Hotel Angst, Bordighera,
_December 25_.
Merry Christmas, my dear Santa Klaus, merry Christmas! This morning I
sent you a long cable, expressing my sentiments. It does seem strange to
think that by this time you have it. A thousand thousand thanks for your
letter and the enclosure at Cannes. You are the dearest Dad!
Our first Christmas apart! and may it be the last. Christmas isn't
Christmas without you and a stocking to hang up, and I'm awfully
homesick. Still, if one can't be spirited away home on a magic carpet,
this is the sweetest place to spend Christmas in you can imagine.
Speaking of magic carpets recalls the _Arabian Nights_, and gives me a
simile. For a whole week I've been realising what Aladdin must have felt
when the Genie took him into the wonderful Cave of Jewels. Oh, the
Riviera! But you know it, dear. You spent your honeymoon with the
beautiful little mother whom I never knew in the Riviera and in Italy.
That is one reason why I want to see Italy--why I sent that question to
you by cable the other day. Your one journey abroad, dear, dear old Dad!
I can guess now why you have never been keen to come again, though you
have always pretended you preferred Wall Street to all Europe. Now I am
seeing these fairy-like places I know how you have wished to keep the
memory unspoiled; for they would never, never be the same if you saw
them for the second time, even with me, though you do love me dearly,
don't you? It's _first_ times that are so thrilling; and I'm having my
first times now, though they're different from yours. I don't suppose I
shall ever have such a love in my life as you had, or if I do, it will
be sad and broken. Either the man I could care for would be divided from
me by an impassable barrier, or something else horrid will happen. I
feel that. I shall never write like this again, but I can't help it
to-night. There! I won't go on about your past and my future any more;
but just about the "winged present." And, oh, its wings are of rainbows!
Elderly people I've talked to at hotels during the last few days tell me
the "Riviera is being ruined." You would say so too perhaps; but it
seems heaven to me, from Hyeres to Bordighera--as far as we've gone.
Just here I must stop and thank you for your answer to my cable and
saying "Italy by all means." If it hadn't been for that, we shouldn't be
here.
I thought that we couldn't see anything more beautiful than on the other
side of Marseilles; but the Riviera is a thing apart. I'm gratefully
glad to have come into such an enchanted land of sunshine and flowers on
an automobile instead of a stuffy train. There's nothing in the world to
equal travelling on a motor-car. You can go fast or slow; you can stop
where you like and as long as you like; with a little luggage on your
car you're as independent as a bird; and like a bird you float through
the open air, with no thought for time-tables. When will the poet come
who will sing the song of the motor-car? Maeterlinck has sung it in
prose, but the song was too short.
Of course, after that horrid affair the other side of Toulon I couldn't
let Jimmy drive any more. He realised that I distrusted him and rather
sulkily resigned the wheel, blaming the car for the accident and
declaring that it could not have happened to his Panhard, which, of
course, is silly. So Brown took the helm again, and Jimmy sat in the
_tonneau_ with Aunt Mary, where they whispered and chuckled a good deal
together, appearing to have a real live mystery up their sleeves, which
I suppose had something to do with the promised surprise at Cannes.
It was quite late in the day before the steering-gear was mended and we
could take the road again, and then we all thought it a pity to run
through the dark to Cannes, so we decided to stay a second night in
Toulon, at the same hotel where I had dinner with Brown; he, poor
fellow, being this time banished to some invisible lower region, or
another hotel, for Aunt Mary and Jimmy would have had fits if I had
proposed that he should make a fourth at our table. I thought the people
of the hotel and the head waiter looked curiously at me; for one night
they saw me dine with a gentleman who the next night drives to the door
as my _chauffeur_ (I assure you, Dad, it's no stretch of language to
speak of Brown as a "gentleman," and you really must get him a
gentleman's berth, even if it's way off in Klondyke).
Early next morning we started for what proved to be the most beautiful
drive we have yet had, as warm as summer, and sparkling with sunshine.
