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You prepare your pieces of bread, or brioche, in slices about half an inch in thickness, and bake (or toast) them lightly in the oven, after having sprinkledthem with sugar. Arrange them in the form of a crown upon a round dish, placing them in the middle, but with some pieces of pineapple in the centre. Take some bananas, not too ripe, but perfectly sound and good, throw them into cold water with their skins on, and let them boil. After boiling for two minutes the bananas will be done. Take them out of the water, peel them, and arrange them on the dish, round the croûtons. Sprinkle the pineapple and the bananas with apricot sauce flavoured with kirsch, and serve very hot, after having ornamented the dish with preserved fruits.
He, a gentleman on the Stock Exchange, who has generally a stock of good stories, mentioned in the course of a letter to me that he had heard a really good tale of the last bye-election, and would tell it to me the next time that we met, as it was too long to write. Now, that particular election is fast becoming ancient history, and if that story had to be retailed to my circle of country friends, it would have to be done quickly. Therefore I wrote to my stockbroker, who lives in Shaftesbury Avenue, and asked him to name a day to come across the way, and dine at the Monico.
The day settled, I went to the Monico and interviewed the manager, Signor Giulio C. Nobile, a gentleman of stalwart figure, with a pleasant smile, and a small but carefully-tended moustache. I wanted to kill two birds at a stone—to hear the story and to see what the Monico and its cooking were like, for it is a restaurant which somehow or other has not fallen within the circle of my usual dining-places.
I asked Signor Nobile what he considered the speciality of the great restaurant over which he presides; and though he was anxious to give me a specially ordered dinner, I came to the conclusion that I could best test what the establishment could do by trying the 5s.table d'hôtein the Renaissance room on the first floor.
"Dinner at 7.30 for two, if you please, and pray remember that I want exactly thetable d'hôtedinner that all your customers get," was my last request to Signor Nobile, and he smiled and said that that should be so.
At 7.30 my facetious stockbroker friend, ruddy of face, his moustache carefully curled, and his expansive white waistcoat garnished with gold-and-coral buttons, appeared on the scene. As the lift, engineered by a smart page, took us up to the first floor he began: "It's the funniest story you ever heard, and will make you die of laughter. There was a doubtful elector and——" But the lift stopped, and there was Signor Nobile bowing and smiling on the landing.
"We have five minutes to spare, Signor Nobile," I said, "and while they are putting thehors-d'œuvreon the table, will you take us round the house and show us the different rooms?"
The Signor led, I followed, and my friend the stockbroker brought up the rear. First we went into a great hall on the first floor, where a smoking-concert was in progress, and thunders of applause were greeting a gentleman in evening dress who had just concluded a song. "It is some one going abroad, and they are giving hima send-off," was Mr. Nobile's explanation. Next we went down to the ground-floor through a hall, where people were sitting at little round-topped tables drinking various beverages, and down some steps into a German beer saloon, with pigmies and other strange creatures painted on the walls. Up again to the first floor, through a long grill-room with little white-clothed tables in four rows, then a peep into a restaurant, and a flight in the lift up to the second floor, where solemn gentlemen in black were eating a dinner of ceremony in a very pretty saloon with an Egyptian room as a reception-room next door. Our five minutes were over, we had seen most of the big rooms of the house, and, descending, we took our places at a table by one of the windows in the Renaissance Saloon.
"Now for that story," I said; but my stockbroker was puffing and blowing. "Give a fellow a few minutes to get his breath, after rushing him up and down stairs at racing pace," he said; so I turned my attention to the room, the menu, and the company. The room is a symphony in old gold and grey. The paper has a gold pattern on a grey ground, the long line of windows have soft grey curtains. At one end of the room is a great clock above a large mirror. The ceiling is a series of square frames enclosing circular painted panels. The orchestra is in a balustraded balcony, with an arch above it, held high by two pillars. In the centre of the room, among the little tables, a palm grows out of a great vase. There are blue glass shades to the electric globes that drop from the ceiling, and the silver lampsthat stand on the table are curtained with crimson. Waiters in white waistcoats and black coats, and white-aproned sommeliers, with great silvered badges, come and go past the clerks' desk, which stands below the orchestra.
The diners, mostly in pairs, were fitting occupants of the handsome room. There was a very beautiful lady with a big diamond where the centre parting of her hair left her forehead; and another lady in a mantilla, who would have many gallants with guitars below her windows had she lived in Seville. Most of the couples were evidently going to the theatre, and left soon after we arrived. This was the menu:—
Hors-d'œuvre variés.Consommé Bortsch.Crème à la Reine.Soles à la Nantua.Poularde Valencienne.Tournedos Princesse.Canards sauvages. Sauce Port wine.Salade.Biscuits Monico.Petits fours.Dessert.
When my stockbroker had drunk his Bortsch, which was well made, he began: "It is rather a long story, but it will make you die of laughing. There was a——" but at that moment Signor Nobile, who had been smiling in the distance, came up with a leaflet on which was inscribed the names of the Royalties who have from time to time honoured the Monico with their presence.There are evidently some regiments with Royal colonels who always go to the Monico for their annual dinner.
"Go on with your story," I said, when Signor Nobile had once more smiled himself into the background; but a waiter had just then shown us a tempting dish offilets de sole à la Nantua, aplatreally admirably cooked, and as my stockbroker took up his fork he said, "Yes, and be pilloried by you in print for talking to you while you are eating. Not me."
The poularde, a fine fat bird reposing in a bed of rice, satisfactorily disposed of, I told the waiter not to bring the tournedos for a few minutes, and settled back in my seat to hear the story of the doubtful elector.
"It's a long story; but you'll die with laughing when you hear it," my stockbroker began again. "There was a voter, and he would tell nobody——" Just then the band commenced the overture to "Guillaume Tell." Now, it is an excellent band, and M. Paul Bosc, the conductor, is an admirable soloist on the violin; but when it gets to work at a Rossini overture the music takes the place of conversation, and my stockbroker stopped abruptly and waited for a better opportunity. Before the band had concluded the waiter had given us our tournedos.
The wild duck we were givenà la presse, and when we had eaten our slices of the breast I said, like Demetrius, "I wonder"; for I was wondering whether all the pretty ladies and good-looking gentlemen had been treated as well as we had been. Five shillings is not a very large sum. Chickensand wild-duck cost money, even when bought wholesale, and we had been given a whole chicken and a whole wild-duck. "If I were you," said the stockbroker, philosophically, "I shouldn't trouble to wonder. I should either eat my dinner—and it has been a good one so far—or else I should listen to an interesting story as to the doubtful elector."
I took his advice, in so far as eating my dinner was concerned, for thebiscuitwas capital.
