MONTE CARLO.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XLIII, Issue 2282, 29 January 1912, Page 7

MONTE CARLO.

PROM A BYSTANDER'S POINT OP VIKW. No one in Monte Carlo has a soul. There is a sharp ridge of bills reared ap behind the little pleasure spot, and on the edge of this crest sits everybody's soul, looking down on the games of the Plesh far below. Souls couldn't be wanted in Monte Carlo, and even the soulful people soon send them up aloft to sit and wonder and wait. Nobody thinks about anything but the obvious ; nobody sees any meanings anywhere, or any touches of symbolism : nobody ever thinks of Other Countries, nor has other wants ' and, most of all, nobody Ever Dreams. There are no dreams in Monte. Perhaps they sit away with the souls. There could be no dreams in such an obvious surface world : so light, so casual, so gay : such an Amusement world.

It's an odd world. Hopelessly greedy. Greedy of eating a nd drinks; greedy of money; greedy of smart hats and what not. The hours go dancing by, and nobody knows how they have danced, or whether they have danced. But they just dance.

Monte Carlo is not a Real Place : it is a Cardboard Place. It is a Moment of its own, a Passing Show, an Appearance ; it couldn't be solid. Especially at night, with all the houses made of the whitest cardboard, yellow lights hanging like oranges in front of them, and tiny lights like tangerines studding the glass. The stiff sage trees wave dark plumes under a blue sky full of night, a black aky fall of blue, pricked with bright holes, which a re stars. The whole thing is very well done.

The arms of the town,, if it had arms, would not set forth saintly nor heroic devices in argent or gules, but a Pierrot in white with big, black spots : for Monte is a Grand. Guignol. It's a queer world. Always you are going into a Regtawat or a Club or the Casino, and leaving your coat at the door. A hundred times a day your coat is left, and a tin ticket ia given you ; your coat is put on again, and the tin ticket returned ; and your clothes wear out under the treatment.

Always you are in lilts or drifting down long passages. Always tyou are showing your card and smiling at some functionary. Always you are tipping somebody. Always yon are puzzling over a Menu. Always there is a eoektail at your elbow. Generally yon are hot. Very hot in the rooms. Nobody likes cold. You see hot faces all over lines. Everybody has an up-all-night look and a nervy look. And they say it is because they feel alive for once. Everybody lfkes to lose their money too. They never grudge the little rake which sweeps in their golden louis. Win or lose, it does not matter to them. Ido Hot know why they sometimes say to each other, "'Bad luck !" «r count feverishly the few coins left. Everybody dreads lest it should be thought they love the mere gold dross. '"Oh, no, it is not 'louis' at all—it is just little guilded counters." I love Monte Carlo because it is a little Pretence Place, jtwt a fabulous j sham.—lsabel Savory, in the '"PaU Mall Gazette."