THE RIVIERA OF THE CORNICHE ROAD SIR FREDERICK TREVES r yrt t*1/'*' I « jnfvrvv \h/^<\^ =r i THE RIVIERA OF THE GORNIGHE ROAD A RIVIERA GARDEN. L The Riviera of the Corniche Road / BY SIR FREDERICK ^REVES, BART. G.C.V.O., C.B., LL.D. Serjeant-Surgeon to His Majesty the King ; Author of " The Other Side of the Lantern," "The Cradle of the Deep," " The Country of the Ring and the Book," " High- ways and By-ways of Dorset," etc. etc. Illustrated by <)2 Photographs by the Author New York FUNK AND WAGNALLS COMPANY 1921 i( .^ Preface This book deals with that part of the French Riviera which is commanded by the Great Corniche Road — the part between Nice and Mentone — together with such places as are within easy reach of the Road. I am obliged to the proprietors of the Times for permission to reprint an article of mine contributed to that journal in March, 1920. It appears as Chapter xxxvii. I am much indebted to Dr. Hagberg Wright, of the London Library, for invaluable help in the collecting of certain historical data. FREDERICK TREVES. Monte Carlo, Chinstmas, 1920 Contents CHAPTER 1. Early Days in the Riviera i^ 2. The Corniche Road . 3. Nice : The Promenade des Anglais 4. Nice : The Old Town 5. The Siege of Nice 6. CiMiEz and St. Pons . 7. How the Convent of St. Pons came to an End 8. Vence, the Defender of the Faith 9. Vence, the Town 10. Grasse ..... 11. A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse 12. Cagnes and St. Paul du Var 13. Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice 14. The Story of Eze 15. The Troubadours of Eze 16. How Eze was Betrayed 17. The Town that Cannot Forget . 18. The Harbour of Monaco . 19. The Rock of Monaco 20. A Fateful Christmas Eve . 21. Charles the Seaman . 22. The Lucien Murder . vii PAGE • • 1 • • 8 • • 14 • • 19 • » . 29 • • . 36 TO AN End 41 • • . 49 • • . 59 • • . 67 F Grasse 80 . • 97 . . 1 104 • « 118 « • 123 • • . 127 . • . 135 . « 143 • < , 151 • 161 . • 165 • • i , 170 Contents CHAPTER 23. How THE Spaniards were got rid of 24. A Matter of Etiquette 25. The Monte Carlo of the Novelist 26. Monte Carlo .... 27. Some Diversions of Monte Carlo 28. An Old Roman Posting Town . 29. The Tower of Victory 30. La Turbie of To-day . » 31. The Convent of Laghet 32. The City of Peter Pan 33. The Legend of Roquebrune 34. Some Memories of Roquebrune . 35. Gallows Hill .... 36. Mentone 37. The First Visitors to the Riviera 38. Castillon 39. SOSPEL 40. SoSPEL AND the WiLD BoAR 41. Two Queer Old Towns PAGE 176 181 187 191 195 206 214 224 231 239 248 252 259 265 273 281 286 294 297 Vlll List of Illustrations A Riviera Garden At the Bend of the Road . Nice : The Old Terraces Nice: Rue du Senat . Nice: A Street in the Old Town Cimiez: The Roman Amphitheatre Cimiez: The Marble Cross . Cimiez: The Monastery Well Vence: The East Gate and Outer Wall Vence: The Church and Court of Bishop's Palace Vence: Old House in the Place Godeau Vence: Rue de la Coste Grasse : The de Cabris House Grasse: The Cathedral Grasse: The Place aux Aires Grasse: Rue de I'Eveche Grasse: Rue sans Peur Cagnes .... Cagnes : The Town Gate Cagnes : The Place Grimaldi Cagnes : The Castle St. Paul du Var St. Paul du Var: The Entry St. Paul du Var: The Main Gate St. Paul du Var: A Side Street . St. Paul du Var : A Shop of the Mediaeval Type ix Frontispiece FACING PAGB 8 16 26 32 36 40 40 52 58 62 62 68 72 76 80 90 96 98 100 100 102 102 102 104 104 List of Illustrations Cap de St. Hospice .... St. Hospice: The Madonna and the Tower Villefranche ..... Villefranche : The Main Street A Road in Beaulieu Eze: The Main Gate A Street in Eze ..... Eze : On the Way to the Castle . Eze: All that Remains of the Castle . Cap d'Ail, near Monaco Monaco ...... Monaco: The Sentry Tower on the Rampe Monaco: The Drawbridge Gate, 1533 . Monaco: The Palace .... Monaco: The Old Hotel de Ville Monaco: The Cliff Garden . The Gorge between Monaco and Monte Carlo The Chapel of St. Devote . Monte Carlo from Monaco . Monte Carlo: The Terrace, Christmas Day Monte Carlo: The Casino Garden The Roman Monument, La Turbie A Corner in La Turbie A Street in La Turbie La Turbie : Old Window in the Rue Droite La Turbie: The Old Bakehouse . La Turbie: La Portette La Turbie : The Fortress Wall, showing the Roman La Turbie: The Nice Gate . Laghet ...... Laghet : The Entrance Laghet: One of the Cloisters Roquebrune, from near Bon Voyage . X FACING PAGH 108 108 110 112 114 120 124 134 138 138 144 148 156 156 162 168 172 178 184 192 196 202 206 210 216 216 224 226 Stones 226 228 232 234 236 240 I List of Illustrations PAMNG PAGB Roquebrune: The East Gate 246 Roquebrune: The Place des Freres . . . .246 Roquebrune: Showing the Castle .... 252 Roquebrune: Rue de la Fontaine .... 256 The Roman Milestones, " 603 " 258 A Piece of the Old Roman Road .... 258 The Roman Fountain near La Turbie .... 260 Gallows Hill 262 Mont Justicier : The Two Pillars of the Gallows . . 262 The Chapel of St. Roch 264 Mentone: The Old Town 266 Mentone: The East Bay 268 Mentone : Rue Longue ...... 272 Mentone: A Doorway in the Rue Longue . . . 274 A Side Street in Mentone ...... 276 A Side Street in Mentone ...... 278 Mentone : Rue Mattoni ...... 278 Castillon : (In the snow) ...... 280 Castillon: The Entry to the Town .... 280 Castillon : The Main Street 282 Castillon: The Main Street and Church Door . . 284 Sospel: The Old Bridge 286 Sospel: The River Front 288 Sospel: The Place St. Michel 290 A Square in Sospel ....... 292 Sospel : The Ruins of the Convent .... 292 A Street in Sospel ....... 294 Sospel: The City Wall and Gate . . . .294 A Street in Gorbio . . . . . . .298 A Street in Gorbio ....... 298 A Street in St. Agnes ...... 300 A Street in St. Agnes ...... 302 XI THE RIVIERA OF THE CORNICHE ROAD EARLY DAYS IN THE RIVIERA THE early history of this briUiant country is very dim, as are its shores and uplands when viewed from an oncoming barque at the dawn of day. The historian-adventurer sailing into the past sees before him just such an indefinite country as opens up before the eye of the mariner. Hills and crags — alone unchange- able — rise against the faint light in the sky. The sound of breakers on the beach alone can tell where the ocean ends and where the land begins; while the slopes, the valleys and the woods are lost in one blank impenetrable shadow. As the daylight grows, or as our knowledge grows, the forms of men come into view, wild creatures armed with clubs and stones. They will be named Ligurians, just as the earlier folk of Britain were named Britons. Later on less uncouth men, furnished with weapons of bronze or iron, can be seen to land from boats or to be plodding along the shore as if they had journeyed far. They will be called Phoenicians, Carthaginians or B I The Riviera of the Corniche Road Phocseans according to the leaning of the writer who deals with them. There may be bartering on the beach, there may be fighting or pantomimic love-making ; but in the end those who are better armed take the place of the old dwellers, and the rough woman in her apron of skins walks off into the wood by the side of the man with the bronze knife and the beads. There is little more than this to be seen through the haze of far distant time. The written history, such as it is, is thus part fiction, part surmise, for the very small element of truth is based upon such fragments of evidence as a few dry bones, a few implements, a bracelet, a defence work, a piece of pottery. The Ligurians or aborigines formed themselves, for purposes of defence, into clans or tribes. They built fortified camps as places of refuge. Relics of these forts or castra remain, and very remarkable relics they are, for they show immense walls built of blocks of unworked stone that the modern wall builder may view with amazement. Nowhere are these camps found in better preservation than around Monte Carlo. In the course of time into this savage country, march- ing in invincible columns, came the stolid, orderly legions of Rome. They subdued the hordes of hillmen, broke up their forts, and commemorated the victory by erecting a monument on the crest of La Turbie which stands there to this day. The Romans brought with them discipline and culture, and above all, peace. The natives, reassured, came down from their retreats among the heights and established themselves in the towns which were springing up by the edge of the sea. The Condamine of Monaco, for example, was inhabited during the first century of Early Days in the Riviera the present era, as is made manifest by the rehcs which have been found there. With the fall of the Roman Empire peace vanished and the whole country lapsed again into barbarism. It was overrun from Marseilles to Genoa by gangs of hearty ruffians whose sole preoccupation was pillage, arson and murder. They uprooted all that the Romans had estab- hshed, and left in their fetid trail little more than a waste of burning huts and dead men. These pernicious folk were called sometimes Vandals, sometimes Goths, sometimes Burgundians, and some- times Swabians. The gentry, however, who seem to have been the most persistent and the most diligent in evil were the Lombards. They are described as " ravish- ing the country " for the immoderate period of two hundred years, namely from 574 to 775. How it came about that any inhabitants were left after this exhausting treatment the historian does not explain. At the end of the eighth century there may possibly have been a few years' quiet along the Riviera, during which time the people would have recovered confidence and become hopeful of the future. Now the Lombards had always come down upon them by land, so they knew in which direction to look for their troubles, and, more- over, they knew the Lombards and had a quite practical experience of their habits. After a lull in alarms and in paroxysms of outrage, and after what may even be termed a few calm years, something still more dreadful happened to these dwellers in a fool's paradise. Marauders began to come, not by the hill passes, but by sea and to land out of boats. They were marauders, too, of a peculiarly virulent type, compared with whom the 3 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Lombards were as babes and sucklings ; for not only were their actions exceptionally violent and their weapons unusually noxious, but they themselves were terrifying to look at, for they were nearly black. These alarming people were the Saracens, otherwise known as the Moors or Arabs. They belonged to a great race of Semitic origin which had peopled Syria, the borders of the Red Sea and the North of Africa. They invaded — in course of time — not only this tract of coast, but also Rhodes, Cyprus, France, Spain and Italy. They were by birth and inheritance wanderers, fighters and congenital pirates. They spread terror wherever they went, and their history may be soberly described as *' awful." They probably appeared at their worst in Provence and at their best in Spain, where they introduced ordered government, science, literature and commerce, and left behind them the memory of elegant manners and some of the most graceful buildings in the world. As early as about 800 the Saracens had made them- selves masters of Eze, La Turbie and Sant' Agnese ; while by 846 they seem to have terrorised the whole coast from the Rhone to the Genoese Gulf, and in the first half of the tenth century to have occupied nearly every sea-town from Aries to Mentone. Finally, in 980, a great united effort was made to drive the marauders out of France. It was successful. The leader of the Ligurian forces was William of Marseilles, first Count of Provence, and one of the most distinguished of his lieutenants was a noble Genoese soldier by name Gibellino Grimaldi. It is in the person of this knight that the Grimaldi name first figures in the history of the Ligurian coast. 4 Early Days in the Riviera As soon as the Saracens had departed the powers that had combined to drive them from the country began to fight among themselves. They fought in a vague, con- fused, spasmodic way, with infinite vicissitudes and in every available place, for over five hundred years. The siege of Nice by the French in 1543 may be conveniently taken as the end of this particular series of conflicts. It was a period of petty fights in which the Counts of Provence were in conflict with the rulers of Northern Italy, with the Duke of Milan, it may be, or the Duke of Savoy or the Doge of Genoa. It was a time when town fought with town, when Pisa was at war with Genoa and Genoa with Nice, when the Count of Ventimiglia would make an onslaught on the Lord of Eze and the ruffian who held Gorbio would plan a descent upon little Roquebrune. This delectable part of the continent, moreover, came within the sphere of that almost intermin- able war which was waged between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. In the present area the Grimaldi were for the Guelphs and the Pope, and the Spinola for the Ghibel- lines and the Emperor. The feud began in the twelfth century and lasted until the French invasion in 1494. This period of five hundred years was a time of interest that was dramatic rather than momentous. So far as the South of France was concerned one of the most beautiful tracts of country in Europe was the battle- ground for bands of mediaeval soldiers, burly, dare-devil men carrying fantastic arms and dressed in the most picturesque costumes the world has seen. It was a period of romance, and, indeed — from a scenic point of view — of romance in its most alluring aspect. Here were all the folk and the incidents made famous by 5 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the writers of a hundred tales — the longbowman in his leather jerkin, the man in the slashed doublet sloping a halberd, the gay musketeer, the knight in armour and plumes, as well as the little walled town, the parley before the gate, the fight for the drawbridge and the dash up the narrow street. It was a period when there were cavalcades on the road, glittering with steel, with pennons and with banners, when there were ambushes and frenzied flights, carousing of the Falstaffian type at inns, and dreadful things done in dungeons. It was a time of noisy banquets in vaulted halls with dogs and straw on the floor ; a time of desperate rescues, of tragic escapes, of fights on prison roofs, and of a general and brilliant disorder. It was a delusive epoch, too, with a pretty terminology, when the common hack was a palfrey, the footman a varlet, and the young woman a damosel. The men in these brawling times were, in general terms, swashbucklers and thieves; but they had some of the traits of crude gentlemen, some rudiments of honour, some chivalry of an emotional type, and an unreliable reverence for the pretty woman. It was a time to read about rather than to live in; a period that owes its chief charm to a safe distance and to the distortion of an artificial mirage. In any case one cannot fail to realise that these scenes took place in spots where tramcars are now running, where the char-a-banc rumbles along, and where the anaemic youth and the brazen damosel dance to the jazz music of an American band. When the five hundred years had come to an end there were still, in this particular part of the earth, wars and 6 Early Days in the Riviera rumours of wars that ceased not ; but they were ordinary wars of small interest save to the student in a history class, for the day of the hand-to-hand combat and of the dramatic fighting in streets had passed away. So far as our present purpose is concerned the fact need only be noted that the spoiled and petted Riviera has been the scene of almost continuous disturbance and bloodshed for the substantial period of some seventeen hundred years, and that it has now become a Garden of Peace, calmed by a kind of agreeable dream-haunted stupor such as may befall a convulsed man who has been put asleep by cocaine. ,^ II THE CORNICHE ROAD IT is hardly necessary to call to mind the fact that there are several Corniche roads along the Riviera. The term implies a fringing road, a road that runs along a cornice or ledge (French, Corniche; Itahan, Cornice). The term .will, therefore, be often associated with a coast road that runs on the edge or border of the sea or on a shelf above it. There are the Chemin de la Corniche at Marseilles which runs as far east as the Prado, the Corniche d'Or near Cannes, the three Corniche Roads beyond Nice, and — inland — the Corniche de Grasse. The bare term "The Corniche Road** is, however, generally understood to refer to the greatest road of them all. La Grande Corniche. Of all the great roads in Europe it is probable that La Grande Corniche — .which runs from Nice eastwards to- wards Italy — is the best known and the most popular. Roads become famous in many ways, some by reason of historical associations, some on account of the heights they reach, and others by the engineering difficulties they have been able to surmount. La Grande Corniche can claim none of these distinctions. It is comparatively a modern road, it mounts to little more than 1,700 feet, and it can- 8 AT THE BEND OF THE ROAD. The Gorniche Road not boast of any great achievement in its making. It passes by many towns but it avoids them all, all save one little forgotten village outside whose walls it sweeps with some disdain. It starts certainly from Nice, but it goes practically nowhere, since long before Mentone is in view it drops into a quite common highway, and thus incontinently ends. It is not even the shortest way from point to point, being, on the contrary, the longest. It cannot pretend to be what the Italians call a "master way," since no road of any note either enters it or leaves it. In so far as it evades all towns it is unlike the usual eat highway. It passes through no cobbled, wondering street; breaks into no quiet, fountained square; crosses no market-place alive with chattering folk; receives no blessing from the shadow of a church. Nowhere is its coming heralded by an avenue of obsequious trees, it forces its way through no vaulted gateway, it lingers by no village green, it knows not the scent of a garden nor the luscious green of a cultivated field. Neither the farmer's cart nor the lumbering diligence will be met with on this unamiable road, nor will its quiet be disturbed by the patter of a flock of sheep nor by a company of merry villagers on their way to the fair. La Grande Corniche is, in fact, a modern military road built by the French under Napoleon I in 1806. It was made with murderous intent. It was constructed to carry arms and men, guns and munitions and the imple- ments of war. It was a road of destruction designed to convey bloodshed and desolation into Italy and beyond. He who conceived it had in his mind the picture of a road alive, from end to end, with columns of fighting men 9 The Riviera of the Corniche Road marching eastwards under a cloud of angry dust with the banner of France in the van ; had in his ears the merciless tramp of ten thousand feet, the clatter of sweating cavalry, the rumble of unending cannon wheels. It .was a picture, he thought, worthy of the heart-racking labour that the making of the road involved. But yet, in spite of all this, the popularity of the road is readily to be understood. It is cut out, as a mere thread, upon the side of a mountain range which is thrown into as many drooping folds as is a vast curtain gathered up into a fraction of its width. It is never monotonous, never, indeed, even straight. It winds in and out of many a valley, it skirts many a fearful gorge, it clings to the flank of many a treacherous slope. Here it creeps beneath a jutting crag, there it mounts in the sunlight over a radiant hill or dips into the silence of a rocky glen. It has followed in its making any level ledge that gave a foothold to man or beast. It has used the goat track ; it has used the path of the mountaineer; while at one point it has taken to itself a stretch of the ancient Roman road. It is a daring, determined highway, headstrong and self-confident, hesitating before no difficulty and daunted by no alarms, heeding nothing, respecting nothing, and obedient only to the call " onwards to Italy at any cost! " From its eyrie it looks down upon a scene of amazing enchantment, upon the foundations of the everlasting hills, upon a sea ghstening like opal, upon a coast with every fantastic variation of crag and cliff, of rounded bay and sparkling beach, of wooded glen and fern-decked, murmuring chine. Here are bright villas by the water's 10 The Corniche Road edge, a white road that wanders as aimlessly along as a dreaming child, a town or two, and a broad harbour lined with trees. Far away are daring capes, two little islands, and a line of hills so faint as to be almost unreal. It is true, indeed, as the writer of a well-known guide book has said, that " the Corniche Road is one of the most beautiful roads in Europe." Moreover, it passes through a land which is a Vanity Fair to the frivolous, a paradise to the philanderer, and a garden of peace to all who would escape the turmoil of the world. It is a lazy, careless country, free from obtrusive evidence of toil and labour, for there are neither works nor factories within its confines. Here the voice of the agitator is not heard, while the roar of political dispute falls upon the contented ear as the sound of a distant sea. The Grand Corniche is now a road devoted to the seeker after pleasure. People traverse it, not with the object of arriving at any particular destination, but for the delight of the road itself, of the joy it gives to the eye and to the imagination. Its only traffic is what the transport agent would call "holiday traffic"; for when the idle season ends the highway is deserted. In earlier days there would rumble along the road the carriage and four of the traveller of great means ; then came the humbler vehicle hired from the town ; then the sleek motor ; and finally, as a sign of democratic progress, the char-a-banc, the omnibus, and the motor-brake. No visitor to the Riviera of any self-respect can leave without traversing the Corniche Road. Mark Twain says that " there are many sights in the Bermudas, but they are easily avoided." This particular road cannot be avoided. II The Riviera of the Gorniche Road The traveller who returns to his home without having "done" La Grande Corniche may as well leave Rome without seeing the Forum. The most picturesque section of the road is that between Nice and Eze. Starting from Nice it winds up along the sides of Mont Vinaigrier and Mont Gro;§ which here form the eastern bank of the Paillon valley. The hills are covered with pine and olive trees, vines and oaks. There is soon attained a perfect view over the whole town of Nice, when it will be seen how commanding is the posi- tion occupied by the Castle Hill. Across the valley are Cimiez and St. Pons. At the first bend, as the height is climbed, is a tablet to mark the spot where two racing motorists were killed. When the road turns round the northern end of Mont Gros a fine view of the Paillon valley is displayed. This valley is much more attractive at a distance than near at hand. By the river's bank on one side is St. Andre with its seventeenth-century chateau ; while on the other side is the Roman station of La Trinite-Victor, a little place of a few houses and a church, where the old Roman road comes down from Laghet. High up above St. Andre, at the height of nearly 1,000 feet, is the curious village of Falicon. Far away, at a distance of some seven miles, is Peille, a patch of grey in a cup among the mountains. Northwards the Paillon river is lost to view at Drap. When the road has skirted the eastern side of Mont Vinaigrier the Col des Quatre Chemins is reached (1,131 feet). Here are an inn and a ridiculous monument to General Massena. The hills that border on the road are now bleak and bare. Just beyond the col is a fascinating view of Cap Ferrat and Cap de St. Hospice. The 12 The Corniche Road peninsula is spread out upon the sea like a model in dark green wax on a sheet of blue. The road now skirts the bare Monts Pacanaglia and Fourche and reaches the Col d'Eze (1,694 feet), where is unfolded the grandest panorama that the Corniche can provide. The coast can be followed from the Tete de Chien to St. Tropez. The wizened town of Eze comes into sight, and below it is the beautiful Bay of Eze, with the Pointe de Cabuel stretched out at the foot of Le Sueil. The view inland over the Alps and far away to the snows is superb. To the left are Vence and Les Gorges du Loup, together with the town of St. Jeannet placed at the foot of that mighty precipice, the Baou de St. Jeannet, which attaining, as it does, a height of 2,736 feet is the great landmark of the country round. Almost facing the spectator are Mont Chauve de Tourette (2,365 feet) and Mont Macaron. The former is to be recognised by the fort on its summit. They are distant about five miles. To the right is Mont Agel with its famiHar scar of bare stones. Some two kilometres beyond Eze the Capitaine is reached, the point at which the Corniche Road attains its greatest height, that of 1,777 feet. The track now very slowly descends. When La Turbie (1,574 feet) is passed a splendid view is opened up of Monaco and Monte Carlo, of the Pointe de la Vieille, of Cap Martin, and of the coast of Italy as far as Bordighera. Roquebrune — which can be seen at its best from the Corniche — is passed below the town, and almost at once the road joins the sober highway that leads to Mentone and ends its romantic career on a tram-line. 13 Ill NICE : THE PROMENADE DES ANGLAIS NICE is a somewhat gross, modern seaside town which is beautiful in its situation but in httle else. It lies at the mouth of a majestic valley and on the shores of a generous bay, open to the sun, but exposed at the same time to every villainous wind that blows. It is an unimaginative town with most excellent shops and a complete, if noisy, tramway system. It is crowded, and apparently for that reason popular. It is proud of its fine sea front and of the bright and ambitious buildings which are ranged there, as if for inspection and to show Nice at its best. The body of the town is made up of a vast collection of houses and streets of a standard French pattern and little individuality. Viewed from any one of the heights that rise above it, Nice is picturesque and makes a glorious, widely diffused display of colour; but as it is approached the charm diminishes, the dull suburbs damp enthusiasm, and the bustling, noisy, central streets com- plete the disillusion. On its outskirts is a crescent of pretty villas and luxuriant gardens which encircle it as a garland may surround a plain, prosaic face. The country in the neighbourhood of this capital of the Alpes Mari- times is singularly charming, and, therefore, the abiding desire of the visitor to Nice is to get out of it. 14 Nice : The Promenade des Anglais Along the sea-front is the much-photographed Promenade des Anglais with its line of palm trees. It is marked with a star and with capital letters in the guide books and it is quite worthy of this distinction. It appears to have been founded just one hundred years ago to provide work for the unemployed. To judge from the crowd that frequents it it is still the Promenade of the Unemployed. The Promenade has great dignity. It is spacious and, above all, it is simple. As a promenade it is indeed ideal. It is free from the robust vulgarity, the intrusions, and the restlessness of the parade in an English popular seaside resort. There are no penny-in-the-slot machines, no bathing-houses daubed over with advertisements, no minstrels, no entertainments on the beach, no impor- tunate boatmen, no persistent photographers. If it gives the French the idea that it is a model of a promenade of the English, it will lead to an awakening when the French- man visits certain much-frequented seaside towns in England. A little pier — the Jetee-Promenade — steps off from the main parade. On it is a casino which provides varied and excellent attractions. The building belongs to the Bank Holiday Period of architecture and is accepted with- out demur as exactly the type of structure that a joy- dispensing pier should produce. It is, however, rather disturbing to learn that this fragile casino, with its music- hall and its refreshment bars, is a copy of St. Sophia in Constantinople. That mosque is one of the most im- pressive and most inspiring ecclesiastical edifices in the world, as well as one of the most stupendous. Those who know Constantinople and have been struck by the lordly 15 The Riviera of the Corniche Road magnificence of its great religious fane will turn from this dreadful travesty with horror. It is a burlesque that hurts, as would the "Hallelujah Chorus" played on a penny whistle. It is along the Promenade des Anglais — the Pro- menade of the Unemployed — that the great event of the Carnival of Nice, the Battle of Flowers, is held every year. The Carnival began probably as the modest festa of a village community, a picturesque expression of the religion of the time, a reverent homage to the country and to the flowers that made it beautiful. It seems to have been always associated with flowers and one can imagine the passing by of a procession of boys and girls with their elders, all decked with flowers, as a spectacle both gracious and beautiful. It has developed now with the advancing ugliness of the times. The simple maiden, clad in white, with her garland of wild flowers, has grown into a coarse, unseemly monster, blatant and indecorous, surrounded by a raucous mob carrying along with it the dust of a cyclone. The humble village fete has become a means of making money and an opportunity for clamour, licence and display. Reverence of any kind or for anything is not a notable attribute of the modern mind ; while with the advance of a pushing democracy gentle manners inevitably fade away. It is pitiable that the Carnival has to do with flowers and that it is through them that it seeks to give expression to its loud and flamboyant taste. It is sad to see flowers put to base and meretricious uses, treated as mere dabs of paint, forced into unwonted forms, made up as anchors or crowns and mangled in millions. The festival is not so i6 U < oi a: a H Q O m X H u Nice : The Promenade des Anglais much a battle of flowers as a Massacre of Flowers, a veritable St. Bartholomew's Day for buds and blossoms. The author of a French guide book suggests that the visitor should attend the Carnival " at least once.