Opposite Papy’s, in an open space back from the north side of the street, stands a handsome building of recent erection, known as the Cercle Philharmonique. This is a club-house partly on the English plan. It does not aspire to rank with the famed Cercle on the Promenade des Anglais at Nice, yet is much beyond what might be expected in a place of such moderate size as Mentone. The building, erected by an association on shares, is under an administrative committee. It comprehends a large, splendidly decorated apartment for balls, concerts, and other entertainments, French and English billiard-rooms, a reading-room provided with French, English, and German newspapers, a smoking-room, and what is called a salon de reunion pour les dames. In the large apartment, styled the grande salle de spectacle et de bal, take place balls about Christmas and Carnival time, balls given by the members of the Cercle to a select number of the visitors, and balls given by the visitors to residents who have paid them some attention. Here, also, by means of a small stage at one end of the room, take place amateur theatricals, for which some Parisian and other ladies who are annual visitors have a special fancy. The invitation is by private ticket. Entertainments of this kind are in the afternoon, and are given for charitable purposes, a voluntary collection being made by which a few hundred francs are raised for distribution among the poor. (The heat from artificial lighting, and the crowding, not advantageous for invalids.) During the day, few persons are seen in the reading or other rooms.
If the intention of the originators of the Cercle was to accommodate male visitors in the town, it has signally failed. No means are adopted to make the character of the establishment known; no one having any curiosity on the subject knows whom to apply to for information. So far as the general body of strangers are concerned, the establishment might as well not exist. Only a few days before quitting Mentone, was I able, by particular inquiries, to learn anything satisfactory regarding it. Subscribers, it seems, are admitted to the privileges offered at the charge of 20 francs for a month, 45 francs for 3 months, and 80 francs for the season of 6 months. As in most cases, the only thing cared for is a reading-room, these charges will appear too high, and tend to exclusion. The stock of newspapers on the table sought after by the English, appeared to me inferior to what can be seen on much more moderate terms at Papy’s. The administration is sleepy, and needs rousing.
Many visitors, invalids in particular, will depend on newspapers ordered from England. The time of transit of letters from London is two days, and deliveries are regular. Newspapers, for some incomprehensible reason, cannot be reckoned on with the same certainty. Frequently, no paper arrives, and then perhaps two or three come together. Such irregularities, often complained of, but never redressed, are the reproach of the French postal system, and it is useless to say any more about it. There can be no complaint as regards cost of transit. A penny stamp takes an English newspaper to any part of France.
There is no local newspaper. All that the press produces is a small weekly sheet, with lists of strangers, advertisements, and some miscellaneous literary matters. It purports to be issued every Saturday; things, however, are taken easily. Sometimes it does not appear till Sunday or Monday, and on one occasion it did not appear till the succeeding Thursday. Since the opening of the railway, a hawker with a basket goes daily about calling out the names of Parisian newspapers which he has for sale. Some of the cheap literary drolleries of Paris may be obtained at a kiosk in the Place Napoléon.
At all the winter resorts in the Riviera, there are found English churches, also chapels in connection with the Established or the Free Church of Scotland. In the East Bay, Mentone, a Church-of-England chapel has existed for a number of years. More recently, for the accommodation of residents in the West Bay, a neat and commodious chapel, known as St John’s, has been erected at the entrance to the Route de Turin. It is built in the Gothic style, and with the trees about it reminds us of that usually interesting object, an English parish church. Services are here frequent throughout the week and on Sundays. The chapel has a good organ, and also an effective choir, which is aided by the voices of young ladies who kindly volunteer their assistance. The Free Church of Scotland has a mission chapel in the Rue Pieta, a narrow cross thoroughfare. It consists of the first floor of a house on a common stair, with windows commanding a view of an orange-garden adjoining the Hôtel de Ville. The situation is central, but not otherwise satisfactory. Yet here, during the season, a congregation of about fifty persons, Scotch, English, and American, ordinarily meet on Sundays. The expenses are defrayed by voluntary contribution at the door in going out. I attended on several occasions, and it was not without emotion that I joined in the simple psalmody of ‘The Martyrs,’ while overlooking gardens blazing with orange-trees and other sub-tropical vegetation.