Signor Nobile came up to ask if the dinner had been satisfactory, and I had only pleasant words to say to him. Then my stockbroker drew a long breath, and was about to begin, when once more I interrupted him. "Pardon me," I said, "let me order coffee and liqueurs, and pay my bill. The orchestra is enjoying ten minutes' interval, and there will be, once the bill is paid, nothing to interrupt the flow of your discourse, nothing to mar my enjoyment of it."
This was the bill:—Two dinners, 10s.; one bottle 210, 16s. 6d.; liqueurs, 5s.; coffee, 1s.; total, £1: 12: 6. This paid, I prepared to enjoy a really good story. "There was a voter who would tell no one on which side he was going to vote," I commenced, to gently lead my stockbroker up to his story. But he looked at his watch. "Very sorry, my dear boy," he said, "but I have an appointment in two minutes' time I daren't break. I must tell you the story another day. It's a bit long, but you'll die with laughter when you hear it."
I have not as yet heard that voter story, and am still alive.
6th December.
Hors-d'œuvre.Smoked Salmon. Solomon Gundy.Olives.Soups.Frimsell. Matsoklese.Pease and beans.Fish.Brown stewed carp. White stewed gurnet.Fried soles. Fried plaice.Entrées.Roast veal (white stew).Filleted steak (brown stew).Poultry.Roast capon. Roast chicken.Smoked beef. Tongue.Vegetables.Spinach. Sauerkraut.Potatoes. Cucumbers.Green salad.Sweets.Kugel. Stewed prunes.Almond pudding.Apple staffen.
When I looked at the above I groaned aloud. Was it possible, I thought, that any human being could eat a meal of such a length and yet live? I looked at my two companions, but they showed no signs of terror, so I took up knife and fork and bade the waiter do his duty.
Theraison d'êtreof the dinner was this: Thinking of untried culinary experiences, I told one of the great lights of the Jewish community that I should like some day to eat a "kosher" dinner at a typical restaurant, and he said that the matter was easily enough arranged; and by telegram informed me one day last week that dinner was ordered for that evening at Goldstein's restaurant in Bloomfield Street, London Wall, and that I was to call for him in the City at six.
When I and a gallant soul, who had sworn to accompany me through thick and thin, arrived at the office of the orderer of the dinner, we found a note of apology from him. The dinner would be ready for us, and his best friend would do the honours as master of the ceremonies, but he himself was seedy and had gone home.
On, in the pouring rain, we three devoted soldiers of the fork went, in a four-wheeler cab, to our fate.
The cab pulled up at a narrow doorway, and we were at Goldstein's. Through a short passage we went towards a little staircase, and our masterof the ceremonies pointed out on the post of a door that led into the public room of the restaurant a triangular piece of zinc, a Mazuza, the little case in which is placed a copy of the Ten Commandments. Upstairs we climbed into a small room with no distinctive features about it. A table was laid for six. There were roses in a tall glass vase in the middle of the table, and a buttonhole bouquet in each napkin. A piano, chairs covered with black leather, low cupboards with painted tea-trays and well-worn books on the top of them, an old-fashioned bell-rope, a mantelpiece with painted glass vases on it and a little clock, framed prints on the walls, two gas globes—these were the fittings of an everyday kind of apartment.
We took our places, and the waiter, in dress clothes, after a surprised inquiry as to whether we were the only guests at the feast, put the menu before us. It was then that, encouraged by the bold front shown by my two comrades, I, after a moment of tremor, told the waiter to do his duty.
I had asked to have everything explained to me, and before thehors-d'œuvrewere brought in the master of the ceremonies, taking a book from the top of one of the dwarf cupboards, showed me the Grace before meat, a solemn little prayer which is really beautiful in its simplicity. With the Grace comes the ceremony of the host breaking bread, dipping the broken pieces in salt, and handing them round to his guests, who sit with covered heads.
Of thehors-d'œuvre, Solomon Gundy, whichhad a strange sound to me, was a form of pickled herring, excellently appetising.
Before the soup was brought up, the master of the ceremonies explained that the Frimsell was made from stock, and a paste of eggs and flour rolled into tiny threads like vermicelli, while the Matsoklese had in it balls of unleavened flour. When the soup was brought the two were combined, and the tiny threads and the balls of dough both swam in a liquid which had somewhat the taste of vermicelli soup. The master of the ceremonies told me I must taste the pease and beans soup which followed, as it is a very old-fashioned Jewish dish. It is very like a rich pease-soup, and is cooked in carefully-skimmed fat. In the great earthenware jar which holds the soup is cooked the "kugel," a kind of pease-pudding, which was to appear much later at the feast.
Goldstein's is the restaurant patronised by the "froom," the strictest observers of religious observances, of the Jewish community, and we should by right only have drunk unfermented Muscat wine with our repast, but some capital hock took its place, and when the master of the ceremonies and the faithful soul touched glasses, one said "Lekhaim," and the other answered the greeting with "Tavim." Then, before the fish was put on the table, the master of the ceremonies told me of the elaborate care that was taken in the selection of animals to be killed, of the inspection of the butcher's knives, of the tests applied to the dead animals to see that the flesh is good, of the soaking and salting of the meat, and the drawing-out of the veins from it.The many restrictions, originally imposed during the wandering in the desert, which make shellfish, and wild game, and scaleless fish unlawful food—these and many other interesting items of information were imparted to me.
The white-stewed gurnet, with chopped parsley and a sauce of egg and lemon-juice, tempered by onion flavouring, was excellent. In the brown sauce served with the carp were such curious ingredients as treacle, gingerbread and onions, but the result, a strong rich sauce, is very pleasant to the taste. The great cold fried soles standing on their heads and touching tails, and the two big sections of plaice flanking them, I knew must be good; but I explained to the master of the ceremonies that I had already nearly eaten a full-sized man's dinner, and that I must be left a little appetite to cope with what was to come.
Very tender veal, with a sauce of egg and lemon, which had a thin sharp taste, and a steak, tender also, stewed with walnuts, an excellent dish to make a dinner of, were the next items on the menu, and I tasted each; but I protested against the capon and the chicken as being an overplus of good things, and the master of the ceremonies—who I think had a latent fear that I might burst before the feast came to an end—told the waiter not to bring them up.
The smoked beef was a delicious firm brisket, and the tongue, salted, was also exceptionally good. I felt that the last feeble rag of an appetite had gone, but the cucumber, a nobleDutch fellow, pickled in salt and water in Holland, came to my aid, and a slice of this, better than anysorbetthat I know of, gave me the necessary power to attempt, in a last despairing effort, the kugel and apple staffen and almond pudding.
The staffen is a rich mixture of many fruits and candies with a thin crust. The kugel is a pease-pudding cooked, as I have written above, in the pease and beans soup. The almond pudding is one of those moist delicacies that I thought only the French had the secret of making.