We bowled along at a gentle pace through a fairyland of flowers and
rivers, with billowy blue mountains rising into the sky, and showing
here and there a distant ethereal peak of snow. Very soon we passed
through Hyeres, which Brown called the gate of the Riviera, and I should
have liked to turn aside for a peep at Costebelle, which Brown thinks
one of the loveliest places of all. But Aunt Mary and Jimmy both opposed
me, saying that we ought to get on as soon as possible to Cannes--"to
Cannes" was their constant cry.
Beyond Hyeres the road became more and more superb. We were travelling
now along the mountains of the Moors, gliding through groves of oak and
woods of shimmering grey-green olives, with glimpses of the glittering
sea on our right hand. Presently the way dipped to the verge of the sea
as far as Frejus, from which place it rose again to wind up and up into
the heart of the Esterels. Though we mounted many hundreds of feet, the
road was so well engineered that gradients were not very trying. Our
agreeable Napier, at any rate, made nothing of them, but simply flew up
at twelve or fourteen miles an hour. And the descent on the other side!
My heart comes into my mouth when I think of it. "It's quite safe," said
Brown; but it looked the most breakneck thing in the world, and my very
toes seemed to curl up, not with fear, but with a kind of awful joy. I
think when a bird takes its great swoops through the air it must feel
like we felt that day. The car bounded down the long lengths of looped
road, slowed up a little at the turns (where we all had to throw our
bodies sideways, like sailors hanging over the gunwale of a racing
yacht), bounded forward again so that the wind rushed by our ears like a
hurricane, slowed up once more, and so by a series of these magnificent
bird-like swoops reached the level ground. It was a fine piece of
driving on Brown's part, needing nerve, judgment, and a perfect
knowledge of the capabilities of his car. I had scarcely recovered from
the tingling joy of this wild mountain descent when we were in Cannes,
driving up an avenue to our hotel.
It was a charming house, and I fell in love with Cannes at first sight;
but would you believe it? Jimmy's wonderful surprise never came off at
all!--and he wouldn't even tell me what it was. Aunt Mary wanted to; but
he got quite red, and said, "No, Miss Kedison, it may make me a great
deal of trouble if you say anything--at present. The whole position is
changed." I think mysteries are silly.
By the way, you remember my telling you about the nice Lady
Brighthelmston I met in Paris, on her way to the Riviera--the mother of
the Honourable John who owns our Napier? She was going to stay at this
very hotel, and I thought it would be rather nice to see her again. I
meant to ask, when we arrived at the hotel, if she were there; but to my
surprise Aunt Mary remembered to do it before I did, and she and Jimmy
both seemed eager to find out. We had hardly got into the big, beautiful
hall, when they began to ply the manager with questions, and Jimmy
looked quite crestfallen when he was told that she had just gone on to
Rome. He _is_ rather fond of what he calls "swells," but I hadn't
fancied from what he said before that he knew Lady Brighthelmston very
well, or cared particularly about meeting her.
"Most annoying!" he exclaimed crossly, glaring at the manager as if it
were his fault. "And has the Honourable John Winston, her son, been here
also?"
"No," said the manager. "Lady Brighthelmston was with friends, an old
gentleman and his daughter. But I understood that her ladyship's son was
expected and that she was disappointed he did not arrive before she and
her party went away. Lady Brighthelmston left a letter for Mr. Winston,"
and he pointed to a letter in the rack close by the office addressed in
a large handwriting to the Honourable John Winston.
I was quite frightened when I heard that the owner of my car was
expected to arrive in Cannes, for Brown was so certain that he was in
England; yet here he might walk in at any moment to say that he'd
changed his mind and wanted back his Napier. Just as I was thinking of
going on to Italy in it, too! Why, the very thought that maybe I should
have to lose the car made me long to keep it all the more.
I was gazing reproachfully at the letter and wondering if we hadn't
better hurry away from Cannes before the H. J. turned up, when I saw
Aunt Mary lay her hand on Jimmy's arm in a warning kind of way, as if
she wanted to keep him from saying something he had begun to say. At
that moment I found that Brown was at my elbow, though whether Aunt
Mary's warning to Jimmy had anything to do with him or not I don't know.
