Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 22, November, 1878

by Various

THE AFTER-DINNER SPEECH OF THE BARONESS CONTALETTO.

IN one of the most salubrious sections of Alaska there exists—or did exist in December, 1876—a society named "The Irreparables." It was composed of women only. For this there were several reasons. The subjects discussed were not supposed to interest men, but this might have been remedied had not the men, already in a minority in the village, absolutely refused to have anything to do with a society in which they were sure to be voted down without any very promising power of appeal. It was at one time suggested that they could become associate members, but the notary, upon examining their prospective position in the club, declared that their taxes would be so many and their rights so few that it was an offer not to be considered. So the matter was dropped, and an "Irreparable" was always a creature of the gentler sex.

The most important event in the year to this society was its annual meeting and festive celebration in December. Upon this occasion the members reviewed their accounts, perhaps voted in a new member, acted upon delinquents, and, in a word, settled up the business of the year. The festivities sometimes took the shape of a mothers' meeting, a quilting-party or a cozy little tea. In 1876 they were, however, affected by the excitement that prevailed throughout the whole United States, and which fairly reached them in December. Alaska, it was true, was not one of the thirteen colonies, but neither was Ohio nor Colorado. It was much larger than Rhode Island or Delaware. It had great possibilities, and it had cost money, which was more than could be said of the original thirteen, leaving out Pennsylvania, which even then could not be counted as a very expensive investment on the part of Mr. Penn. These patriotic reasons fired the hearts of the "Irreparables," and they determined that Alaska should celebrate the Centennial of their country, and that the celebration should be theirs.

Then the question arose of what nature this celebration should be. An Exposition was clearly out of the question, and even a school-fair was voted troublesome. Some of the younger members favored a dance, but this was objected to, because of the absurdity of a roomful of women waltzing and treading the light, fantastic German by themselves. It would seem, said the Baroness Contaletto, like a burlesque of merriment; and so the dance fell through. A service of song, a tea-drum, a cream-cornet, and a pound-party met the same fate; and finally all minds gently but firmly centred upon a dinner-party; and so it was a dinner with courses.

Naturally enough, it was not at first easy to arrange, but the admirable spirit of organization pervading the society soon brought everything into shape. There was a committee upon the bill of fare, upon the toasts, upon invitations, upon the room and upon the general arrangements. It was true that the only room in the village that was suitable was the little hall back of the tavern, and the invitations were verbally given at the meeting when the matter was decided upon; but as one never knows what emergencies may arise, it is always well to have a committee ready to act.

The chairwoman of most of the committees was the Baroness Contaletto. This was not because of her rank, as, in fact, she had no claim to her title either from birthright or marriage. Her claim rested upon the fine sense the village had of the fitness of things. She looked like a baroness: she always made it a point to behave like one. In the course of time they called her so, and when she added the name of Contaletto, the village acknowledged the fitness of that, and very soon the Baroness Contaletto was universally accepted, and Thisba Lenowski forgotten. The reason of her being so many chairwomen also rested on her fitness. She was a woman of ideas and of deeds. The minister's plans might come to naught, the editor's predictions be falsified, and the schoolmaster's reforms die out; but the enterprises undertaken by the baroness went through to a swift success. Her ideas were both contagious and epidemic, and she was always a known quantity in the place.

And so when she pooh-poohed the dance, laughed at the tea-drum and shivered at the idea of the cream-cornet, declaring for the dinner, the matter was settled, and each of the younger members promptly decided who she would ask to escort her and deliberated as to what she should wear.

Then the baroness arose. She glanced around. She read the thoughts of the members. She looked at two women. One was the sister of the county clerk: she was a woman of the most appreciative character, the clearest sense, and—she was the faithful echo of the baroness. The second was a pretty girl. She represented the other pretty girls. Then the baroness spoke. She said it was of the first importance to do this thing decorously and in order. When men had suppers they never invited women. They wanted to have a good time, and women spoiled it. She was not in favor of an "invitation entertainment." She supposed that what they wanted was a society, an "Irreparable," dinner. Therefore, she did not propose to invite men.

"But," said the pretty girl, with a rosy color mounting to her cheeks and an ominous flash in her eyes, "when I was in New Moscow I was invited to the Hercules dinner."