Coffee—no milk, even if we had wanted it, for milk and butter are not allowed on the same table as flesh—and a liqueur of brandy, and then, going downstairs, we looked into the two simple rooms, running into each other, which form the public restaurant, rooms empty at 9p.m., but crowded at the mid-day meal.
Mr. Goldstein, who was there, told us that his patrons had become so numerous that he would soon have to move to larger premises, and certainly the cooking at the restaurant is excellent, and I do not wonder at its obtaining much patronage.
What this Gargantuan repast cost I do not know, for the designer of the feast said that the bill was to be sent to him.
I think that a "kosher" dinner, if this is a fair specimen, is a succession of admirably cooked dishes. But an ordinary man should be allowed a week in which to eat it.
13th December.
La Princesse Lointaine was passing through town on her way to Rome, to her husband's palazzo—to the great grim building where the big suisse stands on guard by the entrance, and soft-footed servants in black move noiselessly about the high tapestried rooms. Her note with the tiny monogram and the coronet on it said that she was at the Savoy for a few days, and would I come and dine, on her last evening in England, and talk of old days?
I always call the pretty lady who has the honour of bearing the name of one of the oldest families of Italian nobility, "la Princesse Lointaine," for the glint of sunlight her presence brings comes so rarely and vanishes so quickly. It was at the old Delmonico's, at one of the assemblies, that I first met her, an American heiress in her second season, light-haired, large-eyed, with that perfect tact that comes naturally to American and French women. I had letters of introduction to her father, and she, taking entire charge of me as the stranger in the land,made me feel at home, and stamped that ball in my memory as one of my pleasantest recollections. She was married a year later in Rome, and I thought never to see her again; but one day at Fort William, in Calcutta, I got a note with a little monogram and coronet, brought by a peon from the Great Eastern Hotel, and I found that my Princesse Lointaine and her husband, travelling round the world, were making a fortnight's stay in the city by the Hugli, before going on to China and Japan. I showed her and her husband the forlorn grandeur of the empty palaces of the dead King of Oude, the spot where the Black Hole was, the church by the river where the first sturdy British traders left their bones, and all the other sights of Calcutta. They sailed away, and the next time that I saw her was at Venice one summer when Queen Marguerite had gone there for the bathing, and the grave husband, in some office about the court, had gone there also. Once again I saw her in her Roman home. And now, passing through from New York to the grim palazzo in Rome, she had written me a couple of lines to tell me to come and talk to her.
I would not let her give me dinner at her hotel; for in London she was the stranger and my foot was on my native flagstones, and I suggested that if she would not mind a very quiet dinner she should do me the honour of dining with me almost next door at the Tivoli, where I knew we should be quiet, where thedining-room is a very charming one, where the music is not loud enough to interfere with conversation, and where, with M. Aubanel in supreme command, I felt sure that the cooking would be good. If she cared to go on to a theatre, I would take a box somewhere. A line in reply told me that I might pick her up at the Savoy and take her on to dinner, but that after dinner she would sooner sit and talk than go to a theatre, for there was much packing to be superintended before bedtime.
I could not, as I was taking la Princesse Lointaine away from the Savoy and Maître Escoffier's masterpieces of cookery, leave my dinner to chance, so in the afternoon I went and interviewed M. Aubanel, the manager, who, mustachioed, with a full head of black hair brushed off from his forehead, is as well known on the Riviera, where he has an hotel, as he is in town.
As one of the cooks under M. Racoussot, the chef, is a Russian, and was one of the great Cubat's assistants, I knew I was safe in ordering Russianhors-d'œuvre. A very plain soup, sole (cooked in any fashion that did not includemoules, of which shellfish I remembered that the Princesse was afraid), a very plain entrée of meat, snipe, asparagus, and an ice, were my requirements, and the menu, as M. Aubanel sketched it out, ran thus:—
Zakouski.Poule au pot.Filets de sole Florentine.Côte de bœuf aux légumes printaniers.Bécassines rôties.Salade Romaine.Asperges vertes. Sauce mousseline.Bombe Princesse.Dessert.
The Princesse was waiting for me when I drove up to the Savoy. She was wearing a magnificent cloak lined with ermine, and I could catch the glint at her throat of the diamonds and pearls which had been heirlooms in her husband's family for many generations. I felt at the sight of so much grandeur almost ashamed at the simplicity of the dinner I had ordered.
The Palm Room at the Tivoli has been decorated so as to form an excellent background to a pretty and well-dressed woman. The walls are panelled with some soft material of two shades of dark green which looks like stamped velvet. There is a breast-high decoration of soft coloured marbles. The pillars are chiefly of gold, and the ceiling, the pattern of which is formed by palm leaves, is white and gold. There are soft dark green portières and curtains, and the chairs are upholstered in dark green velvet. Orange shades to the electric globes which hang from the ceiling diffuse a soft warm light over everything. And no prettier subject for a handsome background to show up could be found than the Princesse when she had shed her furs. Two little light curls came down upon her forehead, the pearls and diamonds were her throat ornaments, and her dress was all white and silver. The lace of the bodice looked to me as if it were one of the wonders of Benares make, and round her white arms were three broad bands of silver lace.
Thehors-d'œuvre, on a second small table, were placed alongside the round table, prettily decorated with flowers, which had been arranged for us in one corner of the room, and one of these delicacies, a soft, creamy pâté, in which the taste of anchovies dominated the other ingredients, was excellent.
The Princesse was in high spirits and brimming over with gossip about New York. I heard all about the glories of the latest mammoth hotel, and was told of the lovely decorations of the new Delmonico's, and of the dinner-party the Princesse gave there on its opening night. I was given a description of most of this year's débutantes in the city of Gotham, and was entrusted with the whole truth as to the anonymous letter scandal. Many other things also I was told, most of which I have forgotten.
The soup was plain and good. Thefilets de sole, with the taste of parmesan, the thin slices of truffle, the thick green sauce and fried soft roe were excellent, though, to be severely critical, the taste of the cheese in theplatwas just a little too pronounced.
From New York the Princesse jumped to Rome. She dilated on all the pleasures of the coming season in the City of the Seven Hills, trying to induce me to make holiday after Christmas and exchange Bond Street for the Corso. Rome, it seems, is to be exceptionally gay this winter, and I assured the Princesse that it was not the will that was wanting to change the sight of fog-blurred streets for the view of the swell of snow-topped Soracte through the sparkle of the Roman air.
Thecôte de bœuf, served like a gigantic cutlet with a paper frill on the bone, was very tender, and the snipe were succulent morsels. The asparagus was rather hard, but asparagus in December is not a dish to be captious about. Thebombewas a magnificent erection, looking like a wedding-cake, and the Princesse, accepting its name as a compliment to herself, insisted on taking the sugar flowers it was decorated with back to her hotel with her as a trophy.
