The approach downhill from Roccabruna to Mentone offers one of the most pleasing sights in the Riviera. Before us is the town, skirting the sea-shore, backed by hills clothed in evergreens of varying tints. On our right is the wide expanse of the Mediterranean; and in the distance to the east are seen the headlands of Ventimiglia and Bordighera. It is a peaceful, secluded scene, and, lying full in the blaze of sunshine, comes up to our ideas of what is befitting as a resort for those in quest of health, or who wish to reside for a time away from the turmoil of the outer world. It is customary to say of Mentone, that here civilisation ends. We have arrived at the last town in France. Going farther in this direction, we enter Italy, where, generally speaking, matters are in a less advanced condition.

The whole of Mentone is comprehended in the curve of a bay, which, from Cap Martin on the west to Cap Murtola on the east, may measure five to six miles, by following the line of coast; but the curve is divided near the centre by a projecting ledge of rocks, on which stands a conspicuous square bastion or martello tower, forming an outwork of the older part of the town. The sweep of the shore is therefore broken into two bays, the western and eastern, a circumstance which imparts a divided character to the place. As regards the residences of strangers, there may indeed be said to be two towns, distinctly cut off from each other; the only channel of communication between them being a confined thoroughfare amidst old buildings.

So closely do the mountains infringe on the shore of the eastern bay, that in this quarter there is space on the level ground for only a single range of hotels, with a roadway in front of them. On the western bay, the level ground is much broader; it allows space for a public promenade along the beach, also a succession of hotels and villas, not very symmetrically arranged, and a long street, in which the chief business of the town is conducted. Besides this degree of accommodation, the western bay offers some scope for building in certain lateral valleys, reaching to the base of the mountains. The valley first crossed is the Gorbio, and then the Borigo and Carei, the two last mentioned being the principal. They take their names from the torrents from the north which empty themselves into the sea—that is to say, when they have any running water in them, which is not very often the case. The valley of the Carei is the most spacious, and has already been built on to a considerable extent on both sides. The thoroughfare on the right bank, overshadowed with plane-trees, is known as the Route de Turin, and conducts to the railway station.

The grand thing in the scenery of Mentone is the picturesque hilly ground behind it. Standing on the bridge which crosses the Borigo at the entrance to the town, we are presented with an amphitheatre of almost matchless beauty. In the foreground is a series of round-topped hills, detached from each other, and mostly laid out as groves of olive, orange, and lemon trees, interspersed with vine terraces, and dotted here and there with the cottages of the peasant proprietors. The height of these hills, or collines as the French call them, is from four hundred to six hundred feet above the sea-level, an altitude that admits of our seeing over and immediately beyond them that wonderfully striking range of peaked limestone mountains towering in fantastic masses, and prominently relieved against the clear blue sky. The scene is one which we are never tired looking at, and leaves impressions which no length of time can obliterate. I have often thought with pleasure on that singularly picturesque landscape.

As now seen, Mentone is of comparatively recent date. Its reputation as a resort for health-seekers is only of ten or twelve years’ standing, and the larger part of its extensions has taken place within that period. At the end of last century, the town consisted of little more than a dense cluster of antiquated buildings, covering a conical hill, which rises from the sea-shore; the whole hemmed in by defensible walls, with the remains of a castle crowning the summit (since transformed into a cemetery), and a kind of sea-port claiming protection from the bastion on the projecting reef. While in this antiquated condition, there was no road through it fit for wheeled carriages. The only thoroughfare was the old Roman road, about twelve feet in width, sufficient alone for foot-passengers or mules, which wound its way as it best could along the coast—sometimes creeping up hills, at other times diving into ravines, and when arriving at towns, getting through them by narrow passages, well guarded at each end by gates. Such was the sole means of communication along the shore of the Western Riviera till within the memory of persons still living.

