Part 16

OTHER PUBLIC ROOMS.--But beside the drawing-room there are a number of other large and beautiful apartments near by--the ladies’ billiard-room, the reception-room, writing-room, chess-room, etc.,--something like the elegant public rooms (which are not so very public) in the Hotel Victoria, London. There are a dozen or more suites of rooms with private parlor for each suite, opening on the garden.

THE DINING-ROOM.--This is unique. At first glance, especially if you are in the middle of the room, which is oval, it strikes you as rather bare, monotonous and inartistic; very practical, with room for six hundred people, but not entirely pleasing. But the longer you stay the more you admire, particularly if you are lucky enough to get a table near an end of the room, either that end which overlooks the garden or the end from which you can see the ocean, the bay and the mountains beyond. It measures 176 × 66 feet, and the ceiling is distant from the floor 33 feet. The whole immense apartment, floor, walls and ceiling, is of light colored wood--white Oregon pine and solid oak worked into panels of all sizes and shapes conceivable. The materials and light colors, or color rather, are suitable to this climate and in time you get to like them.

The breakfast room is no miniature apartment either, 47 × 56 feet, with ceiling as high as the dining-room ceiling. It is far more attractive to my eye, its floor being carpeted, and having a high dado of California redwood, which serves to relieve the lighter woods. But Americans demand size for their beauty, and they have it in the dining-room with its floor area of 10,000 feet. To quote the writer of a pamphlet, “it fills the beholder with an astounding admiration.” Better than that, to my taste, they have a skilful _chef_, and he fills your platter with most appetizing dishes--if you get a good waiter.

WHERE THEY DANCE.--In the extreme southwest corner of the building is the ball-room, with an extended view of the beach and the ocean; indeed, you cannot get away from the ocean unless you get away from Coronado. The designer of this room has also “gone in” for size. It is a circular room, no less than 60 feet high and 120 feet in diameter, giving a floor area of 11,000 square feet. Too much room for a small “dance,” but splendid for a ball or grand concert.

A feature of the ball-room is a stage for amateur theatricals, which, for size and appointments in the matter of lights, would not discredit a regular theatre.

A RICH AND ROYAL SUITE.--Taken as a whole, there are more prettily furnished bedrooms in Long’s Hotel, London, than in any other hotel I have ever seen. The tower rooms in the Oglethorpe, at Brunswick, Georgia, are large and remarkably beautiful, and the bridal suite in the Ponce de Leon is supposed to be very choice, but the Ponce de Leon “show” apartments will not compare in beauty nor in completeness of detail with the bridal suite in Hotel del Coronado. These rooms in the Coronado are not so palatial in size nor in the matter of costly frescoes as the rooms in the London Métropole, in which I found Mr. and Mrs. Augustin Daly last October, but they certainly are among the most tastefully furnished hotel bedrooms I have ever seen, and it is not surprising that the photographic views of these apartments find many purchasers.

The window has an eastern view that is extremely pleasing. To the right are seen the ocean’s rough breakers, to the left is the smooth bay of San Diego, while to the immediate front, as you lie in bed, if the curtains are parted and you are awake at 6.20 A. M., you can see the sun creeping up behind a range of great mountains, miles and miles away. The soft cloud of black smoke curling from the tall, round, red brick chimneys of the electric light engine house between you and the golden sky beyond, does not mar the picture in the least.

Across the centre of the principal room of the suite are three arches, supported by the side walls and by two wooden fluted columns, and under the arches are heavy portières of double silk, salmon pink on one side, old gold on the other. The windows are draped elaborately and beautifully--light blue silk shades, lace curtains next to the windows, with inner curtains of heavy pale blue silk, lined with silk of a rose tint. The furniture is of mahogany, upholstered with blue silk plush, the carpet is a rich moquette in delicate colors, and the toilet set is in Haviland Limoges decorated in deep blue, white and gold. The ceiling is daintily frescoed. From its centre depends a three-light electrolier; from the wall, over the bureau mirror, juts out a bracket with two electric lamps. The mantel is ornamented with two side pieces of Limoges and a bronze cathedral clock--a miniature representation of the clock in the Houses of Parliament, in Westminster. If you do not get from these notes the idea of a luxurious and tasteful apartment, the fault is not with those who furnished it, but with the pen which has failed to describe it.

REDONDO BEACH.

