Riviera Towns

Riviera Towns, by Herbert
Adams Gibbons,

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Gibbons, Illustrated by Lester George Hornby
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Title: Riviera Towns
Author: Herbert Adams Gibbons

Release Date: July 4, 2007 [eBook #21996]
Language: English
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TOWNS***
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RIVIERA TOWNS
by
HERBERT ADAMS GIBBONS
Illustrations by Lester George Hornby

New York Robert M. McBride & Company 1931
Copyright, 1920, by Robert M. McBride & Co.
Copyright, 1917, 1918, 1920, by Harper & Brothers

To
Helen and Margaret
Who Indulge
The Author and the Artist

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

We wish to thank the editors of Harper's Magazine for allowing the
republication of articles and illustrations.
H. A. G.
L. G. H.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
GRASSE II. CAGNES III. SAINT-PAUL-DU-VAR IV.
VILLENEUVE-LOUBET V. VENCE VI. MENTON VII. MONTE
CARLO VIII. VILLEFRANCHE IX. NICE X. ANTIBES XI.
CANNES XII. MOUGINS XIII. FRÉJUS XIV. SAINT-RAPHÄEL
XV. THÉOULE

ILLUSTRATIONS
"A grandfather omnibus, which dated from the Second Empire."
"The hill of Cagnes we could rave about."
"The houses in the courts were stables downstairs."
The river was swirling around willows and poplars.
"Down the broad road of red shale past meadows thick with violets."
Medieval streets and buildings have almost disappeared.
"The Old Town takes you far from the psychology of cosmopolitanism
and the philosophy of hedonism."

"La Napoule, above whose tower on the sea rose a hill crowned with
the ruins of a chapel. Behind were the Maritime Alps."

RIVIERA TOWNS
CHAPTER I
GRASSE
For several months I had been seeing Grasse every day. The
atmosphere of the Midi is so clear that a city fifteen miles away seems
right at hand. You can almost count the windows in the houses. Against
the rising background of buildings every tower stands out, and you
distinguish one roof from another. From my study window at Théoule,
Grasse was as constant a temptation as the two islands in the Bay of
Cannes. But the things at hand are the things that one is least liable to
do. They are reserved for "some day" because they can be done "any
day." Since first coming to Théoule, I had been a week's journey south
of Cairo into the Sudan, and to Verdun in an opposite corner of France.
Menton and St. Raphaël, the ends of the Riviera, had been visited.
Grasse, two hours away, remained unexplored.
I owe to the Artist the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Grasse.
One day a telegram from Bordeaux stated that he had just landed, and
was taking the train for Théoule. The next evening he arrived. I gave
him my study for a bedroom. The following morning he looked out of
the window, and asked, "What is that town up there behind Cannes, the
big one right under the mountains?"
"Grasse, the home of perfumes," I answered.
"I don't care what it's the home of," was his characteristic response. "Is
it old and all right?" ("All right" to the Artist means "full of subjects.")
"I have never been there," I confessed.
The Artist was fresh from New York. "We'll go this morning," he

announced.
From sea to mountains, the valley between the Corniche de l'Estérel
and Nice produces every kind of vegetation known to the
Mediterranean littoral. Memories of Spain, Algeria, Egypt, Palestine,
Asia Minor, Greece and Italy are constantly before you. But there is a
difference. The familiar trees and bushes and flowers of the Orient do
not spring here from bare earth. Even where cultivated land, wrested
from the mountain sides, is laboriously terraced, stones do not
predominate. Earth and rock are hidden by a thick undergrowth of grass
and creepers that defies the sun, and draws from the nearby mountain
snow a perennial supply of water. Olive and plane, almond and walnut,
orange and lemon, cedar and cork, palm and umbrella-pine, grape-vine
and flower-bush have not the monopoly of green. It is the Orient
without the brown, the Occident with the sun.
The Mediterranean is more blue than elsewhere because firs and cedars
and pines are not too green. The cliffs are more red than elsewhere
because there is