The valley of Carrei, partly from its proximity to our hotel, was with us a favourite walk, and could be visited also by a more sunny road for a short way on the east bank of the river course. Here, as elsewhere, the municipality have placed wooden seats, which are very acceptable to pedestrians. Sometimes a whiff of cold air blowing down the valley proves too trying to allow of sitting long; but one scarcely tires of the bright glad sun, or the view of the hill slopes and verdure with which they are covered all the year through, or of the bold mountains, on the foremost central one of which may be discovered—particularly with the aid of a glass, for it is at first hardly distinguishable by the eye from the rocks on which it rests—the ruined castle of Ste. Agnese, elevated like an eagle’s eyrie high up on the apparently inaccessible summit.
A trip to Ste. Agnese is generally taken by all who are not infirm. Though not so arduous as the ascent of the Berceau, of the Grand Mont, or of Mont Agel, which all command extensive views, but can only be undertaken by the able-bodied, it is a somewhat fatiguing excursion, and most people perform the ascent on donkey back. On the 13th December, the morning and day being fine, we started, a party of twelve, with eight donkeys and two donkey-drivers. To reach the point from which the ascent begins, we proceeded along the Nice road westward to the Boirigo valley. The view from the bridge across this valley was then (even still is, notwithstanding the erection of buildings on each side, some of them lofty and uninteresting, has somewhat contracted the view) much more open and extensive than that from the Carrei bridge. It took in west, north, and east, the whole panorama of mountain, twenty-eight peaks and pinnacles, enumerated in Giordan’s little Mentone Guide (1877), being counted from the bridge. A road runs up each side of the river course, which is hemmed in like the Carrei by bulwarks of masonry. The road upon the left bank does not proceed above a mile, when—at a picturesquely-situated olive-oil mill, embosomed among olive and lemon trees, and bordered by a pretty stretch of the channel of the river, lying at the bottom of a dell closed in by wooded hills on both sides—it is shut in and becomes a donkey path buried among the trees of the valley, the river in the ravine below meantime narrowing correspondingly. The walk by this delightful path through the woods arrives at an old stone bridge leading to the village of Cabriole, whence by a steep ascent Ste. Agnese may be taken. The road upon the right bank terminates more speedily, entering at a large pottery upon ‘the primrose valley,’ the river course of which, delightfully shut in by high banks, is usually all but dry. Up both valleys we have had many pleasant strolls. On the present occasion, proceeding only a short way beyond the railway viaduct, we left the last-mentioned road, and, ascending by a steep donkey path, gradually gained the top of a ridge, along which, at a gradient gently inclining upward, a walk lies, protected, like that to Castellar, by trees, and looking down on the Gorbio valley—on the one side, its great plain thickly planted with olive trees, and terminated at its north end by the town of Gorbio, as if resting on an island peak; and on the other, on the Boirigo valley and the monastery heights. It took us some time to reach the base of the mountains, when the path became rough with loose stones, and steep and toilsome. Nearly three hours elapsed from the time of our leaving the hotel till we reached one of the mountain roadside chapels, with which the country abounds, constructed not only to point religious feelings, but as covered places of refuge from a storm. As usual, a cross stood by it, bent to the north-east, indicating that south-west were the violent and prevailing winds. This chapel, which could easily have held all our party and more in a storm, was a short way below the town of Ste. Agnese, and afforded a convenient resting-place ere proceeding farther. We had from it a good view of Ste. Agnese, which, being placed back on the north side of the mountain, is not visible from Mentone. It stands about 2100 or 2200 feet above the level of the sea. The castle, now in ruins, on the summit, is above 300 feet higher. As a stronghold it was no doubt almost unassailable; for on one side the rock may be said to be perpendicular, and the other sides are, as I learnt from the ascent, very steep. The town of Ste. Agnese, which we had yet a good pull to arrive at, is another of those curious villages which are seen in the Riviera. From a little distance it has a deserted, ruinous look, and the place does not improve upon nearer acquaintance. Of course, notwithstanding the apparent poverty of the inhabitants, it has a grand church with a spire to it, and we had chanced to light upon a fête day; for, as we were sitting on the rocks beyond it at lunch (brought with us as usual on such excursions, and forming no unacceptable part of their enjoyment),[23] we cast our eyes down upon the steep hillside below, and there we saw winding up, quite a number of priests and people with images, banners, and other insignia. On reaching the plateau on which we were, they halted to rest, and then formed into procession, one priest bearing in front a large crucifix with a figure of our Saviour on it, life-size; and all chanting, proceeded to the church.
