Fair Italy, the Riviera and Monte Carlo - W. Cope Devereux

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sense of thankfulness at their narrow escape.

      We made a second trip up the hill-side to the Roman Catholic cemetery, which gave us a charming view of the town, environed by gardens. The place itself was peacefully beautiful and full of mournful interest. We noticed at one of the tombs a young lady, evidently a German, who, assisted by her maid, was diligently employed in cleaning a marble statue placed over the grave. It was difficult to refrain from offering to help her in this labour of love, which appealed so pathetically to the heart. I do not think we care to display so much outward proofs of loving reverence for our dead as we often see abroad, in the shape of flowers and immortelles placed upon the graves by affectionate relatives and friends. Still, I believe it is only an external indifference. We have as much true and deep love in our hearts for our dear ones as those who are more demonstrative, though perhaps it is a pity that we do not allow ourselves to indulge in the pretty reverential sentiments of our French and Italian neighbours.

      We were much amused during our stay here at the constant chorus the frogs kept up. They croak almost unceasingly, especially in the evening. It would seem that they wish to take the place of the song-birds, which we seldom hear in this part, as they are all shot to supply the table, nearly every kind being eaten—a needless cruelty, one would think, not only to the poor little birds, but also to those who miss their grateful song of joy and praise.

      We had a pleasant carriage excursion to Monte Carlo, by the Corniche road, starting one brilliant morning soon after breakfast. Leaving Mentone behind us, we commenced the circuit of the cliff road, which gradually got higher and higher, occasionally passing through olive plantations, and then suddenly emerging from their sombre shade to the dazzling bright sea once more; then we doubled a finely wooded promontory, almost a sheer precipice, catching a glimpse of the beautiful little circling bays sparkling in the abyss below; sometimes passing sharp curves in the road, which required very skilful driving, there being but a low wall—and that partly broken in many places—to divide us from a fall of about sixty feet! Still ascending, we gained the summit of the first fine headland (I believe, the highest point), and from thence had a most entrancing outlook. On the extreme left, a lovely retrospective and bird's-eye view of charming Mentone; the towns and little villages on the distant shore as far as Bordighera; dimpling in the glowing sunshine, and before us, the long stretch of inimitable blue sea, with just a feathery ripple on the golden sandy shores below, winding in and out in a series of tiny bays and creeks; while beyond us, like a realized dream of Paradise, lay the beautiful plague-spot of the Riviera—the town of Monte Carlo, nested amid luxuriant gardens of semi-tropical foliage, the mosque-like minarets and cupolas of the casino standing boldly out on the heights and glittering in the sun. Beyond this, another fine bay and promontory, on the summit of which stands the Castle of Monaco; and below, surrounded by groves and gardens, the town and principality of Monaco, with roads stretching out, leading towards Villafranca and Nice.

      I had seen Constantinople, Madeira, and many other parts of this fair earth of ours, but I do not remember anything that compares with this bit of Italian coast scenery, which I think is surely the loveliest in the world.

      Dismissing our carriage, we walked through Monte Carlo to Monaco, and ascended to the palace of the prince. It stands on the summit of a bold headland, surrounded by fortifications, from which we had another splendid view. One can readily see how fair and beautiful a place, full of the sweetest harmonies of nature, and filling the human heart with a grateful sense of God's love, has, by the sordid wickedness of man, been perverted into a paradise of the Prince of Darkness, who, knowing too well the weakness and folly of poor erring humanity, lures by every artificial attraction and fascination even the poor pilgrim invalid, who hopefully journeys here to breathe the pure fresh air and to recover health; and also does his best to complete the moral degradation of the less innocent but infatuated gambler, who stakes his life upon the cast of a die and rushes madly and miserably to unutterable ruin.

      I have already mentioned the plantations of olive trees we passed in our drive on the cliffs. Nothing strikes one more singularly, in coming to this part of the world, than the contrast in appearance between the olive tree and the rich, luxuriant foliage of the orange, lemon, myrtle, and other beautiful vegetation so prolific here. Toward evening especially, the gnarled and twisted olive has a strangely sad and sombre effect, with its long, pointed leaves of dull green lined with a chilly pale tint—as it were, a thing of a past period in the earth's existence, ancient and venerable, almost sacred, and little in harmony with the gay, luxuriant vegetable life around. I think nothing describes better its cold sombre aspect than the remark Marianne Hunt made to her husband during their first unfortunate visit to Italy. "They look," she said, "as if they were always standing in the moonlight." And, indeed, this is just the effect they have, as though having been once lighted on by Cynthia's cold, chaste glance, they had ever remained petrified and blanched. Still, there is much grace and beauty in the outlines of olive trees against a sunlit, blue-grey sky, the silver tints of their leaves quivering in the light.

      It was interesting to watch a procession of caterpillars on the road to Monte Carlo, a distance of about a mile. They were moving from one part to another, probably because there was disease amongst them, or else in the trees in that neighbourhood, for there were many dead ones lying about. They advanced in one long line, following their leader, the head of the second joining the tail of the first, and so on. There were more than a hundred in a chain, a company of ten coming to join them, and large masses waiting in different parts of the road, and taking their places one by one as the procession approached. They looked like a long, thin snake. The marvellous instinct of these small insects, notwithstanding Mark Twain's ingenious stricture on the proverbial "ant," will ever remain a source of the deepest interest and wonder to thinking, reasoning, intellectual man.

      This wonderful army of caterpillars suggested, as things in nature will often do if one takes heed of them, that it might be possible to introduce the culture of the silkworm here, and so substitute a profitable and honest industry for the present curse of this beautiful and otherwise highly favoured place. Silk is almost a staple of Italian industry, and doubtless the mulberry tree would flourish here as in other parts, and with as much success as at Beyrout, on the coast of Syria, a place not at all unlike Monte Carlo in its climate, the beauty of coast scenery, and luxuriance of vegetation.

      FOOTNOTES

      [C] The recent destruction of the Grand Hotel at Giessbach is a convincing proof of the truth of these remarks. Had it occurred but a month earlier, there would inevitably have been a terrible loss of life.

       Table of Contents

      Monte Carlo—In the Concert-room—The Gambling-saloons—The Tables—The moth and the candle—The true story of Monte Carlo—An International grievance and disgrace.

      We reached Monte Carlo in time for the grand concert at two o'clock. Passing through the delightful gardens surrounded by cafés, we entered the dazzling and gorgeous concert-room. There was nothing to pay. Plush-liveried servants handed us to our seats, and we enjoyed their soft luxuriance, admired the handsome and profuse decorations, and scanned the mixed society around us, listening meanwhile to some of the finest classical music.

      After spending a pleasant hour, we retired to make room for others. There was a silent expression on the countenances of the attendant croupiers, and also on many of the faces of the habitués of the place, which showed that, although this refined and intellectual enjoyment was the ostensible reason of their presence, the real and more appreciated object was the gaming-table.

      Impelled by earnest desire to judge for ourselves as to the evils of Monte Carlo, we followed the stream of people through the gilded and handsome suite of ante-rooms, to the gambling-saloons. The obsequious lacqueys opened the doors to all who wished to pass, and no

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