London to Monte Carlo Great Continental Railway Journeys

I'm embarking on a new railway adventure

that will take me across the heart of Europe.

I'll be using this - my Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide,

dated 1913,

which opened up an exotic world of foreign travel

for the British tourist.

It told travellers where to go, what to see

and how to navigate the thousands of miles of tracks

criss-crossing the Continent.

Now, a century later, I'm using my copy

to reveal an era of great optimism and energy,

where technology, industry, science and the arts were flourishing.

I want to rediscover that lost Europe

that, in 1913, couldn't know that its way of life

would shortly be swept aside by the advent of war.

Steered by my 1913 railway guide,

I'm journeying through a prosperous pre-war Europe

of emperors and kings,

pomp and elegance,

a Continent whose industrialists, factories and mines

had created wealth,

whose scientists and engineers were discovering and building the marvellous,

and whose artists were challenging old ways

whilst intellectuals plotted revolution.

'On this leg, I'm following

'the most popular route of the Edwardian traveller through France,

'enjoying the final days of La Belle Epoque,

'the country's "beautiful age" of peace

'and economic and artistic triumph.'

I'm standing where Claude Monet stood a century and a quarter ago,

and I've never felt more inadequate in my life.

'I'll taste the tipple that fuelled the Bohemian nightlife of Paris...'

I can see how in this place of hellish activity,

this might have helped to take you to heaven.

'..live the Edwardian high life...'

Oh, to have been an Englishman a hundred years ago!

'..and like so many tourists before me,

'I'll have a flutter at the gaming tables of Monte Carlo.'

I'm not the first British traveller

to lose his colourful shirt on the roulette table.

My journey begins on the Eurostar to Paris, which, in 1913 as now,

was a capital city oozing sophistication.

I'll then head south to the Mediterranean town of La Ciotat,

home to a famous film-making duo,

before continuing eastwards along the glamorous Cote d'Azur

visiting some of 1913's best-loved tourist destinations,

before ending my journey in that den of excess, Monte Carlo.

Of course, in 1913, the British tourist bound for the Continent

had to cross the waters,

and was spoilt for choice. My Bradshaw's says,

"For the Dover route Londoners left from Charing Cross or Victoria.

"The service is four times a day.

"For the Folkestone route, Londoners left from Charing Cross."

By any route, it was the start of the Briton's Continental adventure.

-Andrew, hello.

-Nice to see you.

'I'm bound for Paris,

'and to learn just how popular foreign travel was for Edwardians,

'as I enter France, I'm meeting author Andrew Martin.'

By 1913, what kind of numbers of British people

were travelling to Paris, for example?

Well, a revolution had occurred between about 1840 and 1913.

In 1840 you had about...estimated about 150,000 going abroad.

By 1913, perhaps as many as two million.

Really? I'm quite surprised by those numbers,

but I suppose there was still a sense of adventure about travelling to the Continent.

There WAS a sense of adventure.

You would have marvelled at the strange coal smell

coming off the locomotive because it was a different type of coal.

The French locomotives of the Nord company

looked odd to British eyes with all their fixtures and fittings

seeming to be on the outside.

They were a rather drab brown colour,

which in itself was interesting.

There was no platform on the French stations.

You just stepped up into the carriage, which in itself was quite exciting.

But then again, it was becoming much more affordable, foreign travel.

You could have a third-class return to Paris in 1913

for about two pounds.

£150 in today's money.

So, a week's wages for a fairly poorly paid working man,

so it was quite doable.

Nowadays, when we travel by the Eurostar, we go under the Channel.

We miss out stages of the journey.

Tell me about the stages of that traditional journey.

Well, on the boat train it was very definitely...

a tripartite journey.

You had a train and then a boat and then a train again,

and the nautical aspect of it is what we miss today.

You would have been on a small boat.

You stood a good chance of being sick.

You would have boarded it, at Dover, from Admiralty Pier,

which was just a stone pier sticking out into the sea.

The train went along it and the paddle steamer came alongside,

and you would have not only got blown about on Admiralty Pier,

you may well have got soaked as well.

So, with the Channel Tunnel we really miss out, don't we?

We miss out on being soaked and on throwing up.

Yes, it's... It's terrible really, isn't it(?)

A hundred years ago, the traveller

who'd use the route through Calais

would have arrived at the Gare du Nord,

and, a century later, I'm doing just the same.

Au revoir, merci.

1913 visitors to Paris

happily endured the travails of their three-stage journey

for a simple reason.

They came to enjoy the most modern, beautiful and cultured city,

not only in Europe, but, arguably, in the world.

The wonderful thing about arriving by train

is it delivers you to the heart of the city.

And even here in the station, you see signs that this is Paris -

something about the colour of the stone

and the green-painted ironwork.

And outside the station, I feel the buzz

and the cafes and the bistros and the brasseries are beckoning me.

After four decades without war,

1913 Paris was characterised by confidence, prosperity

and joie de vivre.