We sat and sipped our coffee and Curaçao Marnier and chatted, while the band, behind a gilt grille, played pianissimo music, and the diners at the other tables gradually went off to theatres and music-halls. Our fellow-diners were not very smart. Indeed, themonde qui dinedoes not seem yet to have taken to the Tivoli, which deserves a trial, for the cook is first class and the dining-room a beautiful one.
At last the Princesse Lointaine said that she must go home and pack, so I asked for my bill. I am afraid that M. Aubanel treated me too kindly in the matter of prices, but I could hardly argue that matter out while the Princesse waited to be taken back to her hotel. One Moët, cuvée '36, 13s.; hors-d'œuvre, 1s.; poule au pot, 2s.; filets de sole, 2s. 6d.; côte de bœuf, 4s.; bécassines, 4s.; salade, 1s.; asperges, 5s.; bombe, 2s.; café, 1s.; liqueurs, 2s.; total, £1: 17: 6.
"You won't come to Rome, then, this winter?" said la Princesse Lointaine as she bade me good-bye, and I sorrowfully answered that I only wished I could.
20th December.
Mr. A.A. Tate is now manager and proprietor of the Tivoli restaurant, and a 3s.table-d'hôtedinner in the palm-room and good plain cooking in the grill-room seem now to be the specialities of a restaurant which at one time entered into competition with the Savoy, the Princes', the Cecil, and the other restaurants ofla haute volée.
My Dear Aunt Tabitha—First, let me thank you for the tracts entitled "The Converted Clown" and "The Journalist Reclaimed"; they will have my attention. It was no doubt your nephew John's conscience which impelled him to place my devotion to Shakespeare, and other dramatic authors of like calibre, and my efforts to improve humanity through the press, before you in the light he has done. When I have an opportunity of a personal interview with him I shall attempt to change his opinions.
That I shall have the pleasure of seeing you in London soon after the New Year is indeed good news. My cousin Judith I shall have the honour and privilege of meeting for the first time. It must, indeed, be a pleasure for a young lady, the curriculum of her studies in Switzerland at an end, to be returningviaParis; and your notion of meeting her in London, receiving her from her escort, conveying her to an hotel near the station of arrival, and affording her thedelight of witnessing such entertainments in London as may be edifying, is, I think, an admirable one.
There are, as you rightly suppose, hotels in the Northumberland Avenue, which is within a stone's-throw of Charing Cross, and in answer to your request I will give you, to the best of my power, a short description of each. I am not aware of Miss Judith's disposition, whether it be lively or of a serious complexion; but if I write to the utmost of my ability the characteristics of the three hotels—the Grand, the Victoria, and the Métropole—you should be the best judge as to which would most thoroughly suit your needs.
I regret that I cannot inform you as to whether the new-fashioned or the old-fashioned doctrines are favoured by the three managers. As to the distribution of tracts, I would very dutifully suggest that you should mark out the persons in the hotel whom you think should be so benefited, and allow me, after your departure, to see that the tracts reach a suitable destination.
The Grand Hotel, with which I will begin, as it lies nearest to Charing Cross, presents a curved face both to Trafalgar Square and Northumberland Avenue, and from its windows a fine view can be seen of the pillar erected to the hero Nelson, whose deeds you have been good enough to admire while reprobating the frailties of his life. I inspected the sitting-rooms on the first floor, and saw some, notably a room decorated in white colour, with a fine view over the Square,and well within hearing of the bells of the neighbouring church, which would suit you admirably. But Miss Judith might prefer the stir and gaiety of the public rooms to a private apartment, and the great dining-room with its white marble pillars with gold capitals, its mirrors set in a frame of deep-coloured velvets, its roof of stained glass, its many tables covered with white napery, is a most chaste yet withal cheerful apartment. A smaller dining-room in which alabaster pillars support the roof, is also a delightful room. The hall, which has pillars of white and black marble, is handsome, and has absorbed what was once the reading-room. Should you desire to give a family dinner during your stay—for which I am not anxious, as I can hardly imagine how I could meet at present my cousin John with those feelings I should like to entertain towards him—there is a very delightful suite of rooms, known as the Walnut Rooms, where the head cook of the hotel—who previously cooked for the members of that politically misguided, but excellently appointed club, the Reform—has had the honour of serving meals to princes of the Royal blood. As for the company at the Grand, I should take it that it is chiefly of old country families, or the heads of great firms in the North.
Somewhat farther down the Avenue towards the river, and on the side opposite to the Grand, is the Victoria Hotel, and should Miss Judith be of a lively disposition, the coming and going of well-dressed and polite folk in this hotel would please her mightily.
Most of the road coaches—the continuanceof the mode of travelling by which does much to sustain the high perfection of that noble animal the horse—start from the Victoria Hotel, and it is a stirring scene at eleven in the morning to view the passengers depart. The hall is gorgeous with brown and yellow and green marbles, and many of the guests of the hotel sit there to watch the coming and going of the ladies of fashion and their cavaliers. Many Americans and Australians, liking the brightness of the place, give it their custom.
The long line of drawing-rooms is on the ground floor, and is profusely decorated with that tint known as old gold. But if Miss Judith is an amateur of music, the dining-room will please her most, for here, in a great and really splendid apartment, which has pillars of white and gold with fine foundations of brass, a band of stringed instruments plays most excellent music during the dinner, and many people of distinction come here—as indeed also to the other two hotels—from great distances in London to partake of the dinner of thetable d'hôte. There is a very cosy little sanctum for serious conversation on the first landing of the great staircase, and the private sitting-rooms on the first floor, decorated in a variety of styles, are very comfortable.
The Métropole Hotel, which is built in the form of a triangle, one of the points of the angle touching the Thames Embankment, is the largest of the three hotels, accommodating as many as 800 guests. It is an hotel the solid comfort of which attracts many of thosefortunate people who have acquired large sums of money in business; and indeed it is no rare news to be told of some family who have made this hotel their home for years. The especially delightful nooks and corners, filled by lounges, with which this hotel abounds, have always pleased me much; and there is, on the ground-floor, a drawing-room with a most dignified decoration of painted silk panels, a very noble room, with a fine view over the Thames, where ladies who are pleased to do so make their own dishes of tea.
The great dining-room may be thought by some to be a whit gloomy; but the saloon, in which the dinners are served, to use a French term,à la carte, is a bright and withal handsome apartment, panelled to the ceiling with oak, and with tapestry spread on the walls. I fear that you do not approve of the game of billiards; but there is a very delightful room for the pursuit of that game in this hotel, and an ante-room of much comfort, from whence ladies watch the strokes and cannons. The private rooms are most excellently appointed.
After your strictures as to excessive addiction to writing of, and partaking of, rich and delicate food—strictures prompted, I fear, by my cousin John—I feel some diffidence in writing of the dinners served at these hotels. Yet I must say that from experience I have found that at all three hotels the tables are well served; the dinner of thetable d'hôtebeing in each case five shillings in price.