Good reasons for this backward state of things might be found in political distractions, and more specially in the fact, that the whole of this part of the coast was for ages so much beset by predatory bands of Moors or Saracens, that it was advantageous to make every place as inaccessible as possible. Villages were placed far up the mountains, with a good outlook to the sea, and were approachable only by scarcely distinguishable tracks. While the towns were walled, the palazzos of the gentry adjoining the ancient route resembled the larger kind of fortified Border keeps, and could be entered only by drawbridges and strongly barred doors, protected by shot-holes. Several specimens of these bastel-houses still survive, though in a decayed condition, and are well worth investigation. The Saracens, however, established themselves on various parts of the coast; one of their strongholds being Eza, a small fortified town, already referred to as being seen on the road from Nice to Mentone. According to tradition, the person chiefly concerned in expelling these intruders was a noble Genoese, named Grimaldi, who, for his bravery and public services, received a gift of the territory of Monaco, in which his descendants afterwards bore rule. As this event is said to have taken place in the year 980, the House of Grimaldi must be reckoned one of the very oldest in Europe.

Except as being involved in the wars of the Guelfs and Ghibellines, little is heard of the Grimaldis for two or three hundred years. They were known as seigneurs or counts, holding some local sway, but always under the protection of superior neighbours, to whom they stood in the relation of vassals. Any one curiously disposed regarding their intermarriages and ongoings, will get full particulars in the recent work of Mr Pemberton (History of Monaco, Past and Present), also in the French work of M. Abel Rendu (Menton et Monaco); but it is not easy to burden the memory with the annals of this noble and not always well-behaved family. But for their instinctively clinging to France, they would long since have disappeared. By Louis XIII., the family were raised to the rank of Princes of Monaco, and they were likewise invested with the Dukedom of Valentenois in the peerage of France. From this time, they fought in the French wars, and were occasionally employed in diplomatic missions. At the middle of the seventeenth century, the principality had the honour of supporting the extravagances of Lewis I., a prince who, in his ardent desire to shew off with becoming splendour as an ambassador, accepted a mission to Rome from the court of France. We are told that his prodigal outlays led to a system of taxation of hitherto unexampled severity. The most idiotic of his acts consisted in causing his carriage-horses to be shod with silver, each shoe fastened only by a single nail, in order that it might be easily lost, and ostentatiously replaced. In Anthony, the son of this madcap, the male line of the Grimaldis terminated. With only daughters to succeed, there arose a grand family consultation how Louise Hyppolyte, the eldest of these female heirs, should marry some distinguished personage, sufficiently rich to discharge certain heavy debts and obligations. If we could extract any drollery from the history of the Grimaldis, it would be in the straits to which they were put at this memorable juncture. In a sense, the girl was put up to auction. It was made generally known that the highest bidder, with the longest purse and pedigree, might have her; one thing, however, being stipulated, that he should sink his own identity, and assume the name and arms of Grimaldi. After a good deal of looking about and chaffering, Louise Hyppolyte was assigned to Count de Matignon, whose wealth was pronounced adequate, and his ancestral rank in no respect impeachable. The marriage took place in 1715, and from it sprung the present family.

It does not appear that the new branch of the clan Grimaldi was a marked improvement on the old one. When the revolution of 1789 broke out in France, it spread to the principality; and so much was Honore III. disliked for his arbitrary measures, that he had to flee for his life, leaving his patrimony to its fate, which consisted in being absorbed into the French republic. Unfortunately, the change of masters produced only some new varieties of oppression. There was, to be sure, a very distinct proclamation of liberty and equality; but it was associated with relentless taxation and conscription, along with an assiduous search for victims for the guillotine. Recesses in the mountains above Mentone are pointed out where suspects took refuge in these terrible times, and to whom food was under great difficulty taken by their families. With the fall of the Convention in 1793, and the rise of Bonaparte, the Mentonians experienced a gratifying relief, although the conscription continued as severe as ever. In the course of Napoleon’s marvellous military feats in Italy, he visited Mentone; and observing the imperfect character of the old road along the coast, gave orders to construct that entirely new carriage-way, the existing Corniche, an engineering exploit which was the making of Mentone. Previously, the old road in proceeding eastwards ascended to a vaulted gateway, and was thence continued in the Rue Longue, a curious narrow passage environed by tall antique buildings on each side, the exit being by a gateway at the farther extremity, whence the road descended to the eastern bay. For this inconvenient thoroughfare, the French engineer substituted an artificial terrace-road, raised within the sea-margin, and skirting the backs of the gaunt old houses of the Rue Longue. All who have travelled along the Corniche, will remember this ingeniously constructed part of the route, styled the Quai Bonaparte, and how, after getting clear of the town, it ascends to the Pont St Louis, on the front of the rugged cliffs which overhang the Mediterranean.

