OF DOMINOES AND MASKS
Italian in conception, the domino is of ecclesiastical origin, and as
such has retained its monkish aspect throughout the many changes rung
by fashion. In its primitive form it consisted of a long, loose robe of
black material with a cowl attachment which completely covered the head.
During the middle ages, and, in fact, as late as the sixteenth century,
it constituted the popular travelling costume of those engaged upon
secret missions. Disguised in the habit common to the countless hordes of
monks and other pious mendicants who infested the country, it was an easy
matter to go, unnoticed, from end to end of Europe, the garb protecting
its wearer and ensuring him immunity from criticism or inquiry.
Its serviceable shape and virtue of concealment led to the universal
adoption of the domino, until it actually became as much an institution
as the toga of ancient Rome. Clad in its all-enveloping folds, the hood
drawn well forward and the face masked, the domino formed an ideal dress
for intrigue, love adventures, conspiracy, ball, rout, procession, and
evening wear in general over a gala costume. It owed its first entry
into _le monde où l'on s'amuse_ to those Venetian orgies and wild
midnight revels encouraged by the Council of Ten as a means whereby the
attention and energies of the youth of the capital of the Adriatic might
be diverted from politics.
When the gay world made the domino its own, fashion decreed that it
should retain its original shape, and this it has continued to do down to
the present. The same conservatism did not extend to colour. As a matter
of fact it has, at one time and another, appeared in all shades, and in
every appropriate variety of texture, lined or unlined; in two or more
tones, self-coloured, trimmed, or plain, sumptuous or severe, according
to the tastes and inclination of the wearer. A man's domino, as typical
of to-day as of five hundred years ago, consists of a long, ample robe of
scarlet cashmere gathered into a plain yoke piped with satin. Three small
cashmere buttons fasten it snugly from the throat downwards, and satin
ribbon ties it across the chest. The peaked hood is lined with satin and
weighted with a heavy silk tassel, and over the shoulders falls a short,
pleated cape. Of the "angel" order, the wide, pointed sleeves are turned
back to allow a narrow glimpse of satin, the fold held in place by a cord
loop and a diminutive gold button sewn to the under arm seam immediately
above the wrist. That the religious origin of the domino was never lost
sight of is illustrated by the anecdote of the dissipated young reveller
who, leaving a masked ball in the grey dawn, was met by an indignant
father, who proceeded to load him with reproaches on the subject of his
dissolute mode of life. After listening for some time in filial silence,
the son made the witty answer:
Beati qui moriuntur in Domino.
From Italy the fashion of wearing dominoes spread to France, and thence
to England. In Paris the vogue reached its height under Louis XIII. and
Louis XIV. During the reigns of both monarchs, and more especially the
latter, masquerades and masked balls were the favourite amusements of the
Court. Many entertainments were given at which dominoes were compulsory
for men, the King alone being exempt from this rule. Louis XIV. generally
elected to appear in a white domino of transparent muslin which merely
veiled, without in any way concealing, the gala dress beneath. Dominoes
at this period were richly trimmed, and contrived from costly materials.
Under the Regency masked balls were instituted at the Opera. At these
public functions, safeguarded by the practically impenetrable disguise of
a domino, all classes of society mixed indiscriminately. If tales of the
time are to be believed, many a gallant has shadowed a domino the entire
evening, only to make the humiliating discovery that the coquettish
countess of his dreams was a tripe-seller from the market.
With the fall of the French monarchy the domino degenerated into an
abuse, and was finally abolished, excepting for such occasions as
carnivals and fancy-dress balls.
The dominoes worn by women differ from those worn by men in that they
invariably manage to strike a distinguishing feminine note. The textures
employed are lighter, being usually soft satin, silk, or mousseline de
soie. The hood, instead of partaking of the severity of a cowl, is round
in shape and, for most festive occasions, is trimmed with fluffy frills
of silk, chiffon, and lace, further elaboration consisting of flowers.
A characteristic example is of forget-me-not-hued bengaline lined with
pale pink. The yoke sparkles with silver sequins and the round hood and
shallow cape display frills powdered with glittering paillettes, and
reveal inner frills of frayed pink silk and cobwebby lace the tint of old
ivory, a bunch of shaded roses being fastened near the left temple and
another at the throat. At the foot is a flounce which, when the wearer
walks, shows occasional glimpses of pink silk and cream lace, and the
wide sleeves bear sequin-embroidered cuffs and lace ruffles. A quaint
domino is of gauze of an opaque whiteness, strewn with black and gold
spots of varying sizes, the hood gathered up in the middle beneath a big
white poppy, the petals tipped with gold and the centre of black silk.
