"I suppose," said Inness, one morning, "that you are not all going away from Mentone without even seeing Mon—Monaco?"
"It can be seen from Turbia," answered the Professor, grimly. "And that view is near enough."
Inness made a grimace, and the subject was dropped. But it ended in our seeing Turbia from Monaco, and not Monaco from Turbia.
"There is no use in fighting against it," said Mrs. Clary, shrugging her shoulders. "You will have to go once. Every one does. There is a fate that drives you."
"And the joke is," said Baker, in high glee, "that the Professor is going too. It seems that the view from Turbia was not near enough for him, after all."
"I am not surprised," said Mrs. Clary. "I thought he would go: they all do. I have seen English deans, Swiss pastors, and American Presbyterian ministers looking on in the gambling-rooms, under the principle, I suppose, of knowing something of the evil they oppose. They do not go but once; but that once they are very apt to allow themselves."
The views along the Cornice west of Mentone are very beautiful. As we came in sight of Monaco, lying below in the blue sea, we caught its alleged resemblance to a vessel at anchor.
"Monaco, or Portus Herculis Monœci, was well known to the ancients," said the Professor. "Its name appears in Virgil, Tacitus, Pliny, Strabo, and other classical writers. Before the invention of gunpowder its situation made it impregnable. It was one of the places of refuge in the long struggle between the Guelphs and Ghibellines" (we were rather discouraged by the appearance of these names so early in the day), "and it is mentioned by an Italian historian as having become in the fourteenth century a 'home for criminals' and a 'gathering-place for pirates'—terms equally applicable at the present day." The Professor's voice was very sonorous.
Inness, the Professor, Janet, and myself were in a carriage together. As Mrs. Clary and Miss Graves did not accompany us that day, we had two carriages and a phaeton, the latter occupied by Lloyd and Verney.