"Above me are the Alps,[321]The palaces of Nature, whose vast wallsHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,And throned Eternity in icy hallsOf cold sublimity, where forms and fallsThe Avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!All that expands the spirit yet appals,Gather around these summits, as to showHow Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below."
"Above me are the Alps,[321]The palaces of Nature, whose vast wallsHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,And throned Eternity in icy hallsOf cold sublimity, where forms and fallsThe Avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!All that expands the spirit yet appals,Gather around these summits, as to showHow Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below."
It was indeed a sublime and impressive sight—one of the grandest views of the Alps to be obtained in Italy. The early forenoon is the time to see it to the best possible advantage, which we were not fortunate enough to do, the heights being frequently enveloped in mist. Away to the south is the great hill called Superga, some 2000 feet above the sea. From thence there is probably a much more extended view from west to east, but the Alps would be seen from above—to my mind a far less majestic and imposing sight; moreover, it occupies some three or four hours to climb the Superga, whilst the observatory of the Capuchins is but half an hour's walk. Yet this hill is decidedly worth a visit if time be no object, not only for the noble extent of landscape surveyed from its heights, its convent, and church, but as the mausoleum of many of the royal family of Italy. The best views are, I believe, to be obtained from the gallery of the college.
TheAcademia delle Scienze, in the Piazza Carignano, should not be missed, as it contains a very interesting Museum of natural history; Egyptian, Grecian, Etruscan, and Roman antiquities; and a fine galleryof paintings, including some of the best works of Vandyke, Raphael, Paul Veronese, Guido, Titian, Rembrandt, Guercino, Carlo Dolci, and other of the great masters.
Turin appeared to me to be a particularly quiet city, especially after business hours. The evening delights and amusements would seem to consist of the underground concert-rooms, where the long and silent drama is enjoyed over wine and tobacco. A peep into one of these places showed the evident disfavour in which the priesthood is held, a nun and a priest being introduced on the stage for the exposure of the laughter and hisses of the audience.
Although leaving much unseen in Turin, we did not regret our departure, as we were anticipating our journey on the morrow, by the Mont Cenis railway, through the magnificent and sublime scenery of which we had heard so much. It is said—and I can well imagine the truth of it—that, owing to the circle of mountains around it, Turin is exceedingly cold in winter, and very hot in summer, and therefore to be avoided during these seasons. The autumn is considered the pleasantest time for a visit. However, we fortunately found it bright and bracing during our brief stay.
We left Turin on April 12, by the 8.50 a.m. train.
It was a fine, bright morning, and we had a capital and comprehensive view of the whole of the glorious Alpine range; the peak of Monte Viso toweringmajestically to the clouds, and in the foreground the deep purple tints of the nearer hills contrasting finely against the white slopes in the distance, the green fields relieving the eye from the dazzling loveliness of the snow. Passing Alpigano, and entering a gap in the line of hills, the train left the plains, and commenced the ascent. San Ambroglio is soon passed, with its octagonal church; in the distance, on the top of Mount Piecheriano, is the old monasterySagra di Michele. It is said that in the tombs of this Abbey, owing to the peculiar nature of the soil and atmosphere, the dead bodies are preserved perfectly mummified. Crossing the river Dora, and passing Borgone and Bassolemo, we now really commence the Mont Cenis railway. On the left is the old castellated fortress Bruzolo, picturesquely perched on the hilltop, a little village with a large church at its base. Recrossing the Dora, we pass some beautiful chestnut woods, through several tunnels, and thence on to Susa, the valley expanding, cultivated with terraced vineyards and gardens. We now obtain grand retrospective views of the beautiful valley below, with glimpses of ancient Roman ruins and aqueducts; the arch of Augustus peeping out of the magnificent scenery, and reminding one of the great spirits of the Latin race, with their eye ever open to the beautiful and the grand. The old Mont Cenis road winds prettily up the hill; the snow-clad Alps on the right and left, the great Roche Melon and Roche Michel soaring to the clouds. The valley then contracts andwinds round a great rocky chasm (the Wild Gorge), where the hills are veritably rent asunder, passing through which one involuntarily shudders, and dreams of being in the land of some Titanic race, whose rocky thunder-bolts are ready to fall upon and crush the small, fragile creatures who have ventured to their mountain fastnesses.
