A Book of The Riviera

The great square at Nice is called after Masséna, but another square bears a far more reputable name – that of Garibaldi, who was also a native of Nice, born there on July 4th, 1807.

General Marceau’s ashes rested for some years at Nice. He fell near Coblenz in 1796, and his body was burnt and transported, as he had desired, to Nice, to lie beside the body of his sister Emma, when it should be her time to depart this life. She died at the age of eighty-one in 1834, and was laid beside the ashes of her brother. Marceau had never been shown the smallest token of love by his mother, and he had been brought up by his sister, to whom he was devotedly attached. His last words were: “Je ne regrette qu’elle. Je lui dois ce que je puis valoir.”

It is a pity that his wishes were so far disregarded that in 1889 his remains were disinterred and transferred to the Panthéon, at Paris.

Nice has produced a poet, the Jasmin of this part of Provence; his name is Rancher, and he was born in 1785, on July 20th, two months before due; he was so small that a bon-bon box was extemporised as his cradle. Indeed, it was supposed that he was dead, and he was to have been carried to burial in his bon-bon box, when his father, who was a surgeon, stooping over him, heard a faint sigh, and preparations for the funeral were stopped. He became secretary to the Count de Cessola, president of the Senate of Nice, and then under-secretary of the Tribunal of Commerce, an office he retained till his death in 1843. He wrote songs and composed music to them, also a little vaudeville, and a poem “La Nemaïda,” which was serio-comic, and turned on a local incident, a dispute between the beadles and sacristans of the church of Ste. Françoise de Paule. His little vaudeville led to his imprisonment. It had been composed for performance before King Charles Felix and his queen, Marie Christine, when they were at Nice at Christmas, 1829. He ventured without authorisation to introduce on the stage his nephew, aged nine, dressed as a peasant, and to set him to play a little piece on the violin. This had not been submitted to the proper authority and allowed; accordingly the Count de Faverger, Governor of Nice, ordered the incarceration of the audacious poet. But this bit of red-tapism was too much, and Rancher was released in a couple of hours. He revenged himself on the governor by a satirical and burlesque song, that ran like wildfire through the town. A street in Nice bears Rancher’s name.

Nice was the scene of the sacrilegious rascalities of a rogue, Collet, whose story, as he operated at Fréjus and at Draguignan as well as at Nice, may be told.

Collet was born at Belley, in the department of Aine, of worthy and pious parents. He entered the army after having gone through a course of studies, and became sub-lieutenant in 1796, and was at the siege of Brescia. But, disgusted with military service, he deserted and went to Rome. Whilst there he heard of the wreck of a merchant vessel off Civita Vecchia under a young captain named Tolosant, of Lyons, with the loss of all hands. At once he saw his chance. He forged papers, got a ring cut with the Tolosant arms, and passed himself off as the captain, who had escaped. By this means he deceived a worthy priest, who was steward to Cardinal Fesch; and as the Cardinal was acquainted with the family of Tolosant, he introduced the soi-disant captain to him. The Cardinal at once insisted on Collet taking up his abode with him, and he even presented him to the Pope, who gave the rascal his apostolic benediction. As a friend of Cardinal Fesch, Napoleon’s kinsman, and an inmate of his house, Collet made the round of the bankers of Rome, discussed with them schemes for making money, and drew loans from them to the amount of 60,000 francs. Then Collet was invested with a charge to perform some ecclesiastical commissions in Lombardy. He left – disappeared – just as suspicions began to be entertained that he was not what he pretended to be, and turned up at Mondovi. There he gave himself out to be a gentleman of means, and he speedily ingratiated himself into the society of the young bloods there. As Mondovi was a dull town, he proposed to brisk it up by the institution of a theatre and by amateur performances. This proposition was cordially accepted, a committee was appointed, and Collet was named costumier; he was to purchase a complete theatrical wardrobe. All who were to act were required to pay for their own costumes, and the money was put into Collet’s hands to furnish these.

All at once the costumier vanished, carrying off with him all the dresses, those of clergy, bishops, generals, civic authorities, with ribbons and crosses of various orders.

He next turned up at Sion, in the Vallais, now in the cassock of a priest, and furnished with fictitious letters of Orders. There he presented himself to the bishop, and so ingratiated himself into his favour that the bishop nominated him to one of his best cures, which happened to fall vacant. He was instituted, and for five months said mass, preached, married, baptized, catechised the children, and consoled the dying.