REDONDO BEACH, CAL., March 13, 1891.

New Orleans obtained its sub-title from the crescent shape of its banks on the Mississippi river. The trend of the Pacific shore here suggested the pretty name, “Redondo,” in Spanish, signifying round.

It is midway between Capistrano, south, and Point Duma, north, and is sixteen miles in a southwest direction from Los Angeles, from which city there are several trains daily over two roads--the Santa Fé and the new Redondo Beach railroad. All passenger steamers to and from San Francisco and way points stop at Redondo.

Three years ago Redondo was a waste, or at best it was a cattle ranch. There was not a house nor a hut here, now it is a garden spot of Southern California. It came into existence as if by magic, as do many flourishing towns on the Pacific slope.

Beautifully situated on grounds rising gradually from the ocean, backed by rich, tillable lands and ranges of green hills, with seaport facilities not surpassed in California south of San Francisco, its rapid growth is not surprising.

The creation of Redondo, according to plans which promise such a satisfactory result, is due to Californians--men of irrepressible energy and wide experience in large affairs--Captain J. C. Ainsworth, Captain R. R. Thompson and Captain George J. Ainsworth, not captains by courtesy, either. They planned and have established successfully railroad and steamship lines in Oregon and the northwest.

That they have ample capital at their command may be judged by a few figures given at random. Their first step was to buy one thousand acres of land; second, to build a railroad and wharf; third, to secure an ocean front of _one mile_, then to erect a hotel four hundred and fifty feet long to accommodate three hundred people. It was first opened May 1, 1890.

In the hotel they built a music room, 48 × 80 feet, spending two thousand dollars simply on an inlaid floor; there is a tennis court which cost seven thousand dollars; they laid a Portland cement walk from the station to hotel, sixteen feet wide and a quarter of a mile long, expending another ten thousand in that way--altogether it is easy to believe that checks for more than a million have been drawn in the enterprise. These Californians, with their big trees and their forty-thousand-acre ranches, do nothing in a small way.

Do you ask what are the natural attractions of the place? “First, last and all the time,” there is the almost wonderful climate--genial, balmy and equable, such as you will find nowhere but in Southern California. The hotel proprietor tells me that the average winter temperature is 61 degrees. In case you should not care for figures at second hand, here is a record from my own thermometer. Yesterday, March 12, noon, 68, this morning at seven it registered 53; at this writing, eight P.M., 60, the instrument hanging outside my window.

The summer here, I am assured, and I firmly believe, is more delightful than the winter, and the hotel will be kept open the year round. Like the Hygeia at Old Point Comfort, Redondo attracts people from a distance in winter; in summer it is largely patronized by residents of San Francisco, Los Angeles and other cities of the State.

I do not agree entirely with Mrs. Malaprop that “comparisons are odorous.” They often serve a very useful purpose in illustration. At any rate I am given to the habit of comparing, be it a good or a bad habit. What is large or small, fine or coarse, hot or cold, wet or dry, good or bad, except by comparison?

For once, however, I am put to my wits’ ends for comparison. Redondo is like no place on the Atlantic coast, because, although directly on the seashore, every foot of ground, almost up to the edge of the ocean, is covered with fine grass; and the most tender flowers grow and flourish in profusion everywhere, almost within a few feet of the surf. This in winter, mind you--a Southern California winter, though. It is not so, even in summer, on the Atlantic coast, in the United States, nor in England. Yes, I have it: I can indulge in the old habit; the climate of Redondo is like that in the South of France: in fact it is in the same latitude: there!

In the hotel nurseries, which are distant from the surf but a few hundred feet, you may revel in roses, heliotrope, tulips, mignonette, daisies, etc. There are tall calla lilies in plenty and the pleasing sight of acres and acres of pinks of various colors is one that is very fascinating. The hotel farm of two hundred acres, where choice stock is kept, supplies the house with more than all the milk, cream, butter, fruit and vegetables it requires.

The hotel is only four stories high, yet there is an elevator; of course electric lights and all modern improvements. Neither is the building deep, but it has great length, to give views of ocean in front and of green hills in the rear. It stands north and south thus affording ocean views from three sides. Of the 225 rooms, every one has a sunny exposure at some hour of the day; every one is well ventilated and lighted; every one is an “outside room,” and every guest feels that his is the best suite in the house.