Dominating its skyline, the Eiffel Tower

was a symbol of French engineering and economic success.

Over the previous 60 years, the city centre

had been expensively beautified with grand boulevards

and imposing public buildings,

which no doubt impressed the Edwardian tourist.

But the gentrification of Paris,

begun by city architect Georges Haussmann, had come at a price.

Between 1851 and 1870, France was ruled by an emperor, Napoleon III.

He employed Baron Haussmann to rebuild Paris.

He created miles of new avenues and tremendous vistas.

In the process, he demolished thousands of houses

and displaced a much greater number of people.

It's the sort of great project

that could never have been done in Britain,

where we think of the state as being the servant of the citizen,

rather than the citizen being at the disposal of the state.

Constitutional issues aside,

there's no doubt that early-20th-century Paris

stood for beauty, elegance and fun.

It was the centre of Europe's cafe society

and a magnet for a burgeoning, often risque culture

of arts and entertainment.

But three years before my 1913 guidebook was written,

a natural disaster struck this vibrant capital.

My Bradshaw's tells me that in January 1910,

"Widespread distress and damage were caused

"by the unprecedented swelling of the River Seine,

"the water rising nearly to the keystones

"of the arches of the bridges.

"The quays were entirely submerged,

"and the flood covered the adjoining streets.

"It was estimated that the property loss

"reached a total of £40 million."

I had no idea that the beautiful Seine

could be capable of such violence,

and I wonder whether Paris is safe today.

It's hard to imagine such scenes of destruction

and I'm keen to learn more about this largely forgotten episode

in Parisian history.

Flavie!

Hello!

'Flavie Sauve works for Paris Flood Protection.'

What was the cause of the flood of 1910?

So, in autumn for four months we have...huge rainfall.

It was a nightmare, and...

You know that in Paris

it was a huge building area at this time.

We had new sewers and...new metro tunnel,

because at this period we had already four lines of metro in Paris,

so the water spread into the tunnels

-and the Seine and its tributaries...

-Overflowed the banks.

-Yes.

So, actually, the very modernity of Paris,

with its sewers, with its metro tunnels,

-this then became a cause of danger, made the disaster worse?

-Yes, yes.

In deep midwinter the river rose to almost nine metres.

At some points the banks overflowed for up to a mile.

-It must have been a very huge flood.

-Yes, you can imagine.

The flood was like... just disaster for Paris.

Is Paris still in danger of flooding?

Yes, it is.

You know that we have 1-on-100 chance per year

to get a flood like this one happening.

It's one of those things, isn't it? You have a great city built on a beautiful river,

but, then, it does pose some sort of danger.

Yes, it is.

-Well, thank you so much.

-You're welcome.

'After a good night's sleep, I've woken with an appetite.

'For Edwardian Britons visiting for the first time,

'Parisian food must have taken some getting used to.'

Merci.

'No eggs and bacon here.

'This is the town of the continental breakfast.'

I'm going to start my day by taking up a Bradshaw recommendation.

"It will save time, be inexpensive and give a better idea

"of the situation of the more notable buildings of interest

"to hire a car to drive around the heart of the city."

Napoleon used to say that an army marches on its stomach,

and for my drive I'm preparing with a croissant.

My 1913 Bradshaw's recommends hiring a taxi

because Paris was awash with them.

In 1906, there were a thousand cabs in Paris,

compared to just one hundred in London.

To correct that imbalance, the General Cab Company of London

placed a massive order for 500 vehicles, built in France

by Renault.

With around 600 manufacturers compared to just 50

in Edwardian Britain,

when it came to making cars, France was streets ahead.

HORN TOOTS

Motoring historian Pierre-Jean des Fosses should know why.

Pierre-Jean! Hello! How lovely to see you.

-Beautiful car.

-Thank you.

This car is Le Zebre.

Zebra, the animal.

And French, of course,

French, yes, built in 1910.

Have you any idea what a car like this might have cost in 1910? Who could afford it?

This car had been made to be a low-cost car,

economic car for people,

and the price was...

3,000 francs at the time.

And 3,000 francs

was a year's salary for an employee at the Zebre factory.

Why do you think the French were so advanced in car manufacture

and the British so backward?

Well, I think the English were very involved in steam for a long time.

Yes, we were very good at locomotives

and maybe then we didn't realise that this was the new technology.

Yes, you may realise that it was the new technology,

but you have a law that obliged people

to have someone walking in front of the car

at two miles per hour maximum in town

with a red flag just to say, "Hello, mind, the car is coming."

So that stopped the industry.

At the beginning of the 21st century

we were worried about having too much of a health-and-safety culture,

but, apparently, we had one in the 19th century, too.

Yeah, yeah, this is always a revolution. It will come back.

-ENGINE STARTS

-First time! Well done.

This is very, very cosy, Pierre-Jean.

Yeah, yeah, it's a nice car.

