THE LURE OF GOLD!
Before I go a step further in this narrative I must really animadvert
to the subject of restaurants and the _haute cuisine_ of France
generally, for in this matter Barfleur was as keen as the greatest
connoisseurs are in the matter of pictures. He loved and remembered
the quality of dishes and the method of their preparation and the
character of the men who prepared them and the atmosphere in which they
were prepared and in fact everything which relates to the culinary and
gastronomic arts and the history of the gourmet generally.
In Paris and London Barfleur was constantly talking of the restaurants
of importance and contrasting the borrowed French atmosphere of the
best English restaurants with the glories of the parent kitchens in
France. He literally schooled me in the distinction which was to be
drawn between the Café Anglais, Voisin’s and Paillard’s, and those
smart after-supper restaurants of the Montmartre district where the
cuisine of France had been degraded by the addition of negroes, tinsel,
dancers, and music. Nevertheless he was willing to admit that their
cuisine was not bad. As I remember it now, I was advised to breakfast
at Henry’s, to dine at the Ritz, and to sup at Durand’s; but if I chose
to substitute the Café de Paris for the Ritz at dinner I was not going
far wrong. He knew that M. Braquesec, the younger, was now in charge
of Voisin’s and that Paul was the _maître d’hôtel_ and that during the
Commune Voisin’s had once served _consommé d’éléphant_, _le chameau
roti à l’Anglais_, and _le chat planqué de rats_. He thought it must
have been quite excellent because M. Braquesec, the elder, supervised
it all and because the wines served with it were from twenty to forty
years of age.
When it came to the Riviera he was well aware of all that region had to
promise from Cannes to Mentone; and he could nicely differentiate the
advantages of the Café de Paris; the grand dining-room of the Hôtel de
Paris which was across the street; the Hermitage, which he insisted had
quite the most beautiful dining-room in Monte Carlo; the Princess which
one of the great stars of the opera had very regularly patronized some
years before; the restaurant of the Grand Hotel which he considered
very exceptional indeed; and the restaurant at the terminus of the
La Turbie mountain railway--which he emphatically approved and which
commanded a magnificent view of the coast and the sea. I was drilled
to understand that if I had _mostelle à l’Anglais_ at the Hôtel de
Paris I was having a very excellent fish of the country, served in
the very best manner, which is truly worth knowing. If we went to the
Princess, the _maître d’hôtel_, whom he knew from an older day, would
serve us midgeon in some marvelous manner which would be something for
me to remember. At the Café de Paris we were to have soupe Monègasque
which had a reminiscence, so he insisted, of Bouillabaisse and was very
excellent. The soupions were octopi, but delicate little ones--not the
kind that would be thrust upon one in Rome. I was lost among discourses
regarding the value of the Regents at Nice; the art of M. Fleury, now
the manager of the Hôtel de Paris; and what a certain head-master
could do for one in the way of providing a little local color, as
Barfleur termed it, in the food. To all of this, not being a gourmet,
I paid as strict attention as I could; though I fear me much, that a
large proportion of the exquisite significance of it all was lost on
me. I can only say, however, that in spite of Scorp’s jeering, which
was constant, the only time we had a really wonderful repast was when
Barfleur ordered it.
The first luncheon at the Admiralty was an excellent case in point.
Barfleur being on the Riviera and being host to several, was in the
most stupendous of artistic moods. He made up a menu of the most
delicious of hors d’œuvre--which he insisted should never have been
allowed to take the place of soup, but which, alas, the custom of the
time sanctioned and the caviare of which in this case was gray, a
point which he wished me particularly to note--sole walewski; roast
lamb; salad nicois; and Genoese asparagus in order to give our meal
the flavor of the land. We had coffee on the balcony afterwards, and
I heard much concerning the wonders of this region and of the time
when the Winter Palace was the place to lunch. A grand duke was a part
of the day’s ensemble, and two famous English authors before whom we
paraded with dignity.
After lunch we made our way to the Hôtel Bella Riva, which Barfleur
in spite of Scorp’s complaints had finally selected. It stood on a
splendid rise between Mentone and Monte Carlo; and here, after some
slight bargaining we were assigned to three rooms _en suite_ with bath.
