My Friend the Chauffeur
to copy Venice in miniature, and I loved it for its ambition; but what
interested me the most was to hear from Mr. Barrymore how, on the spot
where its castle stands, Attila watched the burning of Aquileia. That
seemed to take me down to the roots of Venetian history; and I could
picture the panic-stricken fugitives flying to the lagoons, and
beginning to raise the wattled huts which have culminated in the queen
city of the sea. From Udine we went southward; and at the Austrian
custom house, across the frontier, we had to unroll yards of red tape
before we were allowed to pass. Almost at once, when we were over the
border, the scenery, the architecture, and even the people's faces,
changed; not gradually, but with extraordinary abruptness, or so it
seemed to me.
Just before dark we sailed into a great, busy town, with a surprising
number of enormous, absolutely useless-looking buildings. It was
Trieste, Austria's biggest port; and the Prince, who had kept near us
for the hundred and thirty miles from Venice, began to wear an air of
pride in his own country. He wanted us to admire the fine streets and
shops, and made us notice how everywhere were to be seen Greek, Russian,
Polish, French, German, Italian, and even English names. "That proves
what a great trade we do, and how all the world comes to us," he said.
Our hotel was close to the quay, and there were a thousand things of
interest to watch from the windows when we got up next morning, as there
always are in places where the world "goes down to the sea in ships."
At breakfast there was a discussion as to our route, which, owing to
suggestions and counter-suggestions from the Prince, hadn't been
decided. The Chauffeulier wanted to run through Istria and show us
Capodistria (another copy of Venice), Rovigno, and Pola, which he said
had not only a splendid Roman amphitheatre, but many other sights worth
making a detour for. I was fired by his description, for what I've seen
of Northern Italy has stimulated my love for history and the
architecture of the ancients; but Prince Dalmar-Kalm persuaded Aunt
Kathryn that, as the neighbourhood of Cattaro is our goal, it would be a
waste of time to linger on the threshold of Dalmatia.
"Why, a little while ago you thought it stupid to go into Dalmatia at
all," said Beechy. "You warned us we'd have trouble about petrol, about
roads, about hotels, about everything."
"I have been talking since with Corramini," replied the Prince
unruffled. "He has motored through the country we are going to, and I
see from his accounts, that the journey is more feasible than I had
thought, knowing the way as I did, only from a yacht."
"Funny he should be more familiar with the country than you, as you've
got a castle there," Beechy soliloquized aloud.
"I make no secret that I have never lived at Hrvoya," the Prince
answered. "Neither I, nor my father before me. The house where I was
born is at Abbazzia. That is why I want you to go that way. It is no
longer mine; but I should like you to see it, since you cannot at
present see Schloss Kalm, near Vienna."
"You seem so fond of selling your houses, why don't you offer Mamma the
one near Vienna, if it's the best?" persisted naughty Beechy.
"I could not sell it if I would," smiled the Prince, who for some reason
is almost always good-natured now. "And if I offer it to a lady, she
must be the Princess Dalmar-Kalm."
I felt that a glance was thrown to me with these words, but I looked
only at my plate.
The conversation ended by the Prince getting his way, as he had made
Aunt Kathryn think it _her_ way: and we gave up Istria. Soon after ten
we were _en route_ for Abbazzia--close to Fiume--slanting along the neck
of the Istrian peninsula by a smooth and well-made road that showed the
Austrians were good at highways.
It was but thirty miles from sea to sea, and so sweetly did the car run,
so little were we troubled by cantankerous creatures of any sort, that
we descended from high land and before twelve o'clock ran into as
perfect a little watering place as can exist on earth.
Aunt Kathryn was prepared to like Abbazzia before she saw it, because it
was the scene of Prince Dalmar-Kalm's birth, and also because she'd been
told it was the favourite resort of Austrian aristocracy. I hadn't
listened much, because I had clung to the idea of visiting historic
Pola; but Abbazzia captured me at first glance.
Everywhere was beauty and peace. The Adriatic spread itself pure and
clean as a field of spring flowers, and as full of delicate changing
colour. Away on a remote horizon--remote as all trouble and worry
seemed, in this fair spot--hovered islands, opaline and shimmering, like
a mirage. Nearer rose a stretch of green hills, travelling by the
seashore until they fell back for Fiume, a white town veiled with a
light mist of smoke.
But for Abbazzia itself, it seemed the most unconventional pleasure
place I ever knew. Instead of a smart "parade" all along the rocky
indentations which jutted into or receded from the sea, ran a winding
rustic path, tiny blue waves crinkling on one side; on the other,
fragrant groves of laurel, olives, magnolias, and shady chestnut-trees.
We walked there, after lunching at quite a grand hotel, which, the
Prince told Aunt Kathryn, was full of "crowned heads" in winter and
earlier spring. Nowhere else have I seen the beauty of sea and shore so
exquisitely mingled as on this path overhanging the Adriatic, nor have I
smelled more heavenly smells, even at Bellagio. There was the salt of
the sea, the rank flavour of seaweed, mingled with the sharp fragrance
of ferns, of young grass, of budding trees, and all sweet, woodsy
things.
