Newspaper Page Text
whaP
fhppenec
in the
Chomr
lei if
( \i 'V -A.?iderbilEs
*250,000Ball)
Some of the Unsched
uled Events Mrs.
Vanderbilt's Lady Guests Didn’t See,
and Their Husbands Will Never Tell
(By One Who Was in the
Tent When It Happened.)
MRS. CORNELIUS VANDER-
BILT gave r. costume ball at
Newport .ouple of weeks
ago that cost a .u r'.er of a million
dollars and brought out several mil
lion dollars' worth of jewels and
fixings.
However, .his isn’t about the
actual ball given by Mrs. Vanderbilt
—not the ball itself. The official,
properly censored story has already
appeared of that. What I'm writing
is the uncensored story, the (Oh,
diamonds am. Jecdlete, what a
hackneyed phrase behind the scenes
story. Who am I? It doesn't mat
ter. 1 was there. 1 am, in fact, in
the chorus of the "Merry Countess”
company. Not many months ago I
was on the fringe (that's a lot closer
than being on the edge) of Mrs. Van
derbilts's sot. 1 simply give
a bit of my history to show
that while Ned Berwind and Arthur
Iselin and Pembroke Jones and the
others didn’t know me. I knew them
very well tnd - hep 1 won't make
them uncomfortable to have me say
It.
Iw
BORf O&0 ?
Hf! ?
m >x\
"Under each arm they carried wine. Elsewhere they carried more."
Mrs. Vanderbilt (you know this,
too, but 1 have to lead up to the real
story ) had the 'asliu Theatre closed
in New York that nieht so that "The
Merry Countess company could ex
clusive!} entertain hei guests.
We were a happy crowd when we
got in at Newport Weren't we to
mingft' with the elite, to scrape el
bows with the biggest bunch o£
aohnnies ever eei., e < e under one
root, to it dew at the table
with Cornelius himself and perhaps
drink out of the same loving cup?
We wore —not! But th* girls- didn't
know it,
"The only thing that troubles me.”
said Chlorinda to me, as we ap
proached the wharf, “is that the dear
boys 1 know may be afraid to recog
nize ms. because their wives aro
there.”
It was then about > o'clock.
"What a dinner 1 suppose well
have at Beaulieu." .nused Rosie, the
blonde. "1 expect 111 sit down at
th' festive board with Cornelius on
my right and Alfred on my left and
a champagne cup if. front of me. In
fact, 1 did promise Clarence—the
dear boy—that I’d bring him home
the cup "
But what has .mppened? Here we
are at the wharf and Cornelius is
9
not here to meet us! How very, very
careless of him! We will call up his
little cottage am find out what keeps
him.
“Hello! Is this Beaulieu? Well,
this i.i the company. We've just got
in. Shall we come right up? What's
that? You can't accommodate us at
the villa? We’ll have to put up at
the hotel? You think the hotel will
be all right. Oh, ery well; we’ll go
right up."
Gloom! Gloom, ndeod! We girls
of the merry, merry chore-us don't
feel half as chipper now. But let as
wait vntll we see the hotel Mrs. Van
derbilt yes, the man on the phone
said he was Mrc. Vanderbilt—has
selected for us.
"Oh, no, driver! This can’t be it!
It is, you say? Very v ell, we'll get
out. It certainly isn't the Knicker
bocker or the Plaza. But Mrs. Van
derbilt selected herself.”
We are installed. We are seated
at upper. Supper comes. There is
a silence.
"And this," at last murmurs Bllxle,
of the- pony ballet, in words made
famous bv Mayor t'aynor, “and this
is Newport!"
I pass rapidly on. The company
was not to go on until midnight. Be
tween now and 10 we look over the
town. At 10 we put oa our costumes.
"The poor unfortunates!” says Jo.
the little brunette. "1 hired one of
those queer, unfortunate buggy-ef
fect rigs and drove down the Ave
nue. There were Johnnies to the
right of me. Johnnies to the left of
me, Johnnies all over, and not one
of them volleyed or thundered. The
poor boobs! 1 don’t believe they
know they’re alive!”
What’s the use of fussing?" said
Rosie. "We should be annoyed by
these poor unfortunates!”
We are carted down to Beaulieu in
carry alls and stages. We go Into the
big tent that constitutes the theatre.
And now the famous gold-painted
chairs are brought in and the ball
room becomes a theatre. The cur
tain goes up anu we do our little
stunts, it takes less than an hour,
for we have time only a few
of our specialties And for this «e
are paid $5,000. Just as we are get
ting into the swing it’s all over!
