I was somewhat later to make their acquaintance, and this was how it happened. Little "Willie" Goldberg, who was known to all the English-speaking world as The Shifter, was a man of brilliant ideas, which he rarely had the patience to carry into effect. I received one morning from him a telegram asking me to meet him at ten minutes past one at the Strand entrance of Gatti's, adding that it concerned a matter of the highest importance, which would bring much profit to both of us. I arrived at Gatti's in time, and was met at the door by The Shifter, who told me that the Gattis wanted a military melodrama for the Adelphi, that theatre being their property; that he had thought of a splendid title for a soldier play; that he and I would write it together; that the Gattis had asked him to lunch to talk the matter over; and that he had suggested that I should come too. Then we hurried into the restaurant. We lunched with Messrs Gatti, and when, after lunch, they very gently said that they were ready to hear anything that we might have to tell them, The Shifter disclosed the title, which pleased them, and then sat back in his seat as though the matter was settled. The Messrs Gatti asked for some slight outline of the play, but The Shifter put it to them that an advance of authors' fees should be the next step in the business. This, the Gattis said, was not the way in which they transacted the business of their theatre, whereon The Shifter closed the discussion by saying farewell. When we were outside in the street again, I suggested that the next thing to do would be to get out a scenario to submit to the Gattis; but The Shifter was in high dudgeon; he wrinkled up his long nose in haughty scorn and then said: "These Gattis don't understand our English ways of doing business"—and that was the beginning and the end of our great military melodrama. But I had made the acquaintance of the Gattis, and was always afterwards on very pleasant terms with them.
It is not within the scope of this article to deal with the Gattis' enterprises in theatres, but the tale of their purchase of the Vaudeville Theatre should be told as an instance of their kindness of heart. Amongst the many Gatti enterprises was the establishment of a great electric-light-distributing business. This began with a very small installation in the cellars of the Adelaide Gallery, and increased and increased until it is now one of the greatest electric light companies in London. At one time the electric light plant was established in a building just behind the Vaudeville Theatre, and Mr Tom Thorne, the actor, whose management had not prospered greatly, told the Messrs Gatti that his ill-success of late was owing to the noise the engines made behind the stage. Messrs Gatti, to obviate this grievance, bought the theatre, or at least as much of it as is freehold.
There always has been a strong theatrical element amongst the clientele of Gatti's, and the authors who wrote the Adelphi melodramas—Dion Boucicault, Henry Pettitt, George R. Sims, Robert Buchanan and others—used constantly to be amongst the people lunching and dining in the Gallery. In their theatrical enterprises the Gattis never forgot the Adelaide Gallery, and the one thing essential in an Adelphi melodrama was that it should conclude in time to allow the audience to sup at the restaurant. All the black-coated classes patronised the Gallery, from the comfortable business man, who got as good a chop there in the evening as he did in his City restaurant in the middle of the day, to the little clerk who took the girl he was engaged to there because she liked the music and the brightness of the place. The country cousins all knew Gatti's, and knew that it was a place where they would get a good meal at a reasonable price, and that no advantage would be taken of their ignorance of London charges. Salvini, the great actor, used to take his meals at Gatti's when he was in England, and the great Lord Salisbury had a fondness for a chop and chips, and used to gratify it by going to the Adelaide Gallery. An old Garibaldian, a fine, white-haired old gentleman in a slouch hat and a long, threadbare cloak, was the most remarkable of the clientele of Gatti's in the early eighties; he was evidently very poor and one dish with him constituted a meal, but because he had fought as a red-shirted hero, the waiters at Gatti's treated him with more deference than they would show to any prince, and took the copper he gave as a tip with as much gratitude as they would have expressed for the gold of the millionaire.
The Gatti's of to-day has adapted itself to modern requirements, but it caters for much the same class as of yore, and its food is still excellent material, well cooked, though there is a great deal more variety now than there was in the old chops and chips days. It retains, however, all its old democratic ways. Its clients choose their own tables and their own seats, hang up their own coats and then catch the attention of the waiter who has charge of the table. The restaurant—cream and gold, with French grey panels in its roof—has now four entrances: the Adelaide Street one, two in King William Street and one in the Strand. While the main restaurant remains an à la carte establishment with a plentiful choice of dishes, including a list of grills, there is a table d'hôte room at the King William Street side, a handsome hall with a gilded roof and pink-shaded electroliers, which throw their light up on to the ceiling. The latest addition to the dining-rooms is a banqueting hall, reached by marble stairs from King William Street. It is a handsome and well-proportioned room, with a musicians' gallery at one side, and an ante-room half-way up its stairs, and it holds one hundred and fifty feasters quite comfortably.
At the same little table where their father and their uncle sat, the two Messrs Gatti of to-day—John (ex-Mayor of Westminster) and Rocco—sit, young copies of their predecessors, in that one of them has kept a plentiful head of hair, whereas the other one has been less conservative. They give the same attention to the business of the restaurant that the original Gattis did, but the semicircular desk has vanished and the work of taking the counters is now done by deputies on either side of a great screen which stretches before the wide entrance to the kitchen. Mr de Rossi, dapper and energetic, is the manager of the restaurant, and it is always a comfort to me that when I lunch or dine under the musicians' gallery the maître d'hôtel, whom I have known for thirty years, comes and gives me fatherly advice as to the choice of dishes for a meal.
The kitchen of the Adelaide Gallery is one of the few in London that possess a large open fire for roasting, and its Old English cookery is, therefore, always good. It caters, however, for all nationalities, and as an indication of what its prices are, and of the variety of its fare, I cannot do better than give you the list of entrées I find on the carte du jour, which I took away the last time I dined at Gatti's:
Carbonnade de bœuf à la Berlinoise, 1s. 2d.; lapin sauté Chasseur, 1s. 4d.; vol-au-vent de ris d'agneau Financière, 1s. 6d.; pieds de porc grillés Sainte Menehould, 1s. 2d.; fegatino di pollo alla Forestiera, 1s. 4d.; terrine de lièvre St Hubert (cold), 1s. 9d.; côte de veau en casserole aux cèpes, 1s. 9d.; tournedos Rouennaise, 2s.; chump chop d'agneau, purée Bruxelloise, 1s. 6d.; tête de veau en tortue, 1s. 6d.; salmis de perdreaux au Chambertin, 2s.; langue de bœuf braisée aux nouilles fraîches, 1s. 6d.; escalopes de veau Viennoise, 1s. 6d.; mironton de bœuf au gratin, 1s. 4d.; côtelettes d'agneau Provençale, 2s.; pigeon St Charles, 2s. 6d.; noisettes de pré-salé Maréchal, 1s. 9d.; entrecôte Marchand de Vin, 2s. 6d.; demi faisan en casserole, 4s.
And here is the menu of the five-shilling dinner I ate one Friday in October in the table d'hôte room, in company with many people, who were evidently going later to theatres:—
Hors d'œuvre à la Parisienne.
Consommé Julienne.
Crème d'Huîtres.
Turbotin d'Ostende Réjane.
Anguilles Frites. Sce. Tyrolienne.
Côtelettes de Volaille Pojarski.
Petit Pois au Sucre. Pommes Comtesse.
Faisan Ecossaise Rôti en Casserole.
Salade Sauté.
Glacé Mokatine.
Délicatesses.