SANTA DEVOTA AND MONACO.
WE have at last penetrated to the head quarters of this history, and been in
a carriage to Monaco, which would have been worth even ten times the jolting we
underwent to get there; though it is indeed, as the natives say, "une vraie
penitence." The road to Monaco follows that to Nice above the Cape St.
Martin, till it turns down below Roccabruna, which clings to the hill-side amid
its broken crags. From this point Monaco is in sight the whole way, her white
walls gleaming on an almost isolated rock, but a succession of little valleys
with steep ascents and descents have to be traversed in order to reach it.
Nothing can be more beautiful than the variety of greens in these valleys, the
blue green of the gigantic euphorbias, which fringe the rocks by the wayside;
the grey green of the olives; the dark green of the old gnarled coruba trees;
and the yellow green of the canes and the vineyards, especially in autumn. Each
valley has its torrent, crossed sometimes by a high bridge, sometimes only by
open arches, which look like a bridge from below, but really only form a parapet
to the road, beneath which the water rushes, while travellers splash through the
stream, or cross the stepping stones under their protection. The walls are
tufted with lovely maidenhair fern, which the natives call Erba della Fon-tana
(fountain grass) and drink in tea.
A little ruined edifice on the right of the way, is the "Chapelle du Bon
Voyage," which before the Revolution was one of the most celebrated places
of pilgrimage on the coast. Then everyone in the neighbourhood who was going a
journey came hither to pray; and people would even come from twenty leagues
distance to ask a blessing at the Bon Voyage before sailing for foreign parts.
The people of Monaco still pray before the ruins when starting for a journey.
The summit of the ascent beyond this is crowned by a curious rock, known as
"the monk," a gigantic, natural figure, sitting on the mountain side
with its head buried in its cowl. Beyond this is seen "the nun,"
sitting higher up on the edge of the cliff.
Passing the tiny custom house of Monaco, one arrives at Veilles, a village
perched on a ledge of the tufa rock, over which a mill-stream dashes, amid a
luxuriant profusion of aloes, cactus, and hanging creepers. This was the "Vigiliæ"
of Augustus, surrounded in his time by military outposts. A large stone found
here and now transported to the palace at Monaco, bears the inscription,
JUL CAESAR
AUGUSTUS IMP X
TRIBUNITIA
POTESTATE X
DCI
Two torrents beyond this, is a ravine, rendered memorable as the place where
a number of French soldiers were assassinated by the Barbets, a baud of
mountaineers who, under pretext of loyalty, gave themselves up to cruelty and
rapine, during the invasion of 1792. At the entrance of the valley of Gaumates,
the last before reaching Monaco, the rocks which form its northern barrier
divide to let a small mountain torrent issue forth to join the sea. Above, the
chasm is spanned by a lofty yellow arch, while beneath, nestling in the ravine
by the side of the streamlet, is a picturesque little chapel, painted on the
outside with coats of arms, and approached from the road by a short avenue of
venerable ilex trees. It is a tempting subject for an artist, and the little
chapel, which now contains nothing but a few mouldy pictures and rusty
chandeliers, is interesting as being all that remains to mark the once famous
shrine and monastery of Sta. Devota. This saint was a Christian virgin of
Corsica, martyred with cruel tortures, in the reign of Diocletian, by the Roman
governor of that island. According to the Lerins Chronicles, "In order that
she might not be buried by the Christians, this barbarian ordered her body to be
reduced to ashes, but the priest Bevenato and the deacon Apollinaris, being
warned in a vision to remove the body of the saint from the island, came by
night, embarked it, and set sail with a sailor named Gratien, intending to land
on the coast of Africa. Their efforts were in vain, and all night long they were
driven back by a south wind, which carried them towards the coast of Liguria.
The following morning, while the sailor was asleep, the saint appeared to him in
a dream, and told him to continue his course with joy, and to observe that which
should come out of her mouth, which would be a sign to let him know where she
would wish to be buried. In truth, the pilot, on awaking, saw, as well as his
two companions, a white dove issue from the mouth of the saint, and take the
direction of Monaco. They followed it with their eyes, till it rested in the
valley called Gaumates, situated on the east of the city.