*' He makes this proposal with evident diffidence. He owns that the affair is one of animation incroyahhj that the streets are occupied by une cohue de gens en delire and recommends the pleasure seeker to carry no valuables, to wear no clothes that are capable of being spoiled, no hat that would suffer from being bashed in, and to remember always that the dust is enorme. Those who like a rollicking crowd, hustling through streets a-flutter with a thousand flags and hung with festoons by the kilometre, and those who have a passion for throwing things at other people might go even more than once. They will see in the procession much that is ludicrous, grotesque and puerile, an exaggerated combina- tion of a circus car parade and a native war dance, as well as a display of misapplied decoration of extreme ingenuity. On the other hand, the flower lover should escape to the mountains and hide until the days of the Carnival are over, and with him might go any who would prefer a chaplet of violets on the head of a girl to a laundry basket full of peonies on the bonnet of a motor. On that side of the old town which borders upon the sea are relics which illustrate the more frivolous mood of Nice as it was expressed before the building of the Promenade des Anglais. These relics show in what manner the visitor to Nice in those far days sought joy in Hfe. Parallel to the beach is the Cours Saleya, a long, narrow, open space shaded by trees. It was at one time a fashionable promenade, comparable to the Pantiles at c 17 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Tunbridge Wells. It is now a flower and vegetable market. On the ocean side of this Cours are two lines of shops, very humble and very low. The roofs of these squat houses are level and continuous and so form two terraces running side by side and extending for a distance of 800 feet. These are the famous Terrasses where the beaus and the beauties of Nice promenaded, simpered, curtsied or bowed, and when this walk by the shore was vowed to be " monstrous fine, egad." ^ The terraces are now deserted, are paved with vulgar asphalt and edged by a disorderly row of tin chimneys. On one side, however, of this once crowded and fashionable walk are a number of stone benches, on which the ladies sat, received their friends, and displayed their Paris frocks. The terrace is as un- inviting as a laundry drying ground and these grey, melancholy benches alone recall the fact that the place once rippled with colour and sparkled .with life as if it were the enclosure at Ascot. 1 The first of these terraces was completed in 1780 and the second one in 1844. \ i8 IV NICE : THE OLD TOWN LOOKING down upon the city from Mont Boron it is easy to distinguish Nice the Illustrious from Nice the Parvenu. There is by the sea an isolated green hill with precipitous flanks. This is the height upon which once stood the ancient citadel. On one side is a natural harbour — the old port — while on the other side is a jumble of weather-stained roofs and narrow lanes which represent the old town. The port, the castle hill, with the little cluster of houses at its foot, form the real Nice, the Nice of history. Radiating from this modest centre, like the petals of a sunflower spreading from its small brown disc, are the long, straight streets, the yellow and white houses and the red roofs of modern Nice. This new town appears from afar as an immense expanse of bright biscuit-yellow spread between the blue of the bay and the deep green of the uplands. It presents certain abrupt excrescences on its surface, like isolated warts on a pale face. These are the famous hotels. This city of to-day is of little interest. It commends itself merely as a very modern and very prosperous seaside resort. Within the narrow circuit of the old town, on the other hand, there is much that is worthy to be seen and to be pondered over. It is said that Nice was founded by the Phocaeans about 19 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the year 350 B.C., and that the name of the place, Nicaea, the city of victory, records the victory of these very obscure people over the still more obscure Ligurians. The Romans paid little heed to Nice. They passed it by and founded their own city, Cemenelum (now Cimiez), on higher ground away from the sea. Nice was then merely the port, the poor suburb, the fishers' town. After Cimiez came to an end Nice began to grow and flourish. It was, in the natural course of events, duly sacked or burned by barbarous hordes and by Saracens, and was besieged as soon as it had walls and was besiegable. It took part in the local wars, now on this side, now on that. It had, in common with nearly every town in Europe, its periods of pestilence and its years of famine. In the thirteenth century it fell into the hands of the Counts of Provence, and at the end of the fourteenth century it came under the protection of the Dukes of Savoy. Like many a worthier place it was shifted to and fro like a pawn on a chess-board. It had for years a strong navy and the reputation of being a terror to the Barbary pirates. These tiresome men from Barbary interfered with the pursuits of Nice, which consisted largely of robbery on the high seas. Nice did not object to the Barbary men as pirates but as poachers on the Nice grounds. The picture drawn by one writer who repre- sents Nice in the guise of an indignant moralist repressing piracy because of its wickedness, may be compared with the conception of Satan rebuking sin. In 1250 Charles of Anjou, Prince of Provence, built a naval arsenal at Nice. It occupied the area now covered by the Cours Saleya but was entirely swept away by a storm in 1516. In 1543 Nice — then a town of Savoy — was attacked by 20 Nice : The Old Town the French and sustained a very memorable siege, which is dealt with in the chapter which follows. After this it became quite a habit with the French to besiege Nice ; for they set upon it, ,with varying success, in 1600, again in 1691, in 1706, and again in 1744. Finally, after changes of ownership too complex to mention, Nice was annexed to France, together with Savoy, in the year 1860. In Bosio's interesting work ^ there is a plan of the city of Nice pubUshed in 1610. Although bearing the date named it represents the disposition of the city as it existed at a much earlier period. It shows that the town was situated on the left or east bank of the Paillon and that it was divided into two parts, the High Town and the Low Town. The former occupied the summit of the Castle Hill, was strongly fortified and surrounded by substantial walls. On this plateau were the castle of the governor, the cathedral, the bishop's palace, the Hotel de Ville, and the residences of certain nobles. The Low Town, at the foot of the hill, was occupied by the houses and shops of merchants, by private residences, and the humbler dwell- ings of sailors, artisans and poor folk. In the earliest days the High Town, or Haute Ville, alone existed ; for Nice was then a settlement on an isolated hill as difficult of access as Monaco. In the fifteenth century the castle was represented only by the old keep or donjon, a structure, no doubt, massive enough but not adapted for other than a small garrison. It was Nicode de Menthon who enlarged the fortress of Nice and greatly increased the defences of the town during the century named. As years progressed the miUtary needs of the time caused the High Town, as a place of habitation, to cease to ^ " La Province des Alpes Maritimes," 1902. 21 The Riviera of the Corniche Road exist ; for the whole of the top of the hill was given up to fortifications, bastions, gun emplaeements, magazines, armouries and barracks. It is said by Bosio that the private houses and public buildings within the walls of the High Town were abandoned in 1518 to be replaced by the miUtary works just named. The whole of these works were finally levelled to the ground in the year 1706 by order of Louis XIV. The Low Town, la Ville Basse, was bounded on the south by the sea, on the east by the Castle Hill, and on the west by a line running from the shore to the Paillon and roughly represented in position and direction by the pre- sent Rue de la Terrasse. To the north the town extended as far as the Boulevard du Pont Vieux. The town was surrounded by ramparts and bastions. On the ruins of the bastions Sincaire and Pai'roliera the Place Victor^ (now the Place Garibaldi) was constructed in 1780. The posi- tion of the two bastions on the north is indicated roughly by the present Rue Sincaire and Rue Pairolhere. On one side of the Rue Sincaire there still stands, against the flank of the hill, a solid and lofty mass of masonry which is a relic of the defences of old days. There were four gates to the old town, Porte de la Marine, Porte St. Eloi, Porte St. Antoine, and the Pairoliera Gate. The St. Eloi and the Pai'roliera gates were broken down during the great siege of 1543, and the others have since been cleared away. Of these various gates that of St. Antoine was the most important. It was at this gate that criminals were pilloried. A faint trace of the old walls is still to be seen near the end of the Fish Market. ^ So named after King Victor Amadeus III of Sardinia. 22 Nice : The Old Town The Bellanda Tower was built in 1517 by de Belle- garde, the then Governor of Nice. It served to protect the city from the sea. The tower now exists as a low round work which has been incorporated in the grounds of an hotel and converted into a "belvedere." It might, however, be readily mistaken for a stone water-tank. There was another tower, called the Malavicina, which was constructed to defend the town upon the land side ; but of this erection no trace remains. A little suburb, or small borough, existed just outside the old town and on the other side of the river. It was called St. Jean Baptiste, and was connected with the town by a bridge in front of the St. Antoine Gate. Its position is indicated by the present Quai St. Jean Baptiste. The old town of Nice is small and well circumscribed. It occupies a damp and dingy corner at the foot of the Castle Hill. It seems as if it had been pushed into this corner by the over-assertive new town. Its lanes are so compressed and its houses, by comparison, so tall that it gives the idea of having been squeezed and one may imagine that with a little more force the houses on the two sides of a street would touch. It is traversed from end to end by an alley called the Rue Droite. This was the Oxford Street of the ancient city. A series of narrower lanes cross the Rue Droite ; those on one side mount up- hill towards the castle rock, those on the other incline towards the river. The lanes are dark, dirty and dissolute-looking. The town is such a one as Gustave Dore loved to depict or such as would be fitting to the tales of Rabelais. One hardly expects to find it peopled by modern mechanics, tram con- ductors, newspaper boys and honest housewives ; nor do 23 The Riviera of the Corniche Road electric lights seem to be in keeping with the place. Its furtive ways would be better suited to men in cloaks and slouched hats carrying rapiers, and at night to muffled folk groping about with lanterns. One expects rather to see quaint signboards swinging over shops and women with strange headgear looking out of lattice windows. In the place of all this is modern respectability — the bowler hat, the stiff collar and the gramophone. The only thing that has not changed is the smell. It may be fainter than it was, but it must be centuries old. It is a complex smell — a mingling of cheese and stale wine, of salt fish and bad health, a mouldy and melancholy smell that is hard to bear even though it be so very old. The ancient practice of throwing all refuse into the street has drawbacks, but it at least lacks the insincere delicacy of the modern dustbin. Strange and interesting industries are carried on in doorways and on the footpath. Intimate affairs of domestic life are pursued with unblushing frankness in the open and with a singular absence of restraint. Each street, besides being a public way, is also a laundry, a play-room for children and a fowl run. The houses are of no particular interest, for, with a few exceptions, they have been monotonously modernised. The lanes are so pinched that the dwellings are hard to see as a whole. If the visitor throws back his head and looks in the direction in which he believes the sky to be, he will be aware of dingy walls in blurred tints of pink or yellow, grey or blup with green sun-shutters which are swinging open at all angles. From any one of the windows may protrude a mattress — like a white or red tongue — or a pole may appear from which hang clothes to dry, or, more 24 Nice : The Old Town commonly still, a female head will project. Women talk to one another from windows all day long. Indeed, social intercourse in old Nice is largely conducted from windows. If one looks along a lane, these dark heads projecting at various levels from the houses are like hobnails on the sole of a boot. The sun-shutters, it may be explained, are not for the purpose of keeping out the sun, but serve as a protection from the far more piercing ray of the neighbour's eye. A picturesque street is the Rue du Malonat. It mounts up to the foot of the Castle Hill by wide, low steps hke those on a mule path. Poor as the street may be, there is in it an old stone doorway, finely carved, which is of no little dignity. At the bottom of the lane is a corner house with three windows furnished with grilles. This is said to have been at one time the residence of the Governor of Nice. The house in the Rue de la Prefecture (No. 20) where Paganini died is featureless but for its old stone entry, and its ground floor has become a shop ^here knitted goods are sold.^ In the Rue Droite (No. 15) is an amazing house which one would never expect to find in a mean street. It is the palace of the great Lascaris family. Theodore Lascaris, the founder of the family, is said to have been driven from his Byzantine throne in 1261 and to have taken refuge in Nice. There he built himself a palace. It could not have been erected in the Rue Droite, as so many writers repeat, since the Lower Town as a retreat for ex-emperors, had no existence at this period. The descendants of the exile, however, continued to live in Nice for some centuries, and * The strange wanderings ol Paganini after death are dealt with in the account of Villefranche (page 114) 25 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the present building dates, with little doubt, from the early part of the seventeenth century. The street is so narrow that it is difficult to appreciate the fine facade of this palace ; but by assuming the attitude of a star-gazer it is possible to see that the great house of four stories would look illustrious even in Piccadilly. It has a very finely carved stone doorway which leads into a vaulted hall. In the road outside the door are heaps of vegetable refuse, a pyramid of mouldy lemons and a pile of pea husks. From the upper windows hang bedding and clothes to dry. It is quite evident that the exposed garments do not belong to the family of an ex-emperor. On the main floor, or piano nohile, are seven large and ornate windows, each provided with a balcony. From the hall a stone staircase ascends in many flights. It has a vaulted ceiling, supported by large stone columns. On the wall are niches containing busts of indefinite men and some elaborate work in plaster. The staircase on one side is open to a well all the way and so the lights and shadows that cross it are very fascinating. Still more fascinating is it to recall for a moment the people who have passed up and down the stair and upon whom these Hghts and shadows have fallen during the last three hundred years. Among them would be the old count on his way to the justice room, the faltering bride whose hand has rested on this very balustrade, the tired child crawling up to bed with a frightened glance at the fearsome busts upon the wall.^ The rooms on the piano 7iohile have domed ceilings, which are either covered with frescoes or are richly orna- * A good photograph of this staircase will be found in Mr. Loveland's " Romance of Nice," page 146. 26 NICE: RUE DU SENAT. Nice : The Old Town mented by plaster work. There is a great display on the walls of gilt panelling and bold mouldings. The rooms are dark and empty and so dirty that they have apparently not been cleaned since the Lascaris family took their departure. Apart from the filth and the neglect the place provides a vivid realisation of the town house of a nobleman of Nice in the olden days. A stroll through the town will reveal many remin- iscences of the past, which, although trivial enough, are still very pleasant to come upon amidst squalid surround- ings. For instance over the doorway of a house in the Rue Centrale are carved, in a very boyish fashion, the letters I.H.S. with beneath them the sacred heart, the date 1648 and the initials of the owner of the building. Then again in the Rue Droite (No. 1), high up on the plain, deadly-modern wall of a wine-shop, is one very exquisite little window whose three arches are supported by two graceful columns. It is as unexpected as a plaque by Delia Robbia on the outside of a gasometer. There are several churches in the old town but they cannot claim to be notable. The cathedral of Sainte Reparate stands in an obscure and meagre square. It became a cathedral in 1531 but was reconstructed in 1737 and its interior " restored" in 1901. Outside it is quite mediocre, but within it is so ablaze with crude colours, so laden with extravagant and restless ornament, so profuse in its fussy and irritating decoration that it is not, in any sense, a sanctuary of peace. The old town hall of Nice in the Place St. Francois is a small, simple building in the Renaissance style which can claim to be worthy of the Nice that was. There are two objects outside the old town which the 27 The Riviera of the Corniche Road visitor will assuredly see — the Pont Vieux and the Croix de Marbre. The former which dates from 1531 is a weary-looking old bridge of three arches, worn and patched. Any charm it may have possessed is destroyed by the uncouth structure of wood and iron which serves to widen its narrow mediaeval way. The cross stands in the district once occupied by the convent of Sainte Croix which was destroyed during the siege of 1543. The monument serves to commemorate the meeting of peace held in 1538 by Pope Paul III, Frangois I and the Emperor Charles V. The cross, which is very simple, rises under a canopy of old, grey stone, supported by pillars with very primitive capitals. The cross was hidden away during the Revolution but was replaced in 1806 by the then Countess de Villeneuve. The venerable monu- ment, standing as it does in a busy street through which the tramcars rumble, looks singularly forlorn and out of place. The Castle Hill is now merely a wooded height which has been converted into a quite delightful public park. Among the forest of trees are many remains of the ancient citadel, masses of tumbled masonry, a half -buried arch or a stone doorway. There are indications also of the founda- tions of the old cathedral. The view from the platform on the summit is very fine, while at the foot are the jumbled roofs of old Nice. It is easy to appreciate how strong a fortress it was and how it proved to be impregnable to the forces of Barbarossa in the siege of 1543. It is a hill with a great history, illumined with great memories, but these are not encouraged by the stall for postcards and the refreshment bar which now occupy the place of the old donjon. 28 THE SIEGE OF NICE NICE, as has been already stated, was many times besieged. If there be a condition among towns that may be called '' the siege habit " then Nice had acquired it. The most memorable assault upon the place was in 1548. It was so gallant an affair that it is always referred to as the siege of Nice. It was an incident of the war between Charles V and Francois I, King of France. A treaty had been entered into between these two sovereigns which is com- memorated to this day by the Croix de Marbre in the Rue de France. Charles V thought fit to regard this obligation as " a scrap of paper " and declared war upon the French king. The French at once started to attack Nice which was conveniently near to the frontier and at the same time an important stronghold of the enemy. Now in these days business entered largely into the practical affairs of warfare. A combatant must obviously have a fighting force. If he possessed an inadequate army he must take means to supplement it. He must hire an army on the best terms he could and in accord with the hire-system arrangement of the time. Professional warriors were numerous enough and were as eager for a temporary engagement as are " supers " at a pantomime. 29 The Riviera of the Corniche Road They could not be obtained through what would now be called a Registry Office ; but there were contractors or war-employment agents who could supply the men en masse, Francois I, when the war began, found himself very ill provided with fighting men and especially with seamen and ships, for Nice was a port. He naturally, therefore, applied to the nearest provider of war material and was able to secure no less a man than Barbarossa the pirate. It is necessary to speak more fully about this talented man ; for in all popular accounts of the great siege of Nice two persons alone are pre-eminent ; two alone occupy the stage — a pirate and a laundress, Barbarossa and Segurana. Hariadan Barbarossa was a pirate by profession, or as some would style him who prefer the term, a corsair. His sphere of activity was the Mediterranean and especially the shores of Africa. He had done extremely well and, as the result of diligent robbery with violence pursued for many years, he had acquired territory in Tunis where he reigned as a kind of caliph. He was not a Moor nor was he black. He was a native of Mitylene. The name Barbarossa, or Redbeard, had been given him apparently in part on account of his hair and in part from the fact that his real name was unpronounceable. His exploits attracted the attention of the Sultan of Turkey who was so impressed with his ability that he took him into his service and made him Grand Admiral of the Ottoman fleet. It was, therefore, with Turkish ships and with Turkish men that Barbarossa came to the aid of the King of France. The leader of the French troops was the Comte de 30 The Siege of Nice Grignan. He seems, however, to have been a person of small importance. Barbarossa was the commanding figure, the leader and the hero of the drama. The governor of Nice was a grey-headed warrior, one Andrea Odinet, Count of Montfort. Barbarossa com- menced operations on August 9th but before his attack was delivered he sent a formal message to the governor demanding the surrender of the town. The governor replied enigmatically that his name was Montfort. Bar- barossa probably perceived that the name was appropriate, for the hill held by the enemy was strong. He further informed the pirate that his family motto was " Bisogno tenere," which may be rendered " I am bound to hold on." Having furnished these biographical details he suggested that the Turkish admiral had a little more to do than he could manage. The position of the town, with its walls, its bastions and its gates, has been already set forth in the preceding chapter. The main assault was made on the north side of Nice, the special object of attack being the Pairoliera bastion which faced the spot now occupied by the Place Garibaldi. The batteries opened fire and poured no fewer than three hundred shots a day upon the unhappy city. This cannonade was supplemented by that of one hundred and twenty galleys which were anchored off the foot of Mont Boron. By August 15th a breach was made in the Pairoliera bastion, and the Turks and the French moved together to the assault. They were thrown back with fury. They renewed the attack, but were again repulsed and on the third violent onrush were once more hurled back. At last, wearied and disheartened, they retired, having lost 31 The Riviera of the Corniche Road heavily in men and having suffered the capture of three standards. The poor, battered town of Nice, jyith its small garrison, could not however endure for long the incessant rain of cannon balls, the anxiety, the perpetual vigil and the bursts of fighting; so after eleven days of siege the lower town capitulated, leaving the haute ville, or Castle Hill, still untaken. Barbarossa appears to have dealt with that part of the city which he had captured in quite the accepted pirate fashion and with great heartiness. He destroyed as much of it as his limited leisure would permit, let loose his shrieking Turks to run riot in the streets, set fire to the houses and took away three thousand inhabit- ants as slaves. Barbarossa — whatever his faults — was thorough. There yet remained the problem of the upper town on the Castle Hill. It was unshaken, untouched and as defiant as the precipice on which it stood ; while over the tower of the keep the banner of Nice floated lazily in the breeze as if it heralded an autumn fete day. The Turkish batteries thundered not against walls and bastions but against a solid and indifferent rock. To scale the side of the cliff was not within the power of man. The garrison on the height had little to do but wait and count the cannon balls which smashed against the stone with as little effect as eggshells against a block of iron. The view is generally accepted that little is to be gained by knocking one's head against a stone wall. The general in command of the French was becoming impressed with this opinion and was driven to adopt 32 NICE : A STREET IN THE OLD TOWN. The Siege of Nice another and more effective method of destroying Nice. In his camp were certain traitors, deserters and spies .who had sold themselves, body and soul, to the attacking army. Conspicuous among these was Gaspard de Cais (of whom more will be heard in the telling of the siege of Eze), Boniface Ceva and a scoundrel of particular baseness named Benoit Grimaldo, otherwise Oliva. These mean rogues assured the French general that Nice could be taken by treachery. They had co-conspirators in the town who were anxious to help in destroying the place of their birth and were masters of a plan which could not fail. Three Savoyard deserters offered their services as guides; and one day, as the twilight was gathering, Benoit Grimaldo, the three guides, and a party of armed men started out cheerfully for the Castle Hill. On gaining access to the town they were to make way for the body of the troops. The French to a man watched the hill for the signal that would tell that the impreg- nable fortress had been entered and, with arms in hand, were ready to spring forward to victory. Unfortunately one of the deserters had a conscience. His conscience was so disturbed by qualms that the man was compelled to sneak to his colonel and "tell him all." It thus came to pass that Benoit and his creeping company were met by a sudden fusillade which killed many of them. The survivors fled. Grimaldo jumped into the sea and saved himself by swimming. Later on — it may be mentioned — he was taken by some of his old comrades of the Castle Hill and was hanged within sight of his own home. In this way did the siege of Nice come to an end, leaving the city untaken and the flag still floating over ^ 33 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the gallant height; while the discomfited pirate sailed away for other fields of usefulness.^ It is necessary now to turn to the case of the laundress who shared with Barbarossa the more dramatic glories of the siege. She is said, in general terms, " to have fought valiantly and to have inspirited the defenders by her example." As to her exact deeds of valour there is some obscurity in matters of detail and some conflict of evidence as to the scope and purpose of her military efforts. If her capacity for destroying Turks may be measured by the capacity of the modern laundress for destroying linen she must have been an exceedingly formidable personage. The story, as given by Baring-Gould, is as follows : ^ *' Catherine Segurane, a washerwoman, was carrying provisions on the wall to some of the defenders when she saw that the Turks had put up a scaling ladder and that a captain was leading the party and had reached the parapet. She rushed at him, beat him on the head with her washing bat and thrust him down the ladder which fell with all those on it. Then hastening to the nearest group of Nicois soldiers she told them what she had done, and they, electrified by her example, threw open a postern, made a sortie, and drove the Turks back to the shore." Apart from the fact that the picture of a washerwoman strolling about in the firing line with a laundry implement in her hand is hard to realise, it must be added that certain French accounts and the story of Ricotti differ materially from the narrative given. Ricotti speaks of Segurana as a poor lady of Nice, aged thirty-seven, who * Nostredame, " History of Provence," 1614. Durante's " History of Nice," 1823. Vol. ii. Ricotti, " Storia della monarchia piemontese," 1861. Vol. 1. * "Riviera," by S. Baring-Gould, 1905. 34 The Siege of Nice was so ill-looking that she went by the nickname of Donna Maufaceia or Malfatta which may be rendered as Madame Ugly Face. She is said to have been possessed of rare strength, to have been mascuhne in bearing and ingrate or unpleasing in her general aspect. She is described as having performed some feat of strength with a Turkish standard that she had seized with her own hands. Accord- ing to one account she threw the standard into the moat and according to another she planted it upside down on the top of Castle Hill — a somewhat childish display of swagger. From the rather ridiculous elements furnished by the various records a composite story comes together which is as full of charm as a beautiful allegory. It tells of no Joan of Arc with her youth, her handsome face, her graceful carriage, her shining armour and her powerful friends. It tells of a woman in a lowly position who was no longer young, who was ugly and, indeed, unpleasant to look upon , who was the butt of her neighbours and was branded with a cruel nickname by her own townfolk. When the city was attacked and in the travail of despair this despised woman, this creature to laugh at, came to the front, fought with noble courage by the side of the men, shared their dangers and displayed so fine and so daring a spirit that she put heart into a despairing garrison, put life into a drooping cause and made victorious what had been but a forlorn hope. It was the fire and patriotism and high resolve that she aroused that saved the city she loved and earned for her the name, for all time, of the Heroine of Nice. Poor Madame Ugly Face the butt of the town ! 