When Baron Haussmann beautified the centre of Paris,

he did have a head start.

Some of the city's best-known buildings, like Notre Dame,

had been here for centuries.

This building behind now has a very special meaning for me.

It's your Assemblee Nationale, isn't it?

Your parliament building. So I feel an affinity with it.

And now we cross the River Seine.

We felt that lovely cool breeze as we came across.

And we come into the Place de la Concorde.

-Yeah.

-So many people were guillotined here.

-Yeah, that's true.

And now it's the Concorde.

With another early-20th-century mode of transport available,

it's time for me to bid au revoir to Pierre-Jean

and his vintage automobile.

Given the state of traffic in Paris today,

it's probably more sensible for me to proceed on the Metropolitain,

which, my Bradshaw's reminds me, is the underground railway,

and it lists the nine lines that had already been built by 1913,

and tells me that "the fares are the same for any distance,"

which I think is probably still true today,

although I'd be lucky to get a first-class fare for 25 centimes.

It was a combination of traffic congestion

and the imminent arrival of the Universal Exposition

and the Olympic Games, both in 1900,

which prompted the building of the metro.

Work started in 1898, 35 years later than London's underground.

By contrast with London, the Paris metro seems to be

mainly quite close to the surface,

built by the cut-and-cover method -

digging a trench

and then filling it in.

And that means you get these tall trains,

whereas in London, of course, we have

lots that were built very deep in round tubes

and you have to stoop all the way.

'I'm arriving north of the city centre

'at Abbesses station in Montmartre.

'In 1913, as now,

'it's where Paris writes its prose, paints its pictures

'and parties hard.'

This beautiful metro station was built around the turn of the 20th century

in Art Nouveau style, whose curves draw their inspiration from nature.

This is an expression in public architecture

of a broad cultural and artistic movement.

After World War I, people would look back on this period

with understandable nostalgia,

and describe it as "La Belle Epoque" -

"the beautiful era".

Situated in the 18th arrondissement,

Montmartre's most notable landmark,

the Basilica du Sacre-Coeur,

completed just a year before my 1913 guidebook,

sits atop the district's steep 130-metre-high hill.

The area was populated by Bohemian types

who'd been displaced by Haussmann's revamp of Paris.

Writers and artists followed and, as a busy nightlife developed,

out went the stifling morals of the 19th century,

to be replaced with the risque cabarets and cancan girls

of Le Chat Noir and the Moulin Rouge.

And even a hundred years on,

it seems the spirit of La Belle Epoque lingers here.

Hello. You know I came and joined you because,

apart from being a beautiful lady,

you're sitting here reading a book.

You're reading Emile Zola,

so you're in the tradition of La Belle Epoque.

Exactly. That's what I get inspired by.

-These are your photographs?

-They are actually, indeed.

-Fascinating.

Do you feel that there's a very strong artistic tradition in Montmartre?

There is, there is indeed. The whole neighbourhood has

an artistic atmosphere actually,

and...lots of artists live here

and expose their work in the street.

-So the tradition continues?

-It does.

I notice they even paint the trucks.

-Yes. That's true!

-Bye-bye.

-Bye-bye.

-Lovely to see you. Bye-bye.

MUSIC: "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf

# Non

# Rien de rien... #

No tour of La Belle Epoque would be complete

without a visit to the Hotel Fromentin

which, in 1913, was a cabaret

where they served a liquor affectionately known as "The Green Fairy" -

which should help me with my fantasy of being in the Paris

of Mondrian, Picasso, Pissarro and Toulouse-Lautrec.

-Nadia!

-Oh, hello, Michael.

-Delighted to see you.

'Nadia Gallouze works at the Hotel Fromentin.'

I've...I've come for some absinthe, please.

-All right. Have you ever try it?

-No, I have not.

-No?

I thought absinthe was...was banned.

It used to be but it was at the beginning of the 20th century.

It used to be really strong

and it used to make people really sick,

especially the mind.

Banned in 1915,

absinthe fuelled the booziness of La Belle Epoque.

As high as 70% proof, the liquor was made

from the bitter herb wormwood.

Absinthe was blamed for an explosion in debauched behaviour

that turned respectable establishments into dens of vice

and upright citizens into drunks.

Think the gin palaces of Britain with a twist of French.

-So, may we begin the ceremony of the absinthe?

-Yes, of course.

So, you just have to pour some of it here

and you use this special spoon.

You put some sugar

and you just have to open this little tap.

Oh, and now the drops...

Yeah, the drops. And you just let the sugar dissolve.

During that waiting time, you talk.

It's about the art of conversation.

It's a way to take life slowly.

I'm so pleased you told me that it was about the art of conversation.

I always thought it was about getting drunk.

Absinthe was a particular favourite in Bohemian Montmartre.

It's even rumoured that the artist Vincent Van Gogh

cut off his ear under the influence of the green fairy.

I'd best have just a sip.