I was given the corner room with two balconies and a flood of sunshine
and such a view as I have never seen from any window before or since.
Straight before me lay the length of Cap Martin, a grove of thousands
of olive trees reflecting from its burnished leaves the rays of the sun
and crowding it completely, and beyond it the delicious sweep of the
Mediterranean. To the right lay the bay of Monte Carlo, the heights of
La Turbie, and all the glittering world which is Monte Carlo proper.
To the left lay Mentone and the green and snow-capped mountains of
Ventimiglia and San Remo faintly visible in the distance. Never an hour
but the waters of the sea were a lighter or a darker shade of blue and
never an hour but a lonely sail was crossing in the foreground. High
above the inn at La Turbie, faintly visible in the distance, rose a
ruined column of Augustus--a broken memory of the time when imperial
Rome was dominant here, and when the Roman legions passed this way
to Spain. At different hours I could hear the bugle of some frontier
garrison sounding reveille, guard-mount, and the sun-set call. Oh,
those wonderful mornings when I was waked by the clear note of a horn
flying up the valleys of the mountains and sounding over the sea!
Immediately after our arrival it was settled that once we had made a
swift toilet we would start for Monte Carlo. We were ready to bring
back tremendous winnings--and eager to see this showy world, the like
of which, Scorp insisted, was not to be found elsewhere.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “I have been to Biarritz and to Ostend and
Aix-les-Bains--but they are not like this. We really should live at
the Palace where we could walk on the terrace in the morning and watch
the pigeon-shooting.” He told a significant story of how once having a
toothache he came out of the card-rooms of the Casino into the grand
lobby and attempted to pour a little laudanum out of a thin vial, with
which to ease the pain. “I stepped behind a column,” he explained, “so
that I might not be seen; but just as I uncorked the vial four guards
seized me and hurried me out of the place. They thought I was taking
poison. I had to make plain my identity to the management before they
would let me back.”
We arrived at the edge of the corporation which is Monte Carlo and
walked in, surveying the character of the place. It was as gaudy and
rococoesque as one might well expect this world to be. It reminded
me in part of that Parisian world which one finds about the Arc de
Triomphe, rich and comfortable, only there are no carriages in Monte
Carlo to speak of. The distances are too slight and the grades too
steep. When we reached the square of the Casino, it did not strike me
as having any especial charm. It was small and sloping, and laid off
in square beds of reddish flowers with greensward about and gravel
paths going down either side. At the foot lay the Casino, ornate and
cream-white, with a glass and iron canopy over the door and a swarm of
people moving to and fro--not an idling throng but rather having an air
of considerable industry about it, quite as one might expect to find in
a business world. People were bustling along as we were to get to the
Casino or to go away from it on some errand and get back. We hurried
down the short length of the sward, checking our coats, after waiting
a lengthy time for our turn in line, and then entering the chambers
where credentials are examined and cards of admission sold. There was
quite some formality about this, letters being examined, our personal
signature and home address taken and then we were ready to enter.
While Barfleur presented our credentials, Sir Scorp and I strolled
about in the lobby observing the inpouring and outpouring throng. He
showed me the exact pillar where he had attempted to ease his tooth.
This was an interesting world of forceful people. The German, the
Italian, the American, the Englishman and the Russian were easily
recognizable. Sir Scorp was convinced that the faces of the winners and
the losers could be distinguished, but I am afraid I was not enough of
a physiognomist to do this. If there were any who had just lost their
last dollar I did not detect them. On the contrary it seemed to me that
the majority were abnormally cheerful and were having the best time
in the world. A large bar at the end of the room opposite the general
entrance to the card-rooms had a peculiarly American appearance.
The one thing that was evident was that all here were healthy and
vigorous, with a love of life in their veins, eager to be entertained,
and having the means in a large majority of cases to accomplish this
end. It struck me here as it has in so many other places where great
pleasure-loving throngs congregate, that the difference between the
person who has something and the person who has nothing is one of
intense desire, and what, for a better phrase, I will call a capacity
to live.