I don't see why it should, but she did look rather funny. Brown had come
in to bring me my dear little gold-netted purse with my monogram in
rubies and diamonds that you gave me just before I started. I'd dropped
it off my lap when I got out of the car, so you see I'm as bad about
that as ever. I thanked Brown, and then drawing him aside a little, I
told him about Mr. Winston and what I was afraid of. He was as sure as
ever that his old master wouldn't turn up to spoil sport, though I
pointed out the letter; and it's a funny thing that the Hon. J.'s
ex-_chauffeur_ should be kept more in touch with his movements than his
own mother. However, that's not my business.
That afternoon Aunt Mary, Jimmy, and I had a lovely walk in Cannes by
the sea. We had tea at a fascinating confectioner's called Rumpelmayer,
and a long time afterwards dined at a perfect dream of a little
restaurant built out into the sea--the Restaurant de la Reserve,
something like the one in Marseilles. I wonder if they were here in your
day, Dad? There are pens in the water built up with walls, and lobsters
and other creatures are swimming unsuspectingly about in them. You
select your own fish, and in a few minutes the poor thing, so happy a
little while ago, is on the table exquisitely cooked with its own
appropriate sauce. It seems sad. Still, one does give them honourable
burial, and they couldn't expect to live for ever. I let Jimmy choose
mine, though, and while he and Aunt Mary discussed the _langouste_ I
leaned on the railing looking out over the bay. You will remember that
scene--all the twinkling lights of the town, and the tumbled mass of the
Esterel mountains, sombre and strange, across the sea.
At dinner I began to hint to Aunt Mary about going on to Italy, but I
was rather sorry I'd said anything, for Jimmy caught me up like a flash,
and exclaimed that if we did make up our minds to such a trip, he would
like to keep us company on his Panhard, which he should no doubt find
waiting for him at Nice. Aunt Mary asked if we should be likely to meet
Lord Lane, as she had heard Jimmy talk so often of his friend Montie
that she quite longed to know him. She loves a lord, poor Aunt Mary, and
her face fell several inches when Jimmy answered that Montie was a very
retiring chap, shy with ladies, and might make a point of keeping out of
the way. When we got home to the hotel I had such a start. The
Honourable John's letter was gone out of the rack. I made sure that all
would now be over between the Napier and me, unless I could get so far
away with it that he'd sooner hire another than follow up his; and
anyway, if we disappeared he wouldn't know where to find us. I suppose
that was very bad and sly of me, wasn't it? I sent word to Brown that
we'd start at nine o'clock next morning; and wasn't it a joke on me,
after we'd been on the road for a while I told him what had happened,
and it turned out that _he'd_ taken the letter to re-address to his
master?
Just before we started Jimmy said he'd had a wire from Lord Lane that
his car was waiting for him at the _garage_ in the Boulevard Gambetta at
Nice, and we went there after our splendid drive from Cannes, as Brown
knew about the place, and thought it would be convenient to leave our
Napier there.
We sent our luggage by cab to our hotel, lunched at a delightful
restaurant, and in the afternoon, said Jimmy gaily, "I'll race you to
Monte and back with my Panhard." I knew in a minute what he meant, but
Aunt Mary thought he was talking about his everlasting Lord Lane, and
was so disappointed to find it was only Monte Carlo. _His_ Montie, he
explained, was seedy and confined to bed but he hoped we wouldn't
mention this before Brown, as Lord Lane didn't want his friend Jack
Winston to hear that he had come to the Riviera without letting him
know.
So after lunch we started away from glittering, flowery blue and white
and golden Nice by the most glorious coast road for Monte Carlo. But you
know it well, dear Dad. I suppose there can be nothing more beautiful on
earth. And Monte Carlo is beautiful; but somehow its beauty doesn't seem
real and wholesome and natural, does it? It's like a magnificently
handsome woman who is radiant at night, and doesn't look suitable to
morning light, because then you see that her hair and eyelashes are dyed
and her complexion cleverly made up. If Monte Carlo could be
concentrated and condensed into the form of a real woman, I think she
would be the kind who uses lots of scent and doesn't often take a bath.
We wandered about among the shops and saw the most lovely things, but
somehow I didn't "feel to want" any of them, as my nurse used to say. I
couldn't help associating all the smart hats and dresses and jewels in
the windows with the terrible hawk faces painted to look like doves,
which kept passing us in the streets or the Casino gardens, instead of
thinking whether the things would be pretty on me.