Now the church was in a dilapidated condition, and the late rector had begun a collection for its rebuilding. Collet called together the committee of the building project, and learned that the sum already collected was 30,000 francs. He at once volunteered to contribute 50,000 francs to the fund, if he were made treasurer, and suffered to build on to the new church a chapel in which his own mortal remains might repose after his death; for never, never, oh never, would he leave his dear parishioners! A ready consent was given, and the sum collected was put into his hands. An architect was engaged, designs for the new church were procured, the old building was pulled down, the material sold, and the sum produced by the sale was lodged in the hands of Collet. Then he suggested that the mayor and the architect should accompany him to Sion to buy the ornaments and paintings requisite for the new church. Accordingly they departed in a carriage. Chalice, tabernacle, three marble altars, candelabra, were bought, but not paid for. At the recommendation of Collet, the mayor returned to the village, carrying with him the purchases; and the architect departed to engage masons and carpenters.

No sooner was Collet left than he took post-horses and departed for Strasburg. There he vanished. His next appearance was in Italy, shifting his quarters and changing his costume repeatedly. At Savona, on the Riviera, he persuaded a banker to let him have 10,000 francs. Next he appeared at Nice, in a shovel hat, a purple cassock, and wearing a gold pectoral cross, as Dominic Pasqualini, Bishop of Manfredonia. He called on the Bishop of Nice, showed him the bull of his institution, forged by himself, and so completely deceived him, that the bishop offered him the most cordial welcome, showed him hospitality, took him into the seminary and asked him to examine the seminarists. Collet saw the risk he ran, and evaded it shrewdly. “Monseignore,” said he, “I can see by the look of their faces that they are a set of asses. I do not wish to hurt their feelings by exposing their ignorance – I being a stranger.”

“Well, then,” said the Bishop of Nice, “if you will not examine them, you shall ordain them; there are thirty-three to receive deacon’s and sub-deacon’s orders next Sunday.”

Collet could not refuse. Accordingly, vested in full pontificals, in the Cathedral of Nice, he committed this sacrilegious act.

After this, not seeing his way to making much money at Nice, he departed, changed his costume, and appeared at Fréjus as plenipotentiary of the Emperor, an inspector-general, charged with seeing to the equipment of the army of Catalonia. He presented his credentials, which seemed to be in order; he took a high hand, and required the head of the Gensdarmerie to furnish him with a mounted escort to Draguignan, and he sent on an orderly before him to announce his purpose in visiting the town, requiring proper lodgings and provisions to be furnished for him. Then he appeared at Draguignan, with breast covered with Orders, and there he formed his staff. A retired captain became his aide-de-camp; the son of the Sub-Prefect of Toulon he graciously received as his secretary; he named two officers of artillery, one as paymaster, the other as his steward; and finally, with a staff of twenty persons, he went to Marseilles, where he so imposed upon the authorities that he was allowed to draw 130,000 francs from the government treasury. Thence he went to Montpellier, and there his star began to pale. One day, after having reviewed the troops, he dined with the Préfet, to whom he had promised the cordon of Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, when, during the meal, the hôtel of the préfeture was surrounded by gensdarmes, a party of police entered the dining-room, and the Organiser of the Army of Catalonia was arrested and led to gaol. All his staff shared his fate, but were released after an imprisonment of twenty days.

One day the Préfet was giving a dinner party, and, to amuse his guests, offered to produce the prisoner who had so befooled him and the rest of the good people of Montpellier. Accordingly he sent to the gaol for Collet, who expected every moment to be brought forth and shot. Three gensdarmes conducted Collet from prison to the préfeture, and till the guests were ready to see him he was thrust into an ante-room, and two gensdarmes were posted at the door.

Collet’s quick eye detected, lying in a corner, the white cap and apron of a cook, and a dish of caramel on the table. In the twinkling of an eye he had dressed himself as a cook, taken up the dish, kicked at the door, till the gensdarmes opened and allowed him to pass forth between them; they supposing him to be the cook.

Collet slipped out of the house and concealed himself next door. A hue and cry ensued, and the alarm bell rang; the gensdarmes galloped along the roads about Montpellier, and Collet looked on complacently from the window, till, after fifteen days, the search for him was relaxed, and then he left the town.