The inner chambers of the Casino were divided into two groups, the
outer being somewhat less ornately decorated and housing those who for
reasons of economy prefer to be less exclusive, and the inner more
elaborate in decoration and having of an evening, it was said, a more
gorgeously dressed throng. Just why one should choose less expensive
rooms when gambling, unless low in funds, I could not guess. Those in
both sets of rooms seemed to have enough money to gamble. I could not
see, after some experience, that there was very much difference. The
players seemed to wander rather indiscriminately through both sets of
rooms. Certainly we did. An extra charge of five louis was made for the
season’s privilege of entering the inner group or “_Cirque privé_” as
it was called.
I shall never forget my first sight of the famous gaming-tables in
the outer rooms--for we were not venturing into the inner at present.
Aside from the glamour of the crowd--which was as impressive as an
opera first night--and the decorative quality of the room which was
unduly rich and brilliant, I was most vividly impressed by the vast
quantities of money scattered so freely over the tables, small piles of
gold louis, stacks of eight, ten, fifteen and even twenty-five franc
pieces, layers of pale crisp bank-notes whose value was anywhere from
one hundred to one thousand francs. It was like looking through the
cashier’s window of an immense bank. The mechanism and manipulation of
the roulette wheel I did not understand at first nor the exact duties
of the many croupiers seated at each table. Their cry of “Rien ne _va
plus_!” and the subsequent scraping together of the shining coin with
the little rakes or the throwing back of silver, gold and notes to the
lucky winner gripped my attention like a vise. “Great God!” I thought,
“supposing I was to win a thousand pounds with my fifteen. I should
stay in Europe an entire year.”
Like all beginners I watched the process with large eyes and then
seeing Barfleur get back five gold louis for one placed on a certain
number I ventured one of my own. Result: three louis. I tried again
on another number and won two more. I saw myself (in fancy) the happy
possessor of a thousand pounds. My next adventure cost me two louis,
whereupon I began to wonder whether I was such a fortunate player after
all.
“Come with me,” Barfleur said, coming around to where I stood
adventuring my small sums with indescribable excitement and taking my
arm genially. “I want to send some money to my mother for luck. I’ve
just won fifteen pounds.”
“Talk about superstition,” I replied, coming away from the table, “I
didn’t believe it of you.”
“I’m discovered!” he smiled philosophically; “besides I want to send
some sweets to the children.”
We strolled out into the bright afternoon sun finding the terrace
comparatively empty, for the Casino draws most of the crowd during
the middle and late afternoon. It was strange to leave these shaded,
artificially lighted rooms with their swarms of well-dressed men
and women sitting about or bending over tables all riveted on the
one thrilling thing--the drop of the little white ball in a certain
pocket--and come out into the glittering white world with its blazing
sun, its visible blue sea, its cream-colored buildings and its waving
palms. We went to several shops--one for sweets and one for flowers,
_haut parisiennes_ in their atmosphere--and duly dispatched our
purchases. Then we went to the post-office, plastered with instructions
in various languages, and saw that the money was sent to Barfleur’s
mother. Then we returned to the Casino and Barfleur went his way,
while I wandered from board to board studying the crowd, risking an
occasional louis, and finally managing to lose three pounds more than
I had won. In despair I went to see what Scorp was doing. He had three
or four stacks of gold coin in front of him at a certain table, all
of five hundred dollars. He was risking these in small stacks of ten
and fifteen louis and made no sign when he won or lost. On several
occasions I thought he was certain to win a great sum, so lavishly were
gold louis thrown him by the croupier, but on others I felt equally
sure he was to be disposed of, so freely were his gold pieces scraped
away from him.
“How are you making out?” I asked.
“I think I’ve lost eight hundred francs. If I should win this though,
I’ll risk a bee-a.”
“What’s a bee-a?”
“A thousand franc note.”
My poor little three louis seemed suddenly insignificant. A lady
sitting next to him, a woman of perhaps fifty, with a cool, calculating
face had perhaps as much as two thousand dollars in gold and notes
piled up before her. All around the table were these piles of gold,
silver and notes. It was a fascinating scene.
