OF THE GENT AT THE CASINOS.
IT is probable that, at some time or the other, you have been at a fête
in Paris.
Because if you have, you will recollect the gay “Bal de Paris” that was
lighted up so tastefully when it became dark. You will recall the order
that reigned there, so different to the vulgar jostling and dreary riot
of the “Crown and Anchor” at Greenwich Fair. If you have not been there,
figure to yourself an enormous tent, say one hundred feet long,
supported by gilt pillars, with pretty festoons, and surrounded by
trophies and tricoloured flags, of red, blue, and white calico all
round. The floor is neatly boarded; and in the centre, an excellent
orchestra, of a dozen musicians, performing all the most popular
quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas of Paris. Five sous is charged for
entrance, and an extra demand of five sous is made each time you dance;
when you are not considered as transgressing etiquette in asking any
fair one that your choice may fall upon. The utmost order prevails.
Indeed, the municipal guards in attendance with their fierce mustaches
and tiger-skin helmets, will soon march you off between them if you
overstep decorum.
With respect to the refreshments, there is not the immense bar which we
see at the Greenwich Fair and Moulsey Race-course dancing assemblies,
covered with cold boiled-beef, ham, fowls, bottled-porter, pipes, and
crockery; but then there is a small tent aside from the grand one, for
lemonade, _sirop de groseilles_, wine, coffee, and Rheims biscuits,
which has an air of refinement never met with in England at meetings of
this kind. Dancing is the sole object of the company; and dance they do;
and so did we, too, once upon a time (as soon as we got over our
thorough English idea that every body was looking at us), and we can
safely say we enjoyed ourselves much more there than we had done at any
dashing evening parties in London. And then the practice in French
conversation which it affords! You can speak so easily, so fluently, to
a pretty grisette in the middle of a dance, and under the influence of a
bottle of _vin ordinaire_, at twelve sous; it beats all the masters,
believe us; and we speak from experience. But all this by the way. All
have their hobbies, and pretty grisettes are ours.
Few have watched these agreeable dances without lamenting the absence of
such things from our English festivals: we believe it is the Gents alone
who have proved the obstacles to their proper introduction. For they
would never keep quiet, and simply enjoy themselves. They would think it
necessary to “have a spree;” and could not exist ten minutes without
surreptitiously lighting a cigar, for any consideration. He would think
that he was not “nobby” if he did not have some wretched champagne: and
this miserable mess, getting into his head, would lead him into all
manner of offensive behaviour. For no Gent can stand much wine, at any
time; and Gent’s wine in particular, such as Casino champagne, fearfully
upsets them.
When we first heard that M. Laurent was going to start a shilling
concert and dance we were much disquieted; for we knew at what a rampant
pitch Gentism would arrive there. But it was somewhat gratifying to see
that the sensible behaviour of a few strong-minded visitors somewhat
awed them into propriety. Still there are many who still assemble; and
the use of this chapter is, that you may be shown how to know and avoid
them.
The Casino Gent especially likes a white over-coat, short, with large
buttons; and under this he disposes a gay shawl, so as to look like the
collar of a waistcoat. He carries a short stick, and this he never parts
with under any pretence; but in a polka you will see it high in air
above the whirling confusion of dances, and by this signal may trace his
progress about the room.
[Illustration]
His polka is not of the first order; it savours more of the dancing
academy than the drawing-room; and he has scarcely yet given up the
fandango atrocities before alluded to, that disgraced the polka on its
first introduction into England. Hence you will at times still see him
“kicking up behind and before” in an absurd manner, that “Old Joe,” of
Ethiopian celebrity, could scarcely have outdone.
[Illustration]
This Gent is not very clever at the _deux temps_. Before he knew what it
was, he used to imagine that certain fools were dancing the polka to a
waltz time; but now he has found out his error, albeit he still looks
upon it with a sort of contemptuous expression, such as unpleasant
people in general adopt when they are called upon to admire something
popular that they cannot do themselves. In the intervals of the dances
he promenades the room, laughing loudly about nothing particular, and
hitting his friends on the back with his stick, to attract their
attention. And no true Gent, got up as we have described, ever entered
the Casino but he did not firmly believe that he was _the_ man of the
assembly. Hence two Gents will always look savage at one another when
they meet.
_Au reste_, the Gent is soon subdued, when too lively, by the proper
authorities: and he has great belief in the power of an acquaintance
with Mr. Henry Mott, who delights in elegant white cravats, and is the
head master of the ceremonies, nearest the band and the sherry-cobblers.
With respect to other public balls, you will not meet many Gents at
Weippert’s, or the St. James’s. The men there are too strong for them;
not physically, but in social position; and the _lorettes_ of these
assemblies have quick eyes at detecting snobbishness of any kind. We
have seen one or two Gents at either place; but they always looked
especially wretched—as much out of their place as a toadstool in a
conservatory. The gentlemen did not insult them; they only tacitly
objected to be vis-à-vis to them, and quietly withdrew their partners
from the set, until the Gents stood alone.
They are in greater force at _bals masqués_, in and out of costume. Many
Gents conceive that going in a scarlet coat and top-boots, and now and
then shouting “Yoicks!” constitutes the fast thing: hence there is
always one of this kind. Others adopt large noses, and false mustaches,
which they think is “doing it—rather!” But you never see them in
characteristic or original costumes; nor, lacking them, do they even
adhere to a recognised evening toilet. They prefer their beloved railway
trowsers, and flaring stocks and shawls, and centre all their notions of
full-dress in a paletot. M. Jullien is gradually changing all this: we
trust he will not stop until he places the masked ball—“bal marsk” the
Gent calls it—on a level with those of Paris. But then the complimentary
admissions must be weeded; and the authorities must learn that it is not
at all necessary to engage a few wretched supernumeraries from the
theatres, in dingy wardrobe costumes, to support the festivity of the
evening. All low people, including Gents, get drunk; and all drunken
people are miserable nuisances.
_Note._—If ever you see two Gents dancing together at a _bal masqué_,
you are at liberty to kick and insult them, with every opprobrious
epithet.
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