‘Quite a mistake,’ he replied. ‘I have often pic-nicked with parties on the very top, which is only 2745 feet high.’
‘Surely, ladies cannot have climbed to such a height?’
‘Yes, they have,’ replied my friend. ‘The last time I was up, there was a lady in the party who was a grandmother, and she is quite ready to make the ascent again at the first opportunity. You have no idea what spirited ladies—English visitors—we have in Mentone; they will walk for miles up the hills, and afterwards dance half the night at a ball at the Cercle. This is the place for exercising the limbs.’
‘Perhaps,’ said I, ‘sometimes rather more dancing than discretion; however, that is not my affair. What is your idea about the climate of Mentone?—you must have had a good experience of it.’
‘My idea is very conclusive; I care nothing about popular fancies, but go to Nature. Two things I take as a criterion—contour and vegetation. See that semicircle of mountains, the whole a mighty rampart sheltering the lower grounds from the cold and moist winds of northern and central Europe. Then, see what is the vegetation. Lemons and citrons, two most delicate fruits, growing in profusion in the open air, like apples in Herefordshire. Look around you, also, and see these noble olive trees, as old and as tall as oaks in England. I might speak of the carouba and various other trees, but it is unnecessary.’
‘Is not dryness a peculiarity of the air?’
‘Yes, the air is generally dry and light, which adapts it for some classes of invalids; but I do not consider it as being too dry; the sea must have a certain modifying influence. The benefit derived by members of my own family wintering here, enables me to speak with confidence of both air and climate.’
Speaking of the adaptability of the Cap for a pleasure-ground, with drives for the enjoyment of visitors, I learned that the land had been put in the way of being saved from exclusive private use by being purchased by a Parisian gentleman, a winter visitor, M. Sabatier, to whom, as well as to his family, Mentone was under many obligations. Having bought the property, he has given the municipal authorities an opportunity to acquire it at the purchased price for the use of the public. Whether the liberal offer will be embraced seems doubtful; for besides the purchase-money, there must be a considerable outlay in forming a proper road along the beach to join the Promenade du Midi.
After a little chat on this interesting topic, we walked on, immediately striking upon a narrow road through the forest, differing in some respects from the miry path in the lower grounds. It was bounded by low walls, and here and there we came upon a remnant of pavement with large stones; such being portions of the old Roman road through the country. Excepting what produce might presumably be gathered from the huge olive trees, the district was a waste. Along the road, we met only two or three labouring men going to their work somewhere, to all of whom my companion said: Bonjour, mon ami, to which greeting there was a gracious response.
‘I see,’ said I, ‘that you make a point of speaking to every one you meet—I suppose that is the common practice.’