“There, that ends me,” observed Scorp, all at once, his stock of gold
on certain numbers disappearing with the rake of the croupier. “Now I’m
done. We might walk out in the lobby and watch the crowd.” All his good
gold so quietly raked in by the croupier was lingering painfully in my
memory. I was beginning to see plainly that I would not make a good
gambler. Such a loss distressed me.
“How much did you lose?” I inquired.
“Oh, a thousand francs,” he replied.
We strolled up and down, Scorp commenting sarcastically on one type and
another and yet with a genial tolerance which was amusing.
I remember a charming-looking cocotte, a radiant type of brunette, with
finely chiseled features, slim, delicate fingers, a dainty little foot,
who, clad in a fetching costume of black and white silk which fitted
her with all the airy grace of a bon-bon ribbon about its box, stood
looking uncertainly about as if she expected to meet some one.
“Look at her,” Scorp commented with that biting little ha! ha! of his,
which involved the greatest depths of critical sarcasm imaginable.
“There she is. She’s lost her last louis and she’s looking for some one
to pay for her dinner!”
I had to smile to myself at the man’s croaking indifference to the
lady’s beauty. Her obvious charms had not the slightest interest for
him.
Of another lovely creature who went by with her head held high and her
lips parted in a fetching, coaxing way he observed, “She practises that
in front of her mirror!” and finding nothing else to attack, finally
turned to me. “I say, it’s a wonder you don’t take a cocktail. There’s
your American bar.”
“It’s the wrong time, Scorp,” I replied. “You don’t understand the art
of cocktail drinking.”
“I should hope not!” he returned morosely.
Finally after much more criticism of the same sort Barfleur arrived,
having lost ten louis, and we adjourned for tea. As usual an
interesting argument arose now not only as to where we were to dine,
but how we were to live our very lives in Monte Carlo.
“Now I should think,” said Barfleur, “it would be nice if we were to
dine at the Princess. You can get sole and _canard à la presse_ there
and their wines are excellent. Besides we can’t drive to the Bella Riva
every evening.”
“Just as I thought!” commented Scorp bitterly. “Just as I thought. Now
that we are staying at Bella Riva, a half hour or so away, we will dine
in Monte Carlo. I knew it. We will do no such thing. We will go back to
the Bella Riva, change our clothes, dine simply and inexpensively [this
from the man who had just lost a thousand francs] come back here, buy
our tickets for the _Cirque privé_ and gamble inside. First we go to
Agay and spend a doleful time among a lot of peasants and now we hang
around the outer rooms of the Casino. We can’t live at the Hôtel de
Paris or enter the _Cirque privé_ but we can dine at the Princess. Ha!
ha! Well, we will do no such thing. Besides, a little fasting will not
do you any harm. You need not waste all your money on your stomach.”
The man had a gay acidity which delighted me.
Barfleur merely contemplated the ceiling of the lobby where we were
gathered while Sir Scorp rattled on in this fashion.
“I expected to get tickets for the _Cirque privé_--” he soothed and
added suggestively, “It will cost at least twenty francs to drive over
to the Bella Riva.”
“Exactly!” replied Scorp. “As I predicted. We can’t live in Monte Carlo
but we can pay twenty francs to get over to Cap Martin. Thank Heaven
there are still street cars. I do not need to spend all my money on
shabby carriages, riding out in the cold!” (It was a heavenly night.)
“I think we’d better dine at the Princess and go home early,” pleaded
Barfleur. “We’re all tired. To-morrow I suggest that we go up to La
Turbie for lunch. That will prove a nice diversion and after that we’ll
come down and get our tickets for the _Cirque privé_. Come now. Do be
reasonable. Dreiser ought to see something of the restaurant life of
Monte Carlo.”
As usual Barfleur won. We _did_ go to the Café Princess. We _did_ have
_sole Normande_. We _did_ have _canard à la presse_. We _did_ have some
excellent wine and Barfleur was in his glory.