A narrow, little-used road runs down the coast from Point Lobos for a distance of about thirty miles. Some day this will be improved and carried through to Lucia, ten miles farther, forming a link in the real "Coast Highway"—a road actually following the ocean—which Californians have in mind; nor will there be a more magnificent drive in the world. An artist acquaintance of ours—his name is familiar as one of our greatest landscapists—had established his studio on this road three or four miles below Point Lobos and his realistic paintings of this marvelous coast were creating a furor in the artistic world. We drove down to visit him one glorious evening when the sea was full of light and color and the air resonant with the turmoil of the waves among the rocks. We were just a little concerned as our heavy car crossed a high, frail-looking bridge on the way, but maybe it was stronger than it appeared. Our friend had built a studio on a headland commanding a wide sweep of the rugged coast and here we found him busy at his easel. He had made an enviable reputation painting old-world scenes, but before the World War had abandoned this field of work for the lure of California, to which a brother artist had called his attention. His enthusiasm for his new field of art knew no bounds. "I have seen much of the most impressive coast scenery of the world," he declared, "but nothing that approaches the beauty of the Pacific about Monterey. The coast of Greece is its nearest rival, so far as I know, but even the coast of Greece did not appeal so strongly to my artistic sense." His judgment would seem to be borne out by the instant popularity of his Point Lobos marines, which have found an eager demand at record prices.
On our return from the studio to the hotel we had such an enchanting series of views as the sunset faded into twilight that we could understand our friend's enthusiasm and only wished that the state of our finances permitted us to carry away a permanent reminder of this wonderful coast in the shape of one of his paintings—an indulgence which we had to reluctantly forego.
We gave our last afternoon to the gardens about the hotel. In these are nearly all the trees and flora of the Pacific Coast. There are over fourteen hundred varieties of plant life, among them seventy-eight species of coniferous trees, two hundred and ten evergreens, two hundred and eighty-five of herbaceous plants and more than ninety kinds of roses. In the Arizona Garden are nearly three hundred species of cacti, comprising almost everything found in the United States. Most of the plants and trees are labeled with scientific or common name, but we gained much information from a chance meeting with the head gardener. He confessed to being a native Englishman, which we might have guessed from the perfect order of the grounds and gardens.
We spent the evening in the gallery, a spacious apartment which also serves as a ballroom. Frequent concerts are held here in which a splendid pipe-organ plays a principal part. Several hundred paintings form a permanent exhibition, exclusively the work of California artists. We were surprised at the uniformly high artistic merit of the pictures. The collection is quite the equal of many of the best exhibits of the East. The uniform excellence of these pictures is due to the fact that every one accepted has been passed on by a committee of distinguished California artists. California subjects predominate, as might be expected, and land-and seascapes are probably in the majority. The pictures are for sale, a fact which enabled the writer to secure several of the fine examples reproduced for this book.
XII
MEANDERINGS FROM MONTEREY TO SAN FRANCISCO
Usually we were only too willing to leave a hotel for the open road, but we must confess to a lingering regret as we glided away from the fairyland of Del Monte and its romantic environs. Our first words after leaving were something about coming back again—a resolution fulfilled but a year later. The road to Salinas was rebuilding and pretty rough part of the way, but we found a fine boulevard when we returned after the lapse of several months. During our tours we had bad going in many places where state highway work was in progress and this is an inconvenience that the California motorist will have to suffer for some time to come—though I fancy that few obstacles to his smooth progress will be more cheerfully endured.
CHURCH AND CEMETERY, SAN JUAN BAUTISTA
From Photograph by Dassonville
Our objective was San Juan Bautista, the next mission of the ancient chain. Like the pious pilgrim of old, we would visit them all—though their shrines be fallen into decay and their once hospitable doors no longer open to the wayfarer. San Juan lies beyond the San Benito Hills, the blue range rising to the north of Salinas. We began the ascent with some misgivings, for at Monterey they declared the San Juan grade the steepest and most difficult on El Camino Real. They did not tell us that a longer road by the way of Dumbarton entirely missed the grade or we probably should have gone that way. We are glad we did not know any better, for most mountain climbs in California well repay the effort and this was no exception. The ascent was a steady grind for more than a mile over grades ranging up to twenty per cent and deep with dust. There was a glorious view of the mountain-girdled valley and the ancient village from the hill; we paused to contemplate it—and to allow our steaming motor to cool. The descent was a little over two miles and steeper than the climb; we had a distinct feeling of relief when we rounded the last corner and glided into the grass-grown streets of the village.