35 VI CIMIEZ AND ST. PONS BEHIND the city of Nice rises the well known hill of Cimiez, on the gentle slope of which stand the great hotels. On the summit of the hill was the Roman town of Cemenelum, which is said to have numbered 30,000 inhabitants and which was at the height of its glory before Nice itself came into being. Through Cemenelum passed the great Roman road which ran from the Forum of Rome to Aries. It approached Cimiez from Laghet and La Trinite- Victor and traces of it are still indicated in this fashionable colony of gigantic hotels and resplendent villas. Few remains of the Roman settlement are now to be seen ; for the Lombards in the sixth century did their best to destroy it and after their cyclonic passage the town became little more than a quarry for stones. In the grounds of the Villa Garin is a structure of some size which is assumed by the learned to have been part of a temple of Apollo, together with minor fragments of walls which are claimed to have belonged to the Thermae. The most important ruin in Cimiez is that of the amphitheatre. It is a mere shell, but its general disposi- tion is very clear. In addition to a lower tier of seats there are remains of the upper rows which are supported, as in the Coliseum, on arches. The vaulted porch at the 36 si H X < Z < o OS H N U Cimiez and St. Pons main entrance is in singular preservation. The arena measures 150 feet in one axis and 115 feet in the other. It is, therefore, small and in the form of a broad oval. A great deal of the structure is buried in the ground, so that it is estimated that the original floor of the arena lies at least ten feet below the existing surface. The ruins, much overgrown with grass and brambles, have an aspect of utter desolation. It is said that the natives call the spot il tino delle fate, or the fairies' bath. If this be so there is assuredly more sarcasm in the conceit than poetic merit, for the sorry parched-up ruin would better serve as a penitentiary for ghosts. Through the centre of the amphitheatre passed at one time the road from Cimiez to Nice. It is now closed and the present road, with its tram lines, runs outside the walls of the venerable building. Near the amphitheatre and on the crest of the hill is the monastery of St. Francis of Assisi. It Hes in a modest square, shaded by old ilex trees. At one end of the square is the cross of Cimiez. It stands aloft on a twisted column of marble. Upon the cross is carved the six- winged seraph which appeared to St. Francis in a vision. This marvellous work of art dates from the year 1477. The cross, like the column, is all white and, standing up as it does against the deep green background of a solemn elm, it forms an object of impressive beauty. Crosses in the open are to be found throughout the whole of France, but there is no cross that can compare with this. The monastery was founded in 1543. The facade of the chapel, with its bell towers on either side and its central gable over a pointed window, is very simple. It 37. The Riviera of the Gorniche Road is rather spoiled by a heavy arcade which, being recently restored is harsh and crude. The interior of the chapel is gracious and full of charm. It consists of a square nave flanked by narrow aisles. The roof, vaulted and groined, is decorated with frescoes and is supported by square columns of great size. At the far end, in a deep and dim recess, is the altar. This chancel is cut off from the church by a balustrade of white marble. Behind the altar is a high screen of daintily carved wood, gilded and relieved by three niches. It is a work of the sixteenth century. Many churches offend by lavish and obtrusive orna- ment, by glaring colours, by reckless splashes of bright gold, by excessive detail, all of which give a sense of restlessness and discord. Such churches may not unfitly be spoken of as " loud." If that term be appropriate, then this little shrine may be described as the chapel of a whisper. Its fascination lies in its exquisite and tender colouring which conveys a sense of supreme quietude and peace. It is difficult to say of what its colouring consists for it is so delicate and so subdued. There is a gentle impression of faint tints, of the lightest coral pink, of white, of grey, of a hazy blue. The general effect is that of a piece of old brocade, the colours of which are so faded and so soft that all details of the pattern have been lost. The light in the church is that of summer twilight. The altar is almost lost in the shadow. The screen behind it is merely such a background of old gold as that upon which the face of a saint was painted in the early days of art. The marble rail is a line of white and in the gloom of the chancel is the light of one tiny red lamp — a mere still spark. 38 Gimiez and St. Pons In two of the side chapels are paintings by Ludovici Brea of Nice of about the year 1512. By the side of the church is the monastery which is now deserted. A corridor leads to a little courtyard, with a well in the centre, and around it a plain white- walled cloister. Beyond this is an enclosed garden shut in also by a cloister of pale arches in the shadows of which are the doors of the monastery cells. The garden is in a state of utter neglect ; but in it still flourish palms and bamboos, orange trees and a few despondent flowers. That side of the hill of Cimiez which looks towards the east is somewhat steep, and the zigzag road which traverses it leads down to the broad, open valley of the Paillon river. Near the foot of the hill and on a little promontory just above the level floor of the valley stands the Abbey of St. Pons. The name, St. Pons, is given to the district around which forms a scattered suburb of Nice. The place is still green, for it abounds with gardens and orange groves; but it is being "developed " and is becoming a semi-industrial quarter, very devoid of attrac- tion. There are factories in St. Pons, together with workshops and depressing houses, a tram line and — across the river — a desert of railway sidings. It possesses many cafes which, on the strength of a few orange trees, a palm or two and an arbour, make a meretricious claim to be rural. From all these objects the abbey is happily removed ; but its position is neither so romantic nor so picturesque as its past history would suggest. The present abbey church is a drab, uninteresting building with a prominent tower. It was built about the end of the sixteenth century. The monastery is occupied by an asylum for the insane. The Abbey of St. Pons is 39 The Riviera of the Corniche Road of great antiquity, since it dates from the eighth century and it is claimed that Charlemagne sojourned there on two occasions. It stands on the site of ancient Roman buildings, for numerous remains of that period have been unearthed, among .which are an altar to Apollo, many sarcophagi and some inscribed stones. There was also a convent at St. Pons long centuries ago. Its precise position is a matter of doubt ; for, so far as I can ascertain, no trace of the building can now be pointed out with assurance. In the history of St. Pons this convent plays a conspicuous, if momentary part. The episode is deplorable for it concerns the dramatic circum- stances under which the convent came to an end. 40 J en < z o W E H N I U on O CS U a N 03 1 VII HOW THE CONVENT OF ST. PONS CAME TO AN END ON a kindly afternoon in St. Martin's summer, when the shadows were lengthening and the beech woods were carpeted with copper and gold, a party of gallants were making their way back to Nice after a day's ramble among the hills. It was in the year 1408, when this poor worried world was still young and thoughtless. They were strolling idly down the valley of St. Pons, loath to return to their cramped, dull palaces on the Castle Hill, when a storm began to rumble up from the south and the sky to become black and threatening. Slashed doublets and silken hose and caps of miniver are soon made mean by the rain; so the question arose as to a place of shelter. At the moment when the first large ominous drops were falling the little party chanced to be near by the convent of St. Pons. It is a bold thing for a company of gay young men to approach a retreat of nuns ; but the wind was already howling, the blast was chill and these youths were bold. The door was opened, not by an austere creature with a repellent frown, but by a comely serving sister of joyous countenance. The youths, adopt- ing that abject humility which men assume when they find themselves where they ought not to be, begged meekly for shelter from the rain. Without demur and, indeed, 41 The Riviera of the Corniche Road with effusion the fair janitor bade them welcome and asked them to come in. The young men, whose faces until now were solemn, as was befitting to a sacred place, began to smile and to appear normal. The serving sister, with a winning curtsey, said she would call the abbess. At this announcement the smile vanished from the lips of the refugees. An abbess was a terrible and awe-inspiring thing, something that was stout and red, imperious and chilling, inclined to wrath and very severe in all matters relating to young men. A few turned as if to make for the outer door ; while one — who had held an outpost in a siege — whispered to his friend " Now we are in for it ! " After a period of acute suspense an inner door opened and the abbess appeared. She was stout, it is true ; but it was a very comfortable, embrace- inviting stoutness. She was red; but it was the ruddy glow of a ripe apple. Her face was sunny, her mouth smiling and her manner warm. In age she was just past the meridian. She was, indeed, the embodiment of St. Martin's summer. She greeted the new-comers with heartiness ; laughed at their timidity ; asked them what they were frightened at and told them, with no conventual restraint, that she was delighted to see them. When one mumbled some- thing about being driven in by the rain she said, with a coy glance at her guests, that rain was much wanted just then about the convent. She put them at their ease. She chattered and warbled as one who loves to talk. Her voice rippled through the solemn hall like the song of a full-breasted thrush. She asked them their names and what they were doing. She wanted to hear the lighter 42 How the Convent of St. Pons Ended gossip of Castle Hill and to be told of the scrapes in which they were involved and of the bearing of their lady loves. She twitted a handsome knight upon his good looks and caused a shy seigneur to stammer till he blushed. It must not be supposed that she was an ordinary abbess or a type of the reverend lady who should control the lives and mould the conduct of quiet nuns. Indeed the recorder of this chronicle viewed her with disapproval and applied harsh terms to her ; for in his description of this merry, fun-loving and comfortable person he uses such disagreeable expressions as mondaine and honne viveuse.^ As the rain was still beating on the convent roofs and as the young men had travelled far the abbess invited them into the refectory, a white, hollow room with bare table and stiff chairs. Here wine was placed before them, of rare quality and in copious amount; while — sad as it may be to tell the truth — nuns began to sidle timidly into the room, one by one. Whatever might be the comment the fact cannot be concealed that the grim refectory was soon buzzing with as merry a company as ever came together and one very unusual within the walls of a convent. The time was drawing near for the evening service. Whether the abbess invited the young men to join in the devotions proper to the house, or whether the young men, out of politeness, suggested that they should attend I am unable to state, for the historian is silent upon this point. The service proceeded. The male members of the congregation were, I am afraid, inattentive. They were tired; they had passed through an emotional adventure ^ " Legendes et Contes de Provence," by Martrin-Donos. 43 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road and wine is soporific. They lolled in their seats; some rested their heads on the bench before them ; some dozed ; some even may have slept. In a while the nuns began the singing of the *' De Profundis " (Out of the Depths). As they sang one voice could be heard soaring above the rest, a voice clear and beautiful, vibrating with tenderness, with longing and with infinite pathos. The young men remained unmoved save one. This one, who had been lounging in a corner, suddenly awoke and was at once alert, startled and alarmed. He clutched the seat in front of him as if he would spring towards the spot whence the music came. His eyes, fixed on the choir, glared as the eyes of one who sees a ghost. His countenance bore the pallor of death. He trembled in every fibre of his body. He knew the voice. It was to him the dearest in the world. It was a voice from " out of the depths," for it belonged to one whom he believed to be dead. He could not see the singer; but he could see, as in a dream, the vision of a piteous face, a face with eyes as blue as a summer lake, with lips whimsical, tantalising and ineffable ; could see the tender cheek, the chin, the white forehead, the waving hair. He knew that she who sang was no other than Blanche d'Entrevannes, whom he had loved and to whom he .was still devoted. But a few years past he had held her in his arms, had kissed those lips, and had thrilled to the magic of that voice. Her father had frowned upon their hopes and had forbidden their union. The lad had been called away to the wars. When he returned he had sought her out and was told that "she is dead." He haunted every spot 44 How the Convent of St. Pons Ended where they had jyandered together, only to learn the truth that " no place is so forlorn as that where she has been," and only to hear again that she was dead. Blanche was not dead, but, believing their case to be hopeless, she had entered the convent of St. Pons and, in a few days' time, would take the veil. After the service the youth — whose name was Raim- baud de Trects — disappeared to find the singer at any cost. The search was difficult. At last he met a sym- pathetic maid who said that Blanche d'Entrevannes was indeed a novice in the convent and who, with little pressing, agreed to convey a message to her. The message was short. It told that he was there and begged her to fly with him that night. The answer that the maid brought back was briefer still, for it was a message of two words — " I come." The rain continued to pour, the harsh wind blew and the gallant knights were still in need of shelter. How they spent the night and how they were disposed of I do not know, for the strict narrative avoids all reference to that matter. By the morning the storm had passed away and as the sun broke out the young men reluctantly prepared to take their leave. The abbess would not allow them to go without one final ceremony. They must all drink the stirrup cup together, "to speed the parting guest," as was the custom of the time. It was an hilarious ceremony and one pleasant to look upon. In the road before the convent gate stood the cheery abbess in the light of the unflinching day. In her hand she raised a brimming goblet and her sleeve falling back revealed a white and comely arm. Around her was a smiling company of 45 The Riviera of the Corniche Road young men whose many-coloured costumes lit up the dull road and the old grey-tinted rocks. Behind her were the nuns in a semicircle of sober brown, giggling and chatting, nudging one another and a little anxious about their looks in the merciless morning light. It was a noisy gathering but very picturesque; for the scarlet and blue of the knights' doublets and the glint of steel made a pretty contrast with the row of white faces in white coifs and the cluster of dark-coloured gowns. It was like a bunch of flowers in an earthenware bowl. The abbess, beaming as the morning, was about to speak when something terrible came to pass. There appeared in the road the most dread-inspiring thing that the company of knights and nuns could have feared to see. It was not a lion nor was it a dragon. It was a bishop. It was not one of those fat, smihng bishops with flabby cheeks and ample girth, whose loose mouth breathes benevolence and whose hands love to pat curly heads and trifle with pretty chins. It was a thin bishop with a face like parchment and the visage of a hawk. He was frenzied with rage. He stamped and shrieked. He foamed at the mouth. His arm seemed raised to strike, his teeth to bite. A word must here be said to explain how it was that the prelate had "dropped in" at this singularly unfor- tunate moment, since bishops are not usually wandering about in valleys at an early hour on November mornings. It came about in this way. The old almoner of the place, alarmed and horrified at the conduct of the abbess and the irreverent and indeed ribald "goings-on" at this religious house, had hurried during the night to the bishop and had given him an insight into convent life as lived 46 How the Convent of St. Pons Ended at St. Pons. He begged the bishop to do something, and this the bishop did. The arrival of the prelate at the convent gate had the effect of a sudden thunder-clap on a clear day. The abbess dropped her cup ; the knights doffed their caps ; the maids, peeping behind corners, fell out of sight ; while the nuns stood petrified like a row of brown stones. The great cleric screamed out his condemnation of the abbess, of the nuns, of the convent and of everything that was in it. He shrieked until he became inarticulate and until his voice had sunk to a venomous whisper like the hiss of a snake. He dismissed the young gallants with a speech that would have withered a worm. Turning to the women he said even more horrid things. He expelled the abbess and the nuns from St. Pons and ordered them to repair at once to the convent of St. Pierre d'Almanarre near Hyeres, a convent notable for the severity of its rules. Here, as the historian says, they would be able "to expiate their sins with austerities to which they had long been strangers." It was in this way that the convent of St. Pons came to an end; for the desecrated building was never occupied from that day. No nun ever again paced its quiet courtyard ; no pigeons came fluttering to the sister's hand nor did the passer-by hear again the sound of women singing in the small grey chapel. In the course of centuries the building fell into ruin and, year by year, the scandalised walls crumbled away, while tender rosemary and chiding brambles crept over the place to cover its shame. On this eventful morning the bishop's efforts did not end when he had sentenced the lady abbess and had 47 The Riviera of the Corniche Road swept the convent from the earth. He proceeded, before he left, to pronounce over the assembly the anathema of the Church. He cursed them all from the abbess standing with bowed head to the scullion gaping from the kitchen door. He cursed the nuns, the novices, the lay helpers and the maids, and had there been a jackdaw in the building, as at Rheims, he would, no doubt, have included the bird in his anathema. So wide and so comprehensive a cursing, delivered before breakfast, had never before been known. Two of the party — and two only — escaped the curse of the Church, Raimbaud de Trects and Blanche d'Entrevannes. It was not until the morning, when the whole of the company were assembled about the convent gate, that the two were missed. The historian, in his mercy, adds this note at the end of his narrative : " In the parish register of the village of Entrevannes, in the year 1408, there stands the record of the marriage of the chevalier Raimbaud de Trects to the noble lady Blanche d'Entrevannes." 48 yiii VENCE, THE DEFENDER OF THE FAITH VENCE is a very ancient place with a history of some merit. It is said to have been, in its earliest days, the stronghold of a native tribe. Since it stands on a hill convenient in position this statement may probably be allowed. It had the usual infantile troubles of growing towns in this area. It was occupied in turn by the Phoenicians, Phocseans and Gauls, and was ravaged, in due course and in appropriate manner, by both Saracens and Lombards. It played but a minor part in those later turmoils which rent the rest of Provence, and was indifferently moved by the upheaval and the downfall of neighbouring principalities and powers. Vence, however, had concerns and troubles of its own, achievements to be proud of and dissensions to deplore ; for it was, first and foremost, a religious town, and both its greatness and its trials had an origin in religion. When the Romans came they established on this secluded spot an imperial city. It seems to have been not so much a military station as an outpost of the picturesque faith of Rome, a kind of Canterbury in the backwoods of Provence. They called the place Ventium, and some indication of its ancient boundaries can still be traced. It is known to the historian by its temples. E 49 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road How many of these buildings existed is a matter of doubt, but certain it is that the pious Roman, toiling up to Ventium from the coast, would see afar off, stand- ing up against the hills, the white columns of the temples to Cybele and to Mars. Of these shrines no vestige .now remains. The stones have been scattered and have become mere material in the mason's hands. Some have helped to build a Christian church, others to found a city wall or to give dignity to the house of a mediaeval burgher.^ There are many Roman inscriptions still in Vence. They have been found in all sorts of odd places, on street walls, in gardens, in cellars, as well as on certain stones in the old church. From these fragments, as disjointed and as incongruous as the mutterings of a sleeping man, a broken history of Ventium, in the years before and just after Christ, has been pieced together. The inscriptions are, in a general way, commemorative. There is one, for instance, to Lucius Veludius Valerianus, decurion of Vence, to record the fact that he had filled the functions both of magistrate and of priest. With his name is associated very prettily that of his wife Vibia, for she no doubt shared both his honours and his trials. Vibia, we may suppose, had left the gay and resplendent city of Rome to follow her adventurous husband into the wilds of Gaul, and was not a little proud of the position he had made in the lonely and solemn city. One might guess that it was Vibia who suggested the inscription. It is notable, moreover, that the most prominent word in the whole tablet and the one in the largest letters is uxoRi (wife). Indeed, this word 1 " Cathedrals and Cloisters of the South of France," by E. W. Rose. 50 Vence, the Defender of the Faith occupies an entire line to itself. It would seem as if Vibia wished to make it emphatic that she was a wife, and not otherwise. If any of the inhabitants of the old town could come back to life again I should especially like to witness the meeting, in the main street, between Vibia and her successor in office, the mayoress of Vence of to-day. They would be a strange couple, strange in dress, in bearing and in speech, as odd as if a person wore on one foot a dainty Roman sandal and on the other an American boot. The two ladies would have, however, this in common — the country they gazed across would be as familiar to the one as to the other. There is among the many writings in stone one which refers to the goddess Cybele and the ceremony of the Taurobolium. This pagan ceremony was both a sacri- fice and an act of purification. Its symbolism is of interest when viewed in connection with that of the Christian church which directly followed upon the old faith. A bull was sacrificed to the goddess. The animal was placed upon a grating or latticed stage over a pit. In the pit crouched the penitent. The blood of the bull, as it poured over the body of the penitent, washed away all sin, all impurities and stains, and gave to the man thus made regenerate a new and holier life.^ Vence was at an early period converted to Christianity. The identity of the missionary who brought about this change ts not clearly established ; but the work is gener- ally ascribed to St. Trophime. The body of St. Trophime lies in the old cathedral of Aries, in that church which ^ " Voyages dans les Dfpartements du Midi de la France," by A. L. Millin, 1808 " La Chorographie et I'histoire de Provence," by Honord Bouche, 1664, p. 283. 51 The Riviera of the Corniche Road bears his name. Among the ruins of the abbey of Montmajour, near Aries, is his cell, a little rock sanctuary buried in the very bowels of the earth. A bishopric was founded in Vence as early as 374. The city became a prominent and influential centre and its bishops were, with scarcely an exception, illus- trious men. Most of these prelates are buried in the cathedral of the town. The tombs of two of the very earliest, viz. St. Veran and St. Lambert, occupy chapels in that sanctuary. A famous ecclesiastic was Bishop Godeau. He was born in 1605 and took orders when he was thirty years old. He was a man of great learning and one of the founders of the French Academy. He was highly esteemed, not only by the people of Provence but also by the Papal Court and the counsellors of the king. " The epitaph of Bishop Godeau," writes Hare, " com- memorates the favourite of Richelieu, who obtained his good graces by dedicating to him a paraphrase of the Psalms, which begins with the words ' Benedicite omnia opera Domini,^ on receiving which the powerful cardinal said, ' Monsieur I'Abbe, vous me donnez Benedicite, et moi je vous donner Grasse.^ The Pope afterwards allowed Godeau to hold the bishopric of Vence with that of Grasse."^ The worthy bishop died as he would have wished to die. In Holy Week in the year 1672 he was singing the Tenebrse before the altar of his cathedral of Vence. ^ The Tenebrae represent a very beautiful service of the Catholic Church. A candlestick bearing 1 " The Rivieras," by Augustus J, Hare, 1897, p. 47. 2 " The Maritime Alps and their Seaboard," by Miss C. L. N. Dempster, 1885. 53 -J .J < Oi H D O Q Z < H < a w X H U z i si Vence, the Defender of the Faith fifteen candles is placed in the sanctuary. These are lit when the service begins. At the end of each Psalm or Canticle one of the candles is extinguished to express the desertion of Our Lord by His apostles and disciples. At last only one candle remains. It signifies the Light of the World, and when it is taken down and placed behind the altar it serves to symbolise the burial of the Redeemer of Mankind. On the occasion of the celebra- tion at Vence as the last candle was being extinguished the good bishop fell dead upon the altar steps. Bishop Surian who succeeded to the see in 1727 had a somewhat romantic career. He began life as a shepherd boy. Finding this existence intolerable he ran away from home with the very inadequate sum of 85 sous in his pocket. Falling in^ with men who perceived his ability he was educated by them and admitted, in due course, to the priesthood. It is said that he lived as frugally when he was a bishop as he did when he jvas tending sheep on the hillside. On the outbreak of the French Revolution, the bishop of Vence, Bishop Pisani, fled and joined that vast body of some 4,000 priests who left the country in order to avoid the penalties which the Revolution imposed. Pisani was the last bishop of Vence, for the see jvas never restored. In early days Vence belonged to the bishops, the Church being the ruling power in the pious town. When Vence came into the possession of the Villeneuves — the lords of Villeneuve-Loubet — the seigniorial rights over Vence were divided between the bishopric and the Villeneuve family. The Villeneuves fled from France at the time of the Revolution and although they 53 The Riviera of the Corniche Road returned when the Terror had passed away it was only to rid themselves of their lands in Provence and seek a habitation elsewhere. Vence being a devout town and one prominent in all ecclesiastical affairs it is no matter of surprise that it became deeply disturbed by the "new religion" as taught and stoutly maintained by the Huguenots. It is further no matter of surprise that the dissenters made this stronghold of the Church a special object of attack and that Vence became a conspicuous scene of their pro testings. The position assumed some gravity when the Hugue- nots did more than protest against forms of worship and took to arming themselves with weapons of war. They went further. They became clamorous and threatening and made it clear that they were no longer to be put off by mere academic arguments or quota- tions from the Fathers. Moreover this conflict between the Protestant and the Catholic involved certain political issues which were outside the burning questions of creed; and thus it was that men were drawn into the quarrel to whom matters of State were more important than matters of doctrine. The trouble came to a head in 1560. The bishop at the time was a Grimaldi, while the castle of Villeneuve .was possessed by his uncle, a Lascaris. On the Catholic side, therefore, Vence was solid and prepared to take prompt action to crush the revolt. A body of some three hundred men was raised to deal with the Hugue- nots, but, in spite of the all-pervading power of the Church there were Huguenots in Vence and the vicinity and they, in turn, raised men to support their 54 Vence, the Defender of the Faith cause. A Huguenot gentleman, .with the pleasant name of Rene de Cypieres, also collected a squadron of forty- horse to help those who espoused the reformed faith. Vence thus became in this fair area of France the Defender of the Faith. The governor of the town issued an order forbidding the citizens to harbour or conceal a Huguenot in any house, garden or vineyard. The bishop denounced the Protestants as ' ' vagabonds and seditious men." What terms the Huguenots, on the other hand, applied to the bishop are not known, but they were certainly not lacking in invective for the contest was bitter. Life in the cathedral town must have been very unpleasant about this period. So keen was the dispute that everyone must, of necessity, have taken sides. Friends broke from one another after an intimacy of a lifetime ; lovers parted ; the Catholic wife left the hus- band who had turned Huguenot ; while families who were united by ties that had endured for generations now found themselves scowling at one another from opposite camps. Children were forbidden to speak to old playmates, and the little girl who had been so sweet to her boy friend now put out her tongue at him when they passed in the street. In 1562 there seems to have been a lull in this unhappy quarrel and even a sign of tolerance, if not of peace; for the Huguenots, although forbidden the righteous city of Vence, were allowed to hold meetings .without its walls. The fire was, however, only smouldering. The truce was little more than a pretence. The quiet in the streets was ominous. Although the sun shone upoE 55 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road the faithful town a black cloud that