_Mrs. Radigan's Costume-ball_
I have just been going over the newspaper accounts of the Radigans'
costume-ball, and I must say that the columns and columns devoted to
it, speak well for my friends' standing in Society. It is generally
conceded that New York has never before seen such a lavish affair, and
the estimates of its cost go from $50,000 up. Yet these do not consider
the new house, which was built primarily as a place of entertainment,
not as a home; so part of the million spent there should be charged
against the dance. The whole affair was colossal. But the Radigans are
paying the bills without a word, for they are more than satisfied with
the advertising they have received. Their position is now absolutely
established, and nothing can shake them out of smart society but the
loss of their money.
The new house was a dream. Young Mr. Coppe, of Coppe & Coppe, the
architects, had arranged all the decorations, and he showed rare taste
and ingenuity, for to contrive the surroundings for an Indian dance was
no simple matter. But he worked it out cleverly. Entering the great
hall, the guests left civilization behind them and stood in a giant
wigwam. It was a little out of shape, because of the proportions of
the room, but the illusion was well maintained by the arrangement of
poles and hides, with decorations of bows, arrows, and imitation scalps
hanging everywhere. Of course it was necessary to leave this for a
moment and plunge into the civilization of the dressing-rooms, where a
score of servants costumed like trappers were in attendance. But when
your costume was arranged you plunged into the wild again, passing
through the wigwam, up the broad stairway, past the famous Velasquez
and the Fatuous portrait of Mrs. Radigan and her child, pausing in the
foyer, a charming forest with a pool full of goldfish in the centre,
on into the wigwam, once the portrait-gallery, where Mrs. Radigan
received her guests.
Mrs. Radigan was superb. Mrs. Radigan was unique. Mrs. Radigan was
lovely. She was Pocahontas, and that there should be not the slightest
color of scandal she made Radigan appear as Captain John Smith, so
when he wandered up, dragging his long rifle, she could with propriety
acknowledge him as her husband. I do not know what the real Pocahontas
looked like, but if she was anything like Mrs. Radigan she must have
been capable of any heroism. Mrs. Radigan is massive. Her hair, black,
flowing down over her shoulders, interworked with flowers and feathers,
gave her in the higher altitudes the appearance of Hamlet's unhappy
love. Her gown might be described as that of a _nouveau-riche_ Indian
maiden, for the famous Radigan pearls put the bead-work to sleep,
speaking figuratively; and the rather short skirt gave a glimpse of
open-work silks that might have been a gift from her Majesty of England.
Mrs. Radigan was charming. There was a smile and a hearty,
whole-souled hand-shake for all, and as they came trooping past her in
their Indian garb she had a word of admiration for every one of them.
Pearl Veal as Minnehaha, and myself as Hiawatha, each got a resounding
kiss, which in my case disarranged my deep bronze complexion. And as
for J. Madison Mudison! Pearl and I were at Mrs. Radigan's side when
he arrived, and we noted that she held his hand very long and seemed
to say nothing. But he might well have set anybody speechless. We
should never have known him had not the giant trapper at the door, the
pride of the servants' hall, announced "Mr. Madison Mudison, the great
medicine-man." He was simply hideous. His face was painted all the
colors of the rainbow, and from his neck down he was festooned with
stuffed snakes and carried a vicious-looking war-club. When he had made
his obeisance he stared open-mouthed at the marvellous alteration of
the gallery, all hung as it was with hides and scalps, weapons, and
trophies of the chase. "Jolly," was his comment--"awfully jolly!"
Then, shouldering his weapon, he gathered in Miss Veal and went on into
the ballroom.
To go into the ballroom was like stepping into some primeval forest, so
artfully had Mr. Coppe carried out his scheme. You seemed in an open
place among the trees, a glade, with a green waxed floor underfoot,
a starry sky--twinkling stars--overhead and about you the receding
woods, whose unreality you only realized when you bumped into the wall.
To carry out the illusion, the whistler of a downtown music-hall was
hidden in the ceiling, and made a noise like a bird. There was a little
stage at one end, and half of the Skimphony Orchestra was concealed in
the conservatory, playing divine music.
A remarkable scene! The place was packed with Indians, all laughing
and chatting till the noise they made sounded like a knitting-mill,
and among them, his long rifle over his shoulders, moved Captain John
Smith, nobly playing his part as host to the distinguished company.