For an instance, at the Grand Hotel on theday of my inquiry, among other delicacies, whitebait, and the curry of Madras, pheasants, and the toothsome pigeon were served; while at the Métropoledominos de foie graswould have tempted your appetite, and you would have ended a capital dinner with partridges and various sweets. This is how you would have fared at the Hotel Victoria:—
Canapés de caviar Moscovite.Consommé Marquise. Crème Chantilly.Sole Montreuil.Blanchailles à la Diable.Zéphires de faisan Princesse.Tournedos Ventadour.Selle de mouton au laver.Dindonneau Baltimore.Haricots verts sautés au beurre.Pommes fondantes.Pluviers dorés bardés sur croûtes.Salades panachées.Mince pies.Biscuits glacés vanille. Langue de chat.Dessert.
I need scarcely say, my dear aunt, how pleased I shall be to be of any service to you and my cousin Judith during your stay in the Metropolis, and remain, your very dutiful and obligedNephew.
30th December.
"The best dinner in London, sir!" was what our fathers always added when, with a touch of gratification, they used to tell of having been asked to dine on the Queen's Guard at St. James's; and nowadays, when the art of dinner-giving has come to be very generally understood, the man who likes good cooking and good company still feels very pleased to be asked to dinner by one of the officers of the guard, for the old renown is still justified, and there is a fascination in the surroundings that is not to be obtained by unlimited money spent in any restaurant.
Past the illuminated clock of the Palace, the hands of which mark five minutes to eight, in through an arched gate, across one of the courts, and in a narrow passage where a window gives a glimpse of long rows of burnished pots and pans, is a black-painted door with, on the door-jamb, a legend of black on white telling that this is the officers' guard.
Up some wooden stairs with leaden edges tothem, stairs built for use and not for ornament; and, the guests' coats being taken by a clean-shaved butler in evening clothes, we are at once in the officers' room.
It is a long room, lighted on one side by a great bow-window, flanked by two other windows. At the farthest end of the room from the door is a mantel of grey and white marble. The walls are painted a comfortable green colour, and there are warm crimson curtains to the windows. There are many pictures upon the walls; and a large sofa, leather-covered armchairs, and a writing-table in the bow of the window give an air of comfort to the room. A great screen, which, in its way, is a work of art, being covered with cuttings of all periods, from Rowlandson's caricatures to the modern style of military prints, is drawn out from the wall so as to divide the room into two portions. On the door side of the screen stands in one corner the regimental colour of the battalion finding the guard, and here, too, are the bearskin head-dresses of the officers.
On the fireplace side of the screen is a table ready set for dinner, the clear glass decanters at the corners being filled with champagne, a silver-gilt vase forming the centre-piece, and candles in silver candelabra giving the necessary light. By the fireplace the officers of the guard, in scarlet and gold and black, are waiting to receive their guests.
In addition to the officers of the St. James's guard, the adjutant and colonel of the battalion that finds the guard, the two officers of theHousehold cavalry on guard at the Horse Guards, and some of the military officials of the Court have a right to dine. But it is rarely that all entitled to this privilege avail themselves of it, and the captain and officers of the guard generally are able to ask some guests.
As, on the stroke of eight, on the evening I am writing of, we sat down to dinner my host told me that he had ordered a typical meal for me. This was the menu:—
Potage croûte au pot.Eperlans à l'Anglaise.Bouchées à la moëlle.Côtelettes de mouton. Purée de marrons.Poularde à la Turque.Hure truffée. Sauce Cumberland.Pluviers dorés.Pommes de terre Anna.Champignons grillés.Omelette soufflée.Huîtres à la Diable.
The hand of M. Gautier, the messman, was to be recognised throughout; and the spatchcocked smelts, the boar's head, with its sharp-tasting sauce, and thesoufflée, I recognised as being favourite dishes on the Queen's Guard.
On this evening the wearers of the black coats, as well as the red, had served Her Majesty, at one time or another, in various parts of the world, and our talk drifted to the subject of the various officers' guards all over the British world. In hospitality the Castle Guard at Dublin probably comes next to the guard at St. James's,for the officers of the guard fare excellently there at the Viceregal expense. The Bank guards, both in the City and at College Green, have compensating advantages, and the officer's guard at Fort William, Calcutta, has helped many an impoverished subaltern to buy a polo pony. The story goes that some rich native falling ill close to the gate of Fort William, the subaltern on guard took him up to the guard-room and treated him kindly, and in consequence, in his will, the native left provision for a daily sum of rupees to be given to the subaltern on guard. These rupees are paid every day minus one, retained by thebabusas a charge for "stationery," and though all the little tin gods both at Calcutta and Simla have exerted themselves to recover for the subaltern that rupee, the power of thebabuhas been too strong, and the stationery item still represents the missing rupee. We chatted of the Malta guard, with its collection of pictures on the wall; of dreary hours at Gibraltar, with nothing to do except to construct sugar-covered fougasses to blow up flies; and of exciting moments at Peshawar, when the chance of being shot by one's own sentries made going the rounds a real affair of outposts.
Then I asked questions about the gilt centre-piece, which is in the shape of an Egyptian vase with sphinxes on the base, and was told that the holding capacities of it were beyond the guessing of any one who had not seen the experiment tried. Some of the other plate which is put upon the table at the close of dinner is of great interest. There is a cigar-lighter in the shape of a grenadegiven by His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, a silver cigar-cutter, a memento of an inter-regimental friendship made at manœuvres, and a snuff-box made from one of the hoofs of Napoleon's charger Marengo. Which hoof it was is not stated on the box, but the collective wisdom of the table decided that it must have been the near hind one. Excepting on days when the Scots Guards are on guard, Her Majesty's health is not, I believe, drunk after dinner—though I fancy that H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, dining on guard, broke through this custom. The regiment from across the Border was at one time suspected of a leaning towards Jacobitism, and while the officers were ordered to drink His Majesty's health they were not allowed to use finger-glasses after dinner, lest they should drink to the King over the water.
Dinner over, the big sofa is pulled round in front of the fire, and a whist-table and a game of drawing-room cricket each claims its devotees. I asked my host to be allowed to inspect the pictures which pretty well cover the walls. The most important is an excellent portrait of Her Majesty in the early part of her reign. It is the work of "Lieut.-Col. Cadogan," and was begun on the wall of a guard-room—at Windsor, I fancy. The surface of the wall was cut off, the picture finished, and it now hangs, a fine work of art but a tremendous weight, in the place of honour. There is an admirable oil-colour of the old Duke of Wellington, showing a kindly old face looking down, a pleasant difference from the alert aquiline profile which mostof his portraits show. There are prints of other celebrated generals, mostly Guardsmen, and an amusing caricature of three kings dining on guard. It is a very unfurnished guard-room, with a bare floor, in which their Majesties are being entertained, but the enthusiasm with which the officers are drinking their health makes up for the surroundings. A key to the print hangs hard by, but the names attached to the various figures are said to have been written in joke. Many of the pictures are sporting prints and hunting caricatures; but the original ofVanity Fair'ssketch of Dan Godfrey is in one corner; and a strange old picture of a battle, painted on a tea-tray, hangs over the door.