betokened a storm was rising in the south. In 1582, with a rumble of thunder and a darkening sky, the tempest burst. A Huguenot army was advancing upon Vence. It is necessary to pause here for a moment to record the fact that ten years before this time Vence iwas approached by a far more terrible and crafty enemy than the Huguenot; for in the year 1572 the army of the Black Death marched into the town. It crept through the open gates, for no one saw it. It set out to strangle and kill without remonstrance, for no one heard its footsteps. It spared neither the armed nor 'the helpless. It struck down the captain of the guard as he strutted on parade as well as the child who toddled up the cathedral steps to peep in at the door. It felled the lusty armourer at his forge and the maiden singing over her needlework. As many as could flee from the town fled, including the bishop who sought refuge in St. Paul du Var. Grass grew in the empty streets, the silence of which was broken only by the rumble of a cart laden with dead and the tolling of a weary bell. The passer-by, with his cloak drawn over his face, slunk down a by-way when he saw another coming. The shops were closed; the market-place still, or traversed by a starving dog seeking his master whom he would never find. Here a door would be standing open, day after day, because the very last dweller in the house had crawled out into the street to die, while from an open window would hang the head of a woman whose last cry for help had been unheeded. One would have supposed that this common disaster 56 Vence, the Defender of the Faith would have made for peace, but it only served to deepen the dissent; for the Catholics ascribed the visitation to the heresies of the Huguenots, while they, in turn, regarded the Black Death as a mission from God to punish the Church for its misdeeds. The position of affairs when the war burst upon Vence in 1582 was as follows : That corner of Provence to the west which bordered on Marseilles, and which would be behind a line drawn — let us say — from Aix-en-Provence to BrignoUes, was in the hands of the Church party. On the east the Duke of Savoy, with 2,000 men, was moving from the Italian frontier to the support of his friends at Marseilles. His concern in the conflict was based upon political rather than upon religious grounds. He was, in fact, taking advantage of the discord that raged on his borders. Between these two forces was the open country, in the centre of which jvas Vence. Now the Huguenot army was advancing from the south, from the shelter of the Esterel mountains. It was led by a very remarkable man, by name Lesdiguieres. [He was young, brilliant, daring and ever victorious. Nothing could stand in his way ; nothing, indeed, dared stand in his way, for his very name inspired terror. He had two things to accomplish — one was to cut off the advancing army of the Duke of Savoy and prevent it from reaching Marseilles, and the other was to destroy the city of Vence, the outpost of Marseilles and the holder of the pass. Vence stood alone in the way as the Defender of the Faith. It was the centre srtone of the position. So long as Vence held it was well for those who were fighting 57 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the battle of the Church. If the faithful city fell the outlook was unthinkable. Lesdiguieres the invincible appeared before Vence, surrounded it with his troops and his cannon and laid siege to it. It must have been a terrific conflict, for so much depended upon the issue, and the Vengois were well aware what would happen to them and their town if once the Huguenot captain got possession of the gates. Beyond the fact that the loss on the side of the besiegers was very great, no details as to the actual storming of the city nor of the deeds of the defenders have survived. What is known is that the great adventure failed. The doughty Lesdiguieres, hitherto invincible, raised the siege and retired again to the south beyond the Esterels. Vence was saved, the prestige of the Church upheld, and a turn was given to events which can only be appreciated by imagining what would have been the history of Provence, and possibly of France, had the faithful city fallen. Many of the Huguenot leaders and adherents rejoined the Church of Rome, old family feuds were forgotten, old friends shook hands again who had shunned one another for years, the Huguenot lover became Catholic and led his bride to the very altar he had fought to destroy. Even that hardy fighting man, the fierce, impetuous Lesdiguieres, came back to the Church of Rome. He was, it is true, long in coming, for his reconciliation was not made until forty years had passed after the great failure of his life before the walls of Vence. 58 -na u < < a. XI Oh o X en ►—I n O H OS D O U Q Z u oi u s H W U z > 1/ -It's IX VENCE, THE TOWN ON the bend of a pleasant road some thirteen miles from Nice stands Vence, 1,065 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. It is a little place of about three thousand inhabitants, on the crown of a hill in a land of hills. Behind it rise precipitous heights which shield it from the north, .while in front of it is an undulating country of pine wood and dale that rolls lazily to the sea. Vence consists of two parts, the old town and the new. The old town is a mere appendage to the new, and may be compared to an ancient reliquary attached to a gaudy piece of electro-plate in the modern taste. The old town was entirely surrounded by ramparts built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. On the summit of these was a broad way, where the defenders mustered when the town was attacked. Upon the northern front a considerable portion of the ancient ramparts still exists, while the terrace that capped them has become a modest promenade. Within and above the ramparts rose the town, like a castle of stone elliptical in shape. To the outer world it presented only a lofty and continuous wall, entered by certain gates, and strengthened here and there by towers. The wall represented the backs of the outer houses welded together in one unbroken barrier. ^9 The Riviera of the Corniche Road The fronts of these houses looked into narrow streets, but the outer wall was blank and blind, being pierced only by a few small windows, high above the reach of attack, and by long, narrow, vertical slits as the ground was neared. These ancient windows and these slits in the twall are still to be seen, but the enceinte has been broken in many places by casual windows of recent date and even by doors. Still, the walls of Vence — as viewed from the north of the town — ^have an aspect which has altered but little during the last four hundred years. They have aged, of course, but the gates are there and the towers still stand. It is on the southern side of Vence that the hand of the town-improver has fallen most heavily, but even here the ruin wrought by " reconstruction '' has not obliterated the ancient landmarks. The Boulevard Marcelin-Maurel, where the tramways run, follows the course of the southern ramparts. The wall on this side has been battered in to provide up-to-date houses and up-to-date shops, but yet the line of the old enceinte remains unshaken, for the hustling, irreverent tram is compelled to humbly follow the curve of the town jvall as laid down six centuries ago. On reaching Vence by the Nice road the first gate that is come upon is the Signadour Gate, which stands almost on the tram-Hnes. It is a gate of the fourteenth century, with a pointed arch, and it opens at the base of a rough, old tower. Some way to the right of it is the East Gate, which is much more ample, has a rounded arch, and passes directly through the outer wall into the mysterious shadows of the town. It is credited to the 60 Vence, the Town eighteenth century.^ At the opposite end of Vence is the Portail du Peyra, guarded by a very massive square tower of great height. The gate belongs to the days of the good King Rene, who died in 1480, and the tower to the seventeenth century. The gate has evidently been much restored and, indeed, reconstructed. It leads into the Place du Peyra, a quiet square shaded by a chestnut tree and charmed by the babble of a fountain in the form of a vase, from which issues four streams. The name of this ancient lounging place has been recently (and rather precipitately) changed to Place Wilson. A very picturesque Httle gate, called the Portail Levis, opens on to the ramparts towards the north. It has a pointed arch of the fourteenth century and a channel in the masonry for a portcullis. It leads into the Rue de la Coste, one of the oldest of the old lanes of the town. In the Boulevard Marcelin-Maurel (which, as already stated, is laid on the site of the mediaeval ramparts) is a modern gate, with the date 1863. It has been driven through the houses which here form the enceinte of the town and opens almost directly into the church square. The church at Vence has many peculiarities, not the least being the way in which it has hidden itself from the eyes of the world. It is so surrounded by parasitic buildings that nothing of it can be seen from the outside except a gable end, which projects fortuitously into another square. Indeed, the only outward and visible sign of the church is a door, surmounted by an image of the Virgin, jammed in between a cafe and a blank wall. The blank wall belongs to a seminary, one of the * " Vence," by J. D., sold for the benefit of the Church and published at Vence in 1914. It is referred to in the text as " The Vence Handbook." 6i The Riviera of the Corniche Road buiWings with which the church is encrusted. This building directly faces the new mairie, a very startling and effusive erection which stands where once stood a wing of the bishop's palace. Between the schoolhouse and the exuberant mairie are two dark, picturesque arches under a house. They represent what remains of the court of the palace, while the building above them is a part of the palace itself. The other side of this old house, having been left undisfigured, serves to show how stately a structure was this eveche of the fifteenth century. Now on that wall of the seminary which immediately faces the unblushing mairie will be found the Roman inscriptions to which reference has been made in the previous chapter (inscriptions dealing with the Taurobo- lium and with Valerianus and his wife Vibia). Here also are preserved certain carved tablets showing an interlace- ment of grapes and roses, mingled with confused birds; while above is a smaller stone on which is depicted an archaic eagle of doubtful anatomy. These carvings are generally described as Merovingian (a.d. 500-750), but the author of the Vence Handbook inclines to the view that they are Romano-Byzantine, and suggests that they may have belonged to a church that stood on this spot in the fifth century. A Christian church of some kind has existed at Vence since the fourth century, for the first bishop of Vence, St. Eusebius, held office in the year 374. The present church dates from the tenth century, although that which now stands belongs to a period between the twelfth and the fifteenth. On entering the building there is at once a sense of being in a place of great antiquity. No church in this part of France conveys so striking an impression 62 H o u < Q oi u z > i All ' i , fed. Q O o w u E H o Q O U Z Vence, the Town of old age. It is dark and crypt-like and, above all, primitive. On each side of the nave are immense square pillars supporting round arches. The pillars are without capitals and without a trace of ornament. There are two side aisles roofed over by a wide gallery which looks into the nave through the line of arches. The galleries were erected in the fifteenth century to accommodate an increasing congregation. On each side of these aisles is still another aisle, which is narrow and dark and in which are the chapels. The church, therefore, is represented by a nave and four aisles. The side chapels are all old and beautifully decorated. One chapel contains the body of St. Veran, who died in 492. The tomb — which forms also the altar — is a Roman sarcophagus. It presents some mysterious carving which is thus described in the Vence Handbook : In the centre are the busts of a man and a young woman enclosed in a large sea-shell. Below is a bird and three naked children playing. The rest of the surface is occupied by the waves of the sea. It may be conjectured that it was the last resting-place of a lover of the sea, who would wish to sleep with the waves about him, with a bird in the blue and with children at play on the sand. The high altar is of marble of many colours and the tabernacle is surmounted by angels' heads in white. By the altar are the tombs of the Villeneuves, the Lords of Vence. The west end of the church presents a very large gallery or tribune, which was placed there at the close of the fifteenth century. Here are the famous choir stalls which were transferred from the choir at the same period. These stalls, fifty-one in number, are of dark oak and are most elaborately wrought. Besides much architectural 63 The Riviera of the Corniche Road •detail there are innumerable carvings of animals and plants, of human figures and of vague incidents. Some details, as the writer of the Handbook says, are serious, others are amusing, and a few are not *' tres convenahles.^* These exquisite stalls were the work of Jacques Bellot of Grasse. He commenced the work, according to Mr. Kaye,^ in 1455, when he was twenty-five years of age, and completed it in 1495. He was, therefore, twenty-five when the work began and sixty-five when it was finished. In this gallery also is a very fine lectern, which is claimed to be even an earlier work than the stalls. In one of the chapels of the church (the Chapelle des Saints- Anges) is the wondrously carved door of the prevote or chapter house. This work is older than the stalls and is generally ascribed to the artist who fashioned the lectern. Certain Roman figures or statuettes are to be found in the church, one let into the pillar before the chapel of St. Veran, and another, that of a senator, in the .wall between this chapel and that of the Sacred Heart. Behind the church is a poor, distracted-looking square, once the cemetery, now the Place Godeau. It is shaded by three large chestnut trees and contains some ancient houses, one notably with a two-arched Romanesque window and another with the date 1524 carved above the doorway. In the centre is a disconsolate column of bluish granite to which is ignominiously fixed a brass water-tap. This column seems to have wandered from some museum and to have lost both its way and its label. There are those who affirm that it was a gift of the Phocaeans to the ancient town, others that it came from the temple of Mars; while those who range less far believe it to be a » " Grasse and its Vicinity," by Walter J. Kaye, 1912. 64 Vence, the Town Roman boundary stone or home. From this Place can be seen the great watch tower of Vence, often called the tower of the castle. It is square and very severely plain, and contains the belfry and a too modern clock. The tower belongs to the fifteenth century, or to even an earlier period. From this square can also be seen a little lancet window of the church which is perhaps the oldest of its present lights. The to>vn of old Vence is small and cramped. Around the church, crushed in between it and the city wall, is a maze of small streets. They still maintain the lines they followed long before the day when — in England — Elizabeth was queen. They are narrow, of course, and dark and crowded with houses of great age, houses of such antiquity that no modern mask can hide the hollow eyes or the shrunken cheeks. There are among them hand- some windows and fine entries, good mason's work and some decoration pitiable in its playfulness. The place is almost empty. Certain houses are deserted ; a few are ruinous, and in these the black, blank windows glare like the eye-sockets of a skull. Many show the tottering deformities of age and have become crippled, wizened and bent. This almost silent city once held seven thousand people. Its streets were then crowded, full of life and colour, of fair women and stalwart men. The wayfarer would need squeeze himself into a doorway to allow the lady in a litter to pass by, or to make room for a company of young gallants rollicking along arm in arm, or for the wedding party on its way to the cathedral close. The place is now hushed like a house of mourning, while in many a lane there may be no one to be seen. F 65 The Riviera of the Corniche Road He who strolls alone through the city of Vence may find himself carried back into the past by some nightmare witchery, and imagine that he wanders in a strange country, amid the scenes of a half -forgotten tale. There is about the streets the faint, musty smell that clings to the leaves of an ancient missal or that hovers about the worm-eaten chest stuffed with lumber. To read the life of the town as it was in earlier times is like the turning over of a bundle of old letters that are fragmentary and partly illegible, that are strange in both the wording and the script, but that show now and then a sudden light that illumines the figure of a man or a woman who stands out amidst the gloom — alive. 66 X GRASSE GRASSE lies on a green slope at the foot of shelter- ing hills and in full view of the sea. From its height of one thousand feet a glorious stretch of undulating country sweeps down to the Mediterranean, some seven or eight miles to the south. The position of the town is suggestive of great ease. It is comparable to that of a man stretched out on a bank in the sun, with his hands under his head, his hat tilted over his eyes and with a rock behind him to ward away un- kindly winds. It is a gentle and contented place, quiet and yet busy in its own peculiar way. The history of Grasse is modest and unemotional. It has always been a shy town, glad to be left alone and to keep itself untroubled by the world. It does not pretend to be very old. It is said that Roman coins have been discovered in Grasse, but this means little, for that imperious but careless people appear to have dropped money here and there all over the country. One wonders whether, when England is dug up by archaeologists two thousand years hence, half-crowns and coppers will be found among the ruins of its towns in anything like the profusion with which the currency of Rome was scattered. Grasse appears to emerge into the light of history 67 The Riviera of the Corniche Road some time in the twelfth century in association with Raymond Berenger and his famous seneschal Romee de Villeneuve. Its reputation has been largely commercial. Terrin in the " Precis de I'Histoire de Provence "^ says that " this town in the twelfth century supplied the whole of France, Italy and Spain with its famous leather, soap and oil skilfully purified"; while another author goes further and affirms " that the whole of Europe obtained its soap from Grasse." Grasse began its career in the twelfth century as a little republic in alliance — for purposes of mutual protection — with Pisa. This form of government was maintained until 1226. When wars were raging in the country around and towns were being besieged, looted or burnt, Grasse remained unmoved. It looked on from a distance, lifted its hands in horror and went on with its soap- making. It was never a quarrelsome town and never ambitious of power. It was more keenly concerned with the purity of its oils and the sweetness of its scents. It took a motherly interest in its unfortunate neighbours and became a place of refuge for troubled people along the ever-troubled coast. It was fortified, but not in too serious or too aggres- '^ive a way. It was besieged, but always in a com- paratively gentle manner, without unnecessary noise and battering of walls and doors and with casualties that may almost be called complimentary. One siege in November, 1589, is very fully described in the diary of a besieged resident, a certain Monsieur Rocomare. Mr. Kaye ^ Quoted by Mr. W. J. Kaye in his excellent work on " Grasse and Its Vicinity," published in 1912, a work which provides a good summary of the history of the town. 68 GRASSE : THE DE CABRIS HOUSE. Grasse quotes this record at some length. The attacking general appears to have been wounded early in the fray and to have "fallen into convulsions." "Whereby," says M. Rocomare, " the whole camp was thrown into confusion." The siege proceeded in spite of the general's fit. When things were not going well with the town the people of Grasse proposed — as they always did — a treaty. It was accepted. By this agreement the men-at-arms of Grasse and as many townsfolk as wished were allowed to leave the city with the honours of war and with all their baggage. Unfortunately the attacking army, demoral- ised, it may be, by the sight of their general in convulT sions, broke their compact, seized all the baggage and horses and killed no fewer than seventeen persons. The besiegers occupied the town and M. Rocomare had billeted upon him a cornet, six soldiers, ten serving men, some horses and a mule. This forced entertainment cost him 260 golden crowns ; but, worst of all, the ungrateful cornet, on taking leave of his host, robbed him of his cattle and of " other things." In the bitter religious wars of the time which rent and racked the whole adjacent country, Grasse took but little part. It was appropriately shocked at the spectacle of Christians fighting and then went on with its soap- making. The people of Grasse, however, had their local religious quarrels which seem to have been concerned not with matters of doctrine, but rather with questions of fees and emoluments and especially with burial fees. In these disputes over money " the clergy," as Mr. Kaye remarks, " seemed strangely to have forgotten their high calling," for they actually fought for the possession of coffins containing the dead, and there must have been 69 The Riviera of the Corniche Road regrettable scenes in the graveyard when the clerics and their subordinates were engaged in what was practically a tug-of-war over a coffin. The more direct afflictions of Grasse arose from the passage through the town of foreign troops. Over and over again the Cours or the Place Neuve was occupied by bodies of armed men, who, although they had no especial reason for hostile action against Grasse, yet behaved in a very trying and unseemly manner. They would march up to the town and, without adequate ex- planation, would demand a war bonus of as much as 36,000 livres or more. They would billet themselves in the town, would smash windows, break tiles and carry off doors. For what purpose an army on the march should need doors is not made clear; but that the in- truders should cause a rise in the cost of living is intel- ligible. A writer who was in the town on the occasion of one of these visits says, with disgust, that wine cost 40 centimes a pint, brown bread 25 centimes a pound, and eggs actually 15 centimes each. He adds a remark which shows how, even in little things, history may be anticipated, for he says : " All our fruit trees have been burned save a few olive trees which have been saved from the violence of the Germans." The old town of Grasse is very picturesque and abounding in interest. Being placed upon a slope, it comes to pass that its ways are steep. The houses are tall and the lanes are narrow, so the place is full of shadows. The streets ramble and wind about in that leisurely manner which is characteristic of Grasse, until they become a veritable tangle. The stranger wander- ing through Grasse is apt, after traversing many streets, 70 Grasse to find himself in the exact spot whence he started. It is not wise to ask one's way in Grasse, but merely to drift about, from lane to lane, until the object sought is stumbled on. It will be met with in time. There are various old houses to be seen which appertain to many periods. Some of them are disguised by modern plaster and paint, some have been " restored " to the point of extinction, while not a few are represented only by fragments. They illustrate the effect of putting new wine into old bottles : ' ' the bottles break and the wine runneth out and the bottles perish." Of the old ramparts which surrounded the town in the fourteenth century but a trace or two remain, although the line they pursued can still be followed. The Boulevard du Jeu de Ballon represents the western side of the enceinte, and the Passage Mirabeau its southern part. Where the two met was the Porte du Cours. The eastern flank is indicated by the Place Neuve and La Roque and the rounded northern end by the Rue des Cordeliers and the Avenue Maximin Isnard. Of the seven original gates two only survive — the Porte Neuve (rebuilt in 1793) and the Porte de la Roque. The chief feature of Grasse is the Cours, a charming promenade just outside the confines of the old town. It is here that the band plays and here that the idler can enjoy the superb view which opens out to the sea and admire — if he will — the statue to Fragonard which adorns the spot. Leading down from the Cours into the old town is the Rue du Cours, a narrow lane of little shops. The first house in this street — a corner house. No. 2 — was the town mansion of the Marquis de Cabris and his startling wife Louise. Some account of this mercurial 71 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road lady is given in the chapter which follows. The de Cabris came from the deUghtful village of Cabris, five miles from Grasse. There stands what remains of their castle, which was reduced to a heap of ruins at the time of the Revolution. The house in the Rue du Cours is a plain building of four stories, rising from a base of stone. It is of con- siderable size and the back of it forms a large block in the Passage Mirabeau. Its portal is prim and severe and in a strict classical style. So dull is this entry that it is hard to picture the frivolous and beautiful Louise standing on the door step, buttoning up her gloves and meditating some fresh devilment. It is a house that no one could associate with the thrilling scandal which buzzed about it when the mocking laughter of the little marquise could be heard ringing from the solemn windows. The house is now occupied by offices and flats of the gravest respectability. As if some odour of old days still clung to it, the walls, I noticed, were blazing with red and yellow posters vaunting the attractions of a play dealing with the allurement of women. Almost opposite to the de Cabris mansion, and at the extreme end of the Boulevard du Jeu de Ballon, is the ancient house of the de Ponteves family. It is a huge, square building, severely plain and free from any pretence at decoration. It has on one side a little walled garden which abuts on the Cours. The house has had a gloomy history. It was at one time the headquarters of the executive council of Var. During the time of the Terror (1793-4) it became the seat of the Revolu- tionary Tribunal. It has sheltered Freron — he who had the audacity to seek the hand of Pauline Bonaparte — 72 i|^#,if!QKjr •fW^[ GRASSE: THE CATHEDRAL. Grasse as well as Robespierre, who was himself guillotined in 1794. In its salon the wretched victims denounced by the Revolution were tried, cursed at, and condemned, and through its gate they were marched to their death by the guillotine. The guillotine stood in the Cours on the spot now occupied by the statue to Fragonard. The prisoners who looked out of the west windows of the house would see this fearful instrument only a few yards distant and would see also the howUng, savage mob that surged around it. Yet between the condemned andjheir place of death was the comfort of the little quiet garden shut in with its high wall. Thirty people in all were guillotined at Grasse during the Terror, and among them a poor nun over seventy years of age, whose name, by a strange coincidence, was de Ponteves. When peace was restored to France the Hotel de Ponteves became the municipal library and later on (in 1811) it was swept and garnished and made ready to receive the Princess Pauline Bonaparte, the sister of Napoleon I. This beautiful woman, the " Venus victrix " of Canova, was at the moment forlorn and unhappy. She had been deserted by her second husband, the Prince Borghese, and banished from the Court by her brother on account of her disrespectful bearing towards the Empress. She was, moreover, ill and weary both in body and mind, and yet she was only thirty -one. " Out of consideration for the distinguished invalid the silence of the early morning was disturbed neither by the ringing of bells nor by the cries of milk-sellers in the streets ; even the mules went without their tinkling sonnailles.^^ ^ One may imagine that Pauhne sat often in the little garden 1 " Grasse and Its Vicinity," by W. J. Kaye, 1912, p. 17. 73 The Riviera of the Corniche Road with the high wall, and that her sedan chair would now and then be carried to the Cours so that she might by chance get a glimpse of the beloved island of Corsica where she was bom. Near the Cours is the Boulevard Fragonard. In the house (No. 4) of the Marquis de Villeneuve-Bargemon will be seen the beautiful carved door that came from the old hotel of the Marquis de Gourdon. It was by the removal of the Gourdon mansion in 1858 that the present Place du Marche was made. No. 15 Boulevard Fragonard — with its curious iron window cages — was the residence of the famous painter after whom the Boulevard is named. The place of his birth was No. 2 Rue de la Font Neuve. Turning out of the Rue du Cours is the Rue Tracastel with its vaulted arch beneath an old tower. It is by way of this lane that the cathedral square may be reached. The church, which is the most beautiful building in Grasse, was completed in the twelfth century. It is small and low and its western fagade, which looks upon the square, is very simple. The large pointed doorway is approached by an exquisite double flight of steps with a white balustrade. The doors themselves are finely carved and bear the date 1722. There are two lancet windows on this front and traces of two doors of the same date as the principal one. The walls are of light yellow-grey stone. The church within is as gracious as its western front. The nave is surmounted by a hand- some groined roof with square ribs, supported by heavy pillars without capitals. The arches of the nave are occupied by galleries with marble railings which are quite modern and painfully out of keeping with the rest of the 74 Grasse building. The south transept is occupied by the chapel of the Holy Sacrament, which is said to have existed since 1448. It is a beautiful chapel, but a little marred by the too elaborate ornament of a later date. There are many pictures of interest in the church, the most notable being Fragonard's " Washing of the Disciples' Feet," painted in 1754. The church contains numerous treasures among which is a reliquary of St. Honorat, shaped like a house and carved out of a solid block of walnut some three feet in length. It dates from the middle of the fifteenth century.