The gambler

Sunday, January 10th., Hotel d'Italie, Menton.

I am progressing with "The Great Man" but it is impossible to work hard at a novel and appreciate a new environment at the same time. Beyond a walk to the centre of town and the bandstand I made no excursion. But I breakfasted on the balcony in dressing gown and overcoat, and all day I have had the atmosphere, perfectly wonderful, and the magnificent views from the balcony.

Yesterday I went to the Casino at Monte. Of course I went to study human nature and to find material! The sole advantage of being a novelist is that when you are discovered ina place where, as a serious person, you would prefer not to be discovered, you can always aver that you are studying human nature and seeking material.I was much impressed by the fact of my being in Monte Carlo. I was proud. And when I got into the gorgeous gaming saloons I was more proud still. Then, after studying human nature at large I began to study it at a roulette table. Just as a serious novelist might.

I don't know how it was, but long before I had formally decided to gamble I knew by instinct that I should stake a five franc piece that I happened to have in my pocket. I fought against the idea but couldn't take my hand empty out of my pocket. Then at last I drew forth the five franc piece and bashfully put it on black. I felt that all the fifty or sixty persons crowding round the table were staring at me, and recognised me as a beginner. However black won and the croupier pushed another five franc piece alongside mine, and I picked them both up smartly. I thought I might as well continue. In truth I hadn't the face to get up and leave after one gamble, and in an hour I had made fifty francs without breaking into gold. Then I decided to prove my self-control by ceasing to play. So I did prove it and went to have tea in the Casino cafe. I was as happy as though I had shot a reviewer without being found out!

I may go again. To study human nature.

Enough of Monte

Saturday, February 6th., Hotel d'Italie, Menton.

Yesterday being wet I went over to Monte Carlo, and lost money, and was depressed by that and the weather, and more particularly by my lack of sense in playing with insufficient capital. That sentence is a lie. I went over to Monte Carlo in spite of the weather because I wanted to gamble and I thought I would win. Idiot. If there were a way of beating the system then somebody would have thought of it by now. Supremely arrogant of me to think that I have some special insight. No more!

Early this morning, still in a fairly savage mood, I composed a limerick on that infernal and un-vanquishable bore Mrs. Miller:

     There was an old woman named Miller
     Whose acquaintances wanted to kill her,
     When they put her in ice,
     She sniggered, "How nice!"
     For nothing could possibly chill her.

I sent it off to Eden Phillpotts by special messenger, and instantly felt better.

Phillpotts and I should have finished our play in the next few days and I must then go to England to pay a duty call on my mother who is still quite ill. Then back to Paris. I am trying to persuade Wells to visit me there. I have read the first instalment of his "The Food of the Gods" in Pearson's and thought it extremely good apart from a few minor verbal infelicities. Wells's reputation is high in Paris and I am sure he would be suitably feted there. Anyway, I would like to see him. I am starting to think that I have been here long enough. The place has interested me but one can have too much of a good thing.

Gambling fever

Tuesday, January 26th., Hotel d'Italie, Menton.

The first visit to Monte Carlo must be a sort of event in the life of anyone with imagination. I went there yesterday afternoon from Menton by tram. The ride is very diversified, and here and there fine views are obtained.

On the whole I was disappointed by the exterior aspects of the town. It lacks spaciousness, and since it is in the absolute control of one autocratic authority, spaciousness is what it ought not to have lacked. Some of the villas however, witht their white paint and general air of being toys, are excessivement chic. The casino is alright in its florid, heavy way - but what a chance for an architect on that site over the sea. The whole town had an air of being Parisian, but not quite Parisian enough.

Inside the gaming saloons (at 4 o'clock) I found a large crowd and many tables in full work. The crowd not so distinguished in appearance as I had foolishly expected. I had no itention of betting, but after I had watched several tables and grasped the details of roulette I remained at one table as if hypnotised. Without knowing it I began to finger a 5 franc piece in my pocket, and then I became aware that I was going to bet. I 'knew' I should bet some seconds before I formally decided to. A good example this of the fact that the conscious mind does not direct the body, but notes (and usually ratifies) what it has done. I staked my 5 franc piece on an even chance, and won! What sensations of delight! So this is how gamblers get started.

The idea of gambling quite absorbed all my thoughts; obsessed me in fact; and I fabricated schemes for becoming a regular system-using gambler. There is no doubt that the human spectacle of the gaming saloons is tremendous, unequalled, the interest of it could not easily fail for an observer. All the more so for a trained observer like myself. I had to drag myself away and even then missed my tram. I had half an hour to wait and spent most of it thinking about gambling. I also noticed that there were 'ladies' in and around the casino no doubt attracted by the prospect of attaching themselves to winning gentlemen. They all seem to have that indirect but unmistakeable way of looking at prospective clients which I find very attractive. Several looked at me. I will return.

