux, which stands between them and the obnoxious northwest wind. The position in especial occupied by the three hotels is one of the most pleasant on the Riviera, lying wellsheltered on the southern slope of a small hill, the top of which is crowned by the pilgrimage chapel of Nôtre Dame de l'Hermitage, and commanding a magnificent view, which, however, is perhaps best enjoyed from the pilgrims' path on the flat summit. The chapel itself is of no special interest, crammed with the usual number of queer tokens of the gratitude of sick and unfortunate persons who have found relief through the intercession of Our Lady of the Hermitage, but contains one distinct curiosity for English visitors in the shape of a captured Union-jack, the history of which inquiring travellers may possibly find little difficulty in unravelling. We have never got any satisfactory information on the subject, but we should think it was probably the ensign of some merchant vessel. There was much fighting about these parts long syne, and many houses use old cannon-balls shot from British guns in the beginning of the century to adorn their gate-posts. The British visitor who is not pleased with such relics can turn his attention to the view. The rade or roadstead of Hyères, in which an old French man-of-war, used as a training-ship, usually lies, is at his

feet, about a mile or so of meadowland, mostly redeemed marsh, and a small belt of firs and umbrella pines intervening between the foot of the hill and the seashore. The coast runs out in a gentle curve to the eastern horn of the bay at the rocky promontory of Bregançon-the outermost spur of the Maures hills, probably capped with the perennial thunderstorm which always seems to be going on in those regions; while on the sea side the Iles d'Or form a picturesque outer barrier, Port-Cros and the Ile du Levant undistinguishably lumped together into one mass straight in front, Porquerolles to the right disappearing behind what looks like another island, the curious hammer-headed peninsula of Giens, bound to the mainland by a yet stranger isthmus. Two narrow strips of sand, one of which is just broad enough for a carriage-road, with a great expanse of salt-marsh between, some three miles long and about half a mile broad, form the connecting link with Giens, which is worth a visit some day when it is not very hot and there is little wind. If these conditions are properly observed, the traveller, not having been entirely exhausted by the burning sun that usually beats with fierce vigor on that arid sand-road, and escaping with a more or less whole skin from the plague of flies which infests the marshes, may be finally able, after giving his hat to a native to hold, and lashing himself to a post for security's sake, to enjoy the lovely view of Porquerolles which the village of Giens affords.

The salt marshes themselves form not the least curious feature of the landscape, with their long rows of little wooden huts, which turn out on a closer inspection to be mere heaps of salt boarded round and roofed in when the salt is wanted, a portion of the roof is removed and as much as is necessary dug out with spades. That is as much as the winter visitor is likely to see of the practical life of the salt-marshes, the actual collecting and garnering of the salt taking place in the autumn, when the sun beats down on the heads of the unhappy workmen from the pitiless skies above, and shines back into their eyes from the glittering mass below, and the watchful superintendent pays each man his wages to the last penny night by night, for God knows how many will be able to return to work in the morning!

Few men's eyes stand the fearful dazzling long, and blindness is generally accepted as one of the ills that flesh is heir to, like rheumatism or gout. Some lucky people are always safe from it, but the majority must take their chance. Behind these marshes, which swarm with water-fowl by the way, lies a large tract of grass-land, part of which affords galloping ground for a small training-stable, and part we be lieve has been made into a golf-course, but of this latter feature we can say nothing from personal experience. If it is

worth while to take one's clubs abroad at all, it is safe to conjecture that the Hyères course cannot be much worse than the famous one at Pau.

Inland to the west we have the pleasant wooded slopes of the Oiseaux, about which a great part of the visitor's time will probably be spent. The one great delight of Costebelle is its absolute openness and the almost unlimited scope there is for exploration, or mere purposeless rambling, if it is preferred, through the pine-woods of the Oiseaux, or the flowery meadows below the flowers, it may be said, are one of the great glories of the Hyères country, and it is a question which one is to admire most-the great fields of culti vated white hyacinth and narcissus which line the road to Carqueyranne, or the extraordinary wealth of wild flowers in the wilder corners of the uncultivated country. The fame of the cultivated plants is not only local-Carqueyranne, which lies in one of the warmest and most sheltered nooks of the whole coast, being the place, par excellence, which supplies Paris with early vegetables; but the visitor will find most pleasure in secking out the wild. flowers for himself, in which pursuit, as we have said, he can practically roam wherever he listeth. Trespassing is an unknown offence in these parts; and if the inexperienced visitor's wanderings lead him to the very door of some secluded villa, he will satisfy all the prejudices of society by ringing the bell and asking his way back again. At least it used to be so; but we have some fears-speaking with the most dutiful humility—that this Arcadian condition of affairs may not last long after her Majesty's visit. The British snob, especially the moneyed snobwho is, next to the cultured snob, perhaps the most pestilent variety of the species-is rampant on the Riviera; and there is no

saying what atrocities in the way of buying, building, and enclosing may not be perpetrated to secure in absolute possession one square foot of earth where the Royal donkey-trap has passed.