^ The belfry of the church is in the form of a tall, white tower, square and severely simple. It is one of the landmarks of Grasse. It dates from 1368, but .was shattered by lightning in 1742 and rebuilt at that period. Close to the cathedral is the tower of Grasse, the Tour du Puy, an ancient watch tower raised on Roman foundations. It too is square and plain, but almost black in colour and very menacing by reason of its great height and its massive strength. It is a veritable bully of a tower and forms a harsh contrast with the pale, delicately moulded and fragile-looking little church. It has certain modern windows, made still more incongruous by sun-shutters and by the ancient Romanesque .windows which find a place by the side of them. There is a marble tablet on the Tour du Puy which is of some interest. It is to the immortal memory of Bellaud de la Bellaudiere. The holder of this most sonorous name was a poet. He was born in 1532. He * A photograph and description of this remarkable relic will be found in Mr. Kaye's book. 75 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road appears to have played in Grasse the parts of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde ; for when he was not engaged in writing emotional ballads he occupied himself with thieving. He did well in both of these pursuits. As a poet he was honoured by this tablet on the tower; as a robber he came to the gallows and was hanged by the neck. The Rue Droite, the main highway of old Grasse, is a narrow lane of small shops that continues the Rue du Cours. It is not so straight as its name suggests, being, indeed, a little unsteady. It contains many old houses of interest with fine stone doorways, some with a rounded and others with a pointed arch. Over one entry is the date 1527. At No. 24 lived Doria de Roberti who in 1580 had the distinction of being both physician to the king and perfumer to the queen, a position which, at the present day, would be one of great professional per- plexity. The house is not worthy of one who is de- scribed as " the earliest known perfumer" ; for it is quite modern in aspect and is given up jointly to a cafe and to a shop where ready-made clothes for women are sold. No. 28 is a fine house, with an ancient doorway which is said to have borne the date 1622 ; while the portal of No. 82 has a dignity which — as is often the case — the rest of the building does not maintain. From the Rue Droite the interesting Rue de I'Oratoire leads, after some vacillation, to the Place aux Aires. This is a very charming little square, occupied in the centre by a double row of trees and, at the far extremity, by a fountain. The end of the tiny Place which faces the fountain has an interest which is not apparent to the eye. It is occupied by three quite modest houses, num- bered 37, 39 and 41. No. 37 is a ladies' hat shop. No. 39 76 GRASSE : THE PLAGE AUX AIRES. Grasse is a draper's ,with the inviting name '* Au grand Paris " and No. 41 is tenanted by a butcher. These three humble shops represent the spot upon which stood no less a build- ing than the palace of Queen Jeanne and, indeed, in the house No. 41 can be seen her kitchen stairs — a poor relic but the only one. In the chapter which follows some account is given of this remarkable and alarming woman and of certain things that she did. Of the many other interesting streets of Grasse it is impossible to speak in detail, except to draw attention to the fine Romanesque windows in the Rue Mougins- Roquefort and to those picturesque streets Rue sans Peur and Rue Reve Vieille which are more curious even than their unusual names. Most fascinating of all is the Rue de I'Eveche. It is a street of the Middle Ages, little changed and little spoiled. It is a mystery street full of romance and sug- gestion. It makes one draw one's breath. It recalls so vividly a score of tales of mediaeval days ; for it is just that narrow, winding, dim and haunting lane where thrilling things always happened — stabbings in the dark, pursuits with torches and the clang of arms, whisperings of cloaked conspirators, the beckoning hand and the lover with the panting lady in the hood. The business of Grasse, as is well known, is the making of scent, soap and refined oil. It is an ancient, famous and most prosperous industry. The quantity of flowers consumed in the perfumeries is so vast as to be hard to realise. Mr. Kaye states, in a quiet way and without con- cern, that four million pounds of orange blossoms and three million pounds of roses — to name no others — are 77 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Bwept into the iron maw of the factory every year. Weight is a little misleading when it deals with rose leaves •and mimosa blossoms so Mr. Kaye explains that, as regards jasmine alone, nine billions six hundred millions of jasmine flowers are picked by hand every year to provide the world with the jasmin perfume. " The flower harvest," he writes, " lasts nearly the whole year round. It begins in February with the violet which lasts till April. In March and April also hyacinths and jonquils are plucked. May marks the greatest activity in the harvest of roses and orange flowers, which harvest terminates usually in June. Mignonette and carnations are also gathered in this month. The jasmine is gathered in July, and the harvest lasts generally till October 10th. The tuberose is also picked during August and September.'* As the country for miles around Grasse is given up to the cultivation of flowers it may be assumed that the town lies in a Garden of Eden, dazzling with colour and laden with the perfumes of Araby. But it realises no such vision ; since flowers grown for commerce, drilled into unfeeling lines and treated like the turnip of the field, are very different from those grown for pleasure and those that blossom, by their own sweet will, in the wilds. They differ as a crate of violets knocked down to the auctioneer's hammer at Covent Garden differs from the shy, purple flowers that fringe a scented passage through a wood. Those who have any regard for flowers should avoid a perfume factory as they would a slaughter-house ; for it is not pleasant to see a white company of soft orange blossoms lying dead at the bottom of a pit, sodden and 78 GRASSE : RUE DE L'EVEGHE. Grasse macerated, nor to watch roses being slowly boiled alive, nor jasmine flowers crushed to death upon the rack. Many hundreds of day-tourists pour through Grasse during the months of the winter. They come by char-a- bancs and motor-brakes. Their stay in the town is very brief, for the ' ' excursion to Grasse ' ' embraces much in its breathless flight. They are deposited at a scent factory by a not disinterested driver, and there they purchase soap with eagerness, as if it were the bread of life. Ninety- nine per cent, of these soap-questing pilgrims do not go beyond the factory which they appear to regard as a sort of shrine, even though its odour is not that of sanctity. To just one out of the hundred the idea may occur that soap of quite fair quality may be obtained in many places — even in Brixton in England — but that in few places can there be found an old French city so full of picturesque memories and possessed of so exquisite a cathedral as Grasse provides. From a hygienic point of view the triumph of soap over sentiment is commendable, but the hygienic attitude of mind is one of rigour and offensive superiority. The one tourist out of the hundred wanders into the ancient town, loses his way, loses his char-a-banc and returns by the tramcar, with his mind full of charming recollections but his pocket empty of soap. While he glories over the romance of mediaeval by-ways his fellow- tourists gloat over a wash-hand basin or a pungent handkerchief. 79 XI A PRIME MINISTER AND TWO LADIES OF GRASSE ROMEE DE VILLENEUVE.— There is a some- what picturesque story in the old chronicles relating to one Romee de Villeneuve, seneschal of Grasse and the premier ministre of the Count of Provence.^ The count with whom the story deals was Raymond Berenger IV, who came into power in 1209 and died in 1245. This Raymond was the husband of the beautiful Beatrix of Savoy — the same Beatrix who inspired the passionate verses of the troubadour of Eze. Raymond the count when walking one day through the streets of Grasse came upon a pilgrim. The pious man was dressed in the robe of his brotherhood. In his hand was a long staff ; upon his feet were sandals and in his hat the cockleshell. The count was struck by his carriage and by the nobility of his appearance. He stopped him and questioned him as to his pilgrimage, as to the things that he had seen and learned in his journey through many countries and by way of many roads. The answers that the pilgrim gave pleased him. He was im- pressed by his intelligence, by the gentleness of his manner and the graceful sentiment that accompanied his talk. It was agreeable to converse with a man who had seen strange cities and who had gleaned such curious grains of wisdom 1 " Contes Populaires des Proven?aux," by Beranger-Feraud, 1887. 8o A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse in his tramp through valley and wood, by stony paths and smooth. The count talked longer with the pilgrim than the courtiers liked. They frowned and fidgeted, scuffled with their feet, assumed attitudes of weariness and talked among themselves rather audibly about "this fellow.'* Finally the count asked the pilgrim if he would come into his service and the worthy man, after some hesitation and with proper expressions of respect, consented. Romee had not been long under the castle roof before Raymond recognised his ability and his absolute upright- ness. The count and the pilgrim became more than master and servant ; they became friends. Many a time the two would sit in a corner of the terrace when the heat of the day was over and Romee would tell of the wonders of the Eternal City, of the street fighting he had seen in Florence between the Amidei and the Buondelmonte, of the new church of San Giovanni at Pistoia, of the won- derful bell tower they were building at Pisa, and of the ruins of the palace of Theodoric the Great that he had wandered among at Ravenna. He would talk too of strange things, of the savage, mist-enveloped island of England where the cliffs were white, of the flight of birds, of wondrous flowers that bloomed among the snow, of the hiving of bees, of the curious ways of women. Year by year the pilgrim rose in power ; year by year he took a wider part in the affairs of state ; and year by year the affection that bound the two men together deepened and gained in strength. Romee became the count's most trusted counsellor and confidant, and, in due course, was raised to the position of premier ministre and seneschal of Grasse. G 8i The Riviera of the Gorniche Road This was a terrible blow to the courtiers, the last straw that broke the back of their restraint. They had always been jealous of this interloper and hated him heartily and openly. To see the most dignified office that the Court of Provence could grant bestowed upon a stranger, a man stumbled upon in the street, was beyond endurance. The count was bewitched and befooled, they said, and must be awakened from his evil dream. The courtiers took the matter of the enlightenment of their prince in hand. They began to hint at things, to sow suspicions, to raise subjects for inquiry. Did the count know anything of this man, anything of his parentage or antecedents? The count knew only that Romee was a man noble in heart and mind, his trusted counsellor and esteemed friend. No seed grows so quickly as the seed of doubt. No hint but gains strength by repetition. Those about the Court, judging that the count's confidence must be shaken by their efforts, ventured to go beyond hinting and whispering and the shrugging of shoulders. They came one day boldly before him and said that Romee was taking money from the treasury, was in fact robbing the State. The count was furious that so disgraceful a charge should be made against his favourite, told the informers that they lied and demanded instant grounds for their base charges. The spokesman of the party replied that the minister kept, in his private room, a coffer which he allowed no one to touch and which no one had ever seen open. From sounds heard at night by listeners outside the door there was little doubt that in this chest Romee was hoarding money pilfered from the treasury. The speaker, with a bow, humbly suggested that his 82 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse lordship should come with them at once to the minister's room and request him to open the coffer. The count stamped and swore. He would never subject his friend to such an indignity. De Villeneuve was as far above suspicion as himself. The proposal was monstrous. Some soft-voiced officer then hinted that the minister would be glad to put an end to these unfortunate but persistent rumours by simply opening the box. This seemed reasonable to the count, but someone, more wily still, whispered in his ear "Would he be so glad.''" The seed of doubt, long sown in the prince's mind, was beginning to break into baneful blossom. He cried, " No more of this! Come with me, and we will bring this foul matter to an issue." They all made for the minister's room. Romee was sitting alone. He rose with extreme surprise to see the count, flushed and hard of face, enter with this company of solemn men — enemies all — who eyed him like a pack of wolves. The count, avoiding the gaze of his favourite, pointed at once to the coffer and said, " I beg you to open that chest." To this Romee replied, "My lord, I would prefer, by your grace, not to open it." " Why? " demanded the prince. " Because it contains a treasure of mine that is dear to me and to no one else." The courtiers began to whisper, to laugh, to jeer under their breath. The count, stung by their scoffing murmurs, lost his head, and turning to his minister said with some sternness, " I bid you to open that chest." Romee, look- ing with sadness into his master's eyes, said gently, *' My lord, since you no longer trust me, I will open the box." He withdrew a key from his gown, undid the lock, and threw wide the lid. The chest was empty but for a few 83 The Riviera of the Corniche Road sorry things — a dusty, tattered pilgrim's frock, two worn sandals, a coarse shirt and a weather-stained hat with a cockleshell in it. These were the things he wore when Raymond Berenger met him in the street. After a moment of dreadful silence the count, turning to his courtiers, said in a voice of thunder, " Leave my presence, you scoundrels too mean to live." When the two were alone the prince, placing his hands upon Romee's shoulders, said, "Dear friend! I am humbled to the dust. I am more sorry than any words of mine can tell. Can you ever forgive me? " To which the one-time pilgrim replied, " My lord, I forgive you a thousand times over ; but you have broken my heart, and now, in God's name, leave me and let me be alone." There and then Romee de Villeneuve took off his robes of office and, having donned the pilgrim's dress in which he had arrived at the castle, made his way out of the gate into the open road. Raymond Berenger never saw him again. Where the pilgrim wandered no one knows. All that the chronicle relates is that he died in the castle of Vence and that his will was dated 1250 — five years after the death of the count, his master. Many a time in the days that followed Romee 's disappearance Count Raymond would be found standing alone in a certain deserted room gazing at an empty coffer. Queen Jeanne. — As has been said in the previous chapter, there was in the Place aux Aires at Grasse a palace of Queen Jeanne, who died in 1382. When Jeanne took refuge in Provence with her second husband — after the murder of her first — she caused this palace to be built. All that is left of it, at the present day, is the 84 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse kitchen stair and a few mouldings, but, writes Miss Dempster, "there is not a bare-foot child but can tell you that those steps belonged to the palace of Queen Jeanne." ^ There is no evidence that this meteoric lady ever lived in this house that she had built, although she was Countess of Provence as well as Queen of Naples. It was from no indisposition to travel on her part, for she was never quiet and never in one place long, not even when she was in prison. Flitting about from Provence to Naples took up no little of her time, and when she was not occupied on these journeys she was either pursuing her enemies or being, in turn, pursued by them. In the language of the history book she " flourished " in the fourteenth century. The expression is ineffective, for she "blazed" rather than flourished. She was the political fidget of her time. A beautiful and passionate woman, she traversed the shores of the Mediterranean like a whirlwind. Her adventures would occupy the longest film of the most sensational picture theatre. Tragedy and violent domestic scenes became her most; but wherever she went there circled around her the makings of a drama of some kind. All the materials for a moving story were present. The scene was laid in feudal times when the license of the great was unrestrained. The heroine was a pretty woman who fascinated everyone who came in her path. She was, moreover, a wayward lady of ability and wide ambitions who was quite un- scrupulous, who felt herself never called upon to keep her word and who was determined to get whatever she wanted. 1 " The Maritime Alps," by Miss Dempster, 1885. 85 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road She had a somewhat immoderate taste for matrimony, since she ,was a widow four times and would probably have married a fifth husband had not a friend of her youth strangled her when she was in prison. Her selection of husbands was catholic, as the list of men she chose will show. They were, in the order in which they died, Andrew of Hungary, Louis of Tarentum, James of Majorca, and Otto of Brunswick. She was charged with having murdered her first hus- band. The charge was pressed by popular clamour and she was tried, in great state, in her own town of Avignon, in Provence, in the year 1348. The Pope himself pre- sided. At the trial she is said to have made a deep impression on the court. She startled this august assembly of solemn men. They saw in her a woman full of the tenderest charm. They were moved by her grace, by her ease of manner, by the sweetness of her voice, by her pathos-stirring eloquence, and — strangest of all — by her remarkable knowledge of Latin. She was acquitted and then publicly blessed by the Pope. Her loyal subjects at Naples svere not satisfied with this tribunal. They wanted their queen tried over again. They were rather proud of her and they liked revelations of palace life. Probably too they knew a little more than had " come out " at Avignon. Anyhow, the Pope was compelled again to proclaim her innocent, and, being a man of the world and anxious to put himself in the right, he added that even if she had murdered her hus- band she had been the victim of witchcraft and sorcery and so was not responsible for her actions. Queen Jeanne the Unquiet was one of the most obstinate women that ever lived. The only way to in- 86 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse fluence her was to put her in prison and her experience of prisons was large. At one time she was disposed to hand over Provence, or some part of it, to the King of France or other neighbouring potentate. To stop this recklessness she was arrested by the barons of Les Baux and of adjacent Provencal towns and locked up. Having promised never to alienate Provence or any part of it, she was let out of jail ; but she had not long been free before she sold Avignon, the chief town of Provence, to the Pope for 80,000 gold florins. As an excuse she said, with a smile, that she was rather short of money. The obstinacy of this irrepressible lady led to her dramatic ending. She took a very decided part in the controversy known as the Great Schism of the West. Her determined attitude led to many and varied troubles. Finally she was besieged in Castel Nuovo and there had to surrender to her kinsman and one time friend, Charles of Durazzo. He attempted to make her renounce the errors — or reputed errors — to which she clung. He failed, and "finding that nothing could bend her in- domitable spirit, he strangled her in prison on May 12th, 1382. "1 Louise de Cabris. — On a certain day, in the year 1769, there was great commotion in and around the mansion of the Marquis de Cabris in the Rue du Cours. The young marquis was bringing home his bride. The de Cabris represented the pinnacle of society in Grasse. They were the great people of the town. To know them was in itself a distinction. The bride belonged to a family even more eminent, for she was the daughter 1 " Old Provence," by T. A. Cook, 1914, vol. 2, p. 298. 87 The Riviera of the Corniche Road of the Marquis de Mirabeau, of Mirabeau, near Aix en Provence. She was a mere girl, being only seventeen years of age. The nice, worthy people of Grasse received her with effusive kindness. They were sorry for her, because they knew the husband. He was young, weak and vicious and came from a stock deeply tainted with insanity. They took the gentle little marquise under their motherly wing. They petted her, made much of her and com- forted her in a warm, caressing way. They knew as little what kind of innocent they were fussing over as does a hen who fosters a pretty ball of yellow down that turns into a duckling. When Louise, Marquise de Cabris, reached her full stature, those who had mothered her viewed with amaze- ment the product of their care. They beheld a lady who was not only the terror of Grasse, but a subject for scandal far beyond anything that the virtuous town had ever dreamed of. Louise, the full-grown woman, was beautiful to look at, was an adept in the arts of seduction, was brilliant in speech and possessed of a dazzling but dangerous wit. She was a woman of great vitality who loved excitement and cared little of what kind it was. She was depraved in a genial kind of way, picturesquely wicked, had a lover, of course — a feeble youth named Brianfon — had no heart and no principles. She could claim, as one writer says, "the Mirabeau madness and badness and all the Mirabeau brains."^ When the good old ladies of Grasse gossiped together they no longer discussed what they could do to help the 1 " Life of Mirabeau," by S. G. Tallentyre. " Les Mirabeau," by L. de Lomenie. 88 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse poor marquise. Their sole anxiety was to know " what on earth she would do next." She did a great deal. Incidentally she challenged another lady to fight a duel with pistols. Think of it ! The timid, clinging bride of a few years taking to fighting with firearms ! What next indeed ! Louise was much attached to her famous brother, the great Mirabeau, the orator, statesman and roue. When- ever this illustrious man was in a mess — and he was very often in a mess — he always came for help and sympathy to his nimble-minded and wicked sister. Louise was the only member of the Mirabeau family who attended his wedding with Mademoiselle Marignane, and she had always regarded his shortcomings with indulgence and even with admiration. One visit that Mirabeau paid to his sister at Grasse became memorable. The brother was in some trouble again. The affair had to do with his wife's lover and he came to his sister as to an expert in the treatment of lovers. Now shortly before his arrival the sober city of Grasse had passed through a species of convulsion. Placards had been mysteriously posted all over the town in which the characters of the ladies of Grasse were at- tacked in the coarsest and plainest language. It was curious that one lady's name was not touched upon. Of all names the name of the Marquise de Cabris alone was wanting. The inference naturally followed that the libels had been propagated by the de Cabris. There was a violent and confused uproar which was hushed at last by the payment to the injured parties of a large sum by the fooHsh Marquis de Cabris. Louise, on 89 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the other hand, .who had no doubt written the abusive lampoons herself, placidly disclaimed all knowledge of the matter. She said, with hauteur, that they were beneath her notice and, at the same time, wished it to be known that she was very cross with those who had the audacity to suspect her. Among the society folk who had " said things " about Madame de Cabris in connection with the libels was her inext-door neighbour, a certain Baron de Villeneuve- Monans. The gardens of the baron and the lady touched. These gardens ended in two terraces one above the other, like two steps. On the upper terrace the marquise had built a summer house which she called Le Pavilion des Indes. It was her Petit Trianon, her quiet corner, and was surmounted by a gilded goat's head, the goat's head being the " canting " arms of the Cabris (cahri). On the occasion of her brother's visit Louise gave a quiet dinner in her pavilion. The party consisted of her brother and herself, her lover Briangon and an unnamed lady who was invited, no doubt, to entertain Mirabeau. Before the meal was over the baron appeared on the upper terrace of his garden, in order to take the air before the sun went down. Louise pointed him out to her brother, told him what the baron had done and what she would do with that nobleman if she had the strength. Mirabeau at once jumped up from the table, stepped over into the baron's garden and fell upon the unsuspecting man with explosive violence. Now to introduce a comic element into a conflict of this kind it is essential that at least one of the com- batants should be elderly and corpulent and that, by 90 GRASSE : RUE SANS PEUR. A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse some means or another, an umbrella should be brought into the affair. All these factors were present. The baron jvas over fifty ; he was very fat and, as the evening was hot, he carried an umbrella. Excessive perspiration, also, is considered to be conducive to humour. Mirabeau, the statesman, flew at the fat man, bashed in his hat and, seizing the umbrella, proceeded to beat him on the head with it. Further he made the baron's nose bleed and tore his clothes, especially about the neck. He also kicked him. The fat baron, who was shaped like a melon, clung to the agile politician, with the result that they both rolled off the terrace on to the ledge below, where sober gardeners, with bent backs, were busy with the soil. These honest men were surprised to see two members of the aris- tocracy drop from a wall and roll along the ground, with an umbrella serving as a kind of axle, snarling like cats and using language that would have brought a blush to the cheek of a pirate. Louise, on the terrace above, was beside herself with joy. She screamed, she clapped her hands, she stamped, she jumped with pure delight. She was in an ecstasy; and when a fresh rent appeared in the baron's coat or when fresh mud appeared on his face as he rolled over and over, or when Mirabeau 's fist sounded upon him like a drum she was bent double with laughter. Mirabeau was of course arrested for his part in this entertainment and was sentenced to two years' im- prisonment. The prison to which he was sent was the famous Chateau d'If. In his confinement, however, 91 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road he was consoled by thinking that he had given his sister the merriest day in her life. The Mirabeau family was a peculiar one. The Marquis de Mirabeau hated his daughter and she, as cordially, hated him. The basis of the enmity was the fact that Louise sided with her mother in the constant quarrels upon which her parents were engaged. The marquis, who called his daughter Rongelime after the serpent in the fable, contrived to have her sent to the Ursuline convent at Sisteron, as a punishment for her many and scandalous misdeeds. The sisters were, no doubt, pleased to receive so noble a lady; but their pleasure was short-lived, for at the dinner table the marquise used such unusual language and told such improper stories that the convent was soon divided into two parties — those who were too horrified to associate with her and those who could not withstand the lure of the beautiful woman who said such thrillingly dreadful things. Exile to Sisteron was rather a severe measure for the flighty Louise. Although it is one of the most picturesque towns in this part of France it lies far away among the hills, no less than 118 miles from Nice by the Grenoble road. This road, which is as full of wonders and enchantment as any road in an adventurous romance, did not exist in the days of Madame de Cabris. Sisteron stands in a narrow gorge through which rushes the Durance river. The pass is bounded on either side by a towering precipice. The town, which has only room for one long dim street, clings to a ledge some few yards above the torrent and at the foot 92 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse of the loftier cliff. On the summit of this height stood the castle, the place of which is now occupied by a modern military work. In the town, besides the exquisite church of Notre Dame of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, are four isolated and very lonely round towers. They were built about the year 1364. They are put to no purpose, but simply stand in a row on vacant ground, looking disconsolate, as if they had been accidentally left behind when the other ancient properties of the city were removed. Across the river, at the foot of the gentler cliff, is a little wizen, sun-bleached place called the Old Town. It is made up of gaunt houses which show many traces of grandeur and of haughty bearing; but which are now tenanted by a colony of poor and picturesquely untidy folk. At the far end of this row of ghostly buildings is Louise's convent, where she chafed and fumed, said terrible things and told un-nun-like stories. It was a bustling place in its day but it is now deserted and falling into ruin. Those who would reahse the pathos and the beauty of the last days of an old convent should make a pilgrimage to Sisteron. The convent buildings are tenanted by a few humble families who seem to have settled here in the half-hearted mood of diffident intruders. There cannot be many habitable rooms left in the rambling building, although there is much space for hoarding rubbish. At one end is the little chapel, still almost intact, but in a state of lament- able neglect. It is low, has a curious rounded apse and a bell gable with two bells in it. One wonders who was the last to ring these bells, for their ropes are gone and 93 The Riviera of the Corniche Road they must have been silent for many years. The ringer may have been some bent, grey-haired nun who loved the bells and, hearing them sound for the last time with infinite sorrow, would have dropped the rope with tears in her eyes. The chapel is built of a jvarm, yellow stone and has a roof of rounded tiles of such exquisite tints of ashen- grey, of dull red and of chestnut brown that it may be covered with a rippled thatch of autumn leaves. At the other end of the convent is a fine campanile of sturdy mason's work. It is still proud and commanding, although its base is occupied by a stable and is stuffed with that dusty rubbish, that mouldy hay and those fragments of farm implements that the poor seem never to have the heart to destroy. Behind the chapel is a tiny graveyard which is symbolic of the place ; for it is so overgrown that its few sad monuments are almost hidden by weeds and scrubby bushes. The view from the convent is one of enchant- ing beauty. It looks down the valley of the Buech which joins the main river just above the town. It might be a glade in Paradise. The place is very silent. The only sounds to be heard are the same as would have fallen upon the ears of the restless marquise — the childlike chuckle of the river, the song of a shepherd on the hill, the clang of a black- smith's hammer far away and the tolling of the old church bell across the stream. Before long the illustrious Mirabeau was in another mess and needed once more the help of his experienced sister. This time he was running away with Madame de Monnier, the wife of a friend. Louise was still in 94 A Prime Minister and Two Ladies of Grasse the convent; but she could not resist the temptation of assisting her brother in this laudable and exciting enterprise. So she bolted from the convent, assumed a man's attire, armed herself and started on horseback with her lover Briangon to join the runaway couple. The movements of the party are a little difficult to follow. They went to Geneva, to Thonon and to Lyons. They had difficulties at the frontier and other mishaps. In some way Louise and Briangon failed Mirabeau at a critical moment. The lady seems to have lost her nerve and to have unwittingly given a clue as to her brother's whereabouts, so that he narrowly escaped capture. Briangon and Mirabeau quarrelled, flew at one another's throats, and were parted, with difficulty, by the panting marquise. This episode led to a coolness between brother and sister, a coolness which in time ended in bitter enmity. Then came the French Revolution which brought complete ruin to the de Cabris family and destruction to their house. Louise and her husband fled from the country during the Terror. When they returned to France they found their home at Grasse gone and their affairs in a state of dissolution. To add to the troubles of the irrepressible lady her husband had lapsed into a state of hopeless insanity. The once gay marquise, having lost estate, position and friends, retired to a small appartement in Paris with her sick husband. She had one daughter who was married and had children. The moralist may ask what was the end of this wild, rollicking and reckless woman. She did not end her days — as some may surmise — in a poor-house, a lunatic 95 The Riviera of the Corniche Road asylum or a jail. On the contrary she devoted the last years of her life to the care of her poor imbecile husband whom she nursed with a tenderness that the most loving wife could not exceed. More than that she applied her fine talents to the teaching of her grandchildren ; so that the last we see of the flighty marquise is a sweet-faced old lady, with white hair, who guides the finger of a child, standing at her knee, across the pages of a book of prayer. 