Society as I Have Found It
like most revolutionary waves, reached Newport. Our distinguished New
York journalist then made Newport his summer home, buying the fine
granite house that for years had been first known as “The Middleton
Mansion,” afterwards the “Sidney Brooks residence,” and filling it with
distinguished Europeans. His activity and energy gave new life to the
place.
One fine summer morning, one of his guests, an officer in the English
army, a bright spirit and admirable horseman, riding on his polo pony up
to the Newport Reading-room, where all the fossils of the place, the
nobs, and the swells daily gossiped, he was challenged to ride the pony
into the hall of this revered old club, and being bantered to do it, he
actually did ride the pony across the narrow piazza, and into the hall
of the club itself. This was enough to set Newport agog. What sacrilege!
an Englishman to ride in upon us, not respecting the sanctity of the
place! It aroused the old patriots, who were members of that
Institution, with the spirit of ’76, and a summary note was sent to the
great journalist, withdrawing the invitation the club had previously
given his guest. The latter, in turn, felt aggrieved, and retaliated
with this result: Building for Newport a superb Casino, embracing a
club, a ball-room, and a restaurant, opposite his own residence. All
this evidencing that agitation of any kind is as beneficial in social
circles, as to the atmosphere we breathe.
Then our journalist conceived and gave a handsome domino ball. All the
ladies in domino, much after the pattern of the one previously given by
the Duchess de Dino, and in many respects resembling it, having a huge
tent spread behind the house, and all the rooms on the first floor
converted into a series of charming supper-rooms, each table decorated
most elaborately with beautiful flowers; as handsome a ball as one
could give. I took the wife of the Attorney-General to it in domino,
who, after her life in Washington, was amazed at the beauty of the
scene. The grounds, which were very handsome, were all, even the plants
themselves, illuminated with electric lights--that is, streams of
electric light were cunningly thrown under the plants, giving an
illumination _à giorno_, and producing the most beautiful effect.
At this ball there appeared a Blue Domino that set all the men wild.
Coming to the ball in her own carriage (her servants she felt she could
trust not to betray her) she dashed into the merry throng, and gliding
from one to the other whispered airy nothings into men’s ears. But they
contained enough to excite the most intense curiosity as to who she was.
She was the belle of the evening; she became bold and daring at times,
attacking men of and about the inmost secrets of their hearts, so as to
alarm them, and when she had worked them all up to a fever heat, she
came to me to take her to the door that she might make good her escape.
A dozen men barricaded the way, but with the rapidity of a deer she
dashed through them, reached the sidewalk, and her footman literally
threw her into the carriage. Her coachman, well drilled, dashed off at a
furious rate, and to this day no one has ever found out who the fair
creature was.
The next social event after this grand ball was a large breakfast the
great journalist gave for the Duke of Beaufort, at Southwick’s Grove. We
all sat at tables under the trees, and we had what the French so aptly
term a _déjeuner dinatoire_. At it the Duke was most eloquent in his
wonderful description of a fishing exploit he had had that morning;
rising at 2 A.M., and driving to “Black Rock,” he groped his way to the
farthest point, and had the satisfaction of hooking an enormous bass.
In his own words, “As I saw him on the crest of the wave, I knew I had
him, and then my sport began.”
Hearing that President Arthur would visit Newport, as I felt greatly in
his debt I resolved to do my share in making his visit pleasant and
agreeable. He was to be the guest of Governor Morgan, whom I at once
buttonholed and to him gave the above views. I found, like all these
great political magnates, that he preferred to have the President to
himself, and rather threw cold water on my attempting anything in my
humble way at entertaining him. “Why, my dear sir,” he replied, “the
President will not go to one of your country picnics. It is preposterous
to think of getting up such a rural thing for him. I shall, of course,
dine him and give him a fête, and have already sent to New York for my
Madeira.”
“Sent for your Madeira!” I exclaimed. “Why, my dear Governor, it will
not be fit to drink when it reaches you.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because it will be so shaken up, it will be like tasting bad drugs.
Madeira of any age, if once moved, cannot be tasted until it has had at
least a month’s repose. President Arthur is a good judge of Madeira, and
he would not drink your wine.”
“Well, what am I to do?” said he.
“Why, my dear Governor, I will myself carry to your house for him a
couple of bottles of my very best Madeira.” This I did, sitting in the
middle of the carriage, one bottle in each hand (it having been first
carefully decanted), and into the Governor’s parlor I was ushered, and
then placed my offering before the President, telling him that I well
knew he loved women, as well as song and wine; prayed him to honor me
with his presence at a Newport picnic, promising to cull a bouquet of
such exotics as are only grown in a Newport hothouse. The invitation he
at once accepted, much, I thought, to the chagrin of the Governor, who,
accompanying me to his front door, said:
“My dear sir, one must remember that he is the President of the United
States, ruling over sixty millions of people. He is here as my guest,
and now to go off and dine on Sunday with a leader of fashion, and then
to follow this up by attending one of your open-air lunches, seems to me
not right.” (I must here say in his defense, that the Governor had never
been to one of my “open-air lunches,” and knew not of what he spoke.)
