_We Inspect the New House_
I went through the new Radigan house on Fifth Avenue the other day, and
I must say that not in years have I had so delightful an adventure as
that trip through my friends' fairy-palace. The phrase fairy-palace is
used not to imply beauty, but the marvel of its building, for it might
be said to have arisen in a night. But Coppe & Coppe are masterful
architects. They hold the time record for a twenty-seven-story office
building, and with artists like these, Radigan's money, and a cousin
who is a walking delegate, wonders can be accomplished. The mansion
to-day is practically finished, except for the lightning-rods on the
tower, which rises from the western front, an exact copy of those
truncated ones of Notre Dame.
We strolled up in the afternoon, the Radigans, Miss Veal, and myself,
and on the way picked up J. Madison Mudison, who was walking off a
little stag dinner of the night before, and seemed rather depressed.
As we passed Seventieth Street we got the first view of the new house
and crossed the street to get the best effects. Mrs. Radigan, with
much pride, pointed out the exterior beauties of the structure. With
the gardens, it occupies an entire block, save for a row of apartment
houses on the Madison Avenue end, and I must confess that the bare
backs of these plebeian structures, with their laundry work floating
in the breeze, do not make an agreeable setting; but Mrs. Radigan said
that that objection would soon be done away with, as the upward trend
of trade would eventually replace the flats with fine office buildings.
So we tried to rub them from our eyes and see only the splendid edifice
that was glistening in the afternoon sun.
Mrs. Radigan was beaming. As mistress of such a home she had a good
right.
"Mr. Coppe assures me that it is perfect," she said, when we had stood
for some minutes in mute admiration. "He declares that it is his firm's
she-dove."
"Mr. Coppe tells me," she went on, "that the front is just like
Ver-sales, the palace of the Lewises, Lewis cattorze, Lewis cans, and
Lewis seeze. The tower is like that of Notre Dayme exactly, only red
to match the front." Mrs. Radigan had assumed something of the air
of a sight-seeing automobile lecturer, and fearing that her strident
tones would collect a crowd I began to move ahead with Miss Veal. Then
I caught a few words more and loath to lose so lucid a treatise on
architecture, paused to catch this: "Mr. Coppe says a building must
always express something. You observe how he has carried out the idea.
Look along the north end of the second story and you will see a window
with six classic columns outside. That is John's study."
Meaning, of course, I pondered, that the Greeks always had columns
outside their study windows. The tower, then, was meant to indicate
that John was a vestryman in St. Edward's, and the French front below
that his wife was a leader of the fashion. I was curious to know what
the back of the house expressed and was graciously informed that Mr.
Coppe said that it was not a reproduction, but had been inspired by the
Villa Medici in Rome.
So we went on. A loud banging at a brass knocker, taken from one of
Washington's head-quarters, set electric bells going inside and brought
a workman, who summoned Mr. Coppe, he having been prepared for our
coming. Coppe is a charming fellow. He has danced his way to the very
front of his profession, and as a cotillon-leader and artist has no
rival in the city. Of late he has been giving his entire time to the
Radigans, and his commissions on the interior decorations alone would
allow him to retire for life. I could see that at a glance. In every
room there was a goodly company of workmen--working, for the walking
delegate was there looking after the interests of his relatives.
The entrance-floor did not interest me much. A few small reception
and dressing rooms were surrounded by servants' quarters and kitchens,
and Mrs. Radigan refused to look at the kitchen. Cooking odors, she
said, always nauseated her, a condition for which she had to thank
her surfeited maternal ancestors, I suspect. So we went up the wide
staircase, part of which was brought from an old French château. At the
first landing Mr. Coppe drew our attention to a niche in the wall.
"Here," he said, "we shall hang the famous Velasquez which I recently
discovered on the East Side and purchased for Mr. Radigan for
$40,000--a bargain."
This was the first Radigan had heard of his prize, and it pleased him
greatly.
"Is it an ancient or a modern?" he inquired gravely.
Hearing its age and that it was so old that the central figure hardly
showed at all, he expressed his delight. Radigan has been developing
wonderfully of late as a patron of the arts.
At the second landing we came to the well-known portrait of J. John
Radigan, Esq., in hunting costume, and at the head of the stairs, in
the foyer, the first thing to catch the eye was the picture of Mrs.
Radigan, which made such a furore at the recent Academy. It is by
the great Fatuous, who did the Kaiser, the Duke of Lummix, and Lady
Angelica Mumm, and so has had a great vogue here this winter. In
securing him to paint her into society last fall, Mrs. Radigan executed
a master-stroke. She sat day and night that it might be done in time
for the exhibition, but nothing ever daunts her. She declared that poor
Radigan was risking life and limb playing polo and hunting foxes for
her sake, and she just had to do something. Between sitting and polo I
should say that the latter was the easier, but surely she was repaid
for her suffering.