After having rambled about for a while without leaving traces of his presence, he reappeared in the department of Tarn, where he presented himself before the superior of the Schools of Christian Brothers, and informed him that he was a gentleman of private means and of a devout turn of soul, and that it was his desire to found a novitiate for the Brothers, and that he had a sum of 40,000 francs at his disposal for that purpose. Then he visited a M. Lajus, a Toulouse merchant, and entered into negotiation with him for the sale of a house he had, and he informed him that he was ex-sub-prefect of the department of Aine. M. Lajus accompanied him to the house, and allowed Collet to order and see to the carrying out of alterations, the pulling down of walls, etc., under his eye – before a sou had been paid of the stipulated price. Then Collet returned to the mother house of the Christian Brothers and urged the director to visit the new novitiate. The worthy man was so delighted that he gave a holiday to all the inmates of the establishment, that they might go together to inspect the fresh acquisition.

“But,” said the reverend superior, “who is to look after the house whilst we are away?”

“Have no concern about that,” said Collet. “I will keep guard.”

So all these green goslings trotted off on a visit of inspection, to decide which room was to be fitted up as a chapel, which was to be library, which were to be devoted to studies, and which to serve as dormitories.

Meanwhile Collet had free range over the college. He broke open the treasury of the society and filled his pockets with the money found there. He visited the chapel, and carried off all the sacred vessels; he cleared out all the desks and lockers, and left behind, as the superior afterwards said, “nothing but my spectacles, to enable me another time to look sharper after rogues.”

Collet departed, with all his spoil, and took the road to Anjou; he next turned up at Bessac in a hotel, where, through vague hints thrown out, he allowed it to be supposed that he was the Emperor Napoleon, escaped from Ste. Helena, and in hiding – awaiting his opportunity to reascend the imperial throne. The loyal Bonapartists called on him and were graciously received, and they offered him money which he also graciously accepted and promised to repay with usury and with honours when he came to his own again. At last the mayor became alarmed, called on him, and respectfully intimated that he himself was in danger of being called to account for harbouring in the place the illustrious fugitive; that personally he was devoted to his imperial master, and that for this very reason he was solicitous for his welfare. He feared that the secret of his presence at Bessac was divulged, and it was quite possible that an attempt would be made to assassinate the fugitive. He accordingly strongly urged Collet to remove to a place where he was not in such danger.

Collet accordingly departed; went to Rochebeaucourt, where he took up his lodging with the commissary of the police.

In the meantime accurate descriptions of Collet had been sent throughout France to the police, and this commissary had received them. Yet never for a moment did it occur to him that the gentleman of aristocratic appearance and with a purse well lined, who paid so promptly and liberally for his pension, could be the man so much sought for.

From Rochebeaucourt Collet went to Le Mans, where he figured as a well-to-do bourgeois, devoted to charitable actions; a man of irreproachable life. But there, finally, he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to twenty years’ hard labour, and to be branded as a felon. In prison he remained for twenty years, and died on the eve of the day when his chains were to be struck off, in November, 1840.

This extraordinary story does not so much prove how gullible men are, as how good and trustworthy most men are, so that when we do come across a rogue who takes advantage of us, it is like an earthquake that shakes us out of our moral equilibrium.

Some very interesting excursions may be made from Nice to places accessible by electric tram or by train.

Cagnes was a castle of the Grimaldi. The little town occupies a hog’sback, the summit of the hill is crowned by the château, and the one street leading to it runs up the spine of hill, with houses on each side clinging to the steep sides. The castle is not very picturesque, but it has in the midst a quaint court, surrounded by galleries and stairs. The great salle had its ceiling painted by Carlone in the seventeenth century. It represents the fall of Phaeton, and is one of those subjects in the debased style of the period that are tours de force in perspective. It represents an arcade of Corinthian pillars with windows between them painted on the flat surface, seen in perspective from a single point only. The castle was occupied by the Allies in 1815; a Piedmontese garrison was placed in it, and the soldiers amused themselves with firing at the head of Phaeton.

The painter spent three years over this absurd work, and when leaving it complete he wept and said, “Bella mea cascata di Phaëton, io non piu te vedere, mai, mai, mai!” It is really not worth looking at, save as an example of the degradation of art. The castle no longer appertains to the Grimaldi; it has been sold.

Eze is reached by tram, passing the beautiful bay of Villefranche, to the foot of the precipice on which it stands, and from whence it is reached by a scramble up a zig-zag path in about an hour. It is a curious example of a town, built on the summit of a rock, walled about, once with its castle planted in its midst, where it might, it was hoped, be safe from Moorish and Algerine pirates. Once an important place, with its consuls, it has sunk to ruin, and is now occupied by only ninety people. The church was built in 1772. The castle is levelled to the foundations, but the town walls remain.

