Baker and Inness sat down on the sea-wall behind him to recover from this. The two Englishmen were equally amused, although Miss Elaine, who was walking with them, did not discover it. However, Miss Elaine seldom discovered anything save herself. We now began to ascend, passing between the high walls of villa gardens along a smooth, broad, white road.
"This is the Cornice," said Mrs. Clary; "it winds along this coast from Marseilles to Genoa."
"From Nice to Genoa," said the Professor, turning to correct her. But by turning he lost his place. Inness slipped into it, and not only that, but into his information also. In the leisure hour or two before and after "breakfast," Inness had carried out his threat of "studying up," and we soon became aware of it.
"The genius of Napoleon, Miss Trescott," he began, "caused this wonderful road to spring from the bosom of the mighty rock."
"Before it there was no road, only a mule track," said the Professor from behind.
"I beg your pardon," said Inness, suavely, "but there was a road, the old Roman way, called Via Julia Augusta, traces of which are still to be seen at more than one point in this neighborhood."
"Ah!" said the Professor, surprised by this unexpected antiquity, "you are going back to the Roman period. I have omitted that."
"But I have not," replied Inness. "The Romans were a remarkable people, and all their relics are penetrated with the profoundest interest for me. I am aware, however, that other minds are more modern," he added, carelessly, with an air of patronage, which so delighted Baker that he fell behind to conceal it.
"The Cornichy, Miss Trescott, as we pronounce the Italian word (Corniche in French), is almost our own word cornice," pursued Inness, "meaning a shelf or ledge along the side of the mountain. It was begun by Napoleon, and has been finished by the energy of successive governments since the death of that wonderful man, who was all governments in one."
"You surprise me," said Janet, breaking into laughter.
"Not more than you do me," I said, joining her.
The Professor (who had rather neglected the Cornice in his Cyclopean information) gazed at us inquiringly, surprised at our merriment.
"The best description of the Cornice, I think, is the one in Ruffini's novel called Doctor Antonio" said Mrs. Clary. "The scene is laid at Bordighera, you know, that little white town on the eastern point so conspicuous from Mentone. Of course you all remember Doctor Antonio?"
Presently our road wound around a curve, and we came upon a wild gorge, spanned by a bridge with a sentinel's box at each end; one side was France and the other Italy. The bridge, the official boundary line between the two countries, is a single arch thrown across the gorge, which is singularly stern, great masses of bare gray rock rising perpendicularly hundreds of feet into the air, with a little rill of water trickling down on one side, trying to create a tiny line of verdure. Below was an old aqueduct on arches, which the Professor hastened to say was "Roman."
"The Romans must have been enormous drinkers of water," observed Baker, as we looked down. "The first thing they made in every conquered country was an aqueduct. What could have given the name to Roman punch?"
"Do you see that narrow track cut in the face of the rock?" said Mrs. Clary, pointing out a line crossing one side of the gorge at a dizzy height. "It is a little path beside a watercourse, and so narrow that in some places there is not room for one's two feet. The wall of rock rises, as you see, perpendicularly hundreds of feet on one side, and falls away hundreds of feet perpendicularly on the other; there is nothing to hold on by, and in addition the glancing motion of the little stream, running rapidly downhill along the edge, makes the path still more dizzy. Yet the peasants coming down from Ciotti – a village above us – use it, as it shortens the distance to town. And there are those among the strangers too who try it, generally, I must confess, of our race. The French and Italians say, with a shrug, 'It is only the English and Americans who enjoy such risks.'"
"It does not look so narrow," said Janet. Then, as we exclaimed, she added, "I mean, not wide enough for one's two feet."
"Feet," remarked Inness, in a general way, as if addressing the gorge, "are not all of the same size."
We happened to be standing in a row, with our backs against the southern parapet of the bridge, looking up at the little path; the result was that eighteen feet were plainly visible on the white dust of the bridge, and, naturally enough, at Inness's speech eighteen eyes looked downward and noted them. There were the Professor's boots, the laced shoes of the younger men, the comfortable foot-gear of Mrs. Clary and myself, the broad substantial soles of Miss Elaine, and a certain dainty little pair of high-arched, high-heeled boots, which, small as they were, were yet quite large enough for the pretty feet they contained. I thought Miss Elaine would be vexed; but no, not at all. It never occurred to Miss Elaine to doubt the perfection of any of her attributes. But now Mrs. Trescott's phaeton, which had started later, reached the bridge, and the gorge, path, and aqueduct had to be explained to her. Lloyd undertook this.
"I wonder how many girls have thrown themselves off that rock?" said Janet, gazing at an isolated peak, shaped like a sugar-loaf, which stood alone within the ravine.
"What a holocaust you imagine, Miss Trescott!" said Verney. "How could they climb up there, to begin with?"
"I do not know. But they always do. I have never known a rock of that kind which has succeeded in evading them," answered Janet. "They generally call them 'Lovers' Leaps.'"
After a while we went on "to Italy," passing the square Italian custom-house perched on its cliff, and following the road by the little Garibaldi inn, and on towards the point of Mortola.
"This is the Italian frontier," said Verney. "In old times, during the Prince's reign, no one could leave the domain without buying a passport; any one, therefore, who wished to take an afternoon walk was obliged to have one. But things are altered now in Menton."
"Are we to call the place Menton or Mentone?" asked Janet. "We might as well come to some decision."
"Menton is correct," said the Professor; "it is now a French town."
"Oh no! let us keep to the dear old names, and say Men-to-ne," said Mrs. Clary.
"I have even heard it pronounced to rhyme with bone," said Verney, smiling. Inness and Baker now looked at each other, and fell behind, but after a few minutes they came forward again, and, advancing to the front, faced us, and delivered the following epic:
Inness:
"What shall we call thee? Shall we give our own
Plain English vowels to thee, fair Mentone?"
Baker:
"Or shall we yield thee back thy patrimony,
The lost Italian sweetness of Mentone?"
Inness:
"Or, with French accent, and the n's half gone,
Try the Parisian syllables – Men-ton?"
We all applauded their impromptu. The Professor, seeing that poetry held the field, walked apart musingly. I think he was trying to recall, but without success, an appropriate Latin quotation.
The view from the point above Mortola is very beautiful. On the west, Mentone with its three spires, the green of Cap Martin; and beyond, the bold dark forehead of the Dog's Head rising above Monaco.
"Do you see that blue line of coast?" said Verney. "That is the island where lived the Man with the Iron Mask."
"Bazaine was confined there also," said the Professor.
But none of us cared for Bazaine. We began to talk about the Mask, and then diverged to Kaspar Hauser, finally ending with Eleazer Williams, of "Have we a Bourbon among us?" who had to be explained to the Englishmen. It was some time before we came back to the view; but all the while there it was before us, and we were unconsciously enjoying it. On