W’e retire to our tent. From be
hind the wings appear Pembroke
Jones and Arthu. Iselin. Do they
know me? (An anx-x-x-xious mo
ment). Thank weaver they do not
Here apnroacher j. Bluebeard
h. re a Persian Prince Under each
arm they carry wine, many, many
r- ■ ; '■ . ’■ -J • ~~ “ ?
/
' _ s' ~ ~~ ’ —~~ 5 '~y '
-W I 'AJ Z ' Z////'/l-/ / Z'<Z/Z x Z z . / T/// /' / i
1 ?'/h Z
I ># czb'F ?’■
' 1 jk n f'h.zF w
FtF Mk'i i> FFB R Jnc'
R' 1 zz fZ•'<W As
I tRWriF' zwzzAZmFAzz
. I \ ZzZ . II vz___L-- z O=ZZz = —-r AjJ
Z2.z>— za\ H zihU rvOz g
bottles of it. .elsewhere, it is ap
parent, they carry more. Things are
beginning to Icolt up.
A flunky appears with a tray of
glasses. Arthur and Pembroke pour
for the la< es. (. her ladies of the
haute monde deep hi at us. Every
body drinks. Th- it is cracked, if
not broken. The poor unfortunates
are beginning to how evidences of
life.
But who is thiojuJred as a sheik?
Why, Lizotte, ' Cornelius him
self! He tries 1 make every one
feel at home. He invites them to a
tent where a specia. supper is to be
served to them.
W raps nre
thrown over the
filmy and abbre
viated costumes
nd all hands
troop down to
the tent. It is
far removed
from the villa,
where the
guests are now
being entertain
ed nt supper.
How odd. Is It
not? Yes. it is
not. it will be
seen. In the
tent, we find six
round tables
where places
are laid nt each
for twelve.
There is not
a Vanderbilt to
be seen. We
might just as
well be back in
New York for
all the signs of
wealth we can
see Blixie al
most bursts in
to tears.
“And this Is Newport!” she walls.
The waiters a." filling our bouil
lion cups It is sc silent and dull.
Hut what is this they are bringing
in pitchers and pouring into the big
tumbler* ' By garters and stays —
it is wine! (1 use the Broadway
term for champague).
“Cornelius must think we are more
accustomed to drirking the stuff that
comes in pitchers than the bubble
water and serves it this way to make
us feel t home," says Gladys, whose
dearest friends are three Pittsburgh
millionaires .nd ye 1 think it very
thoughtful of him.
But who ar ■ th peeping behind
the curtains ana making their way
through the teni door? I won t tell.
But you wo.lid t.uow them in a mo
ment’ if I did. One is a Prince and
the other a very stout, famous char
acter in the “Arabian Nights.” We
shift to make room tor them. The
Arabian Nighter is feeling very gay.
He sits down at on of the fables
and. with a glais of wine in each
hand drinks both a. once to the gjrl
on each side of him. They are the
only wo happy g.rls in the room for
the moment. Soon the Prince makes
two more happy Bui what can two
fellows do with si::ty-odd girls?
Yei .ve are now a very happy
bunch We are drinking “wine" by
the pitcherful. Other powers and
potentates arrive. They glance
rrour.d the curtains and approach.
Oh. look at them, Ciar. •’ See the
six Hindu Gods i that table and the
seve” Arabian Nights notables at
that, and there is Sir.dbad the Sailor
and Aladdin and Haroun-al-Raschid
making merry at this. There are
more millionaire* in this little tent
than Btoadway in a season!
The waiters ire handing around
food, but no one bot: ers about it.
We should worry about the eats!
(My. how slangy I’n. becoming.)
What is Bluebeard doing’ He
seems to be the life < f the party, a
b'.neh t iris an gathered around
him now trying how far they can
plunge the ■ pretty arms into
g '
♦ /fl
\ F® F
A \ lw<
Vw(-
capacious paunch, i. must be great
tun, tor ho sjent to ?< enjoying !t.
"Held i : : n.. ankles. Bl’xie!'
cries dabel, wl ha already estab
lished the eeord foi getting in as
/ Jf z V//•Ir' 7
’ x:'A ; - F; r ,- '
■z.-' ,
kfezz ''
“A millionaire Oriental beg* Mabel to i eturn hi* hat.’’
fur r elbow. "This time I’m
geing ! o ee if 1 .an .ouch bottom!”