There she was buried, and there an oratory was afterwards built to her, with
a monastery attached to it, under tho depcndance of the monastery of St. Pons."
Another legend describes that the vessel bearing the remains of the saint was
wrecked off Monaco, and that only one fragment of it drifted into the Port of
Hercules, bearing the dead body of a beautiful maiden lashed upon it, and an
inscription telling that it was that of Devota, the Corsican Virgin and Martyr.
The festival of Sta. Devota (January 27) was formerly celebrated at Gaumates,
with great splendour; pilgrimages were made to the chapel, and the ancient money
of the country bore her effigy, but the devotion to her shrine, has long since
gone out of fashion; fewer and fewer pilgrims came, and at last, to avoid
starvation, the monks of Gaumates fled to the superior monastery of St. Pons,
and left their own little convent to ruin. Among the privileges which they
preserved to the last, was the right possessed by the Prior and one other of
their number, chosen by the prince, to read Vespers on the eve of their saint,
and high mass on her fête, in the parish church of Monaco, and also of opening
the ball which celebrated the same occasion, a privilege of which these
ecclesiastical dignitaries never failed to avail themselves. At the same time, the
monks presented some artichokes to the prince in token of homage, and enjoyed
his hospitality for three days, at the end of which time they were dismissed
with tokens of his liberality.
Sta. Devota is at the entrance of the once famous Port of Hercules,
frequently mentioned by classical authors, and formerly the terror of the rich
merchants of Genoa, from the number of pirates and corsairs, to whom it was a
shelter and a home. Now, it is almost filled up by long neglect, and gives
refuge to nothing, but the little steamer which brings people hither three times
a week from Nice, and a few fishing-boats, whose tall white sails are mirrored
in its still waters, as they nestle under the rocky edge of the hill. Smaller
boats are constantly employed in fishing for the "Frutte di Mare,"
which abound in the bay, and looking much like chestnuts, are divided and eaten
in the same manner. From this little port many French emigrants made their
escape in the reign of terror, gaining the large foreign vessels, which were
lying off Monaco, in small fishing-boats. Among them, say the natives, was a
young Englishman who had been married in France, and had lived there. He arrived
with a chest of gold, so heavy that it required four men to move it, and after
he embarked, he never was heard of again; it is supposed he was murdered for the
sake of that chest. On the opposite side of the bay, are a long row of
unfinished baths, which might have proved a great source of attraction to
Monaco, but which, like a large casino whose stones still litter the
neighbouring olive wood, and many other things here, are still unfinished for
want of money. They stand in a state of melancholy ruin, and are only an eyesore
to the pleasant little Hotel des Etrangers which is close beside them, and whose
garden is worth entering for the sake of admiring its tall and beautiful palm
tree.
Two roads lead up from hence into the town; the upper going straight up into
the court of the palace through the Porte St. Antoine; the lower leading through
the Porte Neuve into the Boschetto, otherwise called the "Promenade St.
Martin." Here it is like being launched at once into the tropics; the
terraces are carpeted with aloes, some of which raise their golden stems crowned
by masses of flower, as high as the tops of the cypresses, which are mingled
with them. The wild luxuriance of cactus and plants of the same tribe, not
content with covering the heights, overrun the walls and clothe the precipitous
cliffs
down to the very edge of the sea. Splendid geraniums fringe the road and
mingle in huge masses with purple stocks, and tall star-flowered asphodel, while
here and there a palm tree raises its umbrella of delicate foliage into the blue
sky. Below, on two sides, is the sea, with its varied outline of headlands,
behind is the deserted monastery of the Visitazione, now turned into a barrack,
and the white houses of the town. The number of ladies sitting out upon the
terraces, and the well-dressed children playing about, give the promenade a most
animated appearance. Indeed the fact of this paradise having been so long
rendered the abode of misery by the wickedness of its government reminds one of
a story of the Spaniard, who declared that the only reason why the Madonna had
not blest his country with a good government, as well as all other benefits,
was, because she was afraid that if she did, Spain would become so delightful
and alluring, that she should not be able to keep any of the angels in heaven.
