alled town, on its promontory, must indeed have seemed a gem in
an unsurpassed setting in the time of Tennyson. For the little Port of
Hercules and the other promontory, Spelugues, were tree- and shrub- and
flower-lined. There was nothing to break the spell of old Monaco. Now,
alas, the Casino and hotels of Monte Carlo cover Spelugues, and between
the promontories La Condamine has sprung up, a town of red-roofed villas,
larger than either Monaco or Monte Carlo and forming with them an
unbroken mass of buildings. Monaco is simply an end of the city,
distinct from the rest of the agglomeration only because it is high up
and on a cape jutting out into the sea.

Unless one went up to explore the old town, one would not realize that it
was more than the palace with its garden and the post-Tennyson cathedral,
too prominent for the good of the medieval spell. La Condamine and Monte
Carlo have reached the limit of expansion. In front is the sea, behind
the steep wall of the mountain. The principality is all city. But the
mountains and sea prevent the exclusion of nature from the picture.
Despite the modern growth of Monaco, from the Grande Corniche the words
of the poet still hold good. Monaco is no longer a predominantly
medieval picture perhaps--but it is still a gem.

The old town is as attractive in walls and buildings as other rock
villages of the Riviera. Three main streets, Rue Basse, Rue du Milieu
and Rue des Briques, run parallel from the Place du Palais out on the
promontory. They are crossed by the narrowest of city alleys, _a
l'Italienne_, and to the right of the Rue des Briques, around the
Cathedral, is the rest of the town. Nowhere does the old town extend to
the sea.

On the sites of the ancient fortifications the present ruler, Prince
Albert, has made gardens and built museums for his collections of
prehistoric man and of ocean life. One ought never to dip into museums.
If you have lots and lots of time (I mean weeks, not hours), or if you
have special interest in a definite field of study, museums may be
profitable. But "doing" museums is the last word in tourist folly. Yes,
I know that skeletons and the cutest little fish are in those museums. I
am not ashamed to confess that I never darkened their doors. Life is
short, and while the Artist revels in his subjects, I find more interest
in studying the living Monegasques than their--and our--negroid ancestors.

For there is a separate race, w