96 CAGNES. XII CAGNES AND ST. PAUL DU VAR ALONG the road from Nice to Vence are two interesting little towns, Cagnes and St. Paul ^ du Var. Cagnes — or rather old Cagnes — is perched on the top of a beehive-shaped hill on the confines of a plain. It looks very picturesque from the distance and, unlike many other places, it is equally attractive near at hand. It is an odd town in the sense that it is made up of odd fragments. There are no two things alike in Cagnes, nothing that matches. It is indeed a pile of very miscellaneous houses inclined to set themselves askew like the parts of a cubist picture. Mixed up with dwellings, notable by their contrariness and their obvious revolt against all that is conventional in the shape and arrangements of a house, are portions of old ramparts, a ruined sentry tower and a gate that has got astray from its connections. There is a church too that is apparently out of drawing, that has a lane burrowing under its tower and that has become wedged in among bits of a town on a precarious slope. It looks like a very decrepit sick person who has slipped down in bed. Curious chimneys (some of which are wonderful to see) form conspicuous features of the dwellings of Cagnes. There are houses that seem to have rather overdone H 97 The Riviera of the Corniche Road their efforts to be picturesque; as well as others that have carried their determination to be simple to excess. Of the super-simple house the old Maison commune affords a good example. Cagnes is a quiet town with a total absence of traffic in its streets. Indeed as if to show that the highway is not intended for traffic an old lady has seated herself in the centre of the main road to knit, finding, no doubt, the light better in that position than in a house. The sudden way in which lanes drop headlong down the hill, to the right and to the left, is quite disturbing. It is a place of pitfalls and hazardous stairs that must be very trying to the village drunkard. The centre of Cagnes — its Place de la Concorde — is a peasant-like little place, humble and very still, called the Place Grimaldi. It is made green by a line of acacia trees and is bounded on one side by a row of modest houses, ranged, shoulder to shoulder, like a company in grey. The buildings at the principal end are supported upon arches with sturdy old pillars which give the spot an air of mystery. On the other side of the square a double flight of stairs mounts pompously to the castle. The square is approached by a lane which, to add to the fantastic character of the Place, pops out unexpectedly through the base of the church tower ^ There was a time, long ago, when life in Cagnes was very gay and when, indeed, Cagnes' society was so lively and so exuberant as to bring down upon the inhabitants a crushing reproof from the bishop of Vence. The reprimand was conveyed to the young men and women of Cagnes in a message of great harshness in which were unfeeling references to the pains of hell. This was in 98 CAGNES : THE TOWN GATE. Cagnes and St. Paul du Var 1678. It appeared that the people of Cagnes had a passion for dancing, a passion almost as uncontrolled as the craze of the present day. They danced in the streets, the bishop stated. As there are no level streets in Cagnes it is probable that the Place Grimaldi was the scene of this display of depravity. The young people seem to have favoured a kind of mediaeval tango, for the bishop said some very unpleasant things to the ladies of Cagnes about their "indelicate postures and embraces." As to the male dancers they are described as ^' forcenes^^ ; so they may be assumed to have introduced into these street dances some of the violence and surprises of the madhouse. The dancing took place, of course, principally on a Sunday and the dancers excused themselves to the bishop by saying that the church was so exceedingly dirty that they did not care to enter it and, therefore, there was nothing for them to do on the Sabbath but either to sit in the shade and yawn or to dance in the streets. The bishop, who was clearly very "down upon" Cagnes, was severe too on the subject of the ladies' dress, or rather lack of dress. He especially found fault with the low-necked costume and affirmed that women had been seen in church " with bare throats and chests and without even a kerchief or scarf to veil them." It would be interesting to know what the bishop of Vence would say about the low-necked dress of to-day, which is carried down to the diaphragm in front and to the base of the spinal column behind. The castle of Cagnes stands at the top of the town on a wide platform from which can be obtained a view of the sea, on the one hand, and of the snow-covered 99 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road mountains on the other. This is a castle of the great Grimaldi family. It dates, Mr. MacGibbon ^ says, from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and is claimed to be the finest specimen of a mediaeval stronghold in this part of France. It is simply a vast, square keep, as solid as a cliff and as grim as a prison. It is heavily machicolated below the parapet. It is frankly ugly, brutal and repellent, an embodiment of f rightfulness, a frown in stone. It is said that the great hall of the chateau possesses a ceiling painted by Carlone in the seventeenth century. The fresco represents the Fall of Phaeton. The present state of this work of art is doubtful, for in 1815 the castle was occupied by Piedmontese soldiers who, lolling on sofas and divans, amused themselves by firing at the head of Phaeton and apparently with some success. The castle has, however, been disfigured in such a way as to render it pitiable and ridiculous. At some period huge modern windows have been cut in its fear- some walls. These windows, brazen and aggressive, have all the assurance of the windows of a pushing boarding house and to sustain that character are furnished with sun-shutters and lace curtains. The worst phase of this outrage is the cutting away of some of the glorious machicolations in order to make room for the blatant plate glass. This superb old castle, in its present plight, can only be compared to the figure of a sun-tanned and scarred veteran with a helmet on his grey head and a halberd in his hand and on his breast, in the place of the steel cuirass, a parlourmaid's pinafore trimmed with lace. 1 " Architecture of Provence," 1888. 100 Q < o a U j Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice of tuberculosis at the age of 56. His religious opinions appear to have been indistinct and his religious observances even less pronounced. In the closing hours of his life he ,was denied or failed to receive the last rites of the Church and, after his death, the clergy refused to allow his body to be buried in consecrated ground. On the day following his decease the coffin was de- posited in the cellar of a house near by, a house that stands at the junction of the Rue de la Prefecture and the Rue Ste. Reparate.^ The cellar was in the posses- sion of a friendly hatter. The body then appears to have been removed to an "apartment" in a hospital at Nice, but the facts at this point in the narrative are confused.^ Paganini's son took action against the bishop for re- fusing to permit the body to be buried within the pale of the Church. In this action young Paganini failed. He appealed against the decision of the clergy and the matter was finally referred to the Papal Court at Rome. Pend- ing judgment the body was taken to Villefranche and placed in a lazaretto there. In about a month the smell emitted by the corpse was complained of and accordingly the coffin was taken out of the building and placed on the open beach near the water's edge. This gave great distress to the friends of the dead artist and so one night a party of five of them took up the coffin and carried it by torch-light round the bay to the point of Cap de St. Hospice. Here they buried it close to the sea and just below the old round tower which * The house Is now a tailor's shop. Neither of these houses is Indicated by any tablet or inscription, as has been sometimes stated. " " The Romance of Nice," by John D. Loveland, London, 1911. 1 15 The Riviera of the Corniche Road still stands on this spit of land. Over the coffin was placed a slab of stone. All this happened within a year of the maestro 's death. In 1841 the son decided to take the body from the Cap de St. Hospice and convey it to Genoa, because it was in Genoa that his father was born. Here it was hoped he could be laid at rest. A ship was obtained and the coffin was lifted from the grave near the old tower and placed on the deck. When Genoa was reached the party with the coffin were not allowed to land be- cause the vessel had come from Marseilles and at that port cholera was raging. The ship thereupon turned back and sailing west- wards brought the dead man to Cannes. Here also per- mission to land a coffin, which was already highly sus- pected, was refused. The position seemed desperate but near Cannes are the Lerin Islands and among them the barren and lonely rock known as Sainte Ferreol. Here the body was once more buried and again covered with a stone. On this strange little desert island it remained, in utter loneliness, for four years, in the company only of the seabirds and of some blue iris flowers that made the rock less pitiable. Now it seemed to Achillino Paganini a heartless thing to leave his father's body in this bleak, forsaken spot. The great musician had some property at Parma and it was considered well that the body should be taken there and buried in his own land and in his native Italy. So the dead man was carried away from the island and w^as buried in a garden in his own country and amid kindly and familiar scenes. This voyage was accom- plished without mishap in 1845. ii6 Cap Ferrat and St. Hospice For some unknown reason it was determined in 1853 that the body should be re-embalmed. So the coffin was once more dug up and the gruesome ceremony carried out. The wanderings of the dead man had, how- ever, not yet come to an end for in 1876 permission was granted by the Papal Court to lay the body within the walls of a Christian church. So once more the corpse was exhumed and conveyed, with all solemnity, to the church of the Madonna della Staccata in Parma where it was placed in a tomb. By this time no less than thirty- six years had passed since the poor dead master com- menced his strange journey. But even now he had not come upon peace ; for in 1893 a certain Hungarian violinist suggested that the body in the church was not that of the adored musician. Thus it happened that once again the corpse was exhumed and once again the coffin opened. The son, who was still alive, permitted an investigation to be made. Those who looked into the coffin saw lying there the form of the man who had enchanted the world. The black coat that he wore was in tatters, but it was his coat. The face, too, they recognised, the gaunt, thin face, the side whiskers and the long hair that fell over the neck and covered the white bones of the shoulder and the gleaming ribs. 117 XIV THE STORY OF EZE EZE is a curious name and the name of a still more curious place. Eze, indeed, by reason of its grim history and its astonishing position on a lone pinnacle of rock, is one of the most fascinating towns in the Riviera. Its past has been more tumultuous and more tragic than that probably of any settlement of its size in Provence. It has seen much, has done much and, above all, has suffered much, for its cup of sorrows has been overflowing. It is a place of extreme antiquity ; since people lived within its rampart of rocks before the dawn of history. Some maintain that the Phoenicians, after expelling these raw natives, fortified Eze, but then that ubiquitous and pushing people seems — at one time or another — to have occupied every place on the seaboard of Europe that can admit of some obscurity in its history. Certain it is that the Romans when they landed possessed themselves of this town on the cliff and established a harbour in the bay which lies at its foot. When they, in their turn, had embarked in their galleys and sailed away the Lombards appeared, murdered all they could find, burned everything that would burn and robbed to the best of their exceptional abilities. This episode is ascribed to the year 578. The death-rate at ii8 The Story of Eze Eze must always have been very high, but during the time that the Lombards were busy in the district it must have risen almost to annihilation. The Lombards and their kin held on to Eze, in an unsteady fashion, for nearly 200 years and when they had finished with it the Saracens entered upon the scene. These talented scoundrels crept up the cliff in swarms and, with such bloodshedding as the limited material at their disposal would allow, settled themselves upon the point of rock and proceeded to consolidate its position as a den of thieves. This disturbing change of tenancy is said to have taken place in 740 and as the Saracens were not driven from Provence until 980 they were longer in residence than the Lombards. They are credited with having built the castle — or rather the first castle — of Eze. They made slaves of as many of the natives as they could capture, spoke in a strange tongue, made themselves a horror in the land and, in general terms, did inconceivable things. Eze was one of the last strongholds of the Saracens on the Riviera and in order to make the evacuation of the place complete the town was razed to the ground. After the last Saracens had clattered down the little zigzag path to their boats Eze fell upon still more evil days. It entered upon a period of unease so protracted that for centuries it was never certain of its fate from one day to another. It was taken and retaken over and over again. It was starved into submission at one time and burnt to the rock edge at another. It was occupied now by the Guelphs and now by the Ghibellines. It belonged one year to the House of Anjou and the next to the Counts of Provence. It was at one time a 119 The Riviera of the Corniche Road dependency of Naples and at another time of Monaco. It was bartered about like an old hat and sold or bought with a flaunting disregard of the sentiment of the people who were sold with it. Finally in the fourteenth century it was sold to Amadeus of Savoy in whose family it remained — with the exception of twenty-two years during the Revolution — down to its cession to France in 1860.^ It was visited by plague and devastated by fever. It had a varied experience of assassination, of poisoning and of modes of torture; while its information on the subject of sudden death and its varieties must have been very full. In order — it would seem — that its knowledge of every form of fulminating violence might be complete it was shaken by earthquake and mutilated by lightning. The vicissitudes of Eze were indeed many. At one period it was the terror of the coast, supreme in villainy and unique in f rightfulness ; while, at another time, it was a seat of letters frequented by poets. It had its moments of exaltation as in 1246 when Rostagno and Ferrando, Lords of Eze, had rights over Monaco and Turbia and its moments of misery when it was little more than a howling ruin too bare to attract even a starving robber. Eze too has seen unwonted folk. Every type of scoundrel that Europe could produce, during the Middle Ages, must, at one time or another, have rollicked and drank and sworn within its walls. The strange troopers who strutted up and down its astonished lanes in the spring would often be replaced by still stranger blusterers before the winter came. During the time that Eze was a favourite resort of pirates it reached its climax in » " The Riviera," Macmillan, 1885. 120 .rt- -. . > t ■ . \ N V^Jiki/^" The Story of Eze picturesqueness ; for then its vaulted passages must have been bright with strange goods, its streets with curiously- garbed captives and its inns filled with seamen who roared forth villainous songs and then fell to fighting with knives over some such trifle as a stolen crucifix or a lady's petticoat. Southampton is a long way from Eze but, if certain records be reliable, the association of the two sea towns is very close. During the hostilities between France and England, in the time of Edward III, a fleet consisting of 50 galleys — French, Spanish and Genoese — arrived at Southampton in 1338 and landed a large body of men. The fleet was under the general orders of the French admiral, but the Genoese division was commanded by Carlo Grimaldi of Monaco, the famous seaman. The landing party swarmed over the walls of the town or burst through the gates; they *' killed all that opposed them; then entering the houses they instantly hanged many of the superior inhabitants, plundered the town and reduced great part of it to ashes." ^ Accord- ing to Stowe, in his " Annals," this very effective assault took place at " nine of the clock " and the towns- men ran away for fear. " By the breake of the next day," adds Stowe, "they which fled, by help of the country thereabout, came against the pyrates and fought them; in which skirmish were slain to the number of 300 pyrates, together with their captain, a young soldier the King of Sicilis son." The entry into the town was made at the lower end of Bugle Street. 1 John Ballar, " Historical Particulars relative to Southampton," 1820. John Stowe, " Annals," London, 1631. J. S. Davies, " History of South- ampton," 1883. 121 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Now it is stated that the marauding party that attacked Southampton was composed, for the most part, of men from the Genoese division of the fleet and that the assault was led and the looting directed by Carlo Grimaldi in person. Grimaldi's share of the plunder was so substantial that on his return to Monaco he purchased with the money the town of Eze in 1341. It thus comes to pass that some of the savings of honest Hampshire citizens have been invested at one time in this very unattractive property. 122 XV THE TROUBADOURS OF EZE ABOUT the beginning of the thirteenth century there hved at Eze two troubadours, Blacas and Blacasette by name, father and son. They were Catalans by birth ; but the family had settled in Provence and the two singers found themselves in the suite of Raymond Berenger, the Count of Provence. How it was that they came to Eze and how long they resided there is not known. Durandy states that the Blacas were owners of the manor of Eze and in describing the sack of the town in 1543 he speaks of the castle as " the castle of the Blacas."^ Certain it is that they were both men of position and were both much esteemed. Blacas, his biographer asserts, was admired more for "the nobleness of his manners" than for the merit of his poems. ^ The two of them wrote and dreamed of love and of fair women, of gardens and green fields. They formed for themselves a little literary circle, as if they were living in Old Chelsea, held Courts of Love and meetings with their poet friends in which they competed with one another. Indeed the first known poem of Blacas (written before ^ Durandy, " Mon Pays, Villages, etc., de la Riviera," 1918. » " Histoire litt6raire de la France," t. xix, 1838. Reynouard, " Choix des Po6sies orig. des Troubadours," 1816-21. 123 The Riviera of the Corniche Road 1190) was a tanzon with the troubadour Peyrols. A tanzon, it may be explained, was a competition in verse, the rhymers concerned contributing alternate couplets. For those who are curious as to the kind of poetry that rippled over the walls of Eze I append a verse by Blacas translated into the French of a later period from the Provencal in which it was written. '^ Le doix et heau temps me plait, Et la gaie saison Et le chant des oiseaux; Et si ydtais autant aimS Que je suis amoureux. Me ferait grande courtoisie. Ma belle douce amie. Mais puisque nul hien ne me fait Helas I eh done que deviendrai-je ? Tant j^attendrai en aimant Jusqu'a ce que je meure en suppliant, Puisqu^elle le veut ainsi,^* The picture of a troubadour writing little love ditties in this most woeful place is as anomalous, and indeed as incongruous, as the picture of a lady manicuring her hands during the crisis of a shipwreck. The sound of these songs as they floated — like a scented breeze — down the lanes of the putrid town must have been interrupted, now and then, by the shriek of a strangled man in a cellar or the shout of the trembling watchman on the castle roof. The two troubadours loved war. Blacasette penned 124 EZE : THE MAIN GATE. The scene of the treachery of Gaspard de CaVs. The Troubadours of Eze enthusiastic verses about it. He thought it an excellent pursuit, a measure much to be desired, a thing of which it was impossible to have too much. Had he lived at the present day he would probably have modified his views. He was, however, no mere dreamer. He carried his theories into practice and took to fighting when he could. He was engaged in the war which, in 1228, Raymond Berenger waged against the independent towns of Avignon, Marseilles, Toulon, Grasse and Nice. He came out of the fray alive, for he did not die until some time between the years 1265 and 1270. Blacas was married. His wife was Ughetta de Baus. The marriage came to an abrupt end ; for one day Ughetta walked off with her sister Amilheta, entered a convent and took the veil. This precipitate step caused Blacas con- siderable distress, for he is described as being "plunged in profound sorrow.*' Ughetta was probably not to blame ; for Blacas as a husband and at the same time a troubadour must have been very trying. From a professional point of view he loved women as a body. That was a part of his business and no doubt Ughetta became tired of his violent and continual ravings about women with whom she was but slightly acquainted. Moreover her home life in Eze must have been very unsettled. Blacas would one day be humming songs about a new lady at the dinner table and the next day he would be turning the house upside down in order to hold a Court of Love ; while, perhaps, on the third morning he would be off to a war he had just heard of. Ughetta no doubt talked this over with her sister — who may possibly have married a troubadour herself — and the two came to the conclusion that the 125 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road quiet of a convent would be a pleasant change after life with a crazy poet in Eze. Blacasette — who wrote with facile elegance — was more fortunate than his father. He fell harmlessly in love with a grande dame or imagined that he had and most of the poems of his that survive are amatory sonnets devoted to his " sweet lady." The position was made awkward by the fact that the sweet lady was already married and was, moreover, the wife of no less a person than Blacasette 's master, Raymond Berenger* Nothing, of course, came of this. The lady remained unmoved and was probably much bored by the receipt of these florid effusions ; while the troubadour did not feel called upon to retire to a monastery, nor to take any action that was excessive. In fact the love-making was purely academic and little more than a display in verse making. The " sweet lady " was truly a grande dame, for she was the famous Beatrix of Savoy. She married in 1219 and had four remarkable daughters, the most illustrious bevy of girls of almost any age. One, Beatrix, succeeded her father and became the Countess of Provence ; another, Eleanor, married Henry III of England; a third, with the pretty name of Sancia, married King Henry's brother, Richard, Duke of Cornwall ; while Marguerite — the fairest of them all — became the wife of Louis IX. 126 XVI HOW EZE WAS BETRAYED IN August, 1543, the citadel of Nice was besieged by the French army of Francis I aided by the Turkish fleet under the command of the corsair Barbarossa. The siege failed as has been already recounted (page 29). The next obvious step for the French was to attack and destroy Eze, which lay behind Nice and was an obstacle to any further progress. It is necessary to realise that — at this period — both Nice and Eze were beyond the frontiers of France, were foreign towns and, at the moment, enemy towns. The Turkish fleet, supplemented by many French galleys, accordingly set sail for the Bay of Eze, carrying iwith it irregular troops, both French and Turkish, to the number, it is said, of 2,000. Now Barbarossa, being a finished pirate of ripe experience, would be aware that the taking of Eze from the sea was — as a military project — quite impossible. Eze stood on a cone of rock 1,400 feet above the level of the Mediterranean and could only be reached from the shore by a narrow path which was actually precipitous. To bring cannon to bear upon the town from any point, high or low, on either side of it, was impracticable. It could only be taken by a body of infantry and to the attacks of such a force Eze was impregnable. 