On either side of the looking-glass, above the mantelpiece, are the list of officers on duties and the orders for the guard, the latter with a glass over them, which is supposed to have been cracked in Marlborough's time. Some very admirably arranged caricatures, with explanatory notes, are bound into a series of red volumes and kept in a glazed set of shelves, and these, with a number of blue-bound volumes of thePall Mall Magazine, form all the library available for the officers on guard.
As the hands of the clock near eleven, the butler, who has been handing round "pegs" in long tumblers, takes up his position by the door. Military discipline is inexorable, and we (the guests) know that we must be out of the precincts of the guard by eleven o'clock. We say good-night to our hosts, and as we go downstairswe hear the clank of swords being buckled on.
Outside in the courtyard a sergeant and a drummer and a man with a lantern are waiting for the officer to go the rounds.
3rd January.
There were some portions of my aunt Tabitha's letter from the North which were distinctly satisfactory. She was kind enough to say that both she and my cousin Judith, the most delightfully demure little lady possible, had enjoyed their short stay in London, and had appreciated the oratorio, the museums, and the picture galleries I had escorted them to. She animadverted on the strange conduct of my cousin John, who went to call on the old lady after being up all night at a Covent Garden ball, where I detected him clothed as a monk, with a false nose and spectacles. She sent me half a dozen works of the fiercest fire-and-brimstone type, asking me to forward them to him—which I shall be delighted to do, and also sent a bundle of miscellaneous tracts for the servants of the Northumberland Avenue Hotel, at which hostel she stayed, and some specially selected ones for some of the guests staying at the hotel—these, I fear, may be mislaid. The principal item of news in her letter, however, was that Simon Treadwell,her solicitor, was coming to London on business for her, and that she wished him to consult me as to certain investments she intended to make.
There was a decidedly comforting sound in this, and I was only too ready to do all honour to Mr. Treadwell. I had memories of him as a very grave gentleman, clean-shaved, with a wealth of long white hair, and with gold-rimmed pince-nez attached to a broad black ribbon. He came of Quaker stock, and though I wished to entertain him, for it is so much easier to talk business over the dinner-table than anywhere else, I felt perplexed as to where to ask him to dine with me. The bustle and the music of the fashionable restaurants would not be in keeping with the staidness of this grave old gentleman.
The Coburg occurred to me. The name in itself commands respect, and there is dignity in the appearance of the red brick Elizabethan building that shows a curved front to Carlos Place. From previous experience I knew that I might expect good cooking, and that we should dine with unhurried calm in the panelled dining-room. So in writing to my aunt Tabitha to say that I should be delighted to meet Mr. Treadwell again, I suggested that he should dine with me at the Coburg, and named the date and time.
Mr. Simon Treadwell, my aunt wrote, would be delighted to dine on the date named. Thinking of our after-dinner entertainment, I looked out in my morning paper the most classical concert I could find advertised for that date, and took tickets for it. Then I went to the Coburg,and in consultation with the manager ordered a dinner which I thought should suit my guest, accepting the item ofpetite marmitewith resignation:—
Caviar.Petite marmite.Filets de soles Waleska.Tournedos Niçoise.Pommes Anna.Perdreau Périgourdine.Salade Victoria.Bombe Patricienne.Friandises.
On the appointed evening I waited in the lounge which leads off from the entrance-hall, rather wondering as to whether my stock of conversation would last out a dinner with the very grave person I had to entertain. The lounge is a very comfortable room, painted oak-colour, with warm red curtains and a warm red carpet. From it one looks through a white arch into the white panelled hall, with its dead gold roof and the oak staircase, which, through its white arch, with a plentiful supply of palms to break the straight lines, would appeal to any artist's eye.
I heard my name spoken in the hall, and went out to receive my venerable guest. I was astonished, however, to find a young gentleman, black of hair, clean-shaven, with an eyeglass, and in the most modern cut of dress clothes. I am afraid that my face showed my astonishment, for my guest said, "I am Mr. Simon Treadwell, junior. Did you expect to see my father?"
I wondered how the classical concert would suit my new acquaintance, as I piloted him down the white-panelled passage, where a little fountain in a recess lets fall a tinkling stream of water, and into the dining-room. We were quiet, as I expected to be. The room, with its panelling of deep red wood, with a frieze of tapestry, its pillared overmantel, its recess curtained in, its soft red carpet, its high-backed chairs of dark-green leather with a golden C on them, its clusters of electric globes filling the room with a soft, luminous glow, is all in keeping with a certain sensation of stateliness, and the perfect silence of the service, a very good point, adds to this feeling.
The diners at the other tables were, I should say, all guests staying at the hotel. I had not the curiosity to ask who they were, but I should have expected to be told that their names were all to be found in "Debrett."
Mr. Treadwell was taking stock of me, as I was doing of him, and when thecaviarin its bowl of ice and thepetite marmite, strong and hot, had been served, he told me of the very simple business as to which he had been instructed to ask my advice, and that matter satisfactorily disposed of, we, with thesole Waleska, which, with its accompanying slices of truffle, is always a favourite dish of mine, fell on to general subjects, and I tentatively asked Mr. Treadwell whether he had a taste for classical music.
"Not so much for classical music as for a good song," said Mr. Treadwell, urbanely; and after a short pause he mentioned that he had heardthat Arthur Roberts was very amusing. I mentally tore up the tickets for the classical concert.
With thetournedosMr. Treadwell told me that he had wired down to the Palace for two seats for the next night in order to hear Marie Lloyd's new songs, and asked my advice as to where he had better dineà deux, and whether Romano's, or Princes', or the Savoy was the mostchicplace to take a lady to supper at. I filled up Mr. Treadwell's glass from the nicely chilled bottle of Perrier-Jouët, and he almost winked at me as he told me of my cousin John's delinquencies: how, after he, John, had hypocritically warned my aunt Tabitha that I took a delight in theatrical performances and attempted to raise the ready smile in journalism, he had been so indiscreet as to appear before my aunt on an occasion when he had evidently come home with the milk. Mr. Treadwell went so far as to call him a "garden jackass"; and, my heart warming to the young solicitor, I told him of the Covent Garden ball and how I had discovered my cousin there, and of the tracts that had been sent to me by my aunt to give him.