Jimmy knows "Monte" very well, and was inclined to swagger about his
knowledge. There's one thing which I am compelled to admit that he can
do--order a dinner. He took us to a restaurant, led aside the head
waiter, talked with him for a few minutes, and announcing that dinner
would be ready when we wanted it, pioneered us across to "the rooms."
I'd seen so many pictures of the Casino that it didn't come upon me as a
surprise. The first thing that struck me was the overpowering deadness
of the air, which felt as if generations of people had breathed all the
oxygen out of it, and the ominous, muffled silence, broken only by the
sharp chink! chink! of the croupiers' rakes as they pulled in the
money.
Jimmy insisted on staking a louis for me and another for Aunt Mary, who
was enraptured when, she won thirteen louis, and would have given up
dinner to go on playing if she hadn't lost her winnings and more
besides.
When we sat down to our table at the restaurant she was quite depressed,
but everything was so bright and gay that she soon cheered up. Our
tablecloth was strewn all over with roses and huge bluey-purple violets,
and the dinner was _plu_perfect. There was a great coming and going of
overdressed women and rather loud young men, which amused me, but I
think it would soon pall. I can't imagine any feeling of rest or peace
at Monte Carlo, not even in the gardens. To stop long in the place would
be like always breathing perfume or eating spice.
We had finished dinner, and Jimmy was paying the bill (I couldn't help
seeing that it was of enormous length), when the scraping of chairs
behind us advertised that a new party had arrived at the table back of
ours. A noisy, loud-talking party it was--all men, by the voices, and
one of those voices sounded remotely familiar. The owner of it seemed to
be telling an amusing story, which had been interrupted by entering the
restaurant and taking seats. "Well, she simply jumped at it like a trout
at a mayfly," the man was saying, as I sat wondering where I'd heard the
voice before. "I couldn't help feeling a bit of a beast to impose on
Yankee innocence. But all's fair in love and motor-cars. This was the
most confounded thing ever designed; a kind of ironmonger's shop on
wheels. And the girl was deuced pretty----"
The word "motor-car" brought it all back, and in a flash I crossed
Europe from the restaurant in Monte Carlo to the village hotel at
Cobham. I looked round and into the face of Mr. Cecil-Lanstown.
Aunt Mary looked too, for the bill was paid, and we were getting up to
go. Our eyes met in the midst of his sentence; the man half rose, but
dropped down again with a silly smile, and I gave him one of those
elaborate glances that begin with a person's boots and work slowly up to
the necktie. Just as we were sweeping past Aunt Mary said in a loud
aside to me, "Did you ever _see_ such a creature? And I took him for a
duke." I think he heard.
In the Casino gardens we saw the moon rise out of the sea, and never
shall I forget the glory of it. But just the very beauty of everything
made me feel sad. So stupid of me. I really don't think I can be well
lately. I must take a tonic or a nerve pill. We went back to Nice for
the night, and next morning we drove to Mentone, where I decided that I
would rather stay for a long time than anywhere else on the Riviera. It
is just the sweetest, dearest little picture-place, with the natural,
country peacefulness that others lack, and yet there's all the gaiety
and life of a town. We drove to it along the upper road, which is almost
startlingly magnificent. I asked Brown to go slowly, so that we might
sip the scenery instead of bolting it. Though the Napier could have gone
romping up the steep road out of Nice to the Observatory, and on to
quaint La Turbie, I chose a pace of six or seven miles an hour, often
stopping at picturesque corners to drink in sapphire draughts of sea and
sky. Coming this way from Nice to Mentone we skipped Monte Carlo
altogether, only looking down from La Turbie on its roofs, on the
glittering Casino, and the gloomy, rock-set castle of Monaco.
And, oh, by the way, Jimmy wasn't with us on that drive, nor has he
joined us yet, though he threatens to (if that word isn't too
ungracious) a little farther on in Italy. He stayed behind in Nice to
take care of Lord Lane. Aunt Mary thinks that shows such a sweet
disposition; but I'm not sure. I believe that Montie is a marquis.