So, the water has dripped through the sugar

and my absinthe has gone cloudy.

It was quite clear before. And to taste it...

Very sweet, still, of course. Even more sweet. Mmm.

Tastes good.

I can see how in this place of hellish activity,

this might have helped to take you to heaven.

I'll be leaving Paris for the Cote d'Azur early tomorrow morning,

and, just like the Edwardians

whose journey I'm retracing, my train will leave from Gare de Lyon.

Before I depart, I want to find out about this grand terminus.

It was rebuilt in 1900 with some very evocative features.

This clock face is reminiscent

of one I lived with for many years - Big Ben -

and, indeed, British travellers passing through here in 1913

with their Bradshaw's guide

would have been made to feel at home by it

as they hastened through the Gare de Lyon

on their way to their express trains and their overnight sleepers

to the Riviera.

In the station's restaurant,

peckish passengers were greeted by a decadent salon

befitting La Belle Epoque,

and so well regarded in France that French president Emile Loubet

attended its opening.

I'm meeting railway historian Clive Lamming at Le Train Bleu.

Lovely to meet you here in Le Train Bleu.

This is such a wonderful, beautifully decorated restaurant.

It's more than a restaurant.

-I would say, a sort of palace.

-Hmm.

It was made for the British people.

They come during the night by the Blue Train, Le Train Bleu from Calais,

and they need to feel at home,

so we built for them a sort of little miniature Big Ben,

a little tower, so they could feel at home.

And here everything is supposed to be, I would say, British.

Just look at the furniture with the chesterfields,

-the sofas and so on, you see.

-Yes.

So you are quite in a British place,

but I can make you sure that the cooking is French and the wines, too.

Let's take a tour around

because the whole place is decorated with frescos...

what, I think of the destinations that you can go to from here?

Is that correct?

Yes, they were ordered by the French railway

and they wanted that people wished to be there, you see.

It's a place rather, I would say, built for dreaming than reality.

In the 1870s,

Belgian Georges Nagelmackers

formed the International Sleeping Car Company.

His trains mirrored the comfort of George Pullman's

American overnight sleepers.

Edwardian Britons loved the Calais-to-Cannes route,

which departed Paris from this station, the Gare de Lyon.

-It's a wonderful view.

-It's a wonderful view.

My Bradshaw's is 1913.

Can you paint for me a picture of the station in 1913?

Yes, in 1913 we would have seen engines,

steam-engine locomotives, which were called Coupe-Vents - Windcutters -

and behind, there were wooden carriages.

And there were a lot of luggage vans

because in that time people would travel heavily

with plenty of luggage,

and ladies would have plenty of boxes, parcels and big hats,

and all these luggage vans were full up

and it's famous because nobody was really wanting to travel

just for the pleasure.

The British invented travel for pleasure and travel for learning.

All the other people at that time thought it was wasting your time.

-Delightful prospect. Thank you so much.

-Enjoy your travel.

'Ready for the next leg of my journey,

'I'm returning to the Gare de Lyon,

'and venturing south, through central France.

'Had I been travelling in 1913 using my Bradshaw's guide,

'I would almost certainly have used the overnight sleeper to reach the French Riviera.

'Overnight sleepers are very romantic,

'although I don't find them very easy to sleep on.

'Anyway, today, we have the high-speed train -

'the train grande vitesse, the TGV - which covers'

the 450 miles from Paris to Marseilles,

incredibly, in three hours and five minutes,

so I'm on the TGV.

From Marseilles, I'll make for La Ciotat, a small town

with an impressive history.

From there via Toulon to the Cote d'Azur

to retrace a typical Edwardian trip,

taking in the artistic heritage of Antibes,

the British influence on Nice

and, finally, the brazenness of Monte Carlo.

When you travel at these speeds by train,

you have something of the experience of travelling by plane,

that suddenly you wake up in a new landscape, new vegetation, new climate.

We've swapped the cold light of northern Europe

for the azure blue of the Mediterranean.

I'm changing trains at Marseille to do what

so many Britons did in 1913 - visit the Cote d'Azur.

It's quite a short run now to my next stop, which is La Ciotat,

which my Bradshaw's tells me is beautifully situated on the coast,

and remarks that it was the Greek settlement of Kitharistes,

but my interest is in more modern history

because La Ciotat is the place where the passions of railway enthusiasts and film buffs coincide.

'La Ciotat is something of a shrine to lovers of motion pictures

'because this was the summer home of the Lumiere brothers,

'whose films of the village

'were some of the earliest movies ever made or shown,'

amongst which the scene of a train entering La Ciotat station

has become an icon of early cinema.

'Encouraged by their father, a stills photography entrepreneur,

'Auguste and Louis Lumiere patented their portable cinematograph camera in February 1895,

'and the same year, the brothers were the first in the world to

'showcase their films to a paying audience.