After passing through several tunnels, with occasional glimpses of the scenery between, we at last emerge into the more peaceful plains near Chiomonti, the white-tipped mountains still soaring high above us. Now we once more plunge into the bowels of the earth, fitfully emerging into the bright sunshine, and skimming by splashing mountain streamlets and picturesque waterfalls, now and again gliding between banks of primroses and bluebells. At Saibertrand our two small engines are replaced by one of equal power. Here we have the snow lying in patches on the ground around us, and a fine rushing mountain stream fed by the many springs and rivulets from the mountain slopes, the Alpine range on our left beautifully timbered with fir forests. Now come another series of sparkling streams, flowing through the alluvial deposits carried down from the mountains, and so on to Casa No. 69. Passing a rushing mountain stream, spanned by an iron bridge, we leave the snowy Alps behind us, only one bold peak appearing at the end of the valley—where a little town is nested—almost filling up the gap with its wintry summit, and making a beautiful outline against the blue sky.And now we stop at Onyx, a station of some importance. Here we find the Hotel Gozie, a nice-looking building, close to the great Mont Cenis tunnel, and evidently intended for the convenience of Alpine climbers. Here we are apparently locked in by a little circle of hills, grand Alpine peaks forming a crescent on our left. The atmosphere is now much colder, for we are nearing the snowy hills. Another engine is attached to the train, and we are soon winding round and between the mountain barrier, then through a short tunnel, the fir-clad, rocky hills towering up on our left, great snow-drifts and icicles hanging down the gorges and slopes. One more short tunnel, and we wind round past Stazione 89 and stop at Bardonnecha, the line abruptly ascending. Now a little town appears, and conspicuous in its square is the statue of some eminent citizen, surmounted by an outspread eagle; and then we penetrate the snowy mountains; and at last, when expectation is almost spent, we enter the great Mont Cenis tunnel, at first getting little intermittent flashes of light, and then indeed entombed within the great mountains, like frogs in granite.
Here indeed—minus the dreaded sea above us—was an experience of the horrid discomfort of the insanely wished-for Channel Tunnel, and I heartily prayed the scheme might never be accomplished. We entered the tunnel at about 12.7 p.m., and emerged at about 12.35, having been about half an hour in going through. Yes! we have really piercedthe great Groge range of the snowy Alps at a height of some 8000 or 9000 feet, and can form some faint idea of the God-given power of Man over Nature. Hovering on the outskirts of this thought, there comes a far-off glimpse of the infinite greatness and goodness of God; and where indeed could such a reflection more fitly come than here, amid the grandeur and beauty of these mighty, snow-clad hills, rearing their icy summits to the skies; the wild passes, with their solemn rocky chasms and narrow defiles; the rushing torrents and sparkling cascades; the cloudless blue sky; and the innocent bluebells and primroses lying so trustfully at the feet of the great frowning rocks above—all working together like the moving light and shadow in such perfect majestic harmony?
One feels—
In beauteous vale, on Alpine snow-clad heights,In splendours of the days or glories of the nights,In frowning rocks o'erhanging depths below,On mossy banks where sweet flowerets grow,We see God's power and love infinitely wide—"Thy Truth, most mighty Lord, on every side."
In beauteous vale, on Alpine snow-clad heights,In splendours of the days or glories of the nights,In frowning rocks o'erhanging depths below,On mossy banks where sweet flowerets grow,We see God's power and love infinitely wide—"Thy Truth, most mighty Lord, on every side."
As a tunnel, Mont Cenis is of no very extraordinary length; but, being composed of almost solid rock, the boring operation for so great a distance must have proved exceedingly difficult, the width being twenty-six feet, and the height nineteen feet. Some 2000 men were constantly employed at each end for nearly nine years. The steep ascent, of some 8000 feet, is another marvellous feature. The totalcost was, I believe, about three millions of pounds sterling. The boring machines were worked by compressed air. The men who accomplished this great work should not be forgotten—their names were Sommellier, Grandis, and Grattoni.
Before leaving the tunnel there was an evident feeling that we were already descending, and when at length we emerged a grand and wonderful panorama burst upon our view, all the more beautiful and refreshing after our late dark imprisonment, which made us dread the very thought of a Channel Tunnel. The great snow-capped mountains were still on our left and behind us; while beneath, almost buried in the valley, lay a little town, Stazione 86. Yet once more we are engulfed in a long tunnel, almost seeming to fly down the rapid descent. We now leave the great Alpine range circling in our rear; and now precipitous mountains tower on our right hand, the fir-tree forests with which they are clothed evidently a source of great profit to the good people here, who are felling, cutting, sawing, and evidently preparing to send the timber away. And now, at 12.45 p.m., we reach Modane, are past the Italian boundary, and once more inla belle France.