Fatuous is an artist, indeed! The woman of his canvas is lovely. She
is about six inches taller than Mrs. Radigan, and perhaps fifty pounds
lighter in weight. Leaning back gracefully in her chair, her eyes are
turned down, as she gazes tenderly and pensively at the child at her
side. Spirituelle she looks, high-born and high-strung as becomes the
daughter of a hundred Americans and the mistress of the largest house
that fronts the park.
"It's charming," said Mr. Mudison. "But who is the boy?"
"Jack," Mrs. Radigan answered.
"Jack?" exclaimed the clubman, puzzled.
"Not my husband--my son," she returned.
"Ah," cried Mr. Mudison. "I see, I see. The child I met at Westbury,
walking with a governess."
One of the greatest triumphs of this democratic country of ours is the
ease with which the plain Johns of one generation are succeeded by
Jacks. I have never seen this Radigan hopeful but once, and have hardly
heard mention of him much oftener, but our modern system of keeping the
children in storage until they are full-grown often leads us to the
erroneous idea that somebody's millions are just lying in wait for a
library to found.
"Mr. Fatuous said I must have a child to balance the composition,"
explained Mrs. Radigan. "So I had Jack brought up from Westbury, where
we had been keeping him for the winter. He just hated sitting and it
generally took me and the governess and a nurse to hold him. Sometimes
he kicked dreadfully, but Mr. Fatuous made him look like a perfect
dear. Thank goodness, though, that's over. I just couldn't stand the
kicks any longer, so we got a child from an asylum I am interested in.
He did splendidly."
I wondered why Mrs. Radigan troubled sitting herself, and was on the
point of making the suggestion when she went on:
"So here I am, sitting looking pensively at Jack, one of my hands
resting on the arm of the chair and the other holding Jack's, who is
looking up affectionately at me. A bit of light comes through the
window, shining on my face and on the diamond buckle on my slipper,
which rests on a silk cushion. I am awfully angular and lovely and
thin. Mr. Fatuous says he considers the woman in the picture one of the
handsomest he has ever done. It really looks something like me."
"A perfect likeness," cried Mr. Mudison.
Mrs. Radigan was splendid when she felt the slippery floors of her
real home beneath her feet. Her mien became majestic as we went from
room to room--first through the portrait-gallery, where already a few
of the gems Mr. Coppe had bought on commission were being hung; then
into the ballroom, all white and gold, and so artfully arranged with
mirrors as to make a small dance appear like a charity ball; on into
the conservatory, where the artificial palms were already in place, and
everything was being prepared for the rest of the plants. We retraced
our steps to the other side, where the suite begins with a small salon,
finished, as Mrs. Radigan explained, in light blue and gold, in the
style of "Lewis cans." Beyond this is a large drawing-room in dark
red, with several cosy-corners, making it the only homelike apartment
in the house. It opens into the dining-room, done in light oak and
very smart tapestries, showing a series of hunting scenes on Hempstead
Plain. After this, a good idea, all Radigan's own and very original,
is the little café, which opens off one corner and joins the smoking
and billiard-rooms. It gives him all the comforts of his club in his
own home, he says, for he can either sit down and punch a brass bell on
the Flemish oak table, or have his choice passed to him through a small
hole which communicates with the butler's pantry.
Altogether the house is very complete. An elevator took us to the next
floor. We saw Radigan's study, with a gymnasium adjoining it, and
stairs leading to a swimming-tank below; the sleeping apartments, all
exact copies of the royal suite in the Hotel St. Regis; the library,
where room is provided for 10,000 volumes, for which Mr. Coppe has
already placed a lump order.
Everybody was delighted. For myself, I have never seen a more perfect
house, one which so shows in every crack and cranny the wealth and
taste that have been lavished on it. Even J. Madison Mudison, who had
been wandering around rather dazed and mute, as we turned to leave,
said that it was "awfully jolly." It is. If Mr. Coppe had worked for
years instead of two weeks over his plans he could not have conceived a
dwelling that would better express its occupants.
Mrs. Radigan was more than satisfied. I thought she would embrace the
architect when we parted, so effusive was she. But instead she gave him
her royal command.
"You must positively be out of the house in three weeks," she said. "I
am going to give an Indian ball and want the rooms fixed up like woods
and wigwams and things. I simply must have the affair before Lent."