127 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Still Rcdbeard the pirate sailed on with complete content. He was not only content ; he was happy. He had a treasure in his galley, a treasure in the form of a man who was probably sitting alone in the pirate's cabin, deep in thought. Barbarossa would take a peep at him now and then, rub his hands and smile. The name of this man was Gaspard de Cais and he was one of the most poisonous scoundrels that had ever lived. He was a native of the country the admiral was proceeding to invade. He was a loathsome traitor who had gone over to the French and, for a certain sum, had engaged to betray his country and the town of Eze together with friends among whom he had spent his youth. The bribe might have been large but, valued as a really corrupt ruffian, Gaspard was beyond price. When the Bay of Eze was reached this sneaking hound was landed with a few French and Italian soldiers — Italian because they spoke a language more akin to the speech of Eze. Barbarossa would like to have kicked the knave off the boat but he was not a censor of morals and he wanted to take the town. De Cais and his small company proceeded to climb up to Eze. It was September and, therefore, one of the hottest months of the year. What with the heat and the burden of his conscience Gaspard must have found the ascent trying ; for even in modern times with a modern path the clamber up to the town from the shore is a feat of endurance that the hardiest tourist will scarcely undertake twice. In due course the perspiring traitor reached the gate of Eze — the identical gate that stands before the entrance of the town to this day. He would be stopped by the 128 How Eze was Betrayed guard and asked his business. Mopping his face he would reply, with a smile, that he wished a word with the governor. After some delay the governor, attended by an officer or two, appeared and Gaspard, greeting him as an old comrade, whispered in his ear that the Turkish fleet was in the Bay and would attempt to take the town. This was possibly the only time that Gaspard ever spoke the truth ; for, in fact, the fleet was below and the admiral did undoubtedly desire to capture the town. De Ca'is then lapsed into lying which became him better. He explained that as a patriot and a lover of Eze he had come to warn the governor of the peril ahead and to place his poor services and those of his humble followers at the disposal of the garrison. " Would he come in.f* " He came in. Now it must be explained that Gaspard had as a friend and co-partner in crime no less a person than his fellow countryman, the Lord of Gorbio. This prince was known by the unpleasing name of the Bastard of Gorbio for he was a disreputable scion of the noble house of Grimaldi. He was, if possible, a more contemptible rogue than Gaspard. He had confederates in Eze and a number of traitorous men in his pay hidden among the rocks about the entrance. As soon as Gaspard de Cais and his companions were well within the gate they suddenly drew their swords and, with a shout, fell like madmen upon the unsuspecting guard who were still standing at attention. This was a signal to the Bastard and to his friends within and with- out the town. These worthies all rushed to the gate and in a few moments the governor and the gallant guard of Eze were dead or dying. J 129 The Riviera of the Corniche Road All this time the Turks, in single file, were crawling up the zigzag path from the boats, like a great brown serpent, a mile long, gliding up out of the water. They poured in through the gate, panting and yelling, and continued to pour in for hours. Barbarossa now could laugh aloud and did no doubt guffaw heartily enough for Eze the impregnable was taken with scarcely the loss of a man. What followed is, in the language of novelists, ** better imagined than described"; simply because it is easy to imagine but difficult to describe. Eze the betrayed became the scene of a blurred orgy of house burning, murder and pillage. The town with all that was in it was to be wiped off the face of the earth. The order could not have been carried out more thoroughly or more heartily if it had been executed by the Germans of the present day. There was no resistance. There was to be no quarter and no prisoners. Everything went ** according to plan." The narrowness of the lanes rendered the process of hacking a population to death cramped, slow and very horrible. Every street and alley was soon blocked with the dead and the dying. The first clatter of hurrying feet was soon hushed ; for those who pressed on and those who fled trod upon yielding bodies. A whole family would be lying dead in an entry ; the man at the front, the baby and the mother behind. Here would be the corpse of a Turk sprawling over the bundle of loot he was in the act of carrying away. Here would be a woman's dead hand cut off at the wrist, but still clinging to the handle of a door. Here a disembowelled man, still alive, trying to crawl into 130 How Eze was Betrayed a cellar and there a half-charred body dangling from the window of a burning house. It is always customary to say, in the account of scenes like this, that *' the streets ran with blood,'* but it is not so. The state is far more hideous, since blood clots so soon that it will not nm. The noise must have been peculiarly dreadful, an awful medley of the shouts of men, the shrieks of the butchered, the moans of the dying, mingled with the roaring of flames and the fall of blazing timbers. Now and then, among the din, would be heard the crash of an axe upon a skull, the crack of a sword upon the tense bones of a bent back, the muffled thud of a dagger, the hammer-blow of a club. The sunlight and the blue of heaven were shut off by a pall of smoke ; while suffocating clouds filled many a lane with the blackness of night. Such fortifications as could be destroyed were levelled to the ground, and the castle that crowned the hill was blown up by its own magazine. The gate — the fatal gate — was untouched and stands to this day to testify to the supreme villainy of the traitor, Gaspard de Cais. The work was well done. Redbeard the pirate may have had his faults, but in the business details of town- sacking he was thorough and singularly expert. When he beached his galleys in the bay, Eze was a prosperous and busy town, living at ease and confident in its strength. When the pirate left it it was a black, smouldering ruin, empty and helpless, stripped of all that it possessed and occupied only by the dead, by such wounded as survived and by the few who, hidden in vaults and secret places, had escaped death from suffoca- 131 The Riviera of the Corniche Road tion. There was no need to leave a guard in the town for there was nothing to guard. Eze, as a stronghold had ceased to exist. After all was over the Turks and their ruffianly allies rattled down the hill to the boats, tired no doubt, blood- bespattered and blackened by smoke, but jubilant and disposed to bellow and sing. Every man was laden with loot like a pack-horse. Even the wounded would grab the shoulder of a friend with one hand and a bundle of booty with the other. They chattered as they stumbled along, chuckling over the " f un " they had had and announcing what they would have done if only they had had more time. Others would be appraising the value of their respective spoils, would draw strange articles half out of their pockets for inspection, or would rub a sticky mess of blood and hair from a vase to see better the fineness of its moulding. They reached the sea without further adventure, boarded their galleys and sailed away towards the East, a proud and happy com- pany, pleased with their day's work and grateful to Allah for his abounding mercies. It only remains to tell what happened to Gaspard de Cais and his friend from Gorbio with the unpleasant title. They were, of course, overjoyed by the result of their labours and must have congratulated one another fervently with hearty slaps upon the shoulder. They did not go down the hill to join the ships. They had either been paid in advance for their distinguished service or had got enough loot out of Eze to reward them for their efforts. They had done with Barbarossa and were dis- posed to do a little now on their own account. Their action at Eze had been attended with such 132 How Eze was Betrayed excellent results that they proposed to try the same manoeuvre at the gate of La Turbie. So Gaspard and the Lord of Gorbio started in high spirits for this well- to-do little town. They were to approach it as friends. They were to warn the governor that the Turks were coming and were to offer their patriotic services as they had done at Eze. They had with them a substantial body of men — blackguards all of the first water — among whom were no doubt some of Barbarossa's crew who had reached the hill too late to make a really good bag. Indeed La Turbie was to be Eze over again. The two gentle traitors, having hidden their men near by, advanced to the gate of the town as the night was falling. Unhappily for them the governor had been secretly warned of their coming and of their methods for helping their fellow countrymen. The result was that they were received, not with gratitude, but with bullets and stones. They fled and, as it was dark, made good their escape. The Bastard of Gorbio took refuge in a church. There he was found and seized by two brave priests, Gianfret Mossen of Eze and Marcellino Mossen of Villefranche. Gaspard de Cais hid in a cave. He also was discovered and arrested. Very probably his colleague from Gorbio revealed his hiding place to those who were in pursuit. Anyhow these two snivelling ruffians were both marched off to the Castle at Nice where they were tried for high treason, convicted and sentenced to death. ^ According to one account Gaspard was drawn and quartered and the Bastard of Gorbio was hanged; while 1 " Mentone," by Dr. George Muller, London, 1910. Durante's " History of Nice," Vol. 2, p. 313. 133 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road another record states that De Cais was broken on the wheel and that his friend committed suicide in his cell. It matters little which account is true. They both came to a fitting end and passed out into the darkness with the curses of their countrymen ringing in their ears. With the sacking and massacre of 1543 the story of Eze comes to an end. It ceased to be a town to reckon with, to be cajoled or threatened, to be bought or sold. It became a place of no account and has remained humble and unhonoured ever since. The walls were not restored, the fortifications were not remade and the castle was allowed to crumble into dust. He who was Lord of Eze was lord over a hollow heap of tainted ruins and his title was as much a shadow as was his town. The new Eze, which in course of time came into being, had its foundations set upon the ruins of 1543. The castle appears to have been more completely dis- mantled in 1604. On February 23rd, 1887, the earth- quake which destroyed Castillon — a place singularly like Eze in its position — did some damage to the hapless town and also to its castle. But it would seem as if the forces of both heaven and earth were conspiring to rid the world of this battered and ill-omened house, for in the terrific storm of May, 1887, its remaining walls were so split by lightning that the arrogant old stronghold was reduced to the mean condition in which it is found to-day. 134 <0> tis. i_ i • ■- 1 f ^ .«-» * A STREET IN EZE. XVII THE TOWN THAT CANNOT FORGET AMID the deep valleys and the titanic ridges of bare rock which slope down to the sea from the Alps stands Eze. It stands alone in a scene of wild disorder. From a huge gash in the flank of the earth, lined with trees as with grass, rises a pinnacle of rock, a solitary isolated bare pinnacle, 980 feet high, with sides sheer as a wall. It rises, clear and grey, out of the abyss and on its summit is Eze. It seems as if some fearful power had lifted the town aloft for safety; while, to compare the stupendous with the trivial, it tops the cone like a tee-ed ball. The most impressive view of Eze is obtained from the road that leads from La Turbie to Cap d'Ail, at about the time of the setting of the sun. It is then seen from afar as a tiny town on a crag among a tumbled mass of mountains which lie deep in shade. It is the only sign of human habitation in the waste. The sun shines full upon it. Against the dark background of pines it appears as a brilliant object in silver grey. Its houses, its church and its castle are as clean cut as a many-pointed piece of plate lying upon folds of dark green velvet. No visible road leads to it. It looks unreal, like a town in an allegory, such a town as Christian saw in the Pilgrim's 135 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Progress, such a little city as is graved upon the back- ground of an old print by Albert Diirer. Eze is approached only from the north, from the side towards the Corniche Road. Viewed from this nearer point it suggests a small Mont St. Michel rising out of the land instead of the sea. The town seems a part of the rock. It is not at once apparent where the rock ends and the dwellings begin, for they are all of the same tint and substance. It is easy, from the highroad, to pass the town by without perceiving it, for its " pro- tective colouring " is so perfect and its camouflage so apt that it may be taken for the notched summit of the rock itself. A closer inspection shows walls dotted with dark apertures. These are windows ; but they suggest the black nest-holes that sand-martins make on the face of a cliff. There are faint touches of colour too, a heap of rust-tinted roofs, a grey church tower, a splash of red to mark the nave, the brown ruin of a castle like a broken and jagged pot, a tiny ledge of green with a line of white stones to mark the burying place. A zigzag path mounts up to an arched gateway in the face of the wall. It is the only entrance into Eze. This portal will admit a laden mule or a hand-cart but not a carriage; for no "vehicle" can find admittance into this exclusive town. A curve of smoke alone shows that it is inhabited. In the distance is the blue Mediter- ranean lying in the sun. Before entering Eze it is well to remember that it is an ancient place in the last stages of decrepitude and decay and that it has had a terrible history and centuries of sorrow. It is poor, half empty and partly ruinous. 136 The Town that Cannot Forget Those who expect to find a mediaeval fortress will be disappointed since its houses differ but little from such as exist in many an old neighbouring town ; while those who are unaware of its past may adopt the expression of a tourist I met, leaving the rock, who informed his friend — as a piece of considered criticism — that Eze was " a rotten hole." Such a man would, no doubt, describe Jerusalem also as '* a rotten hole." The gate of Eze — the Moor's Gate as it is still called — is supported by a double tower with evil-looking loop- holes. It is very old and very w^orn. Its machicolations are covered with ferns which make its harsh front almost tender. Within this entry is another gate and a second tower upon which is a commonplace house reached by a flight of steps. Here we stand in an ancient feudal fortress. Here is the station of the guard and here has taken place such hand-to-hand fighting and such slaughter of men as should make the walls shudder to all eternity. It was here that the stand was made by the faithful garrison when the last siege of Eze took place, the siege led by Barbarossa in 1543. It was at this very gate that the traitor Gaspard de Cais parleyed with the governor. Within the second gate is a platform for the inner guard, from the ramparts of which one can look down into the chasm from which Eze arises and judge of the formidable position of the place. The streets of Eze are mediaeval in arrangement being mere alleys — each as narrow as a trench — between the houses. They are paved with cobble stones at the sides and with red bricks in the centre and are lit — such is the anomaly — by electric light. These lanes wander about in an uneasy and disconsolate way. They sometimes 137 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road mount upwards; they sometimes glide down as if un- decided. They dip under houses through black, vaulted ways : they lead to stone stairs that disappear round a corner : they turn warily to the right and then to the left, as if someone followed. There comes upon the visitor the sense of being lost, of wandering in a nightmare town, of being entrapped in a maze, of never being able to get out again. They are dreadful streets for an ambush and there is many a corner where an assassin in a cloak must assuredly have waited for the unsuspecting step. They are full of ghosts, of reeling, bellowing men rolling down the steep arm in arm, of half- awakened soldiers, buckling on their arms and hurrying to the clamour at the gate, of clinging, terror-stricken women and of the stalwart prince with his solemn guard. As to the place itself it is a town, tumbled and de- ranged, made up of rocks and ruins and of melancholy houses of great age. It is a sorrowful town, for Eze is oppressed by the burden of a doleful past and bears on every side traces of its woes and evidences of its mani- fold disasters. It is a town, it would seem, that can never forget. It is a silent town and desolate. On the occasion of a certain visit the only occupant I came upon was a half-demented beggar who gibbered in an unknown tongue, while the only sound that fell upon the ear was that of a crowing cock. Many of the houses are shuttered close, many are roofless and not a few are without doors. It recalls at every turn the words of Dante of "the steep stairs and the bitter bread." It is a colourless town for there is nothing to break the ever abiding tint of oyster-shell grey. There are two 138 EZE: ON THE WAY TO THE CASTLE. EZE : ALL THAT REMAINS OF THE CASTLE, The Town that Cannot Forget trees in Eze and, in a back yard, a vine. With these exceptions there is hardly a green leaf within its confines. The only thing that grows in Eze is a monstrous and deformed cactus, a bloated and horrible thing covered with prickles. A botanical ogre rather than a plant it seems to be a survival from an extinct age and to belong to a world over whose plains saurians and other obscene reptiles crawled. This senile and unlovely shrub would appear to be appropriate in some way to the poor, sad town that cannot forget. There is by the way no water in Eze except such rain-water as is collected in tanks by the provident. To obtain water it is necessary to leave the town and journey to the bottom of the path. There, on the road where the carriage of the tourist draws up, is the fountain. Eze too is a place suggestive of craft and secret doings, a town which might have been planned by a man with a guilty conscience, for it is a veritable rabbit warren in which to burrow or to hide while its shuffling lanes, which dodge so cunningly, would seem to have been devised to favour the panting culprit with justice at his heels. Rock crops up everywhere. Certain buildings would seem to be compounded of the native rock below and of worked stones above. Caverns are cut out of the cliff as well as curious paths, although some of these now lead nowhere. There are no two buildings alike. Many may be only a hundred years old, but, in any case, they are incon- gruous dwellings with windows at odd levels and with doors in unexpected places. There are, on the other hand, buildings which show evidence of greater age and 139 The Riviera of the Corniche Road of much distinction. There are towers which have been converted into common habitations and relics of mansions of no httle pretence. On a few of these the corbels are still to be seen which once supported the balconies from which fair ladies scattered flowers upon victorious troops tramping up to the castle. There are many fine door- ways in stone. Some show traces of the Moorish taste, others belong to the thirteenth century, while a few dis- play the pointed arch of later years. There are some beautiful stone windows and many stoutly worked doors of wood and other odd details which recall a less squalid past. The lounger in the streets of Eze will meet with crypt-like and cavernous stables for goats, cellars open to the sky owing to collapse of the roof, and chilly tunnels without apparent purpose. One or two passages are wide and vaulted and provided with a long stone bench against the wall. Here, in the shadow, soldiers will have sat to clean their arms and old men to gossip. The public buildings are, of course, few. The Mairie is rather pretentiously humble and is the least authorita- tive building I have ever seen. The post office cUngs precariously to the side of a steep lane, the Rue du Brek, and looks out upon a wall of rock covered with cactus. It seems incongruous that from this half-unconscious place it is possible both to telegraph and telephone. There is a dejected cafe but it is closed. The church is of little interest. It was enlarged and restored — that is to say spoiled — in 1765. It contains, besides a font of the sixteenth century and an old cross, a painting ascribed to the seventeenth century in the left lower corner of which is a picture of Eze as it was. The castle in the picture is intact, is solid, square and arrogant 140 The Town that Cannot Forget looking. It quite overwhelms the jumbled-up little brown-red town at its foot. From the top of the tower floats a red flag with a white cross on it. The castle is on the highest point of the town and is reached by a path fashioned out of the rock. This is a path with indeed a story to tell, if only it could utter it; if it could but speak of the footsteps it has listened to — the halting feet of men led up to be judged, the trembling feet of men led down to be hanged, the heavy tread of the well-laden robber, the nervous step of the spy, the rustle of the foot of the damosel. Of this castle of the Lords of Eze nothing remains but a wall and a fragment of a vaulted chamber. In the castle yard is a wretched, shamefaced hut on which is painted " Bar des Touristes." It is happily derelict and a victim to the general coma which has spread over Eze, for it is as out of place as a roulette table in a nunnery. High up on the side of a house on the south of the town is a little old window. It has a rounded arch of weathered stone and is probably the oldest window in Eze, for it follows the mode that we in England call "Norman." It looks across the sea while on the sill is a bunch of scarlet geranium in a broken jar. I like to think that this is the window of Blacas, the troubadour, that he lived in this house on the cliff and that from this casement he poured forth his songs of love and of gallant deeds. A love song — as I have said — would seem strange in Eze in its old ruffian days. It may seem as strange even now. But love is eternal and so long as men and women walk the alleys of this ancient town it will hnger within its walls. All the fiercer passions of Eze have died away 141 The Riviera of the Corniche Road — the lust for power, the thirst for revenge, the mad fever for the fray — but love, it would seem, still remains as, possibly, its only heritage ; for I came upon a docu- ment in the Mairie that announced the coming marriage of two young people in Eze. It was not a troubadour's sonnet, it is true ; but it served to show that the old lanes near by may still be paths for lovers, that there are still steep places where he may help her down and still a parapet where the two may lean, gaze over the sea and dream. One walks down the path from the town as one would leave a chamber of death ; for Eze is slowly dying, dying like a doddering old man — once the captain of a host — who is breathing his last in a garret, with around him pathetic relics of his virile past and piteous evidences of his present poverty. 142 XVIII THE HARBOUR OF MONACO THE history of Monaco from its early days to the time when it came upon peace is a breathless story full of incident, clamour and surprise. It may not be unfitly compared to an account — from moment to moment — of the flights and rebuffs of a football in a long contested game. Now and again the bewildered ball is lost sight of in a melee of panting men. At another moment it rolls quietly into the open to be at once pounced upon by two furious packs. At times it is " out of bounds " and at peace, only to be thrown again into the fight where it is harried and battered and driven now to this quarter and now to that. Monaco was the ball in the fierce game between the Grimaldi, on the one side, and the powers of the Eastern Mediterranean on the other and in the end the Grimaldi won. Until about the end of the twelfth century Monaco was merely a lonely rock, almost inaccessible, uninhabited and waterless. Projecting as it does into the sea it afforded so good a shelter for ships that the little bay in its shadow became famous as a harbour of refuge. Fring- ing the bay was a pebble beach where a galley could be hauled up or a caravel unloaded. Monaco was known as a port in Roman days. Indeed it was from this unpretentious haven that Augustus Caesar 143 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road embarked for Genoa on his way to Rome when his vic- tories in southern Gaul had been accomplished. The departure of the Emperor was, no doubt, a scene of much pomp, made brilliant by many-coloured standards and flashing spears. As the Emperor stepped on board his ship the blare of trumpets and the shout of the troops drawn up on the plain must have been heard far beyond La Turbie. The boats of Greek and Phoenician traders have made for this harbour and have deposited their strange cargoes here to the amazement of gaping natives. Here in Monaco Bay wild Saracens have tumbled ashore with such unearthly shouts as to cause the sea birds on the rock to rise in one fluttering cloud. The beach too has been lit often enough by a camp fire around which a company of pirates would be drinking and singing, while they waited for the return of the marauding party that had left at dawn. Although the harbour was often alive with men the rock remained untenanted. I should imagine that the first adventurer to set foot on Monaco would be a Phoenician cabin boy. He would climb the cliff and gaining the summit would explore it with all the curiosity and alert imagination of a boy landed on a desert island. It is said that in 1078 two pious men, who lived at La Turbie, built on Monaco a tiny chapel to St. Mary. They built it with their own hands and employed, in the making, stones from the Roman monument in their native town. If this be true the only building that for a hun- dred years stood upon this barren plateau was the child-like chapel, a speck of white on the dark expanse of rock. 144 o u < z o OS < Z -J < Q U The Harbour of Monaco In 1191 the Emperor Henry VI granted Monaco to the wealthy and prosperous town of Genoa. The Emperor's rights over this fragment of territory might be questioned, but there was none to gainsay him. His gift was coupled with the requirement that a fortress should be built on Monaco which should be ready to serve the Emperor in his wars with the pestilential people of Marseilles and of other towns in Provence. In the same year an official party of noble Genoese came to Monaco and formally took possession of the place in the name of their city. It was a solemn occasion ; for those who represented Genoa made a ceremonial tour of the rock, carrying olive boughs in their hands. It was, moreover, a trying occasion for the visit was made in the stifling month of June. Some of the noble commissioners who were stout and advanced in years (as commissioners often are) must have been hauled, dragged and pushed up the cliff side, like so many bulky packages. Burdened as they were ,with official robes and olive branches, which had to be carried with decorum, they would have found the ceremony very exacting. They did more than merely stumble about on the top of the rock, panting and perspiring and trying to look official under sweltering con- ditions. They laid down the lines of a fort. It was to be a square fort and very large, with a tower at each of the four angles, and it was to be designed in the Moorish style. This fort or castle was erected in the year 1215 on the site of the present palace and was provided with a garrison by the Genoese. Outside the fort the rudiments of a town appeared — the first huts and houses of Monaco. That K 145 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road town, therefore, has already passed the seven hundredth anniversary of its foundation. The harbour of Monaco of to-day is a model harbour as perfect as the art of the engineer can make it. Two stone piers guard the entrance and at the end of each is a lighthouse. There are two wide quays where feluccas and other rakish-looking ships land barrels of wine ; while the basin itself can accommodate a fleet of yachts. This haven which has sheltered the very earhest forms of sea-going ship now shelters — during the regatta season — ^the latest development of the motor boat and the racing launch. History repeats itself. There was amazement at Monaco when the first hydroplane dropped on to the water by the harbour's mouth : there was amazement also, centuries ago, when the loungers about the beach saw enter the new ship, the astounding vessel that was propelled not by paddles or oars, but by sails. Above the pebble beach is a modest promenade and a road — the main road to Nice. On the other side of the highway are genial hotels where people lunch and dine out of doors, amid a profusion of white tablecloths and green chairs and where the menu of the day is suspended from the railings. At the far end of this Boulevard de la Condamine are an avenue of trees and the old Etablissement des Bains de Mer which, even as late as Hare's time, was ' ' much frequented in summer. ' ' The Etablissement is now little more than a ghost. The sound of its gaiety has long since been hushed into silence. There is a somewhat frivolous-looking building by the water's edge which has a rounded glass front and some suggestion that it may once have been a palace of delight. It has now 146 The Harbour of Monaco fallen into a state of decrepitude and shabbiness and is given up to quite commonplace commercial uses. It is like a dandy in extreme old age who, dressed in the thread- bare clothes which were the fashion a generation ago, still sits on a parade which once was rustling with happy people and which is now as sombre as a cemetery lane. Opening on to the margin of the harbour is a great gorge, a sudden breach in the earth which serves to separate the sober town of Monaco from the frivolous town of Monte Carlo. It is a strange thing — this ravine. It is deep and full of shadows. Its walls, lit by the sun, are sheer precipices of biscuit-coloured rock, tinted faintly with red as with rust. From every crack and cranny on its towering sides something green is bursting ; while, here and there, a flower, yellow or blue, clings to a ledge like a perching bird. From the balustrade of a garden on its summit there hang festoons of scarlet geraniums and a curtain of blue heliotrope. Along the bottom of the chasm runs a fussy stream, with a noise like that of many flutes and by its side — among a jumble of rocks, bushes and brambles — an inconsequent path creeps up, out of pure curiosity, since it leads nowhere. This ravine, as wild and savage as it was a thousand years ago, is a strange thing to find in the middle of a town, for houses crowd about it on either side and press so far forward on its heights that they appear likely to topple into the abyss. A huge railway viaduct crosses its entrance, while its floor slopes to a road where motors and tramcars rattle along, without heed to this quiet nook in the mountain side. It is as incongruous and out of place as a green meadow with buttercups and 147 The Riviera of the Corniche Road cows spread out by the side of the blatant traflfic of Fleet Street. There are other anomalies about this Ravin des Gaumates. It is so reckless-looking and so theatrical a chasm that one is convinced that duels have been fought here and that here conspirators in cloaks have met, and buccaneers have stored their surprising spoils. At the present day, however, the sea rover's camp is occupied by a laundry shed, where unemotional women, with red arms and untidy heads, are busy ; and where, in the place of brigands' loot, sheets are spread upon the rocks to dry, together with white articles of underclothing. At the mouth of the gorge — standing quite alone — is the little chapel of St. Devote. It is a humble church, modern, plain as a peasant, and of no intrinsic interest. It is notable only in its position. The building seems to be as surprised at the place in which it finds itself as is the visitor who finds it there. Possibly no more strangely situated house of prayer exists in Europe. Behind it is a wild, disorderly glen ; on each side is a precipice and in front is a gigantic railway viaduct of such immoderate proportions that it towers above the very steeple of the church. The building viewed from the road where the tram- cars run looks like a small shrinking figure enshrined in a niche provided by a vulgar, overbearing and irreverent railway arch. St. Devote is the patron saint of Monaco. The cele- bration held every year in her honour is very picturesque and impressive ; for then a long procession winds down from Monaco to the little chapel to do homage to her memory. The legend of St. Devote takes many forms. 