I then resolved to make this picnic worthy of our great ruler, and at
once invited to it a beautiful woman, one who might have been selected
for a Madonna. This is the first time I have made mention of her; she
possessed that richness of nature you only see in Southern climes; one
of the most beautiful women in America. She promised to go to this
country party, and bring her court with her.
I selected the loveliest spot on Newport Island, known as “The Balch
Place,” near “The Paradise and Purgatory Rocks,” for this fête. The
Atlantic Ocean, calm and unruffled, lay before us; all the noise it made
was the gentle ripple of the waves as they kissed the rocky shore.
Giving the President our great beauty, he led the way to the collation,
partaken of at little tables under the sparse trees that the rough
winter barely permitted to live, and then we had a merry dance on the
green, on an excellent platform fringed with plants.
At a subsequent breakfast, I was intensely gratified to have the
President say to me, before the whole company, “McAllister, you did
indeed redeem your promise. The beauty of the women at your picnic, the
beauty of the place, and its admirable arrangement--made it the
pleasantest party I have had at Newport,”--and this was said before my
friend the Governor. Grand, elaborate entertainments are ofttimes not as
enjoyable as country frolics.
WASHINGTON DINNERS AND NEW YORK BALLS.
CHAPTER XXVII.
_I visit Washington as the guest of Attorney-General Brewster--A
Dinner at the White House--Amusing arrangement of Guests--The
Winthrop Statue--The memorable Winters of 1884-85--A Millionaire’s
House-warming--A London Ball in New York--A Modern Amy
Robsart--Transforming Delmonico’s entire place into a
Ball-room--The New Year’s Ball at the Metropolitan Opera
House--Last Words._
The following winter my friend Attorney-General Brewster invited me to
Washington to pass a fortnight with him, and I then got a glimpse of
modern life in that city. I enjoyed my visit, but found the people
slower of action than we are in New York; for instance, it took my kind
host fully a week to consider over and map out a dinner for me. Then,
just as I was leaving, the President asked me to dine with him. I was
informed that it was imperative that I should cancel other engagements
and remain over to accept his invitation.
The arrangement of the guests at this dinner was to me amusing. Reaching
the White House, I was separated from the ladies I brought, and could
not in any way find them again to enter the drawing-room with them, but
was ushered into it from a side door, and there joined the gentlemen,
who stood in line on one side of the room, while from an opposite door
the ladies entered the same room, and formed in line, as it were,
opposite the men. When all were assembled, the President himself
entered, bowed to his guests, and offered his arm to one of the ladies,
and led the way in to dinner.
The view from the dining-room into the conservatories, displaying the
finest collection of white azaleas I have ever seen, was most effective.
The dinner was good, and well served; the President most gracious.
Turning to me, he said, “Why, your friend Winthrop is not himself
to-day. What is the matter with him?” I replied, “My dear Mr. President,
he has been up to the Capitol, and seen his ancestor in white marble,
and found his nose was shockingly dirty. This annoyed and mortified
him.” The President replied, “Really, well, this is too bad! This matter
shall at once have my attention. That nose shall be wiped to-morrow!”
The winters of 1884 and 1885 will long be remembered by New York society
people, for three of the largest, handsomest, and most successful balls
ever given in this city have made them memorable. The heir to probably
the largest fortune ever left to one man in this country, then threw
open the doors of his palatial residence and generously invited all who
were in any way entitled to an invitation, to come and view his superb
house, and join in the dance which was to inaugurate its completion.
As I went up the beautiful stairs and passed along the gallery, looking
down on a hall such as few palaces contain, with a long train of
handsomely dressed women passing me on their way down to the reception
room, it put me in mind of a scene I well remembered at the Hôtel de
Ville, in Paris, at a ball given by the Emperor Napoleon III. to the
King of Sardinia. It looked royal, and was most impressive. Our host
stood in the centre of his hall, giving to all a warm welcome. Passing
him we entered his _grand salon_, where his wife received us. The room
itself, Oriental, and as Eastern and luxurious in its own peculiar style
as one could create it. From this _salon_, we entered a novel Japanese
room, and then the fine dining-room of the house, with its marvelous
ceiling, painted by one of the best modern French artists. The picture
galleries were the ball and supper rooms. The cotillion was danced in
the farthest of the two galleries, the ladies seated in double and
triple lines on improvised seats, as if they were sitting on a long
extended dais all around the room. The effect was dazzling and
brilliant. All supped well, for when supper was announced little tables
were placed like magic through the rooms; and New Yorkers had what they
well knew how to appreciate--an elaborate, well-served repast; champagne
in abundance, and of the best, and in perfect condition. In my opinion,
it was one of the handsomest, most profuse, liberal, and brilliant balls
ever given in this country.
The next great flutter in New York’s fashionable world was the
announcement of a grand entertainment to be given, embracing all the