'At the Eden Theatre, in coastal La Ciotat,

'currently being restored under the watchful eye of Michel Cornille,

'crowds gathered for screenings of one of the Lumiere brothers'

'iconic films of a train pulling into the station.'

It's wonderful to be here. I feel the dust of history upon me.

This is extraordinary.

It would be really thrilling to me to be able to sit in the seats here.

-May we do that?

-We may.

Why did the Lumiere brothers decide to film a train entering the station at La Ciotat?

Louis was playing with his cinematograph.

His mother came from Marseille by train,

he was on the platform

and he filmed his mother coming from Marseille in La Ciotat.

So it's 1895, and you and I have been invited here to the Eden Theatre

to see the arrival of the train at La Ciotat Station.

Do you think it was frightening for them?

Yes. Yes.

Because, as you can imagine, you are on your seat

and suddenly the train is coming out of the screen

and you are afraid.

The train was the first horror movie in the world!

MICHAEL CHUCKLES

Well, it's been a great privilege to be allowed to enter this building site and be, apparently,

the last visitor to the old theatre,

but I know that when it's been restored,

people will come here in their thousands,

because this is a very special place.

You are very welcome to come again because Spielberg will open the new place.

-Spielberg?

-Spielberg with Michael.

Another legend.

This seaside town plays another significant part

in early-20th-century cultural development.

Apart from its important role in the history of cinema, La Ciotat,

a place I had never heard of until today,

has another claim to fame as the cradle of...petanque.

MICHAEL SPEAKS FRENCH

The trick of this game is that at the end,

your boule needs to be the nearest to the little target ball,

but, of course, in-between, you can hit other people's boules

and knock them out the way, and you can move the target ball as well.

In 1907, La Ciotat resident Jules Le Noir,

a rheumatic with limited mobility,

is thought to have tried playing French bowls without raising a foot.

One good shot.

'Believed to be the highest participation form of bowls on the planet

'the game's name, petanque, derives from the Provencal words pieds tanques

'which translate as feet together on the ground.'

And that's the end of me!

With one flick, he just sent my ball into paradise.

With some time before my next train,

I'm going to explore La Ciotat's harbour.

As my Bradshaw's guide told me,

La Ciotat really is beautifully situated by the sea.

The contrasting blues of sea and sky,

the contrasting browns of terracotta and brick,

make it gorgeous.

It just invites the painter's brush.

I can't believe that I'd never heard of it,

but it seems that I am not alone.

As far as I can tell, it's undiscovered by the British tourist.

'I'm bound now for Antibes on the Riviera.

'When the railways arrived on the Cote d'Azur,

'visitor numbers soared from 4,000 in 1860,

'to 100,000 by 1900.

'But mechanised travel wasn't the only reason

'that they came in such droves.

'They were following the lead of their monarch,

'and the advice of an influential book -

'Dr Henry Bennet's Winter And Spring On The Shores Of The Mediterranean.

'Boba Vukadinovic, a tourist guide, knows more.'

The first edition of the book definitely brought Queen Victoria

to the French Riviera.

She spent altogether 332 days on the Riviera,

which was half of her foreign travelling.

Why did she come to the Riviera the first time?

It was actually because of her son Leopold, Duke of Albany,

who was a haemophiliac.

Queen Victoria was convinced of the beneficial effects

of the temperate Mediterranean climate on Leopold,

her haemophiliac son,

but another British royal also frequented the Cote d'Azur,

for less wholesome reasons.

Now, one of Queen Victoria's other sons, the Prince of Wales,

who later became Edward VII,

he was keen on the Riviera for different reasons from his mother's.

You're absolutely right.

-He would never stay in the same town as Queen Victoria.

-Ha-ha!

Never. Why? Because, actually, she didn't approve of his, um,

let's say, uh, pleasure-seeking life,

and, definitely, when he was on the Riviera,

he was seeking for pleasure with young ladies,

with elderly ladies later on,

and he was keen on sport, too.

He played a lot of tennis, the French liked him.

Actually they adored him because he brought tennis to the Riviera,

and, later on, on his yacht Britannia,

he was participating in all the regattas on the French Riviera.

My Bradshaw's guide, which is 1913,

still refers to most of these places on the Riviera as winter resorts,

so when does it begin to change to summer?

It's in the '20s.

They started actually integrating the idea of being

on the French Riviera in the summer,

and of hotels being open all the year round.

The word scenic is a cliche,

often used to describe towns along the Cote d'Azur.

Antibes is amongst the most beguiling.

Its bays define beautiful shapes in a glistening sea,

whose intense blueness responds to the skies,

and the changing angle of the sun.

Even the least artistic person

would love somehow to capture that shifting light.

Antibes. My Bradshaw's promises,

"A sheltered winter place and small seaport,"

which is today filled with billionaires' yachts,

"in a fine situation between Golfe-Juan and Baie des Anges."

The rain has brought a cool evening,

but the pink sky promises fine weather tomorrow.

Le Figaro, s'il vous plait.

