Ghosts of Menton

‘Cannes is for the living, Monaco for the playing, and Menton for the dying’

Beyond the colourful facades of Menton’s old town lies a morbidly fascinating history. Transport yourself back to the 19th century, when the cobblestone streets of Menton were filled with the sound of coughing — perhaps not an unfamiliar scene. However, the hacking and spluttering in the 1860s was not caused by a wave of integrationitis ripping through SciencesPistes. Instead, the cheerful Riviera town we now call home was a fashionable winter resort frequented by aristocrats — many of whom suffered from tuberculosis.

If you have ever sworn that Mentonese air is special, you might be onto something. Doctors from the 19th century certainly thought so, most notably James Henry Bennet. We can thank this Briton for putting Menton on the map by recommending it to his tuberculosis-afflicted patients.

Bennet believed Menton’s temperate winters and warm dry climate could help to cure tuberculosis. He travelled first to Menton in 1859 after contracting the disease, seeking “to die in a quiet place.” Instead, Bennet experienced a miraculous improvement in his health. He subsequently started a medical practice in Menton, though he would return to Britain during the summers to see patients.

Bennet published a number of books in the 1860s and 1870s exploring the role of climate in the treatment of pulmonary diseases, heralding Menton for its rejuvenating weather. By 1882, even Queen Victoria herself had caught Menton fever. In search of a cure for her sickly son Leopold, the monarch spent two months here. Although Leopold did not survive, Menton’s legacy prevailed and by the turn of the century, this little commune was saturated with ailing aristocrats from Britain, Germany, and Russia.

Menton came to be known amongst Britons as a town “for the dying”: its beauty and charm drew in famous folks looking for a place to spend their final years, while its reputation for restoring health made it desirable to the sickly.

To this day, spirits continue to roam the streets of Menton, and are especially noticeable at this time of year. So let us embark on an exploration of our most interesting local ghosts, their lives, their deaths, and their legacies...

William Webb Ellis (1806-1872)

Perhaps the most famous of Menton’s deceased, William Webb Ellis grew up in the town of Rugby, England. In 1823, during a game of soccer, Ellis picked up the ball in his hands and ran with it. This bold violation of traditional soccer rules sparked the development of “rugby” style play. Ellis has since been recognized as the inventor of rugby. In 1987, the International Rugby Board decided to honor Ellis by engraving his name into the Rugby World Cup. Ellis went on to become a pastor and then a minister in London. At some point towards the end of his life, Ellis moved to Menton, though it is unclear whether this was due to illness. He died on the 24th of January in 1872 and was buried in le Cimetière du Vieux Château.

Next time the ball drifts in an unexpected way during a Mentonese game of rugby, don't be so quick to blame the wind. It just might be the spirit of William Webb Ellis, trying once again to partake in the sport he created.

Pyotr Petrovich Troubetzkoy (1822-1892)

This former aide-de-camp to the Tzar was a Russian diplomat, administrator and general. His first marriage was to Princess Varvara Yourievna Trubetskoy who was also, coincidentally, his cousin. However, in 1865, he went to Florence on a diplomatic mission and met Ada Winans, an American opera singer. He promptly divorced Yourievna and moved to Ghiffa, Italy with Winans. After a financial disaster owing to the Panama Canal crisis, Troubetzkoy was forced to sell his villa in Ghiffa and relocate to Menton. His love for botany drew him to Menton’s temperate climate and diverse flora. He died here in 1892 and is buried in le Cimetière du Vieux Château. His resting place is hard to miss; it is an ornate Russian orthodox funeral chapel overlooking the city.

Some swear that if you venture to the cemetery late at night, you might catch a glimpse of a wispy form, draped in the tattered remains of an Imperial Russian diplomatic uniform. And if you listen very carefully, you might even hear a quiet operatic tune drifting through the tombstones. Though we may never know for certain, perhaps it is the voice of Ada Winans, serenading her husband in death just as she did in life...

