In 1306 the Ghibellines, or Genoese, held Monaco and felt sure of their holding, for they had long remained undisturbed. They were represented by the head of the Spinola family who had taken up his residence in the citadel or, as it would by this time be termed, the palace.
On Christmas Eve 1306 a small party of men left Nice after sundown and made their way to Monaco by way of certain paths across the hills. It was not a conspicuous party, being formed only of a few armed men and a monk. They would be taken for a body of retainers moving from one castle to another. It might have been observed that they treated the monk with great respect and deference. He himself was not notable, except that he was an agile and powerful man and that he seemed rather more hilarious than is becoming to a priest.
When they reached Monaco the night was at its darkest, the harbour deserted and the rock merely a towering black mass. They then did a curious thing. Without a word they parted. The armed men crept along the foot of the cliff and were at once lost to sight. The monk, left alone, sat down by the water’s edge and listened. He was listening for the sound of a church bell. It would be the bell of St. Nicolas in Monaco rung to announce the midnight Mass. As he waited he drew something from the folds of his gown. It was not a rosary nor a crucifix. It was a dagger with a long blade which he fingered affectionately.
When the first sound of the bell rang over the sea he rose and commenced to ascend the steep path which led to the gate of the town. He walked with his head bowed and with leisurely steps. His habit was that of the Priory of St. Dévote, the little church which looked across the harbour. Any who went by passed him unnoticed. If he stumbled on the path in the dark he swore which is unusual among men of his cloth. Before the gate was the sentinel, who recognising the garb of the priest, merely inclined his head with a gesture of respect. The monk responded by commending him to God. Before long this guardian of the gate had need of that commendation. The monk, apparently deep in thought, passed through the courtyard occupied by the guard. They were sitting around a small fire on the ground and were playing at minchiate or tresetti or some such game of cards.
MONACO: THE PALACE.
He walked on unchallenged and entered the great square before the palace. He drew a sigh of relief. It might have implied relief at having reached the top of a steep hill. It might have implied more. He turned to the left and, walking with the solemn step, appropriate to a priest going to Mass, entered one of the narrow streets of the town that led to the church. There were lights in some upper windows and people were leaving their houses to attend the evening service. When he came upon the last cross street he turned down it. It led not to the church but to the ramparts.
On reaching the ramparts his manner suddenly changed; he became intensely alert. He leaned eagerly over the wall and whistled. A response came out of the black shadows into which he gazed. His friends from Nice had kept their tryst. How these armed men got over the wall into the town is not known. Very possibly the monk had a rope concealed under his habit.
In a few moments all his followers were around him. The bell of the church had ceased to toll and the celebration of the Mass had begun. There was now no need for further disguise. The party rushed back through the very street that the monk had traversed. They may have passed a belated worshipper on his way to St. Nicolas who, as they tore by, would fall back against the wall. They pressed on, headed by the monk, who had now a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
On gaining the square a few of the party turned to the main gate. The soldiers of the guard were still busy at their game of cards and were butchered as they sat. The assault was so sudden that the man with the winning “hand” fell back dead, with the cards still in his grip, spread out from his thumb fan-like, but so spattered with blood that they looked all red. The sentinel, who had been commended to God, was stabbed in the back as he stood and so passed out of the world without knowing how he had come to leave it.
The monk and the rest of the company made for the palace. The men at the open door, who were drowsily awaiting the return of the Spinola from St. Nicolas, were cut down as if by a blast of deadly wind and so the citadel was won. Those within had no time to arm. They were killed or made prisoners according to the attitude they assumed.
In the great hall lolled the Master of the House who, dozing in a chair, was thunderstruck to see a body of violent men, headed by a monk, dash in through the door. Jumping up he could only call out to the advancing priest, “In the name of Heaven who are you?” and tremble as the answer came, “I am Francis Grimaldi.”
The Spinola who were in the church at the time of the attack managed to reach the harbour and escaped in their galleys to Genoa.[36] It was thus that the great family of Grimaldi obtained a final hold upon Monaco and it was by reason of what happened on this Christmas Eve that the figure of a monk with a sword appears upon their coat of arms.
From this period, with the exception of an interval of eleven years, 1327-1338,[37] Monaco has remained in the hands of the Grimaldi who can thus claim to have been masters of the stout little territory for no less than six hundred years.
Francis Grimaldi—often spoken of as Francis the Crafty—was killed in a fight in 1309.
[36]
“Monaco et ses Princes,” by H. Métivier, 1862, Vol. 1.
[37]
Between these dates the Spinola were again in possession of the rock.