Resting some time, a few of us ventured to climb to the castle. An interesting legend (fully narrated in Pemberton’s Monaco, p. 351) attaches to it. During the latter half of the tenth century, Haroun, a bold African chief, in command of a formidable fleet, was cruelly ravaging the coast and carrying off captives, among whom was a maiden of Provence called Anna, of illustrious birth and marvellous beauty. The vessel bearing her to Spain had been taken after a bloody battle, in which her father and two brothers were killed. Haroun had first pitied and protected her, and then fell violently in love with her. His jealous wife, divining the fact from his altered demeanour, gave orders to bind her and have her by night cast into the sea. Discovering this in time, he saved Anna’s life, and in his rage caused his wife to be strangled. Arriving opposite Ste. Agnese, and struck by the advantage of the position, he landed with 100 men and his captives, the natives flying before him, ascended the mountain, and built the fort. Here he importuned the disconsolate maid to renounce Christianity and marry him, but in vain; till, finding her one day praying for him, he was overcome, embraced Christianity himself, and fled with her and all his treasure to Marseilles, where they were joyfully received and were married.
The return took rather shorter time than the ascent; but the expedition occupied nearly the whole day from breakfast-time till dark. We might have descended by two or three different routes, but chose the way by which we had come. One of the other routes would have been by going round the mountain and descending upon the east side; but I believe it is very steep, and not much approved by the guides or donkey people. Another route would have been by diverging from the road by which we had ascended and coming down another ridge, called the Arbutus Walk (from the circumstance that it is filled with arbutus trees, with their brilliant scarlet and gold flower and fruit, so tempting and attractive to young people), and terminating in the Madonna Hill, a very favourite walk from Mentone. All in the hotel who had not taken part were eager to hear about our expedition, and we became for the nonce heroes, as famous as if we had made the ascent of Mont Blanc.
If one were to ascend simply to obtain a view, that from Ste. Agnese, or even from the castle on the top, would scarcely repay the fatigue of the ascent. It is dominated by a chain of rocky mountains, which surround it on every side except that to the sea; and the view towards the sea—that is, towards Mentone—is not more extensive than what may be obtained from many lower points upon which we there look down, and among others the monastery of Annunciata, which seems a long way immediately below, although it stands high, and is a prominent object from Mentone.
To this monastery we paid several visits. It stands on the ridge between the Carrei and Boirigo valleys, and is said at one time—by no means, looking to its position, unlikely—to have been the former site of Mentone and of a castle. The plateau on which now the chapel and monastery are built is above 1000 feet high, and is attained by another of those donkey paths of which there are so many on the hills. In fact, various such paths, more or less steep, conduct up to it from different parts. The main ascent from the Carrei valley is sharp and steep enough, and has the usual allowance of twelve or fifteen chapels or stations by the way—little places like sentry-boxes, in which sometimes objects of worship are placed. A small church or chapel forms an adjunct to the monastery. Its walls are covered over with votive pictures in commemoration of miraculous escapes from great dangers, but of the rudest description. They depict the danger escaped, and the Virgin opportunely appearing in the clouds to interpose and save, and are very singular specimens of art, drawn by the merest tyros—or rather babes—in art. It is surprising how those in charge of the church could allow it to be desecrated by such trashy attempts at the pictorial. The thing, however, is to be seen in many other such churches. Our first visit to this spot was at Christmas-time (29th Dec.), when the monks dress up a little crypt below the chapel in a very curious way, so as to represent the Nativity of our Lord. On a raised platform a country-side is seen, with rocks, and plains, and rustic bridges, studded over by little puppet figures or dolls about a foot high, others in the distance smaller, personating different characters—kings, Roman soldiers, shepherds with some woolly sheep, and Joseph and Mary standing in the midst of all. Near them a little babe lies on the ground, and kneeling before and adoring it a figure, I suppose, representing one of the Magi. Nor are angels wanting to complete the representation; while in a recess in the distant vista a toy Noah’s Ark is set, supposed to be resting on Ararat, satisfactorily proving by ocular demonstration that Noah’s Ark was, at the time of the Nativity, visible. The figures are evidently carved, by the hands of the monks, as the faces differ entirely from those of ordinary dolls, and from each other. It must cost the monks a good deal of labour to make the arrangements; but they have, I presume, little else to do, and it no doubt furnishes an agreeable occupation, which doubtless they grievously want. At stated hours of the day they may be heard with sepulchral voices chanting service; and as they seem to have nothing else to do, I suppose it may literally be said their vocation is, ‘Vox et preterea nihil.’
