THE CAVOUR (LEICESTER SQUARE)
I first met Arthur Roberts in the buffet of the Cavour, and first heard
there the tale of "The Old Iron Pot." On that occasion I was taken
by a friend into the buffet, a long room with a bar decorated with
many-coloured glasses, a broad divan running along the wall, and many
small tables by it. Seated on the divan was a thin, clean-shaven little
man, talking to a very tall man, also clean-shaven. So immersed in
their conversation were the two that they hardly acknowledged me when I
was introduced to them; "they" being Messrs. Arthur Roberts and "Long
Jack" Jervis, both of them then playing in "Black-eyed Susan" at the
Alhambra, almost next door. As far as I could make out, the entrancing
story that Mr. Arthur Roberts was telling, had as its central figure
an old iron pot. He was in deadly earnest in his recital. Mr. Jervis
and my friend were thoroughly, almost painfully, interested, and
accompanied the story with little exclamations of surprise and
sympathy, but for the life of me I could not follow the narrative.
All sorts and conditions of people suddenly were introduced into the
tale by name, and as suddenly disappeared out of it. Arthur Roberts
finished, and the other two broke into speeches of congratulation,
saying how thoroughly interested and affected they had been. I, in a
bewildered way, commenced to ask questions, when the mouth of the merry
comedian began to twitch up on one side, and his eyelids to blink. Then
I understood. I was another victim to the tale of "The Old Iron Pot."
It was in this buffet, which remains now as it was then, that Arthur
Roberts invented the game of "spoof,"--but that is a very long story.
There has always been a savour of Bohemianism around the Cavour,
and therefore it was only right and proper that the six of us who
sat down to dinner there one August evening, should all in our
time have wandered through the pleasant paths of the country of
free-and-easiness. With grey hairs has come ballast, and one of the
party is now a great landowner, doing his duty as high sheriff of
his county; two of the others are chairmen of boards controlling
great theatrical enterprises; a fourth, who won renown originally as
a Jehu, now coins money in successful speculation; and the fifth is
the trusted adviser of a well-known plutocrat. One of the chairmen,
who can claim the title of successful dramatic author as well, and is
not unknown on the Stock Exchange, was the giver of the feast. Our
gathering came about through an argument on the relative merits of
cheap and expensive restaurants, and whether there was value received
for the difference in the price of the dinners. The chairman was a
warm upholder of the cheap dinner, and concluded the argument by
saying, "When I go to the Savoy or Princes' I am prepared to pay for my
surroundings and company; when I want food only I go to Philippe of the
Cavour, and ask him to add something to his three-shilling dinner, and
to give me five-shillings-worth, and if you fellows will come and dine
with me there you shall try for yourselves." And "we fellows" said like
one man that we would.
The Cavour, which shows its clean white face, adorned with golden
letters, to Leicester Square, has grown immensely since I first made
its and M. Philippe's acquaintance. There comes first a narrow little
room, with a big counter on which fruit and flowers and cold meats are
displayed, and behind which a lady in black stands. Here M. Philippe,
shortish, grey-haired, with a little close-clipped moustache, black
coat, and turned-down collar, with a black tie, generally waits to
usher his patrons in, and find them seats. Then comes the big room,
the walls in light colour, brass rails all round to hold hats, on the
many mirrors a notice pasted, "Our table d'hôte Sundays, 6 to 9"; in
the centre a big square table with a palm in the middle of it, the
table at which, when the room is crowded, lone gentlemen are set to
take their dinner, and around the big table a cohort of smaller tables.
The ceiling mostly consists of a skylight, the windows in which always
keep the room cool. Beyond this room is another one, newly built, also
light in colour, and with many mirrors.
As soon as we were seated, M. Philippe came bustling up. He is a very
busy man, for he believes in the adage as to doing things well; and,
therefore, he is up at five every morning, and goes the round of the
markets, and in his own restaurant is his own _maître d'hôtel_. Yet,
busy as he is, he finds time to devote much attention to Freemasonry,
and his list of subscriptions to the various Masonic charities has
generally the biggest total of any sent in. He was supposed in this
charitable competition to have been, on one occasion, outstripped by
another worker in the cause, and we immediately began to chaff him on
the subject. M. Philippe acknowledged that a march had been stolen on
him; but to make up for it he had been eminently successful in securing
the admission of a little girl to one of the masonic institutions. "She
got in on top of our poll," was his way of putting it. The feast he had
prepared for us was as follows:--
Hors-d'œuvre.
La petite marmite.
Filets de soles Mornay.
Whitebait.
Poulet sauté Portugaise.
Côtes de mouton en Bellevue.
Canetons d'Aylesbury.
Petits pois Française. Salade. Haricots verts.
Fromages.
Dessert.
I noted that the _petite marmite_--I seem doomed always to be given
_petite marmite_--was good, and was more enthusiastic than that over
the fillets of sole, for those, I thought, were "very good." The
whitebait, erring on the right side, were a trifle too soft. The
_poulet sauté Portugaise_ was a triumph of _bourgeois_ cookery, but so
rich that I was glad that the good doctor who takes an interest in the
state of my liver was not one of our party. The Aylesbury ducklings
were fine, plump young fellows, who must have lived a youth of peace
and contentment. We drank with this substantial dinner some '89 Pommery.
There is always a bustle at the Cavour, and a coming and going of
guests. Directly a table is vacated plates and glasses are whisked
away, fresh napkins spread, and in a few seconds M. Philippe has
personally conducted some incoming guests to their seats. The _table
d'hôte_ is served from five to nine. First to the feast comes a
sprinkling of actors and actresses, making an early meal before
going to the theatre. Then comes an incursion of white-shirt-fronted
gentlemen and ladies in evening dress, dining before going to the play.
Lastly comes the steady stream of ordinary diners, good _bourgeois_
most of them, who choose to dine as they have come from their City
offices, in frock-coats or other unostentatious garb.
As we settled down to our meal, a theatrical manager, who had been
giving one of the prettiest ladies of his company dinner, was leaving.
A well-known amateur coachman, just up from the country, had time
to give his wife something to eat before going off to catch another
train; a white-bearded gentleman was entertaining two pretty daughters
in evening dresses, and was desperately afraid that they would not get
to the theatre in time to see the curtain rise. A very pretty lady,
with a hat of peacocks' feathers and a great bow rising from it, was
an actress "resting." The rest of the diners who filled the room were
all good, respectable citizens and citizenesses, in fine broadcloth and
silk, but none of their faces was familiar to us through the pages of
the illustrated papers.
This was the bill paid by the chairman:--Six dinners at 5s., £1: 10s.;
three bottles Pommery, '89, £2: 2s.; one seltzer, 6d.; five cafés, 2s.
6d.; six liqueurs, 4s. 6d.; total, £3: 19: 6.
M. Philippe has a little pleasure-ground attached to the restaurant,
a plot of kitchen garden and an orangery, the vegetables and herbs
and fruit from which must cost him about a thousand times their value
at Covent Garden. But it is Philippe's hobby, and he likes to be able
to give any favoured customer a bunch of mignonette grown in a garden
within thirty yards of Leicester Square. At night the blazing cressets
of the Alhambra and the gas decorations of Daly's light this strange
little bit of _rus in urbe_, and when one wonders at a practical man
keeping such desirable building land for such a purpose, M. Philippe
shrugs his shoulders and says, "The earth he grow every day more
valuable."
16_th August_.