Un euro cinquante.

Merci.

-Merci.

-Merci.

-Un ticket pour vous.

-Au revoir. Merci.

-Bye-bye.

My Bradshaw's says that, "The Cap d'Antibes

"is a beautiful peninsula, about two and a half miles long,

"clothed with a wonderfully rich vegetation,

"and having a wild, picturesque coast.

"As a winter resort, it's growing in favour."

And that word picturesque is well chosen because

the intensity of the light, and vibrancy of the colour,

attracted to Antibes some of the greatest painters who'd ever lifted a paintbrush.

Antibes was a magnet for Edwardian art lovers,

although the great impressionist painter Claude Monet

first worked here as early as 1888.

Inspired by beautiful surroundings,

impressionist artists usually painted in the open air,

rather than in a studio, depicting everyday life

and using vibrant colours to recreate the effect of light and atmosphere.

By 1913, many of the most influential painters

of the early 20th century had followed Monet to Antibes

as, in the 21st, has British artist Mitch Waite.

-Mitch, good to see you.

-And you.

I suppose on a day like today I don't really have to ask

what it was about Antibes that attracted artists.

No! Well, it's right there in front of us, isn't it?

Clear blue skies, deep blue sea, crystal-clear horizon.

And my Bradshaw's refers also to the richness of the vegetation,

so that would be a factor, too?

Absolutely. Just look around us here.

We've got the sun coming through the yellow in this plant here,

and that brings a highlight and a sparkle and a richness to colour

which artists like to use.

And if you go back into this sort of vegetation,

the colours go bluer and deeper,

and contrast with the highlights that we like to put in a picture.

And then, if you look further back, at Cap d'Antibes there,

the grey-blues in all of the shadows of the trees give depth to the picture.

Just what we want.

That's an absolutely wonderful explanation.

-Shall we take a walk through the town?

-Absolutely.

Which is the first of the famous artists, then, to come to Antibes?

Well, that would have to be Claude Monet,

who famously painted from the Cap d'Antibes several paintings.

-Came on the train, I imagine.

-I should think he did, yes.

And with the railways I suppose other artists followed in his train.

Yes. Well, he inspired Paul Signac

who came and was very inspired by Monet's work.

I'm interested in Paul Signac because

he came here, I think, in 1913, the year of my Bradshaw's guide.

Yes, in fact he did, that's right. He came from St Tropez,

where he'd been painting for many years before that.

-And it was very important to them to paint in the open air?

-Absolutely. That's what they wanted.

They were outside and they came to places like this for the beautiful light, of course,

and they in turn inspired people like Signac, in fact,

who developed into something called Pointillism,

painting very small brush strokes, almost mosaic-like,

with bright, fresh, clean colours,

and he in turn inspired people like Henry Matisse,

who was part of the Fauvism movement.

Bright strong colours but bigger, bolder, brush strokes

and, again, inspired by this beautiful light from this area.

So, really, you can read the history of art in the late 19th, early 20th century here in Antibes.

It's all here, in Antibes.

Mitch wants to show me the shoreline that many Edwardian art connoisseurs

would have visited to see where Monet painted his famous work

Antibes Seen From La Salis.

I see you have a group of artists here.

Is it good to be part of a community of painters?

Absolutely. We enjoy it a lot, go out together painting,

inspire each other, share common interests.

And here is Paul Rafferty, one of my friends.

-Paul, Michael.

-A pleasure to meet you.

-A great pleasure to see you.

-Beautiful piece of work.

-Thank you.

Do you find yourself treading in giants' footsteps as you stand here?

Well, I think any artist does when there's such a plethora of fantastic art that's gone before,

but that doesn't stop you doing it.

Do you think there was anything special about the beginning of the 20th century?

Do you feel really important changes were occurring then?

Everything was changing and I think the nice thing about the impressionists, for instance,

is they depicted what was the reality,

from train stations to lamp fixtures,

that I'm reluctant to do.

I don't like cars for instance, but I have to put them in,

and it just seems maybe with passage of time, it looks more bucolic then,

but there really were so many changes going on for them.

You can't really compare a modern-day car with a classic locomotive.

No, but that might be your and my romanticism rather than...

To them it might have been ugly, but they depicted it.

Well, Michael, you've seen how the experts do it,

and I thought you might like to have a go yourself.

I haven't lifted a paintbrush since I was at school.

MICHAEL LAUGHS

All right, you better show me exactly what to do, please.

What we're looking for on here...

We've got a roughly rendered in sky and tree and sea,

but what's really special about Antibes is the golden light on the town here,

and that I've totally left off for the moment,

so what you have to do is keep your eye on the subject all the time.

What the impressionists did was paint reality as they saw it, brush stroke by brush stroke.

It wasn't invented.

So every time you put a brush stroke down, you're looking across there.

You've got to know where to stop, exactly where the tower is.

Then you look for the little bit of light coming on that building.