We stopped near Mentone, at Cap Martin, which of course you don't know,
as it's rather new. And it was lovely there, up high on a hill, among
sweet-smelling pines. It was pleasant to be alone with Aunt Mary again,
and I was nicer to her than I have been, I'm afraid, since Pau and
Jimmy. I should have loved to stay a long while (and it would be jolly
to come back for the carnival, though I don't suppose we shall), but
there was such a thrill in the thought of Italy being near that I grew
restless. Italy! Italy! I heard the name ringing in my ears like the
"horns of elfland."
Now we are in it--Italy, I mean, not elfland, though it seems much the
same to unsophisticated me for mystery and colour; and it is good to
have warm-hearted Christmas for our _first_ day. The one jarring note in
the Italian "entrance music" was at the frontier. I think I wrote you
how, when we landed at Dieppe from England, about a hundred years ago,
I had to pay a deposit to the custom-house for the right to take my car
into France. That money I should have got back at Mentone on leaving the
country if the late-lamented Dragon had still been in existence, but as
it vanished in smoke and flame the money has vanished too. Brown,
however (or, rather, Brown's master), paid a similar deposit on the
Napier, and passing the French custom-house on the outskirts of Mentone,
the Lightning Conductor asked my permission to stop, that he might
present Mr. Winston's papers and get the money back to send to England.
So far, so good; but it was dusk when we left the Cap Martin (as we'd
spent the day in exploring Mentone), and the custom-house people have
detained us some time; it was dark, cloudy, and windy when we moved on
again towards Italy. A _douanier_ mounted by Brown's side (I was with
Aunt Mary in the _tonneau_) to conduct us to the last French post, where
we dropped him; and in few yards farther we were in Italy. Maybe you
remember that the frontier is marked by a wild chasm, cleft in the high
mountains which hurl themselves down to the very margin of the sea. Over
the splendid chasm is the Pont St. Louis, and through the very middle of
the stone bridge runs the invisible "frontier line."
I thought I saw a sentry box on the Italian side, but it was too dark to
be sure; and one has to go a good way up the steep mountain road before
one reaches the office of the _douane_. Here Brown pulled up, as two
slouching men in blue-grey overcoats, with rifles slung over their
backs, came forward to meet us. Our Lightning Conductor is always very
courteous in dealing with foreign officials. He says it "smooths
things"; and now, seeing that the men intended to stop us, he politely
expressed the wish to pass, offering to pay whatever deposit was
demanded. Though I have only the smallest smattering of Italian, I could
understand pretty well what followed. The men refused to let us pass.
Brown argued the matter; he produced a passport, which the two men
inspected by the light of a lantern. They appeared impressed, but still
refused us passage, saying that the office was closed for the night,
that the chief had gone, and that there was no one who could make out
the necessary papers. "But it is monstrous!" cried Brown. "Is this
Italian hospitality? Do you suggest that the ladies should remain here
on the road till morning?" The _douaniers_ shrugged their shoulders.
"There are plenty of good hotels in Mentone," said one. "Go back there."
"No," said Brown, "I will not go back. Where does the chief of the
bureau live?" The _douaniers_ refused to tell. Clearly they did not want
a "wigging" for letting loose an imperious Englishman upon their chief,
reposing after his dinner. By this time an interested crowd of ten or
twelve persons had assembled, their shadowy forms seeming to rise out of
the ground. I heard a voice in French whisper into my ear, "I am of
France, and all these Italians are pigs. The _chef de douane_ lives in
Mortola, the first village up the road"; and before I could look round
to thank him, the friendly Frenchman was swallowed up in darkness. I
called Brown and gave him the news. He asked if we minded being left
alone while he went to fetch the chief, saying we should be quite safe
in charge of the _douaniers_; and on our agreeing strode off up the
steep road, one of the guards immediately padding silently after him. We
sat and waited perhaps half an hour on the threshold of Italy, our lamps
casting their rays into the country we were forbidden to enter, when I
heard Brown's voice and the sound of footsteps. By some persuasion he
had induced the _chef de douane_ to return with him. The office doors
were thrown open, the gas was lighted, the necessary papers were made
out, the deposit paid, and then, at Brown's invitation, the agreeable
official mounted into the car, and we ran quickly up the hill to his
house.
