CHAPTER XVI. Nice-the French coast-Villa Franca-the Paglione-the Sospellothe Valley of Chiandola-the Roya river-Saorgio-village of Tenda-the Pass of the Colli di Tenda-Limone-Coni-Plains of Turin-Savigliano-Monte-viso-Turin. LOOKING upon Nice, the first object that strikes you is the lofty, square-faced rock, on which stood the ancient Nicea, and where are still ruins. On the west, the Paglione pours its waters through its wide mouth to an ocean, blue as the Rhone at Geneva. The Var is two miles more to the west, forming the boundary between France and Italy; a pretty bridge was thrown over the Paglione by the French. The town, with its numerous conical towers and churches, lies snugly beneath the rock; and the lofty rugged masses of the mountain rise boldly on the left. We drove through an arched covering of trees into the town. It has a pretty little port, between a wooded hill, and fine rocks. The French coast stretches down its long promontories to the Isle de S. Marguerite, once the abode of the prisoner with the iron mask, and to the Hieres. The last point very much resembles the Soracte mount. The western shore of the Paglione is wooded, and presents the ruins and antiquities of Cimier, which are worth observing, as well as Cemenalium, besides the ruins of the abbey of St. Pons, and a temple near the Bastide (or villa) of Ferreri. One hundred ships of the line might anchor in the road. We were told that in fine weather Corsica The hills are covered could be discerned from the shore. with painted cottages; olive trees and a vast forest extend towards the Var. Cassini, the astronomer, was born in this little town; the population is now said to be about 19,605. Beef is at twopence halfpenny a pound; the poultry is brought from Piedmont, over the Col di Tenda. Fruit and vegetables grow in great abundance round the town. They boast of the wine called billitti. The houses on the sea have a southern aspect, and a rock rises at the back, sheltering them from the Vent de Bise, which here often almost freezes you in the middle of the retired to rest in a hot sirocco. Etrangers a comfortable inn. night, after you have We found L'hotel des On Sunday we went to the English chapel; it is quite delightful to travel through Europe, finding something from one's father's house in every kingdom. French, or rather Patois, had become the universal language; this we observed on quitting Albenga. There is a cheerfulness and civilization at Nice, forming a striking contrast to the poverty of the Neapolitan peasantry. We took a caratelle to go to Villa Franca, and ascended a lofty hill, on which is fort Albano, formerly the arena of an awful contest between the Italians and the French-the fort is in ruins. Descending through a wood of olives and carrob trees, a little bay was gradually seen, on the shore of which is embosomed the village, and on the eastern bank, the .arsenal and galleys for condemned criminals. There is a shadowy loneliness about Villa Franca, that gives the whole the air of an outcast. The children and people have a rude, half-savage look. We inquired where Lady O-S— had lived; and getting no satisfactory answer, and much ill will that we would not take a boat, we were glad to drive back to the active, happy-looking Nice. The buttresses of the Maritime Alps rise nobly at the back of the town, and the wooded banks rising from the Paglione are studded with houses called St. Pons, and on one side of St. Pons are the ruins of Cimier. There are two bridges across the Paglione: the road over the last, leading to the river Var, and thence into France, which seems to have communicated its language, dress, manners, and countenance to the Niceans. A lady who had resided a year and a half in the town, told me, that the summer nights were inconceivably delicious, and that she had passed many on the terrace of her garden, amidst her luxuriant flowers, which seem, indeed, in quality and number to exceed the Flora of Italy. The windows are entirely covered with blinds in the day time, the heat being absolutely scorching; notwithstanding which, even in summer, the cold vent de bise frequently gives the rheumatism. Most of the English families had quitted when we arrived, and we left on the 28th of May, to cross the Maritime Alps. We commenced our journey by skirting the Paglione, the bed of which was much wider than the torrent. On our right rose limestone rocks, with steps of ribbed and bowed strata. All the way up the Scarena we passed through bleak and uninteresting scenery, till we reached the village, situated on the Paglione, on the banks of which I sat whilst the horses were resting. On our ascent of the Sospello, our road was up the face of a vast limestone mountain, where it is said red, white, and grey marble are found. I saw none. Through the ravines we got at every turn a view of the sea. It is very curious to observe the mules coming right down the steep declivities, and to mark how the even top of every mass of rock is carefully cultivated. The rise of the road is gentle, the turns perpetual, and you are constantly edging some vast land gulph; we think we can discover the river Var running into the ocean, with which its waters do not appear to mingle immediately, but to carry out their white hue to a considerable distance. The blue mountains at the end of the French promontories are clearly discovered. We kept constantly mounting for two hours and a half, on the border of Alpine precipices, with simply the forms of these vast mounds of earth to interest us, and to descant on the bold genius of Amadeus, who first imagined a road up the face of such an Alp. Round some vast concavity the road is cut in the rugged rock, like a shelf: this shelf is supported by the rock beneath, and a wall of stones just cut from the mountain; this serves for sweeping round the hollow; and then, for the ascent up the face of the opposing Alp, a serpentine terrace is formed with a very gentle acclivity, the turns being exceedingly frequent. The hard bed of rock of which the road is formed shakes you almost to dislocation. If you look up, huge masses hang apparently just ready to fall on your head; if down, the points of bare rugged limestone are bristled to receive you, without a figure of speech: the heights make you giddy,—and there are no fine glaciers, no snowy tops, no solemn pine groves, no rushing torrents, to divide your attention and make you certain that it is not "danger's self is lure alone," but all is literally savage rock, which even the varying and beauteous light of heaven cannot make beautiful. After a fearful drive, we reached the top of the Sospello. Here I had anticipated the exhibition of the-long enduring snows of a widely extended Alpine region; but no-only two tops appeared; the village of Sospello looked immediately under our feet, but an hour and a half was employed in following the sinuosities of the mountain ere we reached it. It is a small antique village, on a rapid stream, I think the Pella, and that it joins the Roya, and is the same that we crossed on the broken bridge of Ventimiglia. We here recognized in the distance the tops of some mountains that we had seen afar up the valley of Ventimiglia. On the centre of the bridge of Sospello is a house, once, perhaps, a little fort, destined to keep back a host of archers. The people have the cocked hat of the French peasants, but they speak a patois Italian. It is probably more easy to change the dress than the language. The priests were very numerous; they wear the usual garb, and mix in good fellowship with the poorest. The vedova Olivetta, and her pretty little daughter, supplied our nocturnal necessities; and when we had closed our door for the evening, we joined in heart with him who said, "Source and Giver of repose Singly from thy smile it flows; |