It just goes slightly down diagonally, like that.

See if you can just continue

and maybe put a few brush strokes of light coming down here.

-The light is on this side.

-Exactly that.

That's perfect!

I'm standing where Claude Monet stood a century and a quarter ago,

I'm holding a paintbrush for the first time in 40 years,

and I've never felt more inadequate in my life.

OK, Michael, I would like to congratulate you

and now welcome you to our painting group.

You know, it's quite a tradition that we painters paint each other when we go out together.

Oh, my goodness! That's absolutely lovely.

And you've got this shirt and, of course,

you got the towers of the Picasso Museum of Antibes.

-Thank you so much. Just wait until you see mine of you!

-Oh, yes!

On this journey, I'd already discovered that,

at the turn of the 20th century,

the French had a lead in the manufacture of cars and a lead in cinema.

Here in Antibes,

I've discovered how remarkable were the developments in French painting.

France, on the eve of the First World War,

was a country of extraordinary intellectual energy.

But my next destination is a place to rest the brain and the body.

The crowded beaches and elegant seafront

confirm that Nice is a city built on tourism.

Bradshaw's is always helpful with directions.

"The principal railway station is on the north-west side of the town.

"All the streets running south from the railway lead through the town

"and eventually to the sea."

And it's to the water that I'm bound,

to find the lasting legacy of those British people

who flocked here over the centuries.

The town was a winter destination of choice

for grand-touring early Victorians,

and some, who made Nice their home,

played a surprisingly important role

in creating one of the town's best-known landmarks.

Built in the 19th century as perhaps the world's most elegant and fashionable seaside boulevard,

the Promenade des Anglais has origins in the Anglican church of Nice,

where British residents and visitors worshipped.

Kenneth Letts is Holy Trinity's rector.

So what is the connection between the Anglican church

-and this very fashionable promenade?

-Well, it's a big connection.

This began as an act of solidarity with the unemployed.

That was in the 1820s and Father Lewis Way,

who was the priest in charge of the parish at that time,

said to his people,

"We need to do something to help the unemployed of the area in which we live,"

and he got a subscription going,

and, with that money, they employed the local Nicois

to build a path for the ladies to take a stroll along the seaside.

That's extraordinary. It's one of the best-known promenades, probably, in the world,

and it began as a poverty relief project.

I think you could put it that way, yes.

I doubt whether many Edwardian visitors knew that the swankiest esplanade in Europe

started as a dusty two-metre-wide path funded by Anglicans,

and I'd be amazed if today's tourists have the slightest idea.

-Hello! Do you speak English?

-A little bit.

Do you know the name of the promenade you're walking on?

Of course. It's the Promenade des Anglais.

Do you know particularly why it's called "des Anglais"?

Ah, there's a part that was built by a reverend and that's how it started.

He gave some work, but it's because we had a tour this morning!

That's why we know!

-Hello, ladies.

-Hello.

-Hello. Are you English?

-We are.

-Do you know that you're on the Promenade des Anglais?

-We did.

-Yes.

-Do you know why it's called the Promenade des Anglais?

-No.

-I only found out today.

-OK.

Apparently, it's because the Anglican church here raised some money

to do a project and give work to the unemployed people in the 1820s.

What do you think of that?

-That's a nice connection between our country and here, isn't it?

-Yes.

We'll feel different carrying on our promenade now, I think.

-Enjoy your holiday.

-Thank you.

I know that my hotel for the night

is somewhere along the Promenade des Anglais.

All I need now is to locate it.

A-ha! My Bradshaw's often has a recommendation or an advertisement for a hotel.

On this occasion, it has a picture,

and since the Negresco appears not to have changed in a century,

I had no excuse for not being able to find it.

Just months before my guidebook was published,

Hotel Negresco, the most famous Belle Epoque building in Nice, opened for business.

It was owned by Romanian Henri Negresco,

who had left Bucharest as a teenager

to seek his fortune and succeeded as a Nice hotelier.

Sadly, war was on the horizon, and when it came in 1914,

Henri funded the running of his palatial hotel as a military hospital.

In the post-war period, bookings didn't pick up and Henri died in 1920,

without seeing his beloved hotel returned to its former glory.

In the 1950s, the Negresco's new golden age dawned.

The list of the 20th century's best-known statesmen

and celebrities who have spent the night here is endless.

'And, tonight, I'm excited to have a room here.'

It's a beautiful lift, in mahogany and mirrors.

Oh, look at that!

Gold leaf, and an automatically opening door.

That is classy.

Ah! Such elegance!

Oh, to have been an Englishman a hundred years ago!

Breakfast facing the Mediterranean.

Not bad!

After a breakfast contemplating the azure sea,

the final destination on this leg of my European journey

is about two other very significant colours - red and black,

rouge et noir.

In France, before you get on the train,

you have to stamp your ticket in a little machine to validate it,

and it prints some numbers on there.

Ready to go.