Ivan Grigorovich (1853-1930)

Everyone’s favorite Russian naval minister is indeed a former resident of Menton! Serving from 1911 to 1917, Grigorovich established himself as a competent leader during the Russo-Japanese war of 1904-05, where he served as commander of the besieged Port Arthur. Following this military defeat, Grigorovich set about expanding and reforming Russia’s navy, leading to his appointment as naval minister in 1911. He maintained healthy relations with naval interests in the Duma and remained popular with Tsar Nicholas II. However, the February Revolution brought about naval unrest, and Grigorovich was dismissed from office in 1917.

Grigorovich suffered from frequent bouts of pneumonia and requested to seek medical treatment abroad. In 1923, he was granted permission to leave Russia and seek exile in France, where he lived in relative poverty and made a living by selling his oil paintings. When Grigorovich died in 1930, he was buried in le Cimetière du Vieux Château in Menton.

Anatoly Lunacharsky (1875-1933)

This Marxist revolutionary was the first Soviet people’s commissar for education. He was also a playwright, critic and journalist. Lunacharsky’s brilliant skills as an orator and position as editor of the first Bolshevik newspaper Vpered solidified his position as one of Lenin’s most active collaborators. He played an important role in persuading the industrial workers of Petrograd to support the October revolution. As commissar for education, Lunacharsky was able to preserve many historic buildings and artwork from destruction over the course of the Russian Civil War. He also introduced a system for subsidizing the arts and attempted to reform the Russian education system.

Lunacharsky was responsible for the Soviet Government’s campaign against adult illiteracy, and by the time he left office, virtually zero percent of the adult population in Russia was illiterate. In 1930, he represented the Soviet Union at the league of Nations in Geneva. In 1933, he was appointed Soviet ambassador of Spain. En route to Spain, Lunacharsky stopped in Menton, but he never managed to leave...

On the 26th of December, 1933, Lunacharsky died, failing to ever officially take up the post of Ambassador to Spain. Once again, the anecdote of British aristocrats rings true, Menton really is “for the dying.”

Lunacharsky’s name was erased from Soviet history and his memoirs were banned during the Great Purge, however his legacy underwent a revival in the 1950s and 1960s. During this time, Lunacharsky came to be viewed as an educated and tolerant Soviet politician. Today, Lunacharsky has had many institutions and even an Asteroid named in his honor.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

The cherry on top of this morbid milieu: old W.B., one of the foremost figures of 20th century literature. Born in Sandymount Ireland, this wonderful wordsmith developed a fascination for Irish legends and the occult as a child. These themes certainly translated to his poems, which were frequently based on Irish folklore and ballads. His later work explored the cycles of life, death, prophecy, and history. In spite of his Anglo-Protestant roots, our man of the hour Mr. Yeats was a fervent Irish nationalist and one of the first senators of the Irish Free State in 1922. One year later, Yeats received a Nobel Prize in literature “for his always inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation.”

Yeats retired from the Irish senate in 1928 due to illness, but regained vigor in 1934 following a Steinach operation. He lived out his golden years engaging in relationships with much younger women (classic), and in 1936 he travelled to Majorca with Shri Purohit Swami where the two worked to translate the Principal Upanishad from Sanskrit to English. Yeats spent his last two winters in Menton, attempting to escape the cold which aggravated his heart condition.

Yeats died at the Hotel Ideal Séjour in Menton on January 28, 1939, and was buried in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin. In 1948, his body was dug up and returned to Ireland… or maybe it wasn’t.

There is quite a bit of controversy over exactly whose remains were returned to Ireland. You see, Yeats’ body was initially buried in a communal grave in Roquebrune, and though a forensic doctor reconstituted a skeleton presenting all of the characteristics of dear William, it is quite likely that bits and pieces of this beloved poet may still be hanging around the Riviera. Indeed, Bernard Cailloux, the French diplomat tasked with returning Yeats to Ireland stated that it was “impossible to return [his] full and authentic remains.” So if you notice a dark haired bespeckled man wandering along Rue Longue and reciting prose this October 31, it might just be the ghost of Ireland’s pride and joy: William Butler Yeats.

- Saoirse Aherne