These chaplaincies are of use, not alone as regards the appointed services of public worship. The ministers may be said to form a pastorate to the whole English-speaking community, irrespective of national distinction. The reputation of Mentone as a health-resort has reached the United States (where Dr Bennet’s work is, I believe, fully as well known as in England), and every season numbers of Americans in a jaded state of health make it a place of abode. I heard of a family who had come eight successive winters from Philadelphia, every year crossing and recrossing the Atlantic, as if it were a holiday trip. Last season I had the honour of becoming acquainted with an American clergyman, of most apostolic character and appearance, Bishop Whipple of Minnesota, whose health had been grievously impaired by arduous professional labours at his distant see, and who here sought for its restoration. Among the visitors generally, denominational differences are in a great degree laid aside. When distant from home and friends, and when life is perhaps felt to be waning, sectarian and other distinctions in a great measure disappear. The consolations of the Gospel are thankfully accepted from any kindly disposed administrator. As far as I could learn, the several ministers are zealous in their sacred calling, and hold themselves ready to help on any occasion, when their services, secular or spiritual, are in request. A little incident, which occurred in the season 1868–69, is worth relating.
It is the custom to hang up in the lobbies of the hotels English-printed notices of the different chapels, with the names of the officiating ministers, and hours of divine service. Late one evening, an American gentleman, with several ladies, drove up to a hotel in Mentone for the night. They had hired a carriage at Nice to go on to Genoa, only stopping at certain places on the way. In coming from Nice, one of the ladies had been taken ill. To proceed in the morning was foreseen to be impossible. What was to be done? Not one of the party could speak French, so as to be able to adjust the matter with the voiturier. In this dilemma, the gentleman, in looking around the lobby, saw the printed notice about the Free Church: ‘Rev. James Stuart, parish of Yester, minister.’ ‘Take me to that person,’ he said to the hotel porter, who spoke a little English. He was conducted accordingly to the villa Guibert, where Mr Stuart, roused from bed, listened to the painful story, and heard that there was a written contract, which it would be necessary for him to see before offering advice. Accompanying his visitor to the hotel, the contract of hire was examined, and it was at once obvious that unless the party went forward to their destination, they must at once pay the whole prescribed fare. In these circumstances, and the voiturier being inexorable, all that could be recommended was, that the sick lady should be left in charge of the landlady of the Hôtel d’Italie, who was an obliging Englishwoman, while the others proceeded on their journey—a few days’ repose being all that was necessary, and it would be easy afterwards to go by the diligence. The proposed arrangement being acceded to, Mr Stuart without delay kindly saw the lady carefully bestowed, and next morning the party went on their way to Genoa. It is by such self-sacrificing labours as this, that an English or Scotch minister stationed on the continent may shew his lively perception of the precepts which ought to rule the Christian character. It need hardly be said that, for clergymen so missioned abroad, a knowledge of French is of exceeding importance.
Besides the chapels above mentioned, there is a French Protestant church (Eglise Evangélique) in the town, ministered to by a much esteemed pastor—the whole body of Protestant clergy in the place uniting to carry out objects of common concern. For the accommodation of the Protestant community, a portion of ground at the public cemetery, on the top of the hill surmounting the old town, has been specially set apart as a burying-ground. It is provided with a neat mortuary chapel, to which bodies are brought shortly after decease, and where they may remain for any reasonable length of time previous to interment. This fact in itself may tend to soothe the feelings of those whose relatives chance to die at Mentone. All is done becomingly according to the usage of the English, and ordinarily a small party of visitors interested in the deceased attend in honour of the obsequies. If there be such a thing as cheerfulness in a burying-ground, it is at the slip of terrace appropriated as a necropolis some hundreds of feet above the sea-level. The elevated spot is sunny, secluded, and beautiful. How solemnly is borne on my remembrance the circumstance of attending the funeral of a young Englishman from one of the midland counties, who had sunk under a mortal ailment, and was here interred with the usual service of the church! His grave occupies the edge of the declivity, and on it rest the last rays of the sun as it declines in the blue waters of the Mediterranean.
