A Traveler at Forty

by Theodore Dreiser

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.