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.”[32]
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 keeping 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, 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 corner 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 battlements 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 _soupiraux_ 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[33] 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 (_soupiraux_) 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. It was the headquarters of the
Revolutionists during the Terror. On the restoration of the Grimaldi it
became the seat of the Civil Tribunal and of the schools. It later was
occupied as a large hotel and café and finally by the Gambling Rooms
pending the completion of a casino at Monte Carlo in 1860.[34] 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.
[Illustration: MONACO: THE SENTRY TOWER ON THE RAMPE.]
[Illustration: MONACO: THE DRAWBRIDGE GATE, 1533.]
The winter visitor is apt to pity the Monégasques 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 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 Hôtel 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, _échevins_ or consuls.
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 fête of _Notre Dame du Mont-Carmel_ the old Monégasques
surrounded this hallowed figure with flowers and lighted candles and
sang hymns before it.”[35] 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 Principality 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
Visitation, having on the other side the Hôtel 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—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 Honoré 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 hesitating 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
bombardment 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 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.
-----
[32] Published in Nice, 1907.
[33] “Le Vieux Monaco.”
[34] The present Casino at Monte Carlo was built in 1878.
[35] Bosio. “Le Vieux Monaco.”
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
Ghibellines. The Guelphs were represented by the Grimaldi, the
Ghibellines by the Spinola. Each party twice besieged 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 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 towering 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. Dévote, 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.
[Illustration: MONACO: THE PALACE.]
He walked on unchallenged and entered the great square before the
palace. He drew a sigh of relief. It might have implied relief 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 celebration 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 been commended to God, 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.[36] 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,[37] 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.
-----
[36] “Monaco et ses Princes,” by H. Métivier, 1862, Vol. 1.
[37] Between these dates the Spinola were again in possession of the
rock.
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 unrest 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
Monégasque fleet to a position of high rank not only in the
Mediterranean but 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 satisfied 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
indifferent 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 1331.
The Catalans, being unfortunately 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
attractive to be ignored; so the fleet of Monaco turned westward 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 Monégasque fleet, having joined with that of France, came up with
the English 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 substantial recompense in money as well as certain
rights to trade in the Mediterranean which brought considerable
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 Genoese and Monégasque 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 Crécy 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 unable to withstand the English
archers and began to retreat. The king, seeing them waver, ordered his
own troops to set upon them. “Or tôt,” cried he, “tuez toute cette
ribandaille, car ils nous empêchant 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 pikemen, 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 II 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. Before that date, viz. in 1346, he had made peace with Genoa and,
as a compliment, the command of the Genoese fleet was given to his
brother.
[Illustration: MONACO: THE OLD HÔTEL DE VILLE.]
Wars were very profitable and Carlo was becoming a rich man. He had
extended the frontiers of Monaco; for he had acquired by purchase the
_seigneuries_ of Mentone, Roquebrune, Castillon and Eze. He had rich
fiefs in France as well as the towns of Cagnes and Villeneuve in the
vicinity of Nice and was, moreover, engaged in a lucrative commerce
along the coast.
All was well, but unfortunately the old chronic malady—the passion to
fight Genoa—broke out again as chronic maladies are apt to do. This
time the veteran seaman was not so fortunate and indeed fortune would
seem to have deserted him. The Duke of Genoa fell upon Monaco;
surrounded it; blockaded it and compelled the tough old fighter, who had
never owned defeat, to haul down his flag and surrender. There was never
a more pathetic moment in the history of Monaco than when the gallant
seaman walked down the path from his palace to the sea a beaten man and,
most bitter of all, beaten by Genoa. This was in 1356.
Carlo Grimaldi retired upon Mentone to collect forces with which to
fight the Genoese once more and so gain possession of his beloved rock.
For him the time never came. The ranks of armed men that he dreamed
about night and day were never mustered and in 1363 the great and heroic
seaman died.
XXII
THE LUCIEN MURDER