With the partridge, excellently cooked, I gave Mr. Treadwell my opinions as to the merits of the various pantomimes, and asked him to lunch with me next day, and to go and see a matinée at a music-hall. After the ice came coffee and old brandy, and Mr. Treadwell said that he would like to smoke a cigar.
The other diners had all finished their dinners, and we were the only occupiers of the big room,in luxurious quiet. Mr. Treadwell lay back in his chair and pulled at his cigar with the air of a man enjoying life.
I paid my bill: two dinners, £1: 1s.; one bottle '83, 15s.; two coffees, 1s.; two fine champagne, 3s.; cigar, 6d.; total, £2: O: 6. This done, I asked Mr. Treadwell where he would like to go and finish the evening; and he, waking from a day-dream, said, "Anywhere where they have a ballet."
"Heads the Empire, tails the Alhambra," I said as I tossed the coin, and it fell heads.
I wish I had not been so hasty in buying those classical concert tickets.
10th January.
The dramatic moment of the evening came when Juliette, the new French maid, with despair painted on her face, out of breath, and with her bonnet on one side of her head, came running into the dining-room at the Midland Hotel, and told Miss Dainty that the dog had escaped. Miss Dainty for one moment was overwhelmed, for she pictured Jack in fierce combat with every big dog in London; but, recovering herself, said that she wanted boy messengers. The wild duck was getting cold, the manager was beginning to look unhappy, the waiter was sympathetic but helpless, the French maid was weeping. If messenger boys could straighten out the difficulties Miss Dainty should have had a dozen; but she said that she only wanted three. So three little boys stood in a row and received their instructions. One was to go, in a cab, to Miss Dainty's flat to see whether Jack had returned there; another, in a cab, was to go round to all the places that Jack had been taken to during the day, chiefly milliners' and dress-makers'and bonnet-makers' shops, to see whether he had wandered away to any of those localities; the third was, in a cab, to go to all the places where Jack had special canine enemies to see whether he had gone to fight a parting fight with any of them. The three small boys were sent on their way, the weeping maid dismissed to mount guard over the pile of baggage, and then I told the manager to serve us our duck and he smiled again, while the waiter allowed the look of sympathy to die out in his face and woke to sudden activity.
Miss Dainty was going out to America to play what she called "a thinking part," with an English company on tour there. She was to have gone to Liverpool by a morning train, and a little crowd, male and female, assembled to see her off, to give her the customary bouquets, and to wish her the customary good voyage. But no Miss Dainty arrived. In her place appeared an agitated French maid, who explained that her mistress could not possibly go by this train, because one of her new hats had not been sent home. The lady section of the crowd was sympathetic, the male section gave their bouquets to the maid to take back to Miss Dainty, and we all went our separate ways.
In the afternoon I got this telegram: "Alone in London and starving. Going night train. Will you give me dinner?—Dainty." I was of course delighted to give the little lady dinner; telegraphed to her that I would meet her at the station and give her dinner at the Midland Grand Hotel, and sent a note to the manager of theFrench restaurant at the hotel asking him to keep a table for me, and to order a small dinner for two.
A cab with a pile of boxes on the top brought Miss Dainty with her bouquets, and her maid, and Jack, the fighting dog, to the station.
"Are you going to take the dog?" I asked; and Miss Dainty said, "Certainly. I am going to take him to bite the Custom-house officers if they interfere with my sealskin cloak." Of course, such a reason as this was unanswerable.
The maid and the baggage and the dog were left on the platform, the former being given strict injunctions to keep a watchful eye on the two latter, and I took Miss Dainty off to the hotel.
Through the long curving corridor, with its brightly-painted walls and blaze of electric light, we went to the lift, and were quickly deposited on the first floor, where the restaurant is.
As a rule one does not expect to get a good dinner at a railway hotel; but I knew that the Midland was one of the exceptions which prove the rule, and that I had not done wrong in asking Miss Dainty to dine with me there. The room, a fine large saloon, has a comfortable red paper with handsomely framed mirrors to break the monotony of its surface, and what painting there is on pillars and cornice has something of an Egyptian brilliancy of colour. At one end a semicircular screen of curtains shuts off the serving-room. At the other end great doors lead into a drawing-room. The chairs, of red velvet, have a comfortable look. The lights on the tables are electric globes with yellow shades.
This was the dinner that the manager had ordered for us. When I sawpetite marmiteon the menu I groaned. I am beginning to believe that it is a sort of fetish that restaurant managers worship:—
Natives.Petite marmite.Sole Portugaise.Filet Rossini.Pomme soufflée.Canard sauvage à la presse.Salade de laitue.Pouding à la reine.Bombe Midland.Petits fours.Fruits.
With the soup, which was strong and hot, Miss Dainty told me how she had boarded out her pets for the time of her absence, and it seemed to me that the gold-fish, the parrot, the cat, and the love-birds had, with Miss Dainty's usual perverseness, been sent to people who would loathe the sight of them. Jack was to go with his mistress to protect her from all perils in an unknown land and to bite Custom-house officers.
When the sole and its rubicund surrounding of tomatoes appeared, I inquired whether Miss Dainty contemplated matrimony during her travels, and was politely snubbed by being told that that was a matter in which she would not think of moving without first asking my consent.
As Miss Dainty toyed with the truffles of the excellently-cooked fillet, she informed me that America is a country which understands andadmires art, and I gathered that she looks forward to returning to England as a second Bernhardt or Duse, and that the bags of dollars which, with their hands and hearts, endless swains are sure to offer her, are but a secondary consideration.
Then came the wild duck; and as the manager was squeezing the rich brown fluid from the silver press the frightened maid came bustling into the room, and we heard the awful news that Jack was lost.
By the time that Miss Dainty had sent off her little army of boy-messengers and had ordered the maid back to her post on baggage guard, our table was the centre of attraction to the room. The old Anglo-Indian colonel, whose pretty daughter was sitting opposite to him, the family party of mother and son and daughter, the young honeymoon couple, the half a dozen old gentlemen dining in solitary state, all were taking an interest in the hunt for Jack. "I shall not leave London until Jack is found," said Miss Dainty, as her slice of the duck's breast was put in front of her. "But your boat starts to-morrow," I protested. "The boat must wait," said Miss Dainty decisively. "I don't go without Jack."
We ate our pudding in silence. "I expect the poor dear is fighting half a dozen dogs now," was the only remark that Miss Dainty made with the ice.
I called for my bill: Two dinners, 12s.; one bottle 343, 15s.; two cups of coffee, 1s.; total £1: 8s.
"I am going now," said Miss Dainty, as shedrew on her gloves, "to send Juliette and the boxes back to the flat, and then you shall drive me round to all the police-stations in London to see if Jack is at any of them."
As we walked down the long corridor I was thinking of the pleasant evening I was going to spend, when there was a patter of little feet behind us, and the next moment Miss Dainty was hugging Jack, an unrepentant, muzzleless dog, with a great cut over one eye, and an ear bitten through.