Here there is a good buffet, and a French breakfast ready for those who wish it.
And now farewell to fair Italia! Her loveliness of Nature and beautiful works of art; her magnificent Cathedrals and splendid Palaces; her treasure-filledgalleries and wonderful museums; her noble monuments and queenly ruins—fit emblems of her glorious past; and to her generous and patriotic men and women a reluctant adieu and tender farewell.
Alas, that there should be any reverse to such a picture! that there should still linger in her churches and religious life the fluttering rays of a blighting superstition! that there should be a want of true modesty and cleanliness in the habits of her people! that an ignoble love of ease should still characterize her upper classes, while the lowest orders generally are steeped in ignorance and importunate mendicancy! and that enervating and dirty habits should be engendered in her people by their inveterate indulgence in the cheap wine and tobacco of the country!—though, in common fairness, I should add that it is as rare to see drunkenness in Italy as, unfortunately, it is common in our own country.
There are things in fair Italy, as doubtless there are in fair England, to which there is no reluctance on our part to bid adieu, and among them, to descend to smaller grievances, are the exorbitant hotel charges; disgusting railway station accommodation; and dirty railway carriages, owing chiefly to the national habit of persistent smoking, and the difficulty of keeping the smokers to their own compartments.
Yet with all these drawbacks, one cannot but feel that Italy is springing into a noble national life. I believe she has a great heart and a great future before her, which will prove worthy of her past nobility andglory, and of the generous sympathy felt for her—perhaps most unselfishly so by England. I think we are justified in feeling a greater sympathy for Italy than for France, for I believe she truly reciprocates it; while the French show towards us a dislike almost verging on jealous antipathy, while in themselves they are entirely given to frivolity and caprice—a hopeless scepticism and impudent immorality: their naturally great powers seem exclusively devoted to selfish objects, and the worship of Fashion and Pleasure!
From Modane to Paris—Lovely scenery—St. Michel—St. Jean de Maurienne—Epierre—Paris—Notre Dame—French immorality—La Manche—"Dear old foggy London"—Reflections and conclusion.
From Modane to Paris—Lovely scenery—St. Michel—St. Jean de Maurienne—Epierre—Paris—Notre Dame—French immorality—La Manche—"Dear old foggy London"—Reflections and conclusion.
After a thorough examination of our luggage by the French authorities, we leave Modane for Paris, a very powerful engine taking us in tow. At Modane the scenery is very grand: fine waterfalls, rocky mountains with great pine forests, and their slopes sometimes enlivened by the pink blossom of the almond tree—a capital place for Alpine climbers.
In consequence of the immense masses of loose overhanging rock, we had to advance slowly and cautiously, and we frequently looked up with some dread lest they should fall upon and utterly crush us. It was interesting to see the congealed waterfalls among the fir-crowned heights above, and some of the great romantic ravines filled with masses of frost-bound snow; while here and there we came upon small wooden crosses, marking the grave of some too adventurous climber or poor peasant guide. By-and-by we pass through a series of short tunnels, great care being necessary, as works are constantly going onto support the weight of the great mountain boulders and to prevent the tunnels falling in; for the water drainage saturates and loosens the masonry. One now obtains some idea of the enormous expenses of the line, and the difficulties contended with it. Descending, we lose for a time the snow-clad hills, which have been our companions for so long; the rivulets join and increase to a rushing, tumbling stream, following madly after us, until we stop at St. Michel, the first station after leaving Modane. Here a great mountain close to us completely covered with snow rendered the air around intensely cold. Continuing our route down into the valley, still accompanied by the lively, chattering stream, now widening into a roaring river, we have a great mountain range on either side, and pass through a lofty narrow gorge. Looking back, I could scarcely discern the cleft in the rocky barrier through which we had come.
And now we see a pretty homely scene among these snow-clad hills. At St. Jean de Maurienne, close to the railway, was a road leading to the valley down which troops of school-children tripped merrily along, led by Sisters of Mercy in their quaint, white winged caps, the healthy, joyous faces of the little ones evidencing to the kindness and care of these good women. What indeed would the inhabitants of these wintry mountain regions, so far from the civilization of great cities, do without their clergy, and the noble sisterhood who devote themselves to a life of usefulness and charity?
