The Mentor: The Mediterranean, Vol. 1, Num. 39, Serial No. 39, November 10, 1913 — Reading Companion

Contrasts Across the Strait

Elmendorf’s first section emphasizes the abrupt change a traveler experiences when crossing from Gibraltar to Tangier. He describes the Barbary coast as a place of “contrasting conditions” and a civilization “so different” from that of Europe that disbelief sets in. The phrasing is deliberately evocative: the reader is invited to “wander along the Barbary coast” and encounter a world apart. Yet the excerpt provides only this brief glimpse; the full treatment of North Africa is cut short. What remains is a clear rhetorical strategy: the author uses the shock of difference to frame the Mediterranean as a sea of cultural boundaries, not just a body of water. The contrast is not merely scenic but civilizational, a theme that would have resonated with early twentieth-century readers accustomed to imperial travel narratives.

The Riviera’s Calculated Charms

The Riviera section balances lyrical description with practical data. Elmendorf notes “little churches and chapels peering from the somber foliage of cypresses” and “gigantic gray pinnacles of rock frowning upon the smiling plains,” a personification that animates the landscape. He catalogs the flora—olives, figs, vines, citrons, oranges, oleanders, myrtles, aloes—and mentions that “even palms are seen occasionally.” But he also reports that the railway from Nice to Genoa runs 116 miles, and that the stretch from Genoa to Spezia requires “more than 80 tunnels” through headlands. The only drawback, he states bluntly, is “its liability to earthquakes, of which there were four in the last century alone.” This mixture of aesthetic appeal and geological risk gives the passage a matter-of-fact tone typical of the Mentor series: beauty is quantified, and hazards are noted without alarm.

Monaco: Smallest Country, Largest Draw

Elmendorf devotes a monograph to Monaco, calling it “a curious thing that the smallest country in Europe is also one of the most visited.” He specifies its area—eight square miles—and its population of 19,000. The reason for its fame is twofold: “its charming climate and situation, and its gaming tables.” He then provides a detailed financial history of the gambling concession, from François Blanc’s 1861 fifty-year lease to its extension in 1898 to 1947, with escalating annual payments to the prince: $350,000 in 1913, rising to $500,000 by 1937. These tributes, he explains, allow Monaco’s inhabitants to be “entirely exempt from taxation.” The section also notes that Mentone and Roquebrune were ceded to France in 1861 for $800,000, and that the city of Monaco occupies “the level summit of a rocky headland, rising about 200 feet from the shore.” The tone is neutral, almost statistical, yet the accumulation of figures underscores the economic oddity of a principality sustained by gambling revenue.

Elmendorf’s Mediterranean number is best read as a period piece that reveals early twentieth-century attitudes toward travel, civilization, and commerce. The author’s willingness to juxtapose the “alien” Barbary coast with the familiar Riviera, and to dissect Monaco’s gambling economy with precise numbers, offers a snapshot of how educated Americans were encouraged to see the region. Readers should note the tension between romantic description and factual reporting—a hallmark of the Mentor series—and consider how the text’s silences (the incomplete treatment of North Africa) shape its perspective.

I keep thinking about that old 1913 travel piece—how the writer drifted between alien coasts and familiar playgrounds, sensing something fragile beneath the leisure. It reminded me of another journey, quieter but just as lingering: Through South America — Edition Insights, where the landscape itself feels like a slow confession. Both left me sitting still afterward, maps half-open.