THE TIVOLI (THE STRAND)
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 the dining-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
Russian _hors-d'œuvre_. A very plain soup, sole (cooked in any fashion
that did not include _moules_, 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.
The _hors-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. The _filets 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 the _plat_ was 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.
The _côte 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. The _bombe_ was 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, the _monde qui dine_ does
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.
20_th December_.
* * * * *
Mr. A.A. Tate is now manager and proprietor of the Tivoli restaurant,
and a 3s. _table-d'hôte_ dinner 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 of _la haute volée_.