Later on we passed through another rocky defile, where we saw a little octagonal chapel perched upon a hilly promontory, overlooking a bridge across the river. Here the great mountain peaks were quite lost in the clouds, and the ruggedness of the scenery was grand in the extreme. Some of the immense pinnacles and jutting rocks were most fantastically shaped, like the residence of some fabled giant, in contrast to the little ruined castles we frequently saw, adding a touch of old-world romance to the landscape:
"The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets beenIn mockery of man's art."
"The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets beenIn mockery of man's art."
The valley between the mountains now widens, showing in the distance fertile plains, and now and then a picturesque little village, and other signs of human life and energy. Then again the scenery varies, magnificent snow-clad mountain peaks rising some 7000 or 8000 feet above us. Mont Blanc lies behind this range to the right, but is lost in the clouds—we making our way down to the valley of the Rhone, alone with the rushing stream, nothing else disturbing the silence of the sublime grandeur around.
Almost suddenly we descend to Epierre, where there is a pretty little iron bridge spanning the foaming river. Here the hillsides slope down gradually more and more, and every inch of ground is thriftily cultivated, the industry of the French far exceeding that of the Italians, who are for the most part a careless, easy-going race of beings. At Acquebelle we stopped. The marshes in the neighbourhood renderit very unhealthy. At Mont Melian the route lies through fertile plains, the snowy Alps being now almost left behind. The landscape towards Chambery and Viviers is something like the Italian lake district. Passing Aix-les-Bains, we run along the borders of the long narrow lake Bourget, a fine coach road lying between us, affording a very beautiful drive. Aix, the popular watering-place, is celebrated for its sulphurous springs and vestiges of ancient Roman baths there. This was a refreshing change of scenery, but the lake seemed somewhat monotonous after the beauties of Como. At the end of the lake is a small promontory with a castellated building, commanding a fine view of the distant Alps.
The route after Culoz is considerably elevated. We pass several beautiful waterfalls, and at length cross the Rhone, through whose lovely valley we wind with just sufficient daylight to see its beauties.
"All the hues,From the rich sunset to the rising star,Their magical variety diffuse:And now they change: a paler shadow strewsIts mantle o'er the mountains; parting dayDies like the Dolphin, whom each pang imbuesWith a new colour as it gasps away,The last still loveliest, till—'tis gone, and all is grey."
"All the hues,From the rich sunset to the rising star,Their magical variety diffuse:And now they change: a paler shadow strewsIts mantle o'er the mountains; parting dayDies like the Dolphin, whom each pang imbuesWith a new colour as it gasps away,The last still loveliest, till—'tis gone, and all is grey."
Travelling through the night, we reach Paris at early morn (April 13th), and are sharply reminded, by the severe cold, of the difference in temperature we have lately been accustomed to in sunny Italy; the vegetation and all else is covered with silver frost.
Paris—the gay, beautiful, busy Paris—is as brilliant as ever; every one seemingly bent on pleasure, light and volatile as the air they breathe. In this city life hovers April-like between a tear and a smile! Visiting the great Cathedral of Notre Dame, we witnessed an impressive funeral service. The coffin in the centre of the nave, near the transept, was covered with flowers, and lighted candles were placed around it. The friends and relations having assembled, several priests, deacons, and acolytes appeared, and the service commenced. So far as the priests were concerned it was very mechanical, even to the elevation of the Host, and the sprinkling of the coffin and friends of the deceased with holy water; but the dirge-like chanting in and between the service was very beautiful and solemn. Many coffins were brought in and conveyed to the different chapels within the Cathedral during this service. It would appear that the length of the ceremonies depend upon the amount of money paid for them: but, as in the confessional, the priests profit more, I fear, than either the dead or the living.
On another occasion, we were present at a preparation for the Holy Communion in one of the chapels. Some twenty or thirty young girls, robed in white, with long veils, were sitting together, their friends and relatives seated at some little distance on the other side. The priest having read and lectured, some fine chants were sung by the young maidens, and they were dismissed with a blessing.