The most westerly of the valleys is that of Gorbio, which in some respects is the most beautiful, as it is the most secluded of all the three. It has no broad torrent bed like those of the Carrei and Boirigo, and in fact the river can scarcely be seen between its entrance to the sea and a long way up the valley, the road between these points lying at some distance from the river, in a ravine below, winding its course over rocks and among trees which hide it from sight. The valley, everywhere wooded, and river derive their name from the town of Gorbio, which crests a lofty conical-shaped rock or height 1400 feet high, about three miles distant from Mentone. The olive-covered ridges rise also on either side the valley pretty steeply, and hem it in.
On 14th February a party was made up from our hotel to go to Gorbio, sixteen in number, with nine donkeys and three donkey attendants. We left at half-past nine in the morning and got back at five o’clock. There is now a good carriage road for a considerable distance up the valley; but at that time it was only in course of formation, and was very rough. Where the road ceases, the ascent, hitherto gentle, becomes more perceptible; and on arriving at a point below the height on which Gorbio stands, we had to look up to it far above on the summit of its bold abrupt rock. It looked magnificent, and the sketchers of the party longed exceedingly to take it from that point; but the donkeys, or their drivers or riders, had no compassion, and, as it was not desirable to separate on such excursions, the chance on this occasion was lost, though, by starting a little earlier than the party, I got it on a subsequent visit.
The ascent to the top was steep by a donkey path, but the town was very curious. It has been, I believe, the scene of many battles. After inspecting it amidst the gazing of a crowd of idle inhabitants, we adjourned to a grassy bank a little outside, where we enjoyed our lunch, and the four sketchers were recompensed by obtaining a view of the town from an excellent point. As Gorbio is an excursion frequently made, we were surrounded by children, who kept us in a state of siege for coppers, which they are led by the injudiciousness of visitors to expect, and it was no easy matter to shake them off. We had still a great deal before us to do; so, as soon, as possible, the donkeys were remounted, and we proceeded along a mountain path, gradually reaching an elevation several hundred feet above Gorbio, on which we then looked down. All along this path we had splendid views, including one of the village of Ste. Agnese and the mountain on which it stands, which, from that point presenting its edge to us, appeared like a sharp Swiss aiguille. After a long circuit, we reached a point, at which the party dismounted and walked to the top of a hill commanding the valley; and then began the descent by a rough, stony, mountainous path to Rochebrune, about two miles off. Some of our party, keeping too high up, had to descend the mountain so perpendicularly that they could only liken the declivity to the side or face of a house.
Rochebrune rests upon the slope of a hill looking westward, down upon the Corniche road, on Monaco and the sea, between 600 and 800 feet below. The ruins of a castle stand upon a rock, which is said to have slipped down from a cliff 200 or 300 feet above. This, if true, would be a remarkable and unique circumstance. The town itself, which is about three or four miles from Mentone, from which it is a favourite excursion, is very picturesque, and affords many choice bits for the artist, I think more so than any similar town in the neighbourhood. One of our party jocularly proposed to come and spend a fortnight there, and take sketches; but to any civilised person it would be just as agreeable to spend the time, if that were possible, in a rabbit warren, to which another compared it. The view towards Monaco and the hills beyond it is very fine, but requires to be seen before the afternoon sun comes round. There are two ways of reaching Mentone from Rochebrune—one, by going down to the Corniche road a little below; and the other, by descending through terraces of fine old olive trees, one of which, in the pathway leading out of the village, is of immense girth, and must be of great age. It is said that some of the olive trees in this neighbourhood are considered to be nearly two thousand years old. The trunks of these olives are often very curious, from the mode in which they divide or split up and twist about. By either way to Mentone, splendid views are obtained, and the usual course on an excursion to Rochebrune is to go by one route and return by the other. In going by the road, we skirt the tongue of land called Cape Martin.