For obvious reasons, many dominoes, both for men and women, were made
reversible. Occasionally, in addition to the hood, a towering erection
was worn on the head, causing the wearer to appear of supernatural
height, and the more mysterious. And I pause here to observe with
emphasis that at a masked ball a domino is invested with special interest
when surmounted by a fantastic headgear, and that such an incongruous
alliance as that of a white-powdered and curled wig and the black silk
domino shaped as a gaberdine, with a full hood and lace-frilled silk
mask, creates an effect beneath which an identity may be most easily
concealed. Far more desirable, however, in the interests of the
beautiful, is it to select the domino and head-dress in sympathy; and
I may quote as a successful blend a long cloak of jet-spangled net,
with jet-spangled hood falling round the shoulders, and a high-pointed
head-dress of the fourteenth century, with a pendent jet veil and a jet
mask to cover the face, the chin being held by a few folds of net to
match the veil. Dominoes made of net oversewn with petals of flowers, the
hoods adorned to match and well drawn over the hair, and the masks of
lace in butterfly shape, may also be quoted as decorative; and so too may
the domino of accordion-pleated silk, but custom has somewhat staled the
charms of this, and I would vote rather for the more sumptuous brocade,
and urge the importance of liberality in its folds.
The mask has, at all times, been the essential complement of the domino.
In its ordinary form it consists of a stiff shape arranged to fit the
face as far as the upper lip. Moulded to the nose, it is provided with
slits for the eyes and nostrils, and fastened by means of a button and
a narrow elastic band. Now and then it is edged with a frill of lace
which conceals the chin and further enhances the disguise. Black satin
and velvet are most frequently employed to cover this kind of mask, the
latter, by the way, being far more becoming; but the black lace mask
is an innovation of modern times, sometimes failing in its purpose of
disguise, and the chiffon spangled mask may be accredited with like
disadvantage. Coloured masks, or _loups_, as they are termed in French,
are also worn, but have little to commend them, being grotesque and ugly.
Authorities differ concerning the origin of masks. The most generally
accepted theory is that they were first employed at the festivals of
Bacchus, and recent discoveries have proved them to have been in use
in ancient Egypt, numerous specimens having been found at the heads of
mummy-cases. These early examples are composed of a substance closely
resembling papier-maché, and painted in imitation of life.
It was in Greece, however, that the mask reached its apotheosis. There it
formed an indispensable factor in classic drama. Its introduction on the
stage is attributed to Thespis, who is held to have substituted masks for
cosmetics.
There is no confusing the mask peculiar to the Greek theatre with that of
any other country or period. The industry rose to the dignity of an art,
as the beauty-loving Hellenes would tolerate nothing ugly or ill-made on
their actors.
The dramatic masks consisted of an entire head, with hair, beard,
and ornaments arranged in exact accordance with the character to
be portrayed. All the features were strongly accentuated, vividly
coloured, and of supernatural size. The eyes were deeply sunken, the
nose exaggerated, and the mouth open. Inside the parted lips was a metal
construction designed to make the voice carry a considerable distance--a
necessary measure, as all performances took place in colossal open-air
buildings. The moment an actor appeared upon the scene a glance at his
mask sufficed to determine the rôle he was about to play; and, whether
masculine or feminine, the details were equally exact.
How comprehensive the range of selection was may be gathered from the
fact that masks were broadly divided into three great classes, namely,
Tragical, Comical, Satirical, each of which was in turn subdivided as
follows:--
1. Eight masks of old men, typifying differences of age, rank, humour,
etc.
2. A series of eleven masks of young men.
3. Seven varieties of masks of slaves.
4. Eighteen masks of women.
In addition to the above, the masks depicting gods and heroes were placed
in a separate category. These never varied, and each displayed the
attributes of the deity portrayed. Thus Actæon appeared with the antlers
of a deer, Argus with a hundred eyes, Diana with a crescent; and so on.
The earliest masks were fashioned from wood fibre, which in due time gave
place to leather, and finally to wax.