Larry Wa, rbu-y waxes communi
cative. He tells us who’s who in the
Chorus Tent. 1 appear to be igno-»
/ /I 1 * X'"~
‘4 ! ■ " F <v,
• ’ ; - I \ 'SML
SO. \ I y ;
R® - «■■ e . m, (JS
n'’-» • & "Avaffl vsi* 7 ' / /8K
f v Mai ipA ■; •-i ri® J* \
v JK® 7* - jt—-- f ■ A?-- < v,■ -A '
iff
1 rinces, Mandarins and Hindu Gods invade the chorus tent!”
I
*■
ATI
‘‘An emotional Persian turns to the driver: 11l
give you a SI,OOO for your seat!”
rant so I won't
give myself away.
That man over
there with a girl
on each knee is
Jack So-and-So.
That one drink
ing wine out of
a pink slipper is
Willie - What’s
His Name.
why do you keep
y warm turbans?
d give them to the
, that is much bet
on’t you find those
• wraps too
warm? Certain
ly. Take them
off and give
them to the
men. Thanks,
ever so. much.
Don’t we all
look funny.
And the lights
are really
much too
bright. They
dazzle one’s
eyes so, you
know when one
has been used
only to the sub
dued glare of
the footlights.
They are turn
ed away down.
Ah, that is
much better.
The ballet
girls haven’t
much on to
keep them
warm. Their
little white
9 knickers have
never had more
But, gentlemen,
on those terribly
Take them off an<
girls. Thank you,
ter. And, girls, at
than a passing acquaintance with
their knees, and they are feeling
chilly. Never ulna, bring more
pitchers. And now the lights are
out! Whoops, m de —. Oh, there
they go up again.
Messengers arrive from the villa
to locate missing husbands. They
go back empty-handeu.
A mandarin suggests a midnight
swim at the beach. A dozen girls
take up the cry. Down to the beach,
evervbody! Chairs are upset, wine
is spilled and there is a rush for the
doors. The stage management pro
tests. A special train is scheduled
to leave at two-thirty. It's almost
time to leave now. Leave? Well,
we guess not. "What time’s the
matinee to-morrow?” "Two-thirty.”
"Well, girls, you just stick around.
Let the train go. We’ll take care of
you if we have to carry you home."
The girls ere willing. They have
the costumes, you know, and the
company can’t go on without them.
We ll make a night oi it. Broadway
was never like this.
Again the lights go out. Again
there are long, loud shrieks. Mes
sengers come over from the villa to
find out what’s the matter, but are
kept out. Other messengers come
over.
“Mrs. So-and-So wants her. hus
band.” “Mrs. So-and-So says she has
called the motor.” "Mrs. This-and-
That says she’ll apply for a divorce
to-morrow.” There are only ten
women to every man up at the villa.
Everybody is much annoyed. Down
at the tent the turkey trot and the
bunny hug are being danced all over
to the peril of the tables.
Things .re serious. The lights go
up and Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt ap
pears. He has been summoned by a
tribunal of matrons and a distracted
stage manager. He begs his guests
to let the girls go. The response is
not enthusiastic. In the midst of
the confusion the lights go out again.
Mr. Vanderbilt is furious and lec
tures the ilectricians. Some of the
things he says I cannot repeat, for
I am, after al), still a lady, with
Maude Adamish ambitions.
The stage manage? reads the riot
/// \
I [I i
Ze/
•'« s»
Mrs. Cornelius Vnmlrrbtlt (Who Gar*
the Boll.)
act to the girls. A Persian Prines
seizes a ballet planet and darts sos
the door. He is followed by halt a
dozen others. A wild chase through
the grounds follows. Gradually some
of the girls realize that things are
getting critical, and they begin to
fall into line, tearing themselves
away from their admirers.
On the driveway a large carryall
waits. Into it th ; girls are bundled,
pursued by a mob of millionaire Orb
entals. One han lost his blue Silk
turban. He begs Mabel to return it
to him.
"It will spoil my costume." h«
pleads.
“Well, give me the rest of the cos
tume,” she ‘ replies, and dances
around him.
“Give me the hat and I’ll send you
one you can wear,” he offers, and the
offer is accepted.
At last the carry-all is full. Into
the driver's seat jumps a very emo
tional Persian. He is hustled out by
an enraged stage manager. He
turns to the driver:
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for
your seat.”
He is dragged away. Believe me
this is not fiction. It is expurgated
fact.
And then come the farewells. Such
a hugging and kissing and promis
ing. If all the promises are kept the
house will be sol' l out for five years.
We get the train. We go home to
New York.
No, mamma, when I get to be
Maude Adams, I won’t take you of!
the fringe and put you in the middle
of the mat. I’ll take you a thousand
miles off the fringe on the other side.
“O/i. the poor unfortunates!" That’t
why.