When the train containing Miss Dainty and the bouquets and the boxes and the maid and the dog steamed out of the station I sighed a great sigh, which had something of relief in it.
17th January.
"I have no amusement at all now," said little Mrs. Tota—we always called her Mrs. Tota up at Simla, for she was as bright and perky as her little namesake, the Indian parrot. "George says that the night air brings on his fever, and refuses to go out after dinner."
George looked up from behind his paper and grunted; but there was a quiver of his left eyelid which looked very like a wink.
"I never go to a dance now, and you know Ilovedancing. I never have any fun like we used to have at the Black Hearts' masked balls at Simla; the onlykala juggaI ever go into is the coalhole. I never eat a nice little dinner like you used to give us at the Chalet. I never do anything, or see anything, and all because George thinks he might suffer from imaginary fever."
George from behind the paper moaned a mocking moan. "If George wouldn't mind," I said, "I should be delighted to take you out some evening, give you a little dinner, take youto a box at some theatre, and to a Covent Garden masked ball afterwards."
"Mind!" said George, reappearing from his paper with great suddenness. "Mind!Why, my dear fellow, if you will only be so kind as to do that I shall not be abused for a week. Take her out, and give her dinner and supper, a box at a theatre and a dance, and my blessing shall be with you all the days of my life."
Mrs. Tota clapped her hands. "George, for once in your life, you're nice," she said.
"We'll have a regular Simla evening," I suggested. "The nearest thing I can think of to the dining-room in the little U.S. Club chalet would be a private room at one of the restaurants."
Mrs. Tota looked to George for approval, and then nodded in acquiescence.
"The Savoy private rooms would be too big for our little party of two. Romano's has some charming Japanese private dining-rooms. There is the turret-room at Scott's, which looks down on to Piccadilly and the Haymarket. There are two sweet little corner rooms at the Trocadero, the bow windows of which command Shaftesbury Avenue. There are——"
"You seem to know a good deal about the private rooms of all the restaurants," said Mrs. Tota.
"I have an elderly relative who dislikes noise, so when I take him out to dine——"
"Oh,him!" interrupted Mrs. Tota. "Go on with your list."
"There are some very handsome little rooms at the Café Royal, and Kettner's, and a lot more."
"What's Kettner's, anyway?" queried Mrs. Tota; and I told her of the snug little restaurant buried away in Church Street, which was first discovered by two well-known journalists, a restaurant of comfortable nooks and corners, a restaurant of such individuality that when it was necessary to rebuild it a few years ago it was rebuilt as nearly as possible on the old lines, with its three or four public dining-rooms below, and its network of passages and warren of little rooms above. I told her of Louis, now in supreme charge, who has been part of Kettner's since Kettner's first became known to London; and of Henri, who has charge of the upstairs dining-rooms, and who, with his peaked beard and clean-shaven upper lip, is the type ofmaître d'hôtelthat all the French artists who record the life of the boulevards love to draw.
Mrs. Tota said that it sounded nice. She liked the name; Kettner's sounded a little unusual, and she liked the description of the old-fashioned place.
Then I summed up: "You will very kindly pick me up at the club; we will dine at Kettner's, then go across the way to the Palace Theatre, where I will have a box; after that back to Kettner's to put on your domino, which we will leave there; and then on to the Covent Garden ball, where we will sup in our box and stay until after the procession."
Mrs. Tota declared that I was a dear, and George grunted a few words of genuine thankfulness.
I went down to Kettner's and interviewedHenri. The nicest possible little dining-room and a very simple little dinner were what I wanted.
Henri put his head on one side, like a wise magpie, and suggested oysters ashors-d'œuvre. I said that the idea was novel, but that I preferred caviar. Then Henri relapsed into deep thought.Petite marmitewas his next suggestion, and on this I turned on him and rent him, figuratively, for everymaître d'hôtelin the world seems to think thatpetite marmiteorcroûte au potis the only possible beginning to a small plain dinner. Friendly relations were re-established, and this was our final effort so far as the menu was concerned—
Caviar.Consommé à la Colbert.Filets de sole à la Joinville.Langue de bœuf aux champignons.Epinards. Pommes Anna.Poulet à la Parmentier.Salade.Asperges. Sauce mousseline.Biscuits glacées.Dessert.
and a bottle of Moët '89, just chilled, to drink with it.
Room A was the dining-room that Henri thought would suit us. So A was the room selected.
Mrs. Tota, in a very charming black dress with a pattern of tiny steel sequins on it, with a gorgeous ermine cloak and a mysterious bundle that I knew must contain the domino, pickedme up at the club and drove me down to Church Street. She was delighted at the appearance of the cosy little houses and the narrow entrance. Before we went to our dining-room above I asked Louis to take us through the kitchen, which, with its walls of white tiles and perfect cleanliness, is well worth seeing, and we peeped into all the public dining-rooms on the ground-floor.
"Isn't this quite wrong?" said little Mrs. Tota, who was evidently enjoying herself. "Oughtn't we to have slipped up the stairs like a couple of guilty things? Do you take your elderly relative round the kitchen?"
At that moment Henri appeared and said that our dinner was ready, and we went up the narrow stairs.
A little room, with a paper in which old gold and soft browns and green mingled, three windows with warm-coloured curtains to match the paper, bronze ornaments on the mantelpiece, oil paintings of Italian scenery on the walls, a tiny sideboard, a square table lighted by gilt candelabra holding electric lights—Room A is a very snug place to dine in.
"H'm, yes," said Mrs. Tota. "Not quite like the room in the dear old Chalet; but quite near enough."
Henri had taken us under his special protection, and had added half a dozenhors-d'œuvreto the menu besides the caviar, and when the time came for our slices of tongue he appeared bearing a whole tongue lavishly garnished.
It was a capital dinner, well cooked throughout,and as Mrs. Tota praised each dish Henri beamed more and more upon us. And Mrs. Tota chattered like her namesake. We talked about the famous masked ball at Simla, at which Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, disguised in mask and domino, went up to a humorous Irish lady, and, in a feigned voice, asked her for a dance, receiving a reply that she "hadn't time to be dancing with boys to-night." We talked of gymkhanas at Annandale, and picnics at Mashobra, of A.D.C. theatricals and town-hall balls, and we effectually brought the scent of the deodars into Soho.
Mrs. Tota finished her coffee and Curaçoa Marnier, and sighed as she drew on her gloves. "Those were good days," she said, and I nodded assent.
I told Henri to bring me the bill. Two dinners, £1: 1s.; one Moët, 15s.; two cafés, 1s.; two liqueurs, 2s.; total, £1: 19s.
"Henri," I said, "you have let me off too lightly. It should be more than this"; whereat Henri went through an expressive pantomime which meant that to undercharge me was the last thing the management would think of doing.