While in Paris this time, I was struck with the number of indecent photographs by no means to be confounded with works of art, in the windows of shops in the Rue de Rivoli, and indeed almost everywhere; such photographs, as we should never allow to be exhibited in London, yet here nothing was thought of it. Even ladies stopped to examine them without a blush. Indeed, it appeared to me that such is the impudent immorality and impurity now in Paris, that such an expression as an innocent blush would be difficult to detect, more especially as the conscience—that delicate sympathy of the mind which would cause it to shrink from all that was not perfectly pure and beautiful—is made to retire and give place to reason and materialism. The pleasure and satisfaction of the senses seems to be all that they consider worth living for. Pleasure is God, and both the soul and body bow before it. Poor France, after so much suffering and national disgrace, still fondly hugs the filthy rags of Irreligious Reason, which she sadly callsliberté,equalité, andfraternité.
Next morning (April 14th), we crossed the Channel in delightfully smooth water, and arrived in London safely once more. Dear old London, with all thy fogs I love thee still! Every true Englishman, even after travelling in climates more genial than his own, ever feels a tenderness in returning to his own island home once more. Taken as a whole, there is no city like London; no country or even climate like that of England. Although we have no majesticsnow-capped Alps around us, nor the eternal blue skies and sunny climate of Italy, nor the classical and ancient mementoes of Rome and Greece,—yet we have wild mountain scenery, beautiful lakes, lovely undulating and richly timbered landscapes, dimpled by happy homesteads where the silver stream flows sweetly by; and there are our magnificent coast headlands and beautiful seaside resorts, great populous cities, with their splendid public buildings and fine parks. And as a rule, I believe, there is no country so healthy, no life so pure as ours, whatever may be said to the contrary.
In the travels of the last few months, we have seen much of the sublime majesty and loveliness of Nature; the wealth of art treasures in painting, sculpture, and architecture that adorns fair Italy; the inspired works of the gifted men of past ages, so eloquently telling their noble thoughts, expressive of reverence and love for the beautiful—proofs indeed of their great and magnificent genius, and that fair things cannot die. We have also seen something of the wondrous yet sad mementoes of the mighty Pagan nations entombed in their once great cities—vast sepulchres of a splendid past; those Titanic minds which governed in their time the whole of the known world; a few beautiful but crumbling columns, all that is now visible of their glory and conquering power. On such ground we tread lightly, reverencing the great and mighty dead. From these we turn to the young and vigorous Christian nationsplanted in their stead, and in thus contemplating the past and the present, and the wondrous power and goodness of God, one cannot but be struck with the truth and beauty of the ninetieth psalm, and also exclaim, as did the psalmist, "Lord, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him?"
The London Garibaldian Excursion Volunteers.
The following, printed on Red Cards, was issued throughout London and many of the larger towns:—
"Card of Membership.
"EXCURSION TO SOUTH ITALY.
"A select party of English Excursionists intend to visit South Italy. The Excursionists will be furnished with means of self-defence, and, with a view of recognizing each other, will be attired in a picturesque and uniform costume."General Garibaldi has liberally granted the excursionists a free passage to Sicily and Italy, and they will be supplied with rations and clothing suitable for the climate. Information to be obtained at Captain Edward S—— 's offices, 8, Salisbury Street, Strand, London, W.C."All persons desirous of joining the excursion, or willing to aid the same with their subscriptions, are requested to communicate immediately with the Committee of the Garibaldi Fund, at 8, Salisbury Street, Strand, London."
"A select party of English Excursionists intend to visit South Italy. The Excursionists will be furnished with means of self-defence, and, with a view of recognizing each other, will be attired in a picturesque and uniform costume.
"General Garibaldi has liberally granted the excursionists a free passage to Sicily and Italy, and they will be supplied with rations and clothing suitable for the climate. Information to be obtained at Captain Edward S—— 's offices, 8, Salisbury Street, Strand, London, W.C.
"All persons desirous of joining the excursion, or willing to aid the same with their subscriptions, are requested to communicate immediately with the Committee of the Garibaldi Fund, at 8, Salisbury Street, Strand, London."
"Circular issued in reply to Applicants."August ——, 1860."Sir,"In reply to your letter of the—inst., I beg to forward you the following particulars:—"1. You will be provided with a free passage, uniform, accoutrements, and rations, and your pay to commence from the day you land."2. You can leave the English Excursionists at any moment; but should you do so before their return to England, you will forfeit all claim to pensions, medals, etc., which you may obtain."3. A personal interview is imperative, when you can learn all further particulars."The Excursionists expect to leave within a fortnight from this date. Three days' notice will be given to those going."Yours faithfully,"Edward S——,"Captain Garibaldi's Staff."