After having been connected with France for more than twenty years, the principality of Monaco was assigned, by the treaty of Vienna, to its hereditary claimants, who were to be under the protection of Piedmont. Delivered up to Honore V., as the reigning Grimaldi was designated, the unhappy people, to their dismay, soon felt themselves in the grasp of a rapacious tyrant. Honest, industrious, and confiding, they were willing to render loyal obedience to the old family; but so far from being sympathised with, they were viewed as mere objects of the most uncompromising extortion. What now occurred in the communes of Monaco, Roccabruna, and Mentone—such being the entire territory—would, if minutely told, form a history unexampled for despicable selfishness on the part of the ruling authority. The account given by Pemberton, and also by local French writers, regarding the fiscal abuses of Honore and his successor, raises the deepest emotions of compassion. It is painful even to allude to matters of this kind, and I do so only because a knowledge of what took place enables us to understand why Mentone has been absorbed into the French empire. The story—fit to form the subject of a romance—is also not without interest, as revealing to what lengths a despotic ruler may go when unchecked by considerations either of mercy or public policy.

Living at a safe distance in Paris, and governing by deputies, Honore V. maintained a fair face to the world while issuing ordinance after ordinance calculated to reduce his patrimonial territory to utter poverty and ruin. Plausible and refined in manners, his hypocrisy was equalled only by his intense avarice. What he wanted was money, and that he was resolved to wring by every available means from his helpless subjects. He began operations by taking possession of all property belonging to communes, hospitals, and ecclesiastical establishments, all of which were in future to depend on his bounty. Next, he imposed duties on every article entering or going out of the country, or which was consumed as food. The principal produce consisting of olives, oranges, lemons, citrons, figs, and grapes, these were all placed under rigorous surveillance, and subjected to heavy imposts. There had long been manufactures of oils, essences, perfumes, and confections from one or other of these fruits, for purposes of export, and the taxes now levied upon them rendered the trade not worth carrying on. Then were issued ordinances assigning to the prince an entire monopoly in the manufacture and sale of linen, gunpowder, pipes, and tobacco. No one dared to purchase linens for clothing or domestic use, or to be used as sails for boats and shipping, unless they came from the prince’s factories at such prices as he was pleased to impose. Following on these arbitrary measures came the monopoly of selling vermicelli. This was a hard blow on the poor, but nothing in comparison to the next financial device, which was a monopoly in the importation of corn, meal, and flour. As it happened that the territory produced scarcely any cereals, the people depended on imports, and under this new policy they were placed at the mercy of a prince who cared not though his subjects should perish of hunger.