Into the void

Thursday, January 14th., Hotel d'Italie, Menton.

Well, here I am at last. A dream fulfilled. A reality still to experience.

I left the Rue de Calais yesterday, depressed, at 5 pm. after having lunched with Chichi. Was my depression due to leaving her behind? Or to do with the fact that she was quite evidently not so concerned that I was leaving her behind; perhaps I had hoped to be missed? I think our relationship has now run its course and I am grateful for it; my intimate knowledge of the ways of women having been increased immeasurably.

The drive to the Gare de Lyon along the interminable length of the Rue de Rivoli got on my nerves. And I was decidedly excited and 'wrought up' when the train de luxe came up and I saw Phillpotts. Much talking and mutual satisfaction, continued on the train. I have a sore throat now! The train left sharp at 6 pm. and arrived here at Menton sharp at 9.56 this morning. On the whole a really good sound train. It would be almost perfect if it had a drawing-room car, as it certainly ought to have. The ceaseless noise and jolting did not noticeably affect me much. I took a sedative and slept very well, though mostly conscious of the action and the din.

Coming along the coast I had my first glimpse of Monte Carlo and the salons thereof. I was duly impressed by the beauty of the coast, and of Menton in particular. But my thoughts were chiefly occupied with the idea of the train, that luxurious complete entity - running through a country and ignoring it. I seldom had the least idea where the train was. Space, as a notion, had vanished for me. I might have been in the void.

And now four weeks of new impressions, new people, and new air to look forward to. Of course we have a good deal of work to do, but there will be time enough, I am determined. I can hardly believe I am here.

The high life

Tuesday, January 10th., Yacht Amaryllis, Monte Carlo.

After fiddling about fruitlessly in search of little bits of mechanics, I wrote the whole scene in the afternoon yesterday, about 1,400 words, in spite of a headache due to too much exercise in the morning. We dined at Ciro's and the Grand Duchesse was there again. I was much relieved to see the maid, dressed in black, and sad to match, dance twice. She is a nice looking mournful girl of about 30. I was tempted to ask her for a dance myself. Perhaps I could cheer her up. The Grand Duchesse herself is about 60, tall, slim, straight, but damnably ugly, dresses in white and is a good dancer. She dances with a lot of young men. Seems to be enjoying herself. I was told that on Sunday night the Grand Duchesse stood half-bottles of champagne to the professional danseuses. The resort is run on exactly the right lines. There is freedom combined with tenue, and the manners of the danseuses are perfect of their kind.

Baroness Orczy

1,500 words today. I called on Baroness Orczy in the Villa Bijou, Avenue de la Costa, according to promise, and found a place stuffed with furniture and her husband's pictures. During the War, she formed the Women of England's Active Service League which had as its intention that women would contribute to the war effort by pressing men to enlist. There are probably men dead now who were not suited to war and would be alive today but for the pressure from militant women. But all of them at the villa were very decent agreeable people. I stopped an hour. Nothing notable in the talk.

Still no luck with engineers. The new one from England was returned as hopelessly incompetent today. He was seasick in harbour and knew nothing of the engines or the dynamo. Not sure how he comes to call himself an engineer! Anyway he was put ashore on Monday night. Although ill up to the time of going there, as soon as he knew that he was to sleep ashore he bucked up, shaved, and made himself spruce. He did not turn up to report this morning and the skipper went to fetch him. Said the skipper afterwards: "There he was having his lunch, among ladies with furs, and him with a knife and fork and a serviette. I soon pulled him out of that". It was the serviette that upset the skipper.



 

Kensingtonianism

Sunday, February 21st., Hotel Winter Palace, Monte Carlo.

I am getting on with "The Vanguard", though my opportunities for writing are somewhat limited.

It has been an overcast day. As Dorothy wanted to rush off instantly to Monte Carlo, I hired a car (only 150 frs.) and at 11.50 we did rush off. Of course it is her first visit and she is understandably excited; so was I when I came here first before the war. Lunched at Hotel de Paris as being the best place (180 frs. with tip). The only person I knew there was T.P. O'Connor, looking very definitely old. Does he spend any time in his constituency? Or even in Parliament?

