MR. AND MRS. TAFT, WITH MEMBERS OF THEIR FAMILY AND STAFF, INCLUDING MAJOR NOBLE, AIDE (AT LEFT), AND MR. FRED. C. CARPENTER, PRIVATE SECRETARY (RIGHT), IN COSTUMES WORN AT THE VENETIAN CARNIVAL
I knew right away what I should “go as.” I would be a Venetian lady of romance days. But the question of Mr. Taft’s costume was not so easily settled. If he hadn’t interposed so many ideas of his own it would have been much simpler. In writing to his brother Charles he says: “It is a humiliating fact to me that every suggestion of a character for me by me has been summarily rejected by Nellie unless it involved the wearing of a gown of such voluminous proportions as to conceal my Apollo-like form completely. The proposal that I assume the character of an Igorrote chieftain because of the slight drain on capital and our costuming resources did not meet with favour. So it is settled that I must assume the robes and headgear of the husband of the Adriatic, the Doge of Venice. The question is whether the robe can be made historically accurate and at the same time so conceal my nether extremities as to make it unnecessary for me to dye my nether undergarments to a proper colour, for the entire Orient cannot produce tights of a sufficient size. The Council of War, meaning Nellie, has not advised me on the subject, but tights or no tights we shall have a Doge of Venice ‘that never was on land or sea.’” And we did.
We called a committee of Filipinos to arrange about illuminations on the river and the decoration of launches, cascoes, bancas, rafts and barges, and this committee took the whole matter out of my hands and went to work with the zeal of children playing at some fascinating new game. They arranged for a number of pavilioned craft decorated with flowers, and offered a prize for the most beautiful and elaborate private launch, or boat of any kind. Then on either bank of the river they stretched lines of coloured electric lights and crossed the river at close intervals with other lines as far as the eye could see in both directions. The whole Palace building was outlined in electric lights, while the great trees and every little bush were wired and strung with a myriad multicoloured globes, hundreds of them covered with Japanese lanterns in fantastic colours and designs. All the garden walks and drives were bordered with tiny coloured lamps burning cocoanut oil, set close in against the well trimmed lawns, and when it was all finished and the light turned on the place was like a fairyland.
The date for the Carnival was set for full moon night, the third of December, and never will I forget the brilliance and beauty of the scene as one gay and picturesque barge or improvised gondola after another, full of laughing, chattering and singing people in masks and all manner of strange costumes, and with mandolins and guitars playing, floated up under the bright canopy of swinging globes, a million times reflected in the ripples of the river, to the ancient-looking, moss-grown landing where Mr. Taft and I, as the Doge of Venice and his Lady, stood receiving our guests with as much mock stateliness as we could command in the midst of such a merry throng. It will linger in my memory always as one of the most entrancing evenings of my life.
Rain was predicted, as usually happens when I give any kind of a garden party, and all day long I had watched the clouds with a feeling of helpless exasperation. I wanted fair weather; I wanted the moonlight; but as night came on the lowering grey canopy seemed to float upward and spread itself out into a mere haze which softened and diffused the brightness and made ten times more effective our myriad swinging lamps and lanterns.
Everybody had done his or her utmost in the matter of costuming, and with a success that I never saw surpassed. All the fine old collections of jewels in the rich Spanish and Filipino families were taken out, and in many cases made over into special designs to deck oriental princesses, historic queens and noble ladies of storied fame.
Perhaps the most striking costume of all was worn by Mrs. Rafael Reyes, a tall dark Spanish lady of extraordinary beauty, the wife of a prominent and wealthy Filipino. Señora Reyes came as the Queen of Night, and she was literally ablaze with diamonds. Not brilliants nor rhinestones, but diamonds large and small, sewn all over the long graceful folds of her sweeping black robe to represent stars. On her small shapely head, crowned with a wealth of shining black hair, she wore a large diamond crescent. She caught the light and sparkled, her vivacious personality sparkling with her jewels. On that memorable occasion nobody who saw her could possibly forget her.
Dancing and frolicking continued long into the night, but as the evening wore to a close we began to feel a sense of depression. In a very few days we were to leave the Islands perhaps never to return, and this was our last party at old Malacañan. It is not amiss, I am sure, to say that every laughing face sobered and every voice took on a regretful tone as one by one our guests came up to say good night—and good-bye.
CHAPTER XIII
SECRETARY OF WAR
To illustrate what seems to me to be rather widely contrasted views of the position of Secretary of War for the United States, I think I must relate two experiences I had in the beginning of Mr. Taft’s career in that office.