148 o u < z o The Harbour of Monaco The version here given is that which appears to be generally accepted in Monaco.^ In the reign of the Emperor Diocletian there lived in Corsica a Christian maiden whose name was Devote. She was bitterly persecuted for her religion ; but found a friend in Euticius, a senator, who concealed her in his house. Her hiding place was discovered by the Roman prefect who was engaged in the hunting down of Christians. Euticius was killed by poison. Devote was dragged forth into the street, was mutilated with the utmost brutality and finally expired while undergoing the torture of the '* chevalet." She died praying for the soul of her friend and protector, the noble Euticius. During the night the body of the martyr was carried down secretly to the seashore by her fellow Christians and placed, with solemn reverence, on board a ship. As the day dawned the ship set sail for the coast of Africa ; but, after a while, a storm burst upon it and drove it, helpless and hopeless, before a fierce wind towards the shores of Gaul. The captain — one Gratien — felt that the ship was lost. His strength was spent and he gave way to utter despair. As he clung wearily to the helm, dazed and exhausted, a vision of the dead maiden appeared before him as a small, white figure against a curtain of black cloud. She opened her mouth to speak. "Up! Gratien," she said, "the tempest is passing away ; your ship will sail safely into the blue. Watch by me and when you see a dove fly forth from my mouth, follow it with a good heart. It will take you to a quiet haven, called in the Greek, Monaco, and in * " Monaco et ses Princes," par Henri Metivier, 1862. 149 The Riviera of the Corniche Road the Latin, Singulare. There you will find peace and there, by the beach, bury my body." Her words came true. The wind ceased ; the savage waves dropped into a rippled calm and under an azure sky, made glorious by the sun, the battered boat — bearing the wan maiden on its deck — sailed, like a radiant thing, into a harbour of enchantment. At the mouth of the glen, where the rosemary grew and by the side of the laughing stream the body of the little maid was buried. 150 XIX THE ROCK OF MONACO MONACO is a bold, assertive mass of rock — long, narrow and blunt — which thrusts itself out into the sea, as if to show that it held the ocean in contempt and cared nothing for either winds or waves. The sea has tried its strength against it since the world began, but Monaco has ever remained bland and in- different. The rock is cut off from the mainland by a gorge through which the road to Nice slinks by as if glad to escape. The sides of Monaco are everywhere precipitous, except towards the east. It is from this side only that it can be approached. Its fortifications are very massive and consist of high, unbroken walls which cover the cliff from base to rampart like a cloak. The palace end of the rock has, indeed, the appearance of one gigantic keep. The walls which surround the palace gardens date from 1552 to 1560, while the fortifications that surmount the Rampe belong to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The flanks of Monaco, when neither sheer cliff nor iron wall, are covered with lavish green, for there is not a ledge nor a slope nor a cranny that does not lodge some flower or some shrub. Access to the town is gained by the Rampe Major, a broad and steep, paved path which has been, in large part, hewn out of the side of the rock. Up and down 151 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road this path there is an endless procession of townfolk and harbour folk, soldiers and priests, schoolboys and girls, hurried officials and gaping visitors. Below the Rampe lies a carriage road up to the town, traversed by a tram line. This way, the Avenue de la Porte Neuve was con- structed in 1828. Before that date Monaco could only be reached on foot or on horseback. Three gates are met with in ascending the Rampe. The first is a ceremonial gate rather than a defence work. It was built in 1714 and affects a faintly classical style, being fashioned of narrow bricks and white stone. The Rampe beyond bends upon itself and, skirting a platform surmounted by a sentry tower as yellow as old parch- ment, comes face to face with the great battery (now bricked up) which stands at the foot of the palace walls. It can be seen how perfectly this gun emplacement com- manded not only the Rampe but also the entrance to the harbour. On the east side of the battery is an immense military work in the form of a rounded buttress, very like the fold of a hanging curtain turned to stone. This is the oreillon which served to mask the battery from the land side. Below the battery the Rampe turns again upon itself and so reaches the second gate. It is a gate in white stone, frail and ghostlike, and inscribed with the date 1533. Beyond it was the drawbridge. Here the Rampe bends sharply in its course for the third time and passes through the main gateway by a vaulted passage of great solidity. This was the famous Mirador or post of the guard. The Rampe now ends in a bald square with the palace on one side and the town on the other. On the 152 The Rock of Monaco remaining sides of the square are only a parapet and the winds of heaven. There are trees and seats in the square, for it is a place for idleness where old women knit and young women sew, where children play and ancients ruminate. There are cannon in the square pointing towards innocent Cap d'Ail. They were presented to the reigning prince of the time by Louis XIV. They are quite innocuous, but serve to remind the careless that the place is a strong- hold and to provide a plaything for small boys who — with the happy imagination of the young — regard these implements of war as horses (or more probably as donkeys), sit astride of them, strike them with whips and urge them to " get up." The palace covers the whole of the northern extremity of the rock. It is disappointing in that it fails to realise the emotional past of the place, its dramatic and pic- turesque history, the dire assaults and bloody frays without its gates, the tragedies within its walls. It has been so mutilated in the past and so improved and modernised in the present that it has become inexpres- sive. The strong, rigid lines, the grim wrinkles, the determined frown have been so smoothed away that the face has become vacuous. The new clock tower and the rows of modern windows do not recall the stern halberdier who held the place against all odds, nor the bull-necked men in armour who yelled damnation to the Genoese. The battlements are more suited for the display of flowers than for a line of determined faces under steel caps glaring along the barrels of their muskets. As the official residence of a prince it is becoming and appro- 153 The Riviera of the Corniche Road priate, but it is not that palace on a rock that bid defiance to the world for flaming centuries. Monaco has a great and a glorious history, but it is not written on the walls of the palace of to-day. By the generosity of the prince the palace is thrown open to visitors on certain days but it presents little that is of interest. It has been so ruthlessly treated in days gone by and subjected to such base uses that there is little left to recall the stirring days of the old Grimaldi. In, or about, 1842 the palace was completely restored, so that it assumes now all the characters of a modern structure. It is of little concern to know that the south wing was built in this century or the north wing in that, since the traces of age have been nearly all removed. A full account of the lines of the palace, both old and new, is given in M. Urbain Bosio's excellent treatise " Le Vieux Monaco." ^ Between the gate that leads from the Rampe and the gate of the palace itself is a curved wall, with machicolations of an unusual type. This wall (now much restored) is said to date from the fourteenth century and behind it was the hall for the main guard. The palace is entered by a fine gateway bearing the Grimaldi arms and erected in 1672. It leads into a court which is rather bare and cold. Here is to be found a double staircase of marble which is a little out of keep- ing with its surroundings. There are frescoes in the arcades which line the court, but they have been recently and rather crudely restored. The little chapel at the north end of this Cour d^Honneur is simple and dignified and in a modest way beautiful. It was built in 1656 and restored in 1884. The long range of reception rooms, 1 Published in Nice, 1907. The Rock of Monaco with their lavish gilt decorations and their florid frescoes, fulfil the average conception of " royal apartments." There are a few pictures of interest but none of especial worth. There is an old renaissance chimney-piece of carved stone which is, however, memorable. The garden is very fascinating with its deep shade, its solemn paths, its palm trees and its little orange grove. In one comer of the garden are the ruins of an old defence work which surmounts the northern wall and which may claim to be part of the palace in its fighting days. Behind the chapel is an ancient tower with battle- ments of a forgotten type upon its summit. It is square and plain and covered with ivy upon one side. It has no windows, but presents a few square openings, about 18 inches in width, which are the sowpiraux which alone admitted light and air into the interior. This tower is the only substantial part of the original palace that is left and is said to date from 1215. According to M. Bosio^ it has two stories above the ground floor. On each story is a single room lit and ventilated solely by means of the small, square vents {sowpiraux) already mentioned. He states that these two rooms were used as prisons and that on the walls are to be seen names cut in both Italian and in Spanish. The Italian would pertain to the time of the wars of the Guelphs and Ghibellines and the Spanish to the period of the Spanish occupation (1549-1641). On the other side of the square and directly facing the palace is a large official building known, at one time, as the House of the Governor. It has seen many changes. 1 " Le Vieux Monaco." 155 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road It was the headquarters of the Revolutionists during the Terror. On the restoration of the Grinialdi it became the seat of the Civil Tribunal and of the schools. It later was occupied as a large hotel and cafe and finally by the Gambling Rooms pending the completion of a casino at Monte Carlo in 1860.^ On the west side of the square is the Promenade Ste. Barbe, so called after the chapel of Sainte Barbe which stood here. The chapel has been converted into a dwelling house, but its door still stands and over the portal are still the initials S.B. By no little ingenuity this entry has been converted into a shop for the sale of picture postcards. The town is pleasant, clean and orderly. It has the aspect of a place of much content. Its few streets are parallel and follow the line of the rock. They are narrow, so narrow, indeed, that the notice at the entrance of the Rue des Briques to the effect that no motors are admitted would seem to be an official jest based upon the more ancient estimate of the camel and the eye of the needle. There are some picturesque houses and fragments of old buildings in the town. In the Rue du Milieu are certain beautifully carved doorways in stone of the seventeenth century or earlier. The winter visitor is apt to pity the Monegasques for their narrow streets which keep out the life-giving sun. When the mistral blows he has less contempt for the sheltering lane and as the end of May is reached — when the sun is shunned as if it were mustard gas — he bolts across the square, like a man under fire, and diving into the cool, dim ways of Monaco thanks his creator for the blessing of shade. * The present Casino at Monte Carlo was built in 1878. 156 MONACO : THE SENTRY TOWER ON THE RAMPE. '•^* MONACO : THE DRAWBRIDGE GATE, 1533. The Rock of Monaco The old church of St. Nicolas has been replaced by a new cathedral which was completed in 1897 and professes to be in the Romanesque-Byzantine style. This cathedral is, no doubt, a worthy example of modern art, but the building is so immense, so glaring and so ornate that it is quite out of touch with the humble little dun-coloured town. It is as inappropriate as would be the Albert Memorial if found by the duck-pond of a village green. The old church was a loss to Monaco much to be deplored. It dated from the twelfth century, was in the form of a Latin cross and contained a number of curious chapels. It was composed largely of stone from the monument at La Turbie. M. Bosio describes it fully in his work and adds that its disappearance is very regrettable from the point of view of art. Near the cathedral are two admirable museums, little as they may be expected on this war-battered rock. One is devoted to anthropology and the other to oceanography. They were instituted by the present prince whose attainments as a man of science are known the world over. Immediately opposite to the cathedral is the old Hotel de Ville or Maison Commune. It is a simple building of two stories, the door of which on the upper floor is approached by a double staircase ending in a modest balcony. It was constructed in 1660 and is, in spite of its simplicity, the most charming house in Monaco. The lower floor — M. Bosio states — was used for the storing of corn and meal for the people in times of siege, while the upper and more dignified rooms were the offices of the mayors, echevins or consuls. 157 The Riviera of the Corniche Road Opposite the side door of the cathedral is the Rue des Carmes. It was so called because it contained a figure of the Madonna of Mount Carmel. " On the eve of the fete of Notre Dame du Mont-Carmel the old Monegasques surrounded this hallowed figure with flowers and lighted candles and sang hymns before it."^ The place of this figure is indicated by a painting of the Madonna of Mount Carmel on a wall of one of the houses. The Rue des Briques is worth following to the end. It leads to the Mairie — a modern building of no interest — but just beyond the Mairie, on the right side of the road, is a humble-looking old house with a wide, round-arched doorway and square windows fitted with grilles. This was the Mint where money was struck when the Princi- pality of Monaco had its own coinage. The use of the Mint appears to have been abandoned about 1840, although the currency of Monaco was not abolished until some years after. A little farther down the street, and still on the right hand side of the way, is a long wall. This shuts in the famous Giardinetto or Little Garden. It belonged to a house built by Charlotte de Grammont, wife of Prince Louis I, who left the Court of France and retired to Monaco in order to be near her daughter, who had taken the veil in the convent adjoining. This convent — the Convent of the Visitation — is a large, yellow, barrack-like building which occupies one side of the Place de la Visita- tion, having on the other side the Hotel du Gouvernment. The convent was founded by Charlotte de Grammont in the middle of the seventeenth century and here her heart is buried. On the chapel — which is singularly plain — ^ Bosio. "Le Vieux Monaco." 158 The Rock of Monaco is an inscription to note that it was built in 1663 and restored in 1870. The south-eastern extremity of the rock is occupied by the gardens of St. Martin, which were designed by Prince Honore V in 1816 to give employment to the people during a year of dearth. These gardens are most enchanting. They occupy the edge of the cliff and even climb some little way down the side of the cliff by hesi- tating paths. They are represented by a maze of shady walks with, here and there, a terrace overhanging the sea or a sheltered look-out on a point of rock. It is a wild garden partly tamed, a wilderness where every path is made smooth. Its vegetation is partly Italian, partly African. Here are pine trees, olives and palms, with prickly pear, aloes and agave, pepper trees and mimosa, eucalyptus and the mastic bush, jasmine and myrtle, hedges of choisya, banks of rosemary, beds of violets and cascades of scarlet geranium. Below at the foot of the glowing cliff is the cool purple of the sea with a fringe of white foam to show where the rock and the waters meet. Just beyond the Oceanographic Museum is a wide, paved platform on the brink of the cliff with parapet and sentry house. Beneath it is the Great Casemate built about 1709 to provide shelter for the people during bom- bardment and to accommodate a cistern for the storing of water when the outer world was cut off. This great underground " dug-out " is now used as a prison. At the end of the garden is the rugged old fort built by Prince Antoine over 200 years ago. It is looking towards the casino of Monte Carlo, just as a toothless, old brigand might look at a dancing girl. It is a romantic 159 The Riviera of the Corniche Road spot with its winding stairs, its great gun embrasures, its mysterious doorways and its deserted sentry walk. It no longer bristles with armed men ; it no longer thunders, with flashes of flame, across the sea ; it no longer awakens an echo that shakes the astonished hills ; for it is now a kind of " Celia's Arbour," a place of whispers where lovers meet and ruffle the silence with nothing more unquiet than a sigh. 1 60 XX A FATEFUL CHRISTMAS EVE NOT many years after the building of the citadel or fort in 1215 (page 145) Monaco became involved in the war between the Guelphs and the Ghibel- lines. The Guelphs were represented by the Grimaldi, the Ghibellines by the Spinola. Each party twice be- sieged the other, when entrenched within the citadel, and each was twice supplanted by its opponents. Indeed such were the changes that a ship returning to Monaco after a voyage of no more than a month or so did well to inquire, before entering the harbour, whether the rock was in the hands of the Grimaldi or the Spinola. In 1306 the Ghibellines, or Genoese, held Monaco and felt sure of their holding, for they had long remained undisturbed. They were represented by the head of the Spinola family who had taken up his residence in the citadel or, as it would by this time be termed, the palace. On Christmas Eve 1306 a small party of men left Nice after sundown and made their way to Monaco by way of certain paths across the hills. It was not a conspicuous party, being formed only of a few armed men and a monk. They would be taken for a body of retainers moving from one castle to another. It might have been observed that they treated the monk with great respect and deference. He himself was not notable, except that L i6i The Riviera of the Corniche Road he was an agile and powerful man and that he seemed rather more hilarious than is becoming to a priest. When they reached Monaco the night was at its darkest, the harbour deserted and the rock merely a tower- ing black mass. They then did a curious thing. Without a word they parted. The armed men crept along the foot of the cliff and were at once lost to sight. The monk, left alone, sat down by the water's edge and listened. He was listening for the sound of a church bell. It would be the bell of St. Nicolas in Monaco rung to announce the midnight Mass. As he waited he drew something from the folds of his gown. It was not a rosary nor a crucifix. It was a dagger with a long blade which he fingered affectionately. When the first sound of the bell rang over the sea he rose and commenced to ascend the steep path which led to the gate of the town. He walked with his head bowed and with leisurely steps. His habit was that of the Priory of St. Devote, the little church which looked across the harbour. Any who went by passed him unnoticed. If he stumbled on the path in the dark he swore which is unusual among men of his cloth. Before the gate was the sentinel, who recognising the garb of the priest, merely inclined his head with a gesture of respect. The monk responded by commending him to God. Before long this guardian of the gate had need of that commendation. The monk, apparently deep in thought, passed through the courtyard occupied by the guard. They were sitting around a small fire on the ground and were playing at minchiate or tresetti or some such game of cards. He walked on unchallenged and entered the great square before the palace. He drew a sigh of rehef. It 162 U < < X H O U < z o A Fateful Christmas Eve might have implied reHef at having reached the top of a steep hill. It might have implied more. He turned to the left and, walking with the solemn step, appropriate to a priest going to Mass, entered one of the narrow streets of the town that led to the church. There were lights in some upper windows and people were leaving their houses to attend the evening service. When he came upon the last cross street he turned down it. It led not to the church but to the ramparts. On reaching the ramparts his manner suddenly changed ; he became intensely alert. He leaned eagerly over the wall and whistled. A response came out of the black shadows into which he gazed. His friends from Nice had kept their tryst. How these armed men got over the wall into the town is not known. Very possibly the monk had a rope concealed under his habit. In a few moments all his followers were around him. The bell of the church had ceased to toll and the celebra- tion of the Mass had begun. There was now no need for further disguise. The party rushed back through the very street that the monk had traversed. They may have passed a belated worshipper on his way to St. Nicolas who, as they tore by, would fall back against the wall. They pressed on, headed by the monk, who had now a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. On gaining the square a few of the party turned to the main gate. The soldiers of the guard were still busy at their game of cards and were butchered as they sat. The assault was so sudden that the man with the winning "hand" fell back dead, with the cards still in his grip, spread out from his thumb fan-like, but so spattered with blood that they looked all red. The sentinel, who had 163 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road been commended to Gk)d, was stabbed in the back as he stood and so passed out of the world .without knowing how he had come to leave it. The monk and the rest of the company made for the palace. The men at the open door, who were drowsily awaiting the return of the Spinola from St. Nicolas, were cut down as if by a blast of deadly wind and so the citadel was won. Those within had no time to arm. They were killed or made prisoners according to the attitude they assumed. In the great hall lolled the Master of the House who, dozing in a chair, was thunderstruck to see a body of violent men, headed by a monk, dash in through the door. Jumping up he could only call out to the advancing priest, *'In the name of Heaven who are you?" and tremble as the answer came, *'I am Francis Grimaldi." The Spinola who were in the church at the time of the attack managed to reach the harbour and escaped in their galleys to Genoa. ^ It was thus that the great family of Grimaldi obtained a final hold upon Monaco and it was by reason of what happened on this Christmas Eve that the figure of a monk with a sword appears upon their coat of arms. From this period, with the exception of an interval of eleven years, 1327-1338,2 Monaco has remained in the hands of the Grimaldi who can thus claim to have been masters of the stout little territory for no less than six hundred years. Francis Grimaldi — often spoken of as Francis the Crafty — was killed in a fight in 1309. » " Monaco et ses Princes," by H. Mdtivier, 1862, Vol. 1. » Between these dates the Spinola were again in possession of the rock. 164 XXI CHARLES THE SEAMAN IT is needless, and indeed impossible within the limits of this book, to follow the history of the long line of adventurous men who were in turn Lords of Monaco. They lived through years of trouble and un- rest with varying fortune. They fought and schemed with varying success. They mounted high and circled far. They came near to be draggled in the dust and yet through all vicissitudes, through storm and calm, they kept the red and white flag of the Grimaldi afloat over the tower of Monaco. One of the most brilliant holders of the seigneurie of Monaco was Carlo I, otherwise known as Charles the Seaman. He was a restless and violent man, as wild as a hawk, with an ambition as boundless as his daring and with an ability of mind which raised him to the position of a great power on the seas. He began by choosing a wife from the family of his direst enemy; for he married Lucinetta Spinola. The marriage, so far as the records tell, was fortunate and Lucinetta bore him six children. The great purpose of his life was to make Monaco a naval power and in this aim he succeeded, for by his indomitable energy he raised the Monegasque fleet to a position of high rank not only in the Mediterranean but 165 The Riviera of the Corniche Road in the remoter waters of Europe. Although the harbour at his command was small he was able, on one occasion, to collect a fleet of no fewer than thirty galleys and a force of ten thousand men-at-arms. He devoted his fleet, in the first instance, to advance the prestige of Monaco, to consolidate his territory and to expand his commerce. When these needs were satis- fied he went further afield. He was a free lance and was prepared to offer his services to any prince who was in need of help and was prepared to pay liberally for his assistance. Indeed when any war, large or small, was impending it was desirable, as a preliminary, to secure the strong arm of Charles the Seaman. He was in- different as to the merits of the quarrel or as to the side on which he served so long as he saw his way to make a good thing out of it. He began his fighting career in a quite modest fashion in the year 1831. The Catalans, being unfortun- ately not aware of the character of the Lord of Monaco, had the audacity to make a blundering attack upon that citadel. Carlo fell upon them, scattered them, drove them back panic-stricken and, dashing after them, sacked their town of Barcelona as a warning not to meddle with the Grimaldi again. Having a fine fleet and a period of leisure he now turned his forces against his old enemies, the Genoese, harried them without mercy and blockaded their city. He was doing well and likely to do better when war broke out between France and England, between Philip of Valois on one side and Edward III on the other. Philip at once sent to Monaco to beg the help — on terms — of Carlo against the English. The invitation was too attrac- i66 Charles the Seaman tive to be ignored ; so the fleet of Monaco turned west- ward and set sail for the remote and almost unknown island of England. It was a venture of no little peril. The Gulf of Lyons and the Bay of Biscay are not to the liking of seamen even at the present day, and to cross these wastes of water in mere galleys was a venture that needed a stout heart — such a heart as that of Carlo Grimaldi. The Monegasque fleet, having joined with that of France, came up with the EngUsh off the Channel Islands. A sea battle followed in which Carlo and the French, aided very opportunely by a storm, defeated the naval forces of England. This was in the year 1343. Charles the Seaman gained from this expedition not only glory but profit ; for he received from Philip a very sub- stantial recompense in money as well as certain rights to trade in the Mediterranean which brought consider- able additions to his treasury. Having disposed of the English navy Grimaldi's services were no longer needed by the French; so he returned to Monaco to resume his interrupted fight with the Genoese. Fighting with the Genoese had become a habit with the Lords of Monaco, an abiding passion, a kind of disorder which would be described as chronic. Carlo was getting on extremely well, was doing great damage to Genoa and inflicting still more gratifying injury upon her fleet, when once more the King of France called for his aid and this time gave the order — as a contractor would express it — for an expeditionary force. This force was to be employed in France in fighting the English. It appears to have been a joint force of 167 The Riviera of the Gorniche Road Genoese and Monegasque under the combined command of Carlo Grimaldi and a Doria of Genoa. The force arrived on the scene of action too late. Edward III of England had already ravaged the coast of France and had advanced to within a few miles of Paris. The battle of Crecy followed. The Genoese — as every schoolboy will remember — wearied by forced marches, were sent to the front by the French king. There had been a storm of rain and, having no cases for their bows, the catgut that strung them was rendered soft and useless. The men — thus hampered — were un- able to withstand the English archers and began to re- treat. The king, seeing them waver, ordered his own troops to set upon them. " Or tot,'' cried he, " tuez toute cette ribandaille, car ils nous empechant la voie sans raison." A general rout followed and the victory of the English was complete. The battle was fought on August 26th, 1346. Both Doria and Grimaldi were wounded, but whether by the English archers or the French pike- men, is unknown. In spite of his wounds Carlo hastened to Calais which was hard pressed by the English. His efforts, however, availed nothing and Calais fell. Carlo Grimaldi, having completed his engagement, returned to Monaco. Neither he nor his navy could be long idle. There was always lucrative work for them somewhere, together with substantial pay and good prospects of loot. Thus we find him fighting Greeks and Venetians, going to the assistance of Don Jayme 11 of Majorca in his war with Pierre IV of Aragon, and, later on, fighting on the side of this same Pierre of Aragon against the Moors of Gibraltar. This last-named expedition was in 1349. i68 .J M Q J H