'I'm visiting Monaco,

'the second-smallest independent state in the world...

'..a principality whose royal family was able to adopt a novel approach

'to swelling the state's coffers.'

My journey takes me through some of the most beautiful resorts in the world,

towards Monte Carlo, which Bradshaw's tells me is

"situated on a sheltered bay and enjoys a delightful climate,

"while the surrounding scenery is full of charm and variety.

"The bath establishment is supplied with every form of medical and hygienic bath,

"and at the 'bar',"

the word is in inverted commas,

"the mineral waters of all the best-known European resorts may be obtained."

But since my Bradshaw's was written,

I think Monte Carlo has become famous for an activity

which most people would regard as less healthy.

In the 19th century,

gambling was illegal in Britain and much of Europe,

so Monaco legalised it and sanctioned a casino,

which became so successful the government was able to

abolish taxation on its citizens.

The plan succeeded beyond expectation as Monte Carlo

attracted Edwardian gentlemen keen on a flutter like moths to a candle.

And if Nice is the tourist hotspot,

then Monte Carlo draws in the uber rich -

those who can afford to lose a fortune,

but hold on to their super yachts,

super cars and supermodel girlfriends.

The casino, my Bradshaw's says,

"is on a promontory on the east side of the town.

"There are elaborately decorated and widely known salles de jeu,

"or gaming rooms, open from 11.30am until midnight.

"Trente et quarante and roulette are the games played here."

It must be worth a whirl.

The Monte Carlo Casino was designed in 1863

by the renowned French architect Charles Garnier,

who also built the Paris Opera.

Guillaume Jahan de Lestang is the press officer.

Hello, Michael.

Welcome to the Monte Carlo Casino, the legendary of Monte Carlo.

Legendary and magnificent.

Casinos were not legalised until the middle of the 20th century,

so it must have been very attractive to British travellers.

Yes, and it was not even in Italy or France,

so this is what made the casino that successful.

Was it an instant success?

-It was a great success from the beginning.

-Yes.

Monte Carlo already had a railway station?

Yes, it was located just nearby the casino,

so it was easy access also to the gamblers to come and enter,

gamble a little chip on a table, and then get us some more income.

-They could just get off their train and have a flutter?

-Yes.

Baroque in style,

the casino has several ornately decorated gaming rooms.

-Another beautiful salon.

-Yeah.

I'm wondering how much things have changed since my Bradshaw's guide was written in 1913.

For instance, it says that

"inhabitants of the principality were not allowed to enter the casino."

-Is that still true?

-Yes, it is still true.

The Monaco people are not allowed to come, enter and gamble.

Even the prince is not allowed to come and gamble.

So everyone here is, by definition, a foreigner.

-I think it's time to have a spin.

-Yes.

My 1913 guidebook says that the minimum stake at the roulette table

is five francs and the maximum 6,000 - a sizeable sum.

Today, I'll not be wagering a single centime as we're playing just for fun.

Mr Croupier, may I have some money, please?

Wow! Those are thousands, those are hundreds,

and those are fifties...

-and these are twenty thousand!

-Yes.

No-one seems to have bet on even, so I'll bet on that.

Messieurs, faites le jeu.

Ooh!

At the last minute, I bet on 26 and 25 has come up,

and my counter has been swept away.

Well, Guillaume, I'm not the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo,

nor, I think, the first British traveller

to lose his colourful shirt on the roulette table.

I'm sure you will do better next time.

MICHAEL LAUGHS

There's a hidden treasure in this building that

I hope the Edwardians, whose steps I'm retracing, would have seen.

Surprisingly, just a few yards from the riches of the gambling tables,

is a little gem, a little temple,

devoted to an art that's close to my heart.

I love opera.

It's the most demanding and complicated form of theatre,

and opera houses have to be equally over the top.

One of the finest houses in the world is that at Paris,

built by the architect Charles Garnier,

and he was employed here in Monte Carlo to build a replica in miniature,

and here have been played works by Mozart, Verdi, Rossini, Gounod.

But here the audience would have experienced an intimacy

with the singers and with the players,

because if there's one thing that's better than

a big, grand opera house,

it's a small, grand opera house.

Using my Bradshaw's guide, I've followed in the footsteps

of British travellers journeying across France in 1913.

It's given me a window on a society at the pinnacle of achievement

in technology, cinematography and art,

and brought me here to Monte Carlo

to perceive the heights of elegance and of decadence.

That universe was about to be destroyed by war

and, looking back through the haze of that catastrophe,

we glimpse a golden age.

'My next continental journey waltzes into pre-war Austria-Hungary.

'A proud empire.'

The Hapsburgs were one of the most dynamic

and powerful European families.

'Pulling middle European strings.'

Rargh!

'Countries with surprising vistas.'

I never expected anything as grand and as magnificent as this.

'And an emperor with Europe's destiny on his mind.'

He knew even then that this was going to mean war.

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