The reply was: ‘Some do it, and some do not. It has been my custom through life to always have a kindly word for every one when walking through the country. It is a bit of civility that gives pleasure. I have never been the worse, but often the better, for it. Years ago, when helping a canvass in Wales, I secured a great many votes from people I knew nothing at all about; the explanation being, as they candidly told me, that I had spoken to them long before, when I asked for and expected nothing. Since I came to France, I have followed the practice, and am the best friend in the world with all the poor people in the neighbourhood.’
‘The opinion I have formed,’ I said, ‘from a comparatively limited observation, is, that the humbler classes in Mentone and its vicinity are an industrious, quiet, well-disposed people—does that consist with your experience?’
‘Most assuredly it does: they are old-fashioned in their ways, possess no enterprise, but in all my experience I never saw such a decent, well-behaved people. Crime is almost unknown amongst them.—But here we are at the ruin.’
At the distance of about sixty feet north from the side of the road, on a raised bank surrounded by olive trees, stands this fragment of masonry. Approaching it, to have a close inspection, we find it to be a building of stones squared, and laid in regular courses. Fronting us is a façade, measuring twenty-seven feet across, and twelve feet high; but as the top is broken and ragged, the original height must have been greater. The thickness of the façade is five feet six inches—so thick as to admit of three alcoves or recesses in a row, each recess arched, and about two feet in depth backwards. The wall above the arches shews a handsome string-course, with a lozenge-shaped figure over the two side arches. Over the central arch, there is a square recess in the wall, which had evidently at one time been occupied by a slab, probably bearing an inscription. Behind the mass forming this frontage, there had been an open quadrangle, enclosed by a wall two feet thick. Of this wall the west side only remains, but we trace where the other sides had been. The depth of the quadrangle over the wall had been twenty-eight feet six inches, by twenty-seven feet—very nearly a square. These walls, as is observed by significant traces, had not been above seven or eight feet high.
Having examined the structure at all points, we can have little difficulty in assigning its origin to the Romans; but at what period it was erected, or what were its uses, are questions less easily solved. There it stands, without date or mark to tell its mysterious tale; and from no ancient writer do we learn aught concerning it. To strengthen the opinion that the ruin is of Roman origin, it is known with all but absolute certainty that on the flat ground hereabouts was the military station of Lumon or Lumone, indicated by Antoninus as being on the Roman way from Ventimiglia to Turbia. Of this station there is now no visible trace, such as the mounds of an encampment, but this may be accounted for by the universal trenching caused by the culture of the olive trees.
‘Well,’ inquired my companion, ‘now that you have had a good look of the ruin, and taken its measurements, what is your opinion about it? I have made up my mind, but I will be quite fair, and let you speak first.’
This was putting me on my mettle. I took a little time to think. ‘My first notion,’ I said, ‘on seeing the building was, that it was the relic of some habitable structure; then the idea of baths crossed my mind; but on looking closely at the façade, I am fully of opinion that the building has been of a commemorative character; and I will shew you why. That empty square space over the middle arch had, no doubt, been originally filled with a slab bearing an inscription; and it is quite as likely that in each alcove there had stood a figure in marble; in the central one, possibly, a bust, and an appropriate heathen deity on each side.’
‘Not badly guessed, so far,’ said Mr Moggridge: ‘now, I will tell you what I think. This had been the mausoleum of some distinguished Roman family, connected with the station of Lumone. The burial-place had been the enclosure behind; and in front had been the inscription. Such, in fact, is the opinion of several French antiquaries who have written about the place. I believe, however, no one has thought of the figures in front; but that conjecture, I allow, is very feasible.’
We argued the point as to whether the mausoleum was that of a family or an individual; but having no basis of facts whereon to found our respective theories, the discussion settled nothing. I suggested that the space behind the façade should be trenched, to discover if there were any sepulchral remains; and that at anyrate the whole ruin should be enclosed, and protected from further injury. There is no photograph or drawing of the ruin, and I likewise hinted that something of that kind was very desirable. I have attempted a small sketch of it from memory, and put it at the conclusion of the present volume.
Leaving this relic of antiquity, we continued our walk westward till, getting clear of the woods, and still on the old Roman road, we came in sight of Monaco and the very picturesque shores of the Mediterranean in its neighbourhood. The ground was an open uncultured steep. Far below on our left was the sea-shore, while on the face of the hill above was the town of Roccabruna, which can be reached by a steep pathway. Around us on the sloping bank, trees and small flowering plants were growing in a state of nature. This wild condition of affairs was highly relished by my companion. He was on the outlook for a particular plant, which he described as being never found except in the south. I drew his attention to a modest-looking shrub about the size of a whin-bush, bearing very small purple blossoms along the outer stems.