Miss Bumpschus was there and she almost fainted when I sailed up with
J. Madison Mudison, who made a threatening demonstration with his awful
spiked club. I must confess I think Miss Bumpschus as an Indian looked
better than usual, though her spectacles might have been dispensed
with. Still, I suppose she wanted to see what was going on. Mrs.
Bobbie Williegilt, on the other hand, was perfect, even to the papoose
which she carried on her back. This infant caused some excitement
by falling off on the floor later in a dance, for she had failed to
explain to some of the dowagers that it was only imitation. Marian
Speechless as an Apache maiden, Dewberry Lamb as Red Cloud, and Arthur
Slaughterblock-Jones as a youth, were especially excellent in their
make-up. By eleven o'clock you might have fancied yourself back in the
seventeenth century, sporting in the Virginia forests with Pocahontas
and her people.
A company of trappers marched in, and with ropes of roses marked off
a ring in the centre of the great room, so that clustered about
it the smart tribes were regaled by a war-dance, in which seven of
the cleverest men in town took part under the leadership of Madison
Mudison. It was very well done, except that young Stuyvesant Mint's
head hit one of the spikes of Mudison's club and he had to retire. They
were followed by a company of débutantes and young men, including Miss
Veal and myself, who did a minuet, which everybody said was charming,
as the Indian costumes made it different from anything of the kind they
had ever seen.
A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of Miss Maggie McBride,
the prima donna of the Hodge-Podge Company, who at present, you know,
is the wife of young Bullion, or am I thinking of old Emerson Dotty?
The company immediately divided, forming a lane. Radigan advanced
to the sedan chair in which four trappers had carried the actress,
and helping her to alight, he gracefully led her to the stage. She,
too, was in Indian costume, and about her neck wore the famous Dotty
diamond collar, for the possession of which the aged Emerson's former
wife is now suing. Her performance was inimitable. She sang the same
songs and danced the same dances that we can see any night for $2, but
some of the Indians did not realize what it cost to have her perform
in a private house, and became bored and began to move toward the odor
of cooking. This necessitated cutting her programme short, and rather
hurrying the feast.
There was a general sigh of relief on the part of the bored Indians
when Radigan led the way to the feast with Miss McBride on his arm,
looking very lovely. Of course it was necessary at this juncture to
part from Indian customs, so supper was served at small tables in the
great suite of rooms which begins at the salon and ends in Radigan's
little café, all arranged like wigwams. The waiters, attired as
trappers, were very picturesque; indeed, the supper was most excellent
and the fire-water of many kinds and unlimited in quantity. The heat
of the rooms made the paint run somewhat, and consequently there was
a considerable exit of the more elderly Indians after the last course.
The younger element stayed to dance, until almost daybreak. Many before
going home went to the billiard-room, where Radigan had thoughtfully
established a number of professional photographers, who took pictures
of the guests at his expense, for the Radigans have a way of leaving
nothing undone that will add to the pleasure of their guests. They
spare no expense. That is the way they have been able to become so
extremely smart, and that they are smart none can doubt who reads the
list of their guests. Take, for example:
Mrs. Plumstone,
Count and Countess Poglioso
Spinnigini,
Mrs. Bobbie Q. Williegilt,
Miss Speechless,
Miss Constance Wherry,
Mr. and Mrs. Dewberry
Lamb,
Mr. and Mrs. John Twitter,
Mrs. Very,
Mrs. Garish,
Miss Bumpschus,
Mr. Williegilt,
Mr. Stuyvesant Mint,
Joshua Jumpkin, 7th,
J. Madison Mudison,
Williegilt Bumpschus,
Mrs. Edgerton Twaddell,
The Misses Twaddell,
Mr. E. Williegilt,
Mr. and Mrs. Timpleton
Duff,
Mrs. Hegerton Humming,
Miss Humming,
Mr. E. Humming,
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Tattler,
Miss Bilberry,
Miss Clarissa Mudison,
Miss Tumbleton,
Mr. Cecil Hash,
Prince Cosmospopolis,
Miss Mint,
Mr. Willie Lite,
Mr. Garish,
Mr. Horatio Gastly.