Then across the road to the Casino Theatre: "Boris Godounoff". I had forgotten what this salle looked like. Built by Farmer about 1878. The richest, ornatest, gildedest thing in Europe I should think. Full of nudities and semi-nudities, in colours, gold or white. two of the boxes, very large, look directly away from the stage into the auditorium. The sloping ground floor is well arranged, and 900 people can see very excellently. We were in the back row (87 frs. for two seats, not dear). A mediocre but not entirely odious performance. This opera wears very well.

There were some decent people - a few - at lunch at the Hotel de Paris; but on the faces of most, the consciousness of being correctly at the Hotel de Paris. We got back to the more agreeable Kensingtonianism of the Winter Palace at 6.15 and I went to bed for an hour. What a pleasure it is to get away and lie down in a quiet room. I didn't sleep. Too much to think about. But I was refreshed in mind and body. We dined late and the big restaurant was nearly empty.

You can't read the same book twice. Not exactly a profound thought but I hadn't formulated it quite so clearly to myself before. I was re-reading a short novel that I first read about twenty years ago. The central character is a man in his mid- forties; about the age I was at the time so his experience resonated with me. Now, at the age of 59, he seems to me rather naive and I see that the novel is not about him at all but about the women who have, from time to time, occupied, organised, and interfered (kindly) with his life as it progressed. Not the same novel at all. I must re-read "Clayhanger" to see how I feel about Edwin now. The author opines that women are in fact looking for a man like the man they would be if they were a man. That may be profound.

Family matters

Sunday, January 17th., Hotel d'Italie, Menton.

I was much disquieted today by Tertia's letter in which she said twice that our mother was 'extremely ill'. Deep down in everyone's mind will be the idea that I am 'enjoying myself on the Riviera' while she is extremely ill. It is the address of the absent son that matters on these occasions. But I should be a fool to go to London unless she was much worse than she is. And I know she wouldn't want me to. I can't blame Tertia. She is a sensible woman and will have reasoned that she could prove to be at fault whether she told me or not; so she left the decision to me. I would have done the same.

However, I managed to do a good day's work, and finished Chapter 5 of "A Great Man", 5,500 words.

Frederick Hanbury, of Allen and Hanbury's Foods, and the great botanist, editor of "The London Catalogue", came to lunch. He is staying with his cousin Sir Thomas Hanbury, the Lord God of these parts. Sir Thomas apparently has the finest private garden in the world, 100 acres, 5,000 species (some absolutely unique) and 46 gardeners. Quite what criteria have been applied in coming to the conclusion that it is 'the finest' were not vouchsafed. One suspects family pride may be a significant factor. We were not invited to visit which I am glad about as formal gardens leave me rather cold.

Speaking of Monte Carlo, Hanbury told us of how he was at the tables 30 years ago and saw two Russian princesses there losing heavily, but keeping stoical silence, the tears streaming down their cheeks. He is emphatically not a man of the world and his Russian princesses were probably French whores, but nevertheless his picture of the women playing and losing, in silent, irrepressible, hopeful despairing tears, was an effective one. He is fgar from an ordinary man, and I rather liked something at the root of him, but soon after lunch I stole away to sleep.
 

Gamblers

Monday, January 1st., Yacht Amaryllis, Monte Carlo.

Casino de Monte Carlo

We came here last Tuesday and I found that all the people I knew were confirmed bachelors and gamblers. So it has taken me some days, by various introductions, to find partners suitable to me. I met the chief one this morning on the Casino Terrace - aged 29, tres chic - and she said that she was just going to church, and wouldn't I go? And before I knew where I was she was telling me that once you had grasped the fact that the English are the descendants of the ten lost tribes the whole bible becomes perfectly clear. Also that the second coming was expected to occur in 1935, and that all the great dates in history, including this last, are to be found inscribed in a secret place beneath the Great Pyramid. Was I happy, she asked? If not, why not? She and her husband had been very happy since they found the truth etc. By this stage my interest, having waned, disappeared completely. I did not go to church!

Herbert Sullivan (right)

Bertie Sullivan is a confirmed gambler. I have joined the two private gambling halls run by the Casino, but I never play and have lost all desire to play. It gives much greater satisfaction watching other people lose. Winston Churchill was playing mightily last night. I asked him if he had won and he said he hadn't. His mother-in-law lives here and plays twice daily and, apparently, tries to cheat the whole time. The curious thing is that she looks almost exactly like his late lamented mother. I think he is a very great man but he spends fifty percent of his time being a super fool.

Chartres Biron

We have on board Chartres Biron, Chief Magistrate of Bow Street, and the destroyer of Bottomley. he is 57, a fine tennis player, a fine talker, very handsome, rather a dandy and as mean as Ephraim Tellwright. Bertie is very generous but not an organiser nor an anti-muddler. we are lying here beyond our time because he has muddled the engines, the engineer, and the electricity. Happily his housekeeper, a Belgian aged 60, runs the household part of the ship very well. She is a wonderful individuality, gambles frequently, and seldom loses. The Italian cook consistently gives us the best regular cooking I ever had.