It was a thrilling drive from the frontier to Bordighera. A great wind
coming salt off the sea was moaning along the face of the mountains,
completely drowning the comforting hum of our motor. The road mounted up
and up, terrific gusts striking the car as it came out into exposed
places. Far below we heard the thunder of mighty waves dashing on the
rock. Then we began to descend a steep and twisting road that led up
presently to low ground, not much above the sea, where the wind shrieked
down the funnel of a river-bed. Then up again along another face of
cliff under cyclopean walls of masonry, and down a sudden shoot between
houses into the old, old town of Ventimiglia; across a river and a
plain, to be pulled up presently by a very dangerous obstacle--a huge
beam of wood, unlighted, and swung across the road to guard a level
crossing. Our great acetylene eye, glaring ahead, gave Brown ample
warning, and we slowed down, then stopped, while a train thundered past.
Very deliberately a signalman presently came to push the barrier aside,
and we darted on through a long, straggling village, turned away from
the sea, found a large iron gate with a lamp over it, standing
hospitably open, and twisting through a fairy-like garden studded with
gigantic palms, drew up in a flood of light that poured from the door of
a large white hotel. To walk into the big, bright hall, to hear pleasant
English voices, to see nice men and pretty girls dressed for dinner and
waiting for the stroke of the gong, was an extraordinary contrast to the
roaring blackness of the night outside. Everyone turned to stare at us
as we came in masked and goggled like divers.
This morning I waked up and looked out of my window a little before
seven. It was just sunrise and the wind had died. Under my eyes lay the
garden, lovely as Eden, garlands of roses looped from orange trees to
palms; banks of heliotrope, and sweetness unutterable. Then, a waving
sea of palms, with here and there the glow of a scarlet roof, and beyond
the sea. The rising sun shone on it and on the curved line of coast,
with Monte Carlo and Mentone gleaming like pearl. Floating up on the
horizon I saw a shadowy blue shape of an island, hovering like a ghost,
and as I looked it vanished suddenly as a broken bubble, leaving the sea
blank. I thought it must have been a mirage; but by-and-by a
soft-speaking, fawn-eyed maid called Apollonia told me it was Corsica,
which only shows itself sometimes early in the morning when the sun is
at a certain height and usually after a storm.
We breakfasted in our sitting-room, with delicious honey for our crisp
rolls, and afterwards, when I went downstairs to send your cable, I
found the hall smelling like a forest of balsam firs. It was decorated
for Christmas, and the whole hotel seemed full of a sort of joyous,
Christmas stir, so that it was more like a jolly, big country-house than
a hotel.
Then I found out that this hotel is famous for its Christmas
celebration. Everyone stopping there was supposed to be the landlord's
guest at a wonderful dinner, a regular feast, with dozens of courses,
ending up with crackers, which we all pulled. Last of all the
dining-room was darkened, and a long procession of waiters glided in
bearing illuminated ices--green, crimson, gold, and rose. We clapped our
hands and laughed, just like children, and the landlord had to make a
little speech. Altogether everything was so friendly and Christmasy that
the most gloomy misanthrope could not have felt homesick. I supposed
when dinner was over that the special festivities were at an end. But
no, quite the contrary. Everyone trooped into a huge picture-panelled
recreation-room, which had been the scene of secret preparation all day,
and there was a giant Christmas-tree, sparkling with pretty decorations,
and heavy with presents for each person in the hotel, all provided by
the landlord. We drew them with numbers, and I got a charming inlaid
box with a secret opening; Aunt Mary had a little silver vase. There was
music, too; harps and violins. I _was_ sorry that poor Brown was cut off
from all the fun. But I did give him a present. You know he refuses
tips, so I couldn't offer him money; but the other day at Cannes he was
looking rather worried, and it turned out that something--I didn't
understand exactly what, for he was rather vague in his answers--had
happened to his watch. I didn't say much then, but in Monte Carlo I
bought him quite a decent one for fifty dollars (he really does deserve
it), and gave it to him this morning with a "merry Christmas." You've no
idea how pleased he was. He seemed quite touched.
There! a bell somewhere is striking midnight. Good-bye, dearest. My
thoughts have been full of you all day.
Your
Molly.