In 1770 the Corniche Road did not exist. David the Painter was on his way to Italy to study at Rome. He arrived at Eze at night, and the curé very kindly took in the poor and footsore young artist. He was interested in David, and gave him a letter of introduction to a kinsman, the Prior Fighera, in Rome. This opened to David many doors in the capital of Western Christendom, and David received orders for pictures. In gratitude he sent a painting of S. John the Baptist to his friend, the curé of Eze, for his new church. About the year 1880 this picture vanished. The Administration des Beaux Arts instituted an inquiry, and ascertained that the Consuls of Eze had sold the painting to an Englishman for 500 francs, whereas it was worth 100,000 francs. That picture is now in the National Gallery.

In the little cemetery of Eze is laid a Swiss woman, assassinated in 1902 by Vidal, a woman-murderer. From Nice a line takes to Puget Théniers, on the Var. The line is full of interest, passing places rich in striking objects, and allowing of branch excursions up the Vesubie, the Timée, the Cians, with scenery of the grandest character. It, moreover, enables the visitor to explore strange villages, such as Touët-de-Beuil, plastered against the limestone rocks. The Clus of the Cians at Touët, where the river cleaves through the Jura limestone stained various colours, is as fine as anything of the kind. There is hardly a village or town accessible from this line that does not repay a visit, and which will not fill a sketch-book or furnish a photographer with subjects.

CHAPTER XIV

MONACO

Beauty of site – Phœnician shrine of Melkarth – Meanness of modern buildings – The Cathedral and Palace – Extent of the principality – The Grimaldi – Rainier II. – Charles II. at Crecy – Antonio Grimaldi – Lucien’s murder – Murder of Hercules I. – Louis I.: his gibbets – Roquebrune and Mentone revolt – The gambling establishment of Charles III. – M. Blanc. – Les Spélunges – Marriage of Prince of Monaco annulled – La Turbie – Trophy of Augustus – Monte Carlo – S. Devota – The Casino: importance to the principality – Roulette – Systems – Charges of Captain Weihe: improbable because unnecessary – Cave of La Veille – Death of the Duke of York

MONACO is assuredly the loveliest spot on the entire Ligurian coast. More the pity that it should be delivered over to such evil associations as cling to it.

Monaco itself is a limestone crag rising out of the sea, linked to the mainland by a neck, the rocks on all sides precipitous, but cut into, to form an approach to the town. Above it towers the ridge that extends from the Mont Agel, with its fortress gleaming white against a gentian-blue sky, by La Turbie, “hunc usque Italia, abhinc Gallia,” and the Tête-de-Chien, formerly Testa-de-Camp.

The rock of Monaco takes its name from Monoikos. It was dedicated to the Phœnician Melkarth, the One god in a house, who would suffer no other idols in his temple, and that temple anciently crowned the rock. The adoption by the Grimaldi of a monk as supporter to the arms is due to a misapprehension that Monaco is derived from Monacus. Unhappily, matchlessly beautiful as is the situation, the buildings of Monaco do not conduce to picturesqueness. The palace is mean and ugly to the last degree. It has four towers, erected in 1215 by the Genoese architect Fulco del Castello, but the domestic buildings connecting these towers are of various dates, and all bad. The palace has not a single bold and characteristic feature to give it dignity.

A vast sum – from the gambling tables – has been spent upon a cathedral, designed by Charles Lenormand. Internally, and indeed externally, from near at hand it is fine and dignified. But from a distance it produces an unpleasing effect. It has no tall towers, no stately dome; but at the rear, a monstrous hump, designed to make a display of the West front, otherwise meaningless. The distant effect of this church is that of an infant peacock, spreading its tail before it has any feathers to display.

There is not a single commanding feature in the bunch of buildings huddled together on the summit of the rock, and old Mentone, with its commonplace church tower, presents a nobler aspect than does Monaco. No finer site in the world could be found, and none has been so wasted through incapacity to utilise it.