There is an air of great comfort about the town, which is said to be partly
owing to the fact that the dowager princess generally makes it her residence for
six months in the year, while the prince following the example of his
predecessors, still prefers spending his large fortune in Paris, and lives
altogether in France. The roads are excellent, and even the streets arc covered
with fine gravel instead of a rough pavement, and have an unusual appearance of
cleanliness. The houses are now almost all modernized; formerly by a local
custom all the windows were arched and divided into two parts, with a cross in
the centre, and a stone ledge beneath, from which fishing nets or clothes were
hung out to dry.
Many of these houses were in existence only fifteen years ago. The church of
Sta. Barbara is large and handsome, and possesses a portico which is said to be
a fragment of a Roman temple. There is a tablet here commemorating the funeral
ceremonies which were bestowed upon Pius VI. in this church, when, a few months
after he had been burnt in effigy by the republican populace, shipwreck drove
his dead body upon their shores. The last chapel on the right contains the
graves and monumental tablets of the later Princes of Monaco, among which is the
lying inscription to the hated Honorius V. Some of the pictures are old and
curious.
The Gambling-house, which, to their disgrace, the Princes have introduced
into their state, has a pretty garden with a fine palm tree.
The Piazza (which contains an excellent hotel, de Russie) is closed on the
north by the palace, an immense building, which has been added to or altered in
almost every successive reign, each prince bringing his own taste and his own
prejudices to bear upon the work. It would be difficult to say what was its
exact appearance before the year 1538, which was the date of its enlargement and
restoration. But it is probable, nevertheless, that all the eastern side, and
the principal part of the existing facade, which at that time extended to the
ramparts, are little changed, and go back to an earlier period, perhaps nearly
to the time of the foundation of the building. The western part seems to belong
almost entirely to the time of the Spanish government. As for that on the north,
it is possible that it may have undergone some important modifications, but it
is certain that it existed, with a chapel in its centre, under the reign of
Lucien (1505). The four wings of the palace, as they now stand, facing the four
cardinal points, extend over a vast space. The south wing is curious from the
quaintness of its arrangement; two square turrets, placed almost at the two
extremities, vary its rather commonplace appearance; in the centre, is the
entrance gateway, supposed to be the fragment of a heathen temple. The baths,
which were enriched with mosaics, marble and gold; the famous gallery; the
chamber where Lucien was assassinated; and many other historical apartments,
have been destroyed. The great Grimaldi hall is thirty feet in height, twenty
paces in length, and twelve in breadth. Frescoes, attributed to Orazio di
Ferrara, decorate its walls and ceiling. The colossal chimney-piece is said to
have been hewn out of a single block of stone; its fluted columns, helmets and
armour, are surmounted by two angels unrolling a fillet, inscribed with the
words, "Qui dicit se nosse Deum et mandata ejus non custodit, mendax
est." The whole is finished with exquisite workmanship.
This hall of the Grimaldi's, which is now fast falling into decay, was till
late years, the scene of a ball, always given by the Princes on the festival of
Sta. Devota, the inhabitants, both rich and poor, being invited en masse. The
rich danced all evening on one side of the hall, and the peasants on the other,
neither ever passing an imaginary boundary, while the Prince and the grandees
looked down from a gallery.
Beyond the hall is a desolate suite of rooms, which were pillaged and turned
into a barrack at the time of the revolution and have never been restored since.
In the last of these rooms, which must once have been rich with gilding and
fresco, the custode tells you that a Duke of York, brother of a King of England,
died. He was taken ill at sea, when off Monaco, and the Prince offered him a
refuge in his palace, where he expired. Afterwards a ship came, and his remains
were removed to England with great honours. In recognition of the hospitality
their duke had received there, some prisoners belonging to Monaco, who were
taken by the English in the French war, were immediately released. The chamber
is called "the Duke of York's room" to this day. A number of
ill-painted pictures are placed there, which were removed during a fire, from
the convent near the Boschetto.
The Courtyard of the palace is very picturesque, its sides having cloisters
and friezes covered with ancient frescoes. The west wing is approached by a
handsome twisted staircase, at the foot of which is an old well. The east wing
contains the apartments, still occupied by the Prince's family during their
visits to Monaco; these are not shewn, but are said to be worth seeing, though
they can scarcely, as the custode declares, contain "Une galerie toute
pleine des tableaux de Raffaele." The north wing contains the domestic
chapel.