Along the whole length of the gay, quaint town, ran the beautiful path,
winding often like a twisted ribbon, but never leaving the sea. Behind
it, above and beyond, was the unspoiled forest only broken enough for
the cutting of shaded streets, and the building of charming houses,
their fronts half windows and the other half balconies.
The dark rocks starred with flowers to the water's edge, looked as if
there had been a snow-storm of gulls, while the air was full of their
wistful cries, and the singing of merry land birds that tried to cheer
them.
Each house by the sea (the one where Prince Dalmar-Kalm first saw the
light, among others) had its own bathing place, and pretty young girls
laughed and splashed in the clear water. Up above, in the town, were
public gardens, many hotels, theatres, and fascinating shops displaying
embroideries and jewelry from Bosnia, which made me feel the nearness of
the East as I hadn't felt it before, even in Venice.
We could not tear ourselves away in the afternoon, but spent hours in a
canopied boat, dined in the hotel garden, and bathed in the creamy sea
by late moonlight, the Chauffeulier giving me a lesson in swimming. Aunt
Kathryn grudged the time, but we overruled her, and atoned by promising
to go on each day after this to the bitter end, whatever that might be.
Next morning, by way of many hills and much fine scenery we travelled
towards a land beyond the motor zone. Though the roads were good enough,
if steep sometimes, judging by the manners of animals four-legged and
two-legged, automobiles were unknown. Only children were not surprised
at us; but then, children aren't easily surprised by new things, I've
noticed. They have had so few experiences to found impressions on, that
I suppose they would think a fiery chariot nothing extraordinary, much
less a motor-car. The costumes began to change from ordinary European
dress to something with a hint of the barbaric in it. Here and there we
would see a coarse-featured face as dark as that of a Mongolian, or
would hear a few curious words which the Chauffeulier said were Slavic.
The biting, alkaline names of the small Dalmatian towns through which we
ran seemed to shrivel our tongues and dry up our systems. There was much
thick, white dust, and, to the surprise of the amateurs of the party, we
once or twice had "side slip" in it.
How we hated the "mended" roads with their beds of stone, though near
rivers they were not so bad, as the pebbles instead of being sharp were
naturally rounded. But Aunt Kathryn wouldn't hear a word against the
country, which was _her_ country now. Once, when the cylinders refused
to work, for some reason best known to themselves or the evil spirits
that haunt them, we were "hung up" for twenty minutes, and surrounded
with strange, dark children from a neighbouring hamlet, Aunt Kathryn
insisted on giving each a coin of some sort, and received grinning
acknowledgments with the air of a crowned queen. "I daresay I shall have
tenants and retainers like these people," said she, with a wave of her
hand.
For a part of our journey down the narrow strip of strange coast, we had
on one side a range of stony mountains; on the other, only a little way
across the sea, lay desolate islands rising in tiers of pink rock out of
the milk-white Adriatic. But before long we lost the sea and the lonely
islands; for at a place named Segna our road turned inland and climbed a
high mountain--the Velebit--at whose feet we had been travelling.
As we were trying to make a run of more than a hundred and twenty-five
miles--a good deal for a heavily-loaded car of twelve horse-power--the
Chauffeulier kept the automobile constantly going "for all she was
worth." He had planned that we should spend the night at the sea-coast
town of Zara--that place so inextricably tangled up in Venetian
history--for there we might find a hotel fit to stop at.
About midday we lunched at a mean town called Gospic, and vast was the
upheaval that our advent caused.
As we drove in, looking right and left for the cleanest inn, every
able-bodied person under seventy and several considerably over ran to
follow, their figures swarming after us as a tail follows a comet. At
the door of our chosen lunching-place they surged round the car,
pressing against us, and even plucking at our dresses as we pushed
through into the house. Spray from this human wave tossed into the
passage and eating-room in our wake, until the burly innkeeper, his
large wife, and two solid handmaidens swept it out by sheer weight.
Mr. Barrymore was afraid to leave the car, lest it should be damaged, so
he sat in it, eating bread and cheese with imperturbable good humour,
though every mouthful he took was watched down his throat by a hundred
eager eyes.
The landlord waited upon us himself, and could speak German and Italian
as well as his own Croatian or Slavish dialect. We were surprised at the
goodness of the luncheon, and Sir Ralph was surprised at the cheapness
of the bill. "It will be different when they've turned this coast into
the Austrian Riviera, as they 're trying to do," he said.
When we appeared at the door again, ready to go on, there fell a heavy
silence on the Chauffeulier's audience. Not only had they had the
entertainment of watching him feed, but had observed with fearful awe
the replenishing of the petrol and water-tanks and examination of the
lubricators. Now they had the extra pleasure of seeing us put on our
motor-masks and take our places. When all was ready Mr. Barrymore seized
the starting handle, and gave it the one vigorous twist which wakes the
engine when it is napping. But almost for the first time the motor was
refractory. The handle recoiled so violently and unexpectedly that the
Chauffeulier staggered back and trod on the toes of the fat man of the
crowd, while at the same time there burst from the inner being of the
car a loud report. At this sign of the motor's power and rebellion
against him whom it should have obeyed, the audience uttered cries,
scattering right and left, so as to leave a large ring round the