Monaco is an independent principality, under an autocratic government. It, its prince, its gambling hell, are under the protection of France. The principality comprises 5,436 acres, which would be the estate of a petty English squire. But the Sovereign has his Council of State, his nobles, and his bishop at command. Also an army, consisting of five officers and seventy men. Formerly there was a guard of honour in addition, whose function it was to blow trumpets and present arms when the Prince entered or left the main gate of the palace. But this guard of honour was dissolved, February 1st, 1904, and the soldiers of the standing army now perform the duties formerly devolving on the guard. The dissolution of the corps must have resembled the famous dismissal by Bombastes Furioso: “Begone, brave army, and don’t kick up a row!”

The six bronze cannon in front of the palace were given by Louis XV. Each has its name, and they bear the inscription: “Ultima ratio regum.”

The Grimaldi were a Genoese family, and they first appear in history as assisting William, Count of Provence, and the Emperor Otho I., in expelling the Saracens. For their services, the Emperor conferred Monaco on one of them, others were rewarded with fiefs, near Nice, and in the Maures, as already told.

A claim is made to descent from Grimoald Mayor of the palace, who died 656, but it is baseless, and rests on no better foundation than identity of name; for patronymics were not then in use.

The descendants of Gibelin Grimaldi, possessors of the fief of Monaco, were at first only seigneurs, but eventually became sovereigns, and the family obtained large tracts of land, and acquired great power in Provence and Liguria. Till the seventeenth century they had a flotilla of galleys destined to stop all coasters and exact a toll. This fleet also served in the wars in which the neighbouring states were involved.

Rainier II., Prince of Monaco, in 1302, entered the service of Philip the Fair, and was the first to lead a Genoese fleet in 1304 through the Straits of Gibraltar into the ocean. He conducted sixteen galleys to the coast of Flanders, and encountered the Flemish fleet before Ziricksee. He concerned himself little about the French vessels that had joined him, and allowed all of them to be taken; but as the Flemings were felicitating themselves on their victory, he returned with the rising tide, pierced their line, destroyed a number of their ships, and took prisoner Guy de Namur, son of the Count of Flanders.

Charles II. of Monaco was made governor of Provence and admiral of the fleet of Genoa. In 1338 he directed twenty galleys against the Flemings; in 1346, along with Antonio Doria, he led thirty against the English. The troops were disembarked, and joined the French army which encountered the English at Creçy. The Genoese were esteemed the best archers in the world. Grimaldi and Doria disposed them to the best advantage, and they would have done great execution in the English ranks, but that the rain had relaxed the strings of their bows, and, says Froissart: —

“They hooted, advancing with their crossbows presented, and began to shoot. The English archers then advanced one step, and shot their arrows with such force and speed that it was like a fall of snow. When the Genoese felt the arrows that pierced their arms, heads, and though their armour, some of them cut the strings of their crossbows, others flung them on the ground, and all turned and retreated in discomfiture. The French had a large body of men-at-arms on horseback, richly dressed, to support the Genoese. The King of France, seeing them fall back, cried out: ‘Kill me those scoundrels, for they block our way unreasonably!’ Then you would have seen the French men-at-arms lay about them, killing all they could of those runaways.”

Grimaldi fell there, mortally wounded.

Antonio Grimaldi, Genoese Admiral in 1332, was charged to revenge the ravages of the Aragonese on the coasts of Liguria, at a time when civil war prevented the Genoese from defending themselves and their possessions. Grimaldi, with a fleet of fifty-five vessels, harried the coasts of Catalonia, leaving behind him only ruins, and loading his vessels with plunder and captives. He carried off the galleys of the enemy from the harbour of Majorca. The Aragonese sent against him a fleet of twenty-four vessels, but he defeated it. In 1353 he was again placed at the head of the Genoese naval forces, and again sent against the Aragonese, who were now in league with the Venetians. Grimaldi had a fleet of fifty-two sail, and he hoped to fight and defeat the enemy before they could effect a junction. In this he was disappointed. He met the combined fleets near an islet off the north coast of Sardinia, August 29th, 1353. Pisani, the admiral of the Venetians, concealed a portion of his fleet, and Grimaldi, deceived, attacked the rest. Whilst thus engaged, he saw the detached portion of the Venetian flotilla approach, and he found that he had to deal with seventy-three sail. To present a strong front to the enemy, he bound his galleys together by the sides and masts, reserving only four on each wing to act as reserve. The Venetians and Catalans seeing this arrangement, also united their vessels to the number of fifty-four, but kept sixteen free at their flanks. This singular disposition shows how little, if at all, naval manœuvres had altered since the time of the civil war between Cæsar and Pompey.