As for Marguerite, her pen, like her tongue, runs away with her. She loses no occasion to write to me, good wishes, assurances of affection, readiness to come at once if I am ill etc. The mischief is that often what she says bears no recognisable relation to the truth whatever. My impression is that she wants to return, but I can't be sure. As things stand I can conceive of no circumstances under which I would have her back. In my experience, leopards never change their spots. And I am taking to the bachelor lifestyle, chic biblical nutcases notwithstanding.



 

English abroad

Saturday, March 23rd., Hotel Californie, Cannes.

I finished the first part of "The Regent" on Tuesday and wrote "Clay in the Hands of the Potter" for Youth's Companion (Boston) on Wednesday, and sent it off on Thursday. 

The Youth's Companion (1827–1929), known in later years as simply The Companion—For All the Family, was an American children's magazine that existed for over one hundred years until it finally merged with The American Boy in 1929. The Companion was published in Boston, Massachusetts by the Perry Mason Company (later renamed "Perry Mason & Co." after the founder died). From 1892 to 1915 it was based in the Youth's Companion Building, which is now on the National Register of Historic Places.

The Selwyns came over for lunch on Thursday. On Friday we went to Monte Carlo, and had lunch with them - Mary Moore, Charles Wyndham, and H. B. Harris (N. Y. theatrical manager) being of the party. At the Hermitage. Food not so startlingly good as rumour says. Beautiful view of the harbour and yachts  from the Selwyns' bedroom. Selwyn was still worrying me to write a play on "The Card". We went and came home by train.

Coming up to hotel in omnibus, an oldish sea-captainish sort of man said to a youngish red-haired woman that miners had refused the terms of the Minimum Wages Bill. "But of course they refuse everything!" said she scornfully. I must have a strike in my continental novel. It is very funny that all the English inhabitants of grand hotels should be furious because miners insist on a minimum of 5s. per day for men, and 2s. per day for boys.

Additionally for March 23rd., see 'Enchanted'

On Sunday Dr. Vallee took us to Nemours, a delicious old town with a castle, ramparts, moats, and the Loing; full of wonderful views. Mme. and I went to buy cakes and we all had tea on the pavement in front of an inn; while the landlady and another woman sat and sewed nearby. Seeking the garcon to pay the bill I got into a vast kitchen full of all kinds of curious domestics and copper pans. Passing along the street we saw a tailor, old, in black, white hair, and a strangely shaped head, standing at the door of his shop. Davray and I both exclaimed at once: "Balzacian". "Ursule Mironet" is laid in Nemours, and the extraordinary veracity of Balzac's descriptions strikes one everywhere. His descriptions were not exaggerated.

A question of belief?

Monday, January 2nd., Yacht Amaryllis, Monte Carlo.

Great sunshine. Too tired to work, I went onto the Terrace to think, and the first person I met was the Mrs. B. with whom I had arranged to dance this afternoon. Shortish, slim, pretty, bien habille. She had a dog. She said her husband went to early service while she took care of the dog, and she went later while he took care of the dog. This vaguely disturbed me. I rashly said in talk that I never went to church. Did I believe in a Supreme Being? Yes. Did I believe in the divinity of Christ? No. Did I believe in the Bible? Parts of it. How could I only believe in parts of the Bible? And so on, showing the most dreadful crudities of thought, accompanied of course by absolute certainty of being right. She was soon telling me that once one believed that the English were the Ten Lost Tribes, then the whole Bible became perfectly clear, and one could see that all its prophecies had been or were being fulfilled. Further that the second coming of our Lord was expected about 1935, and then the Jews had better look out for themselves, and there would be a thousand years of peace. Thirdly that all the great historic dates of the world had been engraved long in advance in a secret place beneath the Great Pyramid, and they were all correct. They could be seen by anyone who understood how to read them ... She tried to get me to church with her (room at Grand Hotel). However, I shall dance with her.

All this reminded me that a few years ago I had a spell of reading the Bible for interest. 1 Kings makes excellent reading. But the way David ordered executions before he died, and Solomon upon his accession, is rather startling. And the book of Esther is a good Eastern story, exceedingly ingenuous, all based on copulation. 
And of course I drew inspiration from the Bible for my play "Judith".
See, 'Indecent Exposure' - http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/indecent-exposure.html

Additionally for January 2nd., see 'Social contrasts' -
http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/an-entertaining-evening.html

On Friday night, our last night in London, we went to the Tivoli. There were no seats except in the pit, so we went in the pit. Little Tich was very good, and George Formby, the Lancashire comedian, was perhaps even better.