"Circular issued in reply to Applicants.
"August ——, 1860.
"Sir,
"In reply to your letter of the—inst., I beg to forward you the following particulars:—
"1. You will be provided with a free passage, uniform, accoutrements, and rations, and your pay to commence from the day you land.
"2. You can leave the English Excursionists at any moment; but should you do so before their return to England, you will forfeit all claim to pensions, medals, etc., which you may obtain.
"3. A personal interview is imperative, when you can learn all further particulars.
"The Excursionists expect to leave within a fortnight from this date. Three days' notice will be given to those going.
"Yours faithfully,
"Edward S——,
"Captain Garibaldi's Staff."
NOTE B (p. ix., Preface).
The following is from a Leading Article of theDaily Telegraph, March 10th, 1884:—
"Another suicide, occasioned by losses at the gaming-table, is reported from Monte Carlo, and, commenting upon the sad occurrence, a local newspaper makes the alarming statement that since the 1st of January nineteen similar cases of self-destruction have taken place upon the same spot, the victims having, without exception, been ruined by play. It will be remembered that on the 15th of last month Lord Edmund Fitzmaurice was asked, in the House of Commons, whether the attention of her Majesty's Government had been drawn to the frequent suicides of which the Principality of Monaco had recently been the scene, and whether any remonstrances had been addressed by the Foreign Office to France and Italy, urging those Powers to suppress the last public gaming-tables existing in Europe. The Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs gave the stereotyped answer that no representations had been made by Lord Granville to foreign Powers upon this subject, and there the matter ended. Since the middle of last month the catalogue of suicides at Monaco has been swollen by the addition of five or six further victims to the Moloch of play; nor can it be wondered at if under these circumstances a loud demand that the Casino at Monte Carlo should be forcibly closed has been made, not only by many public writers in France and Italy, but still more by permanent residents upon the Mediterranean Riviera. Thus we read in a powerful articlecontributed by M. Edmond Planchut to theRevue des Deux Mondes—an abridged translation of which has just appeared in one of our monthly magazines—that the inhabitants of Nice, Mentone, Cannes, Marseilles, and Genoa, and the more respectable members of the foreign colonies scattered along that beautiful coast, are entirely agreed upon two points: First, as to the necessity of protesting without intermission against the immunity conceded to the ever-open gaming-tables at Monte Carlo; and, secondly, as to the expediency of petitioning France and Italy to put a stop to this flagrant scandal. 'It would, indeed, be monstrous,' adds M. Edmond Planchut, 'if it were found impossible to suppress in one of the smallest States of Europe a blighting evil which has been extinguished by the Governments of more important Powers.'
"In April, 1882, many petitions, urging the suppression of the Monte Carlo tables, were presented to the French Chamber, which, in M. Planchut's words, 'passed to the order of the day, after hearing M. de Freycinet's remarks in opposition to the prayer of the memorialists.' A month later the French Senate sent these petitions back to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, with a more or less outspoken endorsement of their prayer. If, indeed, the Governments installed at Paris and at Rome were of one mind upon this subject, there can be little doubt that the fatal Casino at Monte Carlo would not long be permitted to exist. 'And why,' asks M. Planchut, 'should there not be perfect accord between Italy and France on this topic? It is not a question whether France exercises a kind of protectorate over the Principality of Monaco, or whether the House of Savoy still regards the Prince of Monaco as its vassal,despite the circumstance that in 1860 Italy abandoned her rights over his little domain. France and Italy should be animated by one paramount desire—the extinction of these infamous gaming-tables; and, if France believes herself to possess the right of speaking with more respectful firmness than her neighbour to Prince Charles III., it is simply because Monaco is surrounded on all sides by French territory.' The bitter experiences of the season which is now in full swing at Monte Carlo render the present moment peculiarly propitious for demanding the abolition of an establishment which is the head-centre of vice, infamy, and ruin in one of the most exquisitely lovely spots upon the face of the earth. Who that has ever read Lord Brougham's description of what he called 'his discovery of Cannes' can have forgotten his enthusiasm when recounting the myriad charms and attractions of that delicious coast? They had already been recited by Dr. Arnold in a well-known passage from one of his 'Lectures upon Modern History,' which expatiates upon the horrors of the siege of Genoa, and contrasts grim-visaged war with the divine natural beauty of the scene in the midst of which it was carried on by Masséna, who was himself a native of Nice. 