Passing over a beautiful country, full of picturesque and interesting old towns, which lies to the east of Hyères in the direction of St. Tropez, and, though now little known, will probably, when it is thoroughly opened up as should soon be done, now that the new railway is completed-include several new healthresorts which will quickly become popular, passing over, in fact, all the country of the Maures-we come to the next station known to the British tourist, that of St. Raphael. This little town, which is probably an offshoot of the very ancient city of Fréjus, a mile or two to the west, was first brought into notice by M. Alphonse Karr, and is now perhaps chiefly popular as a bathing-station in summer, when many French visitors of such dignity as a republic allows honor it with their presence. In winter it is not gay. The situation is pretty, so is the view, commanding the whole line of coast, which here turns sharply to the south, as far as St. Tropez. There is a plage, which is a considerable distinction on this coast, where real sea-beaches are uncommon. The coast is strewn with splendid red porphyry rocks with green veins, in the sea and out of it. The town lies on the verge of the great Estérel forest.. But we would hardly recommend our travelling friends to stop there. St. Raphael is not dull, it is melancholy. Grass grows in the streets.

We should not mind this in the old town; but among the scanty new houses, in squares of which no more than one complete side, and perhaps half another, has ever been built, or ever will be built, it has an inexpressibly depressing effect. The first time we were at St. Raphael was in what appeared a fairly prosperous winter; there were fourteen people in the hotel all told-three English, the rest French. After a day or two the landlord humbly approached the company to entreat us, the season being so bad-it always is in these cases-to allow him to let the common drawing-room as part of a suite in order to secure an excessively advantageous arrival. We discussed the question in full table d'hôte, and finally agreed to accord our permission. We

would use the smoking-room as a drawing-room instead-the present writer was the only smoker in the hotel. The smoking-room was about eight feet by four in dimensions, so that for sanitary reasons it was impossible to light a fire, though the weather was extremely cold. There was also a gap of some four inches between the floor and the bottom of the door; we stuffed it up fairly effectually with news papers, but these had all to be removed every time the door was opened. Yet we suffered in silence, that our excellent landlord might gain thereby. It is this kind of memory that brings comfort to the sojourner in a sinful world. Recently we revisited the scenes full of these touching memories. The hotel was sadly changed; our own bedroom had become a flaunting billiard-room, and new paint and new gilding obliterated many former landmarks, but of new gayety there were no signs. We were entreated by a melancholy waiter to join the table d'hôte, and we did so. The table d'hôte was an English lady of middle age, who prolonged her residence at St. Raphael chiefly on account of the coincidence of her ecclesiastical views with those entertained by the English chaplain. A few light-hearted French couples, possibly on their honeymoons, indulged in a gayety that seemed somewhat forced at side-tables, but the general gloom was hardly lightened.

Still St. Raphael is an exceedingly an exceedingly pretty place, and very, very quiet. There are delightful excursions to be made into the forest; and Fréjus, which is close by, has many interesting Roman remains, especially a small but wonderfully perfect amphitheatre. Travellers who have not stopped in these parts may remember seeing the amphitheatre from the railway, from which the old Roman gate, called the Porte des Gaulois, is also visible. There is also, for those who can stand the mental strain, a more desirable residence in the little out-settlement of Valescure, which lies about two miles from St. Raphael, snugly concealed in the recesses

of the forest

"The world forgetting, by the world forgot." Mr. Gladstone's visit was resented here as the intrusion of a frivolous outsider. In the one or two hotels, backed by a handful of villas, plain living and high thinking is said to be the rule. We are not so sure

of the plain living, for the higher culture denies itself little; but the thinking is said to be of Himalayan loftiness.

It is a great contrast to descend from the sublime regions of Valescure to the mundane and frivolous atmosphere of Cannes. To the majority of English travellers Cannes is the centre of the Riviera, and to the more youthful and vigorous it probably approaches the ideal of an earthly paradise. Everything at Cannes is English, even to the very language. There are numbers of people, not only visitors but natives, who speak French quite well; but it is always safest to address a person of whom one has no previous knowledge in English. The same influence possibly extends to the cookery, as we can never recollect having had a good dinner at Cannes; but the youth who thoroughly enjoys the privilege of playing lawn-tennis all day and dancing all night, is comparatively indifferent to such gross creaturecomforts. As regards the place itself, it would be an insult to the popular intelligence to attempt any description of Cannes; but it may be said that, though the Golfe de la Napoule, backed by the fine Estérel hills, the slopes of which run sheer down into the sea, is really beautiful, and though the Rade de Cannes, crowded as it usually is with pleasure-boats, is lively and pleasant to behold, there is nothing so very striking in its appearance. are plenty of pretty villas with beautiful gardens which must be a source of great enjoyment to the owners and occupiers; but the extent to which the country is built over and enclosed, renders it less pleasant for the unattached, and especially the pedestrian rover. Nor is it, we believe, a specially good station for invalids, at least for those with weak lungs; certainly that is the published opinion of Dr. Hassall of San Remo, perhaps the most distinguished medical authority on the Riviera, who, however, regards it as "well suited for children and elderly people." The islands, though not specially picturesque, are of some considerable interest, especially St. Honorat, once the site of a great monastery, which was long the special nursery of French prelates. Ste. Marguerite, the other island, has lost much through the paring down, by the objectionable race of modern historical critics, of the good old legend of the Man in the Iron Mask. Not that we believe in

There