A passage between the northern and eastern wings leads to the private gardens
of the prince, which consist of terraces of aloes and geraniums, bordered with
myrtle and thyme, overlooking a lovely view of the bay. Behind arc the old
bastions and fortifications, among which is the famous "Saraval,"
which withstood many a siege in the time of the old princes, though now a single
cannon, well placed on the Tete du Chien, which frowns above the chateau, might
soon do such execution, as would force the town to surrender. The rocks below
the garden are covered with a perfect forest of prickly pears, the fruit of
which is gathered by a man let down from the wall in a basket. The aloes, which
are truly magnificent, generally flower when they attain their fifteenth year,
and then die, leaving a numerous progeny behind them. The gardens are shewn in
the absence of the family, on presenting a card to the porter of the palace, who
for a fee of two or three francs will procure the necessary order from the
commandant of the town.
On the east of the town are some baths, pleasantly situated amid groves of
Coruba trees, and much resorted to during the hot months.
Amongst the many terrible scenes to which the palace of Monaco has been
witness, the most startling was the death of Prince Lucien in 1523, who having
gained possession of his sovereignty by the murder of his predecessor and
brother, John II, was in turn assassinated by his nephew Bartholomew Doria of
Dolceaqua, in his own house, and in the bosom of his hitherto prosperous family.
The event is thus described by Gioffredo:
"Among the sisters of Lucien, one, called Françoise, had married Luke
Doria, Seigneur of Dolceacqua. During her widowhood Françoise had, on the
19th Dec. 1513, made her will; to this, on the 15th Octr. 1515, she added a
codicil, by which she appointed her children to be her heirs, and named
Augustin Grimaldi, Bishop of Grasse, and Lucien Grimaldi of Monaco, her
brothers, with Ausaldo Grimaldi of Genoa, as her executors. After the death of
Françoise, Bartholomew, her eldest son, complained of his uncle Lucien, as
having delayed to pay the portion due to him of his mother's inheritance, and
soon, blinded by avarice and hatred, he resolved to kill his uncle, and by a
base stratagem, to seize the castle of Monaco. Some time before the execution
of this criminal enterprise, he sent some of his followers, who were
acquainted with his designs, to the Port of Hercules, several of whom were
subjects of his cousin the famous Andrea Doria, Seigneur of Oneglia.
Bartholomew begged Lucien to allow them to stay at Monaco, since they could
not remain safely in his own domains, owing to a quarrel, and in this manner
skilfully secured the success of his schemes.
The imprudent Lucien received these secret agents at Monaco, and soon
after, his nephew informed him that he intended going to Lyons to meet the
King of France, in the hope of obtaining an honorable appointment in his
Milanese expedition. Apparently with this object also, Bartholomew arrived at
the Port of Hercules, and from thence forwarded a letter to his uncle which
Andrea Doria had sent him from Lyons, in which, after having urged him to
repair to France, he said, "that it was time to execute the project he
knew of." These equivocal words subsequently gave rise to a suspicion
that the illustrious admiral had connived at the murder, the more so because
his galleys presented themselves before the spot, after the consummation of
the crime.
Bartholomew, while pretending to go to Lyons, returned to Dolceacqua to
make preparations. At his request, Lucien on Saturday the 22nd August sent one
of his brigantines to Ventimiglia to transport his nephew with his suite and
goods to the Port of Hercules, where Bartholomew proposed to take leave of
him. and thence to continue his journey. On his arrival, Bartholomew was asked
by his uncle to hear mass; he declined, saying he had already heard it. Lucien
then went thither alone, and his nephew remained during the interval in the
gallery of the palace holding a secret interview with his followers. After
mass, they went to dinner. The place of honour was given up to Bartholomew,
but he found it impossible to eat anything, and it was evident from the
preoccupation of his mind, the paleness of his countenance, and the singular
expression of his features, that he was meditating some dark and criminal
project. Lucien ascribed his nephew's state to a passing sadness, and after
vainly pressing him to eat, placed one of his grandchildren in his arms in
order to distract his attention; but Doria began to tremble so violently, that
the child was obliged to be taken away, as he was unable to hold it.