'Winter,' observes Dr. Arnold, 'had passed away, and spring returned, so early and so beautiful, upon that garden-like coast, sheltered, as it is, from the north winds by its belt of mountains, and open to the full rays of the bountiful southern sun. Spring returned, and clothed the hill-sides within the lines with its fresh verdure. But that verdure was no longer the mere delight of the careless eye of luxury, refreshing the citizens with its liveliness and softness when they repaired thither from thecity to enjoy the surpassing beauty of the prospect. The green slopes were now visited for a very different object. Ladies of the highest rank might be seen cutting up every plant which it was possible to turn to food, and bearing home the commonest weeds of the roadside as a precious treasure.' During that memorable blockade, maintained by the Austrians on land and by the British fleet under Lord Keith at sea, Masséna and the French troops held on grimly to the besieged city of Genoa, until twenty thousand of its innocent inhabitants had perished by that most awful and lingering of deaths, famine. It would be no extravagant estimate to believe that during the fourscore years and more which have since elapsed, the demon of play, enthroned along the whole of the Riviera, has caused as much misery to its hapless victims as the fatal siege of Genoa, which Dr. Arnold selected as exemplifying the direful horrors of which war was the author in 1800.
"M. Planchut has little difficulty in showing to what an extent the cities and resorts in the neighbourhood of Monte Carlo are suffering from their proximity to that pernicious spot. Of its seductive attractions there is no need to speak in detail. The visitors find at its Casino all the best newspapers and magazines of civilization laid out for their amusement, to which are added an excellent theatre, an unsurpassed orchestra, and—'pour comble de malheur'—open tables at which any stranger can play at roulette, or at trente-et-quarante, upon presentation of a card of address. Mentone, says M. Planchut, which is the nearest resort to Monte Carlo, is neither rich, populous, nor luxurious. 'While there has been a surprising increase in the population of Ems, Wiesbaden, and Hombourg since the abolitionof their tables, the population of Mentone has scarcely increased by two thousand souls since its annexation by France. Mentone will not be possible as a winter residence for invalids until the tables have disappeared from the littoral.' Nice also suffers, says this caustic French censor, from its proximity to Monte Carlo. 'Unfortunately, people play at the Masséna and Mediterranean clubs in Nice as much as at Monaco. The passion for gambling has permeated all ranks of society at Nice, until it has infected the very tradespeople—has even descended to the humblest poor of its port. Walk round the town on a fête day, and you will see in the old quarters, upon the quays, and in the open air, roulette tables in full swing.' The Masséna Club, anxious to detain wealthy strangers at Nice, and to keep them away from Monaco, finds its gambling-rooms too small, and is extending its accommodation. The result is that the owners of the lovely villas, the luxurious hotels, and the abounding apartments at Nice, Cannes, and many other similar resorts are bitterly complaining of a want of tenants and guests. Prudent fathers of families are naturally slow to take young sons to a city where play rules supreme, and from which Monte Carlo is accessible by trains which never cease running. Still less do they care to expose their daughters to mingling with that crowd of questionable females, coming from all parts of the world, and constituting what M. Planchut calls the 'monde interlope,' which assembles every winter at Monte Carlo and Nice. The inevitable consequence is that 'the value of land increases in proportion to its distance from the Principality of Monaco.' M. Planchut does well to base his demand for the suppression of Monte Carlo upon arguments pointingrather to political economy than the public morality. In England, however, we are bound to remember that within fifty hours of our shores an open gambling-house exists, to the destruction of the peace and happiness of many English families. 'Never,' says the writer of an excellent article based upon M. Planchut's contribution to theRevue des Deux Mondes, 'has the French Government more freely sanctioned lotteries, tombolas, and the opening of tripots disguised as artistic and literary clubs than at present; never has it so completely resigned its control over betting, whether in gambling-houses or the racecourse.' To such a Government it is obvious that arguments founded upon the pecuniary advantages rather than the morals of its sons and daughters should be addressed. How many more suicides will have to take place at Monte Carlo before France and Italy will make up their minds to improve its gambling-tables off the face of the earth?"
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