To advantageously carry out this last ordinance, Honore procured the assistance of a Frenchman named Chappon, with whom he divided profits. Established as the grand purveyor of corn, Chappon became a terror to the unfortunate community. At the very outset, there was experienced a want of mills to grind the imported corn, nor could mills be erected unless where there was water-power. The valley of the Carei at Mentone offered this convenience, but its water-privileges were all secured by olive-mills, and these necessarily had to be bought up. This was speedily accomplished. The oil-mills were forcibly purchased at certain prices; but as these prices were never paid, the transaction was nothing else than a robbery. Possessed of the mills, the next thing was to make a road to them fit for wheeled carriages. Instead of making the road at his own cost, Honore obliged the proprietors of land on the right bank of the Carei to construct a thoroughfare at their own expense, at the same time mulcting them in sums to keep it up. The road so formed, lined with plane-trees, is that now known as the Route de Turin. The construction of such a road was certainly a great improvement; and the only matter for regret is the injustice of the whole affair. Having set the mills to work, Chappon imported parcels of damaged or inferior corn, which, being ground to flour, was sold at such high prices as he was pleased to impose. This extortion was not enough. It was discovered that a good profit could be made by a monopoly in baking. The prince now became baker in general for the principality, and the baking and selling of bread, except under his authority, were declared to be penal. A cry of despair—the wail of the poor—sounded through the land. Earnest, piteous remonstrances were made to Honore. All were unheeded. There was no earthly tribunal to appeal to. The press of Europe did not hear of, or at least said nothing of these atrocities. The people, patient and forbearing, continued to suffer. One can hardly realise the fact, that within the last quarter of a century a person enjoying the rank of a Christian sovereign should have been guilty of iniquities like those here briefly referred to. The bread monopoly proved the worst of all; for, besides the dearth and bad qualities of the article, excessive penalties were incurred for attempting to bring even so much as a morsel into the territory. If a labourer went across the frontier for a day’s work, and brought back at night a portion of the bread he had had for his dinner to succour his wife and children, it was taken from him, and he might think himself well off if he escaped punishment. If a ship, on arriving at any of the small ports, had bread or biscuits on board, the whole had to be thrown into the sea, and a fresh supply procured from the prince’s baker. Driven to extremity, the people ate as little as possible of what they emphatically called the pain de douleur; but this was met by a new expedient. A register was ordered to be kept of all the bread which each family purchased, and if the quantity fell short of a certain standard, they were exposed to a prosecution for consuming too little.

Things were not yet by any means at their worst. The only fuel used was old decayed olive and fruit trees, and here was a fresh means of exaction. An ordinance was issued forbidding any tree to be cut down, or any branch removed, unless by a special license, which had to be paid for, amounting to a tax on the fuel used for warmth or the preparation of victuals. The next form of extortion was to impose a fine on any one leaving his house after ten o’clock without a lantern. A fine of three francs was also imposed on every license for a person going out of the country. Hungered in the article of bread, taxed on their oranges, taxed on their fuel, and taxed in their clothing, the people as yet were allowed to eat their own poultry, eggs, and butcher-meat. That was a great overlook, now to be remedied. A universal census was taken of oxen, sheep, goats, pigs, and other animals raised for sale or private consumption, and the amount of stock had to be rigorously accounted for. A register was kept of all births and deaths of these various animals, the sex of each being noted. The object aimed at was a tax payable for every animal slaughtered. If a person wished to kill one of his pigs, he had to intimate the fact to an officer, who attended to lay on the tax, and make the appropriate deduction from the recorded stock on hand. Woe be to any one who ate his own mutton or lamb, without being taxed, even although the animal should have died or been killed by accident. We may conclude the list of extortions, by mentioning that, to support the several monopolies, it was necessary to employ a large staff of custom-house and other officials. The douane at the frontiers was remorseless in severity. If a merchant declared the weight of his goods to be a single pound less than they actually weighed, the whole were confiscated. By all these and sundry other contrivances—one being a right to all the scrapings of the streets, for there was nothing too mean to be appropriated—Honore V. wrung an annual revenue of 320,000 francs from a small population, a large proportion of whom were people in a humble rank of life. There was folly as well as cruelty in the exaction, for more than a third of the whole amount levied went to defray the expenses of collection. Some of his schemes were disappointing. He attempted to increase his civil list by coining and putting in circulation five-franc pieces, containing thirty per cent. of alloy, but as nobody would take his bad money, this proved an unfortunate financial experiment. He was also rather luckless in his projects for taxing education. In Mentone, he set up a school to which children should be sent on paying certain fees, and at the same time it was declared to be penal to teach children at home. The result was that the school was deserted, to which melancholy fact is ascribable the general ignorance of letters among the bulk of the humbler classes past middle life.