Such strange conduct might have awakened suspicion in the attendants, but
it failed to do so. On leaving the table Bartholomew requested Lucien to
furnish him with instructions for his pretended journey to France, and for
this purpose they went into a small room at the end of the gallery, where
Lucien was in the habit of writing and transacting business. Whilst they were
thus engaged, the major domo came to inform his master that he perceived four
galleys approaching Monaco. These Bartholomew described as belonging to his
cousin Andrea Doria's squadron, and he immediately wrote to the commandant to
beg him to enter the port that he might receive an important communication. He
shewed the letter to Lucien, and then entrusted it to the major domo,
requesting him to carry it to its destination with an armed boat; by this
means he contrived to send from twelve to fourteen men away from the palace as
necessary for arming the long boat.
August 22, 1523. These measures being taken, Bartholomew sent away all the
servants who were in the gallery, except one black slave who would not
withdraw. Lucien sat down near the table, while his nephew, remaining
standing, began to write, when an assassin from San Remo, who had accompanied
Doria, entered the room, followed by one of his accomplices. Nearly at the
same moment, the black slave who had refused to go away, from being accustomed
never to quit his master, heard him cry out in a frightful manner, repeating
the words, "Oh traitor, oh traitor;" when hurrying to the room and
half opening the door without daring to enter it, he saw Doria throwing Lucien
down on the ground, thrusting a poniard into his neck, and mutilating his body
with a thousand blows. The followers of the assassin, who were on the watch,
ran towards the room, armed to the teeth, and surrounded Bartholomew, who,
leaving the corpse of his victim, sallied forth, sword in hand, crying out,
Ammazza! ammazza! slay! slay! This cry was repeated by his men, and by others
whom he had sent beforehand to Monaco; halberds and javelins were taken down
from the armoury of the guard-room, and the few servants who happened to be at
this hour in the palace were driven out. Thus Bartholomew and his associates
made themselves masters of the greatest part of the vast building, but they
could not gain possession of the great terrace, whither some of the servants
had retreated, crying out, To arms! To arms! a cry which was answered at once
by the inhabitants, who rushed armed towards the castle. Dolceacqua and his
men quickly closed the gates, and made the sign which had been agreed upon, to
the galleys anchored off the Capo d'Aglio, a signal which was not however
perceived by them.
The inhabitants now forced the gates of the palace and attacked the
assassins who had fortified themselves within it. Then Bartholomew shewed
himself to the assailants, and besought them to hear him. He began by a
protestation that in all he had done, he had only acted in the name of Marie
de Vinol, the legitimate sovereign of the country, and, he added, that in
three hours, four hundred men would arrive to keep the place in the name of
this lady, from whom Monaco might expect, he said, the best treatment and the
most signal advantages. At the same time, he caused the corpse of Lucien to be
dragged half-way down the staircase, because the inhabitants would not believe
in the death of their Seigneur.
Bartholomew's arguments were not listened to: the people in one body
charged him with having done them great injury, and tried to seize his person.
It was a critical position on both sides; on the one hand Doria's followers
found themselves in the most imminent danger, in case the promised and
expected succour failed to arrive; on the other the inhabitants were extremely
uneasy in knowing that the murderer had fortified himself with the greater
part of his men in the most inaccessible part of the castle, while the rest
were scattered about the town, and that he expected every moment to be
relieved by the galleys of the enemy. In the midst of these fears and
anxieties, Bartholomew offered to retire with his men, provided his life were
ensured, and the people gave their consent.
The Bishop of Grasse, brother of the victim, at a later time, directed an
active pursuit to be made after the criminal, who perished in attacking the
castle of Penna, defended by his implacable enemy. As to Andrew Doria, who was
with some reason suspected of being implicated in the conspiracy, he could
neither escape the severe condemnation of his contemporaries, nor the blame of
history. His presence at the Port of Hercules some days previously, his letter
to Bartholomew, his galleys arriving at the very hour when the crime was
committed, as if to have a share in it, and ensure its impunity or success;
are circumstances which clearly prove, that there must have been some secret
understanding between the cousins."