A weak spirit

Sunday, January 31st, Menton.

Having nothing to do yesterday afternoon, and Eden being at work, and two others being out, and the day being wet, I could not resist going over to Monte Carlo in the tram.

I lost money at the tables and came home depressed. In the evening I played billiards, practically for the first time, Eden teaching me.
Today, bad weather again. I wrote an excellent T.P. article on Monte Carlo.
But at present my interest in this journal is not what it was. Monte Carlo and other things have disturbed it.

Last of the big gamblers

Tuesday, January 26th., Menton.

The first visit to Monte Carlo must be a sort of an event in the life of anyone with imagination. I went there yesterday afternoon from Menton by tram. The ride is very diversified, and here and there fine views are obtained.

Monte Carlo (literally "Mount Charles") is situated on a prominent escarpment at the base of the Maritime Alps along the French Riviera. The eastern part of the quarter includes the community of Larvotto with Monaco's only public beach. At its eastern border one crosses into the French town of Beausoleil (sometimes referred to as Monte-Carlo-Supérieur), and just 5 miles (8 km) further east is the western border of Italy. Monaco, the smallest state in Europe, having an area of eight square miles, is an Italian principality in southeast France in the department of Alpes Maritimes, on the shore of the Mediterranean. The state has a population of about 15,000 represented almost wholly by the three towns of Condamine (6218) Monaco (3292) and Monte Carlo (3794). The government is very old, dating from 968 A.D. Monte Carlo is notorious as the greatest gambling resort in the world. The revenues of the state and of the ruling prince are derived from the farming out of the gambling to a joint stock company which is given a monopoly of the business until 1947. For this privilege the company paid the prince in 1899, $2,000,000 and will pay in 1913 $3,000,000 more. In addition to this an annual payment is made of $350,000 which will increase to $500,000 in 1937.

<http://www.flickr.com/photos/hwmobs/7837345584/>

The Casino, 1900

On the whole I was disappointed by the exterior aspects of the town. It lacks spaciousness, and since it is in the absolute control of one autocratic authority, spaciousness is what it ought not to have lacked. Some of the villas, however, with their white paint and general air of being toys, are excessivement chic. The casino is all right in its florid, heavy way - but what a chance for an architect, on that site over the sea! The whole town had an air of being Parisian, but not quite Parisian enough.


Inside the gaming saloons (4 o'clock) I found a large crowd and many tables in full work. The crowd not so distinguished in appearance as I had (foolishly) expected. I saw few signs at the tables of  suppressed or expressed excitement, though quite a large proportion of the people seemed to be gambling seriously. I had no intention of betting, but after I had watched several tables and grasped the details of roulette (30 and 40 I didn't attempt to grasp) I remained at one table, as if hypnotised; without knowing it I began to finger a 5-franc piece in my pocket, and then I became aware that I was going to bet. I knew I should bet some seconds before I formally decided to. I staked a 5-franc piece on an even chance and won. Like a provincial up from the country, who has heard tales of metropolitan rascality, I stood close to a croupier and kept a careful eye on my coin, and picked up the winnings without an instant's delay. I kept on playing, carefully, and always on even chances, for some time, and stopped when I had made a little money and went and had some tea. I didn't play again.

From a contemporary postcard - The Casino, the beautiful palace where the gaming tables are, has a commanding position on a headland overlooking the sea, and surrounded by a superb park, with palms and exotic trees and fountains. The Casino has a theatre and reading room, and many beautiful halls with chairs and tables for the players. The game is running every day from noon till midnight. The players are men, women and children, whose losings furnish the dividends to the company. The inevitable losses of fortune drive many to despair, and tragedy broods over the place, the suicides averaging over one a week.

The idea of gambling quite absorbed all my thoughts; obsessed me; and I had schemes - such that it would be experientially worthwhile to go there with say 5000 francs, and deliberately become a regular system-using gambler for a time. There is no doubt that the human spectacle of the gaming saloons is tremendous; unequalled; the interest of it could not easily fail for an observer. To a stranger, of course, one of the most curious things is the sight of large sums of money in notes and gold being flung about the tables. I am told that the Casino employs 1,800 people altogether. The croupiers work 6 hours a day each, so I estimate there must be about 200 croupiers altogether.

I just missed a tram in coming home and had half an hour to wait; all that time I thought of gaming, gaming. I look forward to going again on Friday.