Honore V. died in 1841, carrying with him to the grave the execrations of all he had misused and misgoverned. Strange to say, the people, from a hereditary sentiment of loyalty, did not embrace the opportunity of repudiating the Grimaldis. The heir of the principality was Florestan I., of whom good hopes were entertained; but he continued the former extortions and monopolies, adding the obligation, that the crushing of all the olives in his territory should take place at his own mills, under excessive penalties. This was little else than a sentence of annihilation to the olive-growers, and general ruin was in prospect. But the time had now come when the odious tyranny could be safely thrown off. The ferment of the revolution in France in 1848 spread to the principality of Monaco, and by a popular outburst of outraged feeling, the authority of the prince was denounced and rejected. Florestan appealed for help to Sardinia, but in vain. He made some overtures at conciliation. They were treated with derision, and he was ordered to quit the territory. It says not a little for the character of the people, that in carrying through their revolution, not a single personal injury was inflicted. Having rid themselves of the Grimaldis, the communes of Monaco, Roccabruna, and Mentone declared their political independence, in which condition, and unmolested, they remained for twelve years. During this period they did much to restore general concord and prosperity, and it was at this time that some improvements were effected in the various towns. Florestan died in 1856, an event which provoked no public manifestation in favour of the family. Circumstances had already made it obvious that the communes would need to unite themselves permanently either with Sardinia or France. On this point there were protracted negotiations, judiciously conducted by a patriotic citizen of Mentone, Carlo Trenca, who had been a moving spirit in promoting the revolution and preventing public excesses. Trenca died in the course of these public duties. Matters were at length matured, and in April 1860 the people were left to vote whether they would belong to Sardinia or France. The choice of the majority was wisely for France; for by this means the country was incorporated with a nation which, while advancing its material prosperity, could secure its internal peace, and protect it against aggression. Charles III., the son and heir of Florestan, protested against the union. At last, on the 2d of February 1861, he agreed to a treaty, by which he ceded all his rights and privileges over Roccabruna and Mentone for the sum of four million francs, reserving only his sovereignty over Monaco under French protection.

Since 1861, accordingly, Mentone has in all respects been part and parcel of France, and participated in its national progress. Monaco alone, consisting of a patch of territory extending three and a half miles along the coast, by a width at broadest of one mile, remains a petty dependent sovereignty under Charles III., who lives part of the year at Paris, and at other times in his palace in the town of Monaco. His son and heir-apparent, Charles-Honore, born in 1848, was recently married to a daughter of the late Duke of Hamilton.

Since it was attached to France, Mentone, with some ground in its neighbourhood, has been a commune of the Alpes Maritimes, with a mayor and council for its local administration. So smoothly are its civic affairs conducted, that one hears little or nothing of them. There is a HÔtel de Ville, but it is by no means of an obtrusive character. It is comprehended in the upper floor of a building in a lane which ascends from the main street towards the cemetery. Adjoining is the office of the police, an establishment of a very limited nature. The annual municipal revenue is 120,000 francs, derived principally from an octroi, or petty duties on articles of consumption brought into the town; and the expenditure, including outlay on schools and hospitals, is the same amount. The settled population of Mentone is 6000. Besides the few sergents de ville who act as street police, there is a small body of Gendarmerie ImpÉriale, members of which may be seen lounging about in military costume, but ready to mount and be off on any mission appropriate to their functions. Though situated on the frontier, Mentone has no garrison worth mentioning. The only soldiers observable are a single company of one of the regiments of the line, exhilarated in their marching by three drummers and a trumpeter. To the credit of the French army, the soldiers when off duty conduct themselves with great propriety. They may be seen reading on the seats in the public promenades, or taking a walk in groups amidst the rural scenery, circumstances which may be thought to speak well for their character.