Alone | Page 8

nothing of that preposterous hotel at the very point, which disfigures
the country for leagues around.
On other occasions you may find your way towards evening up to
Gorbio and stay for supper, provided you do not mind being cheated.
Or wander further afield, over Sospel to Breil by the old path--note the
lavender: they make a passable perfume of it--or else to Moulinet
(famous for bad food and a mastodontic breed of mosquitoes) and
thence along the stream--note the bushes of wild box--and over a
wooded ridge to the breezy heights of Peira Cava, there to dream away
the daylight under the pines. These are summer rambles. At present the
snow lies deep.
One of my favourite excursions has been up the so-called Berceau, the
cradle-shaped hill which dominates Mentone on the east. I was there
to-day for a solitary luncheon, resting awhile in the timbered saddle
between the peaks. The summit is only about five minutes' walk from
this delectable grove, but its view inland is partially intercepted by a
higher ridge. From here, if you are in the mood, you may descend
eastward over the Italian frontier, crossing the stream which is spanned
lower down by the bridge of St. Louis, and find yourself at Mortola
Superiore (try the wine) and then at Mortola proper (try the wine).

Somewhere in this gulley was killed the last wolf of these regions; so a
grey-haired local Nimrod told me. He had wrought much mischief in
his time. That is to say, he was not killed, but accidentally
drowned--drowned in one of those artificial reservoirs which are
periodically filled and drawn off for irrigating the gardens lower down;
an ignoble death, for a wolf! A goat lay drowned beside him. The event,
he reckoned, must have taken place half a century ago. Since then, the
wolf has never been seen.
This afternoon, however, I preferred to repose in that shady dell, while
a flock of goldcrests were investigating the branches overhead and two
buzzards cruised, in dreamy spirals, about the sunny sky of midday; to
repose; to indulge my genius and review the situation; to profit, in short,
by that sense of aloofness peculiar to such aerial spots, which tempts
the mind to set its house in order. What are we doing, in these empty
regions? Why not wander hence? That cursed traveller's gift of sitting
still; of remaining stationary, no matter where, until one is actually
pushed away! And yet, how enjoyable this land might be, were it
inhabited by any race save one whose thousand little meannesses,
public and private, are calculated to drain away a man's last ounce of
self-respect! Not many are the glad memories I shall carry from
Mentone. I can think of no more than two.
There is my landlady, to begin with, who spies out every detail of my
daily life; of decent birth and richer than Croesus, but inflamed with a
peevish penuriousness which no amount of plain speaking on my part
will correct. Never a day passes that she does not permit herself some
jocular observation anent my spendthrift habits. The following is an
example of our matutinal converse:
"I fear, Monsieur, you omitted to put out the light in a certain place last
night. It was burning when I returned home."
"Certainly not, Madame. I have been nicely brought up. I never visit
places at night. You ought to be familiar with my habits after all this
time."
"True. Then it must have been some one else. Ah, these electricians'
bills!"
Or this:
"Monsieur, Monsieur! The English Consul called yesterday with his
little dog at about five o'clock. He waited in your room, but you never

came back."
"Five o'clock? I was at the baths."
"I have heard of that establishment. What do they charge for a hot
bath?"
"Three francs----"
"Bon Dieu!"
"--if you take an abonnement. Otherwise, it may well be more."
"And so you go there. Why then--why must you also wash in the
morning and splash water on my floor? It may have to be polished after
your departure. Would you mind asking the Consul, by the way, not to
sit on the bed? It weakens the springs."
Or this:
"Might I beg you, Monsieur, to tread more lightly on the carpet in your
room? I bought it only nine years ago, and it already shows signs of
wear."
"Nine years--that old rag? It must have survived by a miracle."
"I do not ask you to avoid using it. I only beg you will tread as lightly
as possible."
"Carpets are meant to be worn out."
"You would express yourself less forcibly, if you had to pay for them."
"Let us say then: carpets are meant to be trodden on."
"Lightly."
"I am not a fairy, Madame."
"I