In Rome the art of mask-making was further elaborated. Trades and
professions were distinctively personated. Double-faced masks were
introduced, one side representing laughter and the other tears, so that
by turning his right or left profile to the audience, the actor could
change his expression at will.
Among the Romans the use of the mask was not restricted to the theatre.
It was worn in processions, and at certain festivals, notably those
dedicated to Pan, where masks of vine leaves were customary. A strange
funeral rite consisted of a performance given by a comedian wearing a
mask made in the likeness of the defunct. This mummer's mission was to
follow the coffin, acting and reciting the salient features of the dead
man's career, impartially setting forth both the good and the bad.
In the reign of Augustus, patrician ladies were in the habit, when
indoors, of wearing masks delicately perfumed and treated with cosmetics.
This fashion was revived by Henry III. of France and his courtiers for
the preservation of the complexion.
The fall of the Roman Empire marked the disappearance of the mask from
the stage. From then onward it appeared only in pantomime, where the mask
of Punchinello is familiar to this day. The nutcracker countenance, with
its highly-coloured cheeks and tinkling bells, is a survival of extreme
antiquity. I pause to wonder who the old Greek may have been whom the
maker of masks thus immortalised? There is a world of cynicism, pathos,
and philosophy in his face. I feel that he sorrowed, and that it was not
because he knew too little, but because he knew too much.
The practice of wearing masks, by private individuals in everyday life,
started, as did the fashion for dominoes, in Venice. There the black
satin and velvet masks, still worn at fancy-dress balls and during
Carnival time, first obtained, to be enthusiastically adopted in France
and England a little later on. In the latter country, however, the use
of the mask never degenerated into an abuse as in France, although masks
became so fashionable in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that
society ladies deemed them an essential accessory to the toilette. They
were not always worn: sometimes they were carried in the hand and held up
to the face only when necessary. The exclusive elected to appear masked
at the theatre and other public places.
But the universal wearing of masks became such a public menace and
incentive to crime that in 1535 an edict was issued in France
prohibiting the fashion excepting during Carnival time. Under Henry IV.
the privilege was restricted to the nobility, and it was made a capital
crime for any commoner to don a mask.
With Louis XIII. the mask fell into temporary abeyance, only to be
revived with renewed vigour under his successor. The first occasion
upon which Louis XIV. appeared in a mask was at the Palais Cardinal in
January 1656. From that date until January 1668 he was an enthusiastic
supporter of the vogue. The fashion, prevalent in 1650, of ladening masks
with superfluous trimming was of but short duration. While the craze
lasted a ruching of lace adorned the top, a lace frill the bottom, and
the eyes were encrusted with various decorations to such an extent that
ladies, descending from their carriages, were obliged to be led, it being
impossible for them to see. The preposterous vogue inspired Scarron's
ditty:
Dirai-je comment ces fantasques
Qui portent dentelles à leurs masques
En chamarrent les trous des yeux
Croyant que leur masque en est mieux.
Like its associate the domino, the mask gradually faded away with the
passing of the eighteenth century. In Italy it enjoyed the longest
and most undisputed sway. There it was worn by all members of the
community, including the clergy. The Council of Ten, the Inquisitors,
and the members of the Holy Office generally, both in Italy and Spain,
were closely masked when employed upon the exercise of their terrible
functions.
Certain unwritten but universal and indisputable laws rule the wearing
of masks. Whether worn privately or in public, its disguise has at all
times and in all countries been respected as inviolably sacred. To the
masked the greatest extravagance of language and gesture is permitted.
He is allowed to indulge in acrid personalities and proclaim scathing
truths which, even if addressed to the monarch himself, go unrebuked. To
strike a mask is a serious offence, while in no class of society, however
degraded, would any one dare to unmask a woman. Yet another prerogative
entitles the masked to invite any woman present, whether masked or not,
to dance with him, etiquette decreeing that the queen of the land may not
claim exemption from this rule. Dear to romance is the masked highwayman,
who flourished until the advent of railways robbed him of his occupation;
and a grim figure is ever the masked headsman.
Of numerous romances, none has equalled in fascination that of the
impenetrable mystery of le Masque de Fer. Held by many to have been
brother to Louis XIV., this strange prisoner of State guarded his
incognito to the end. He was never seen without a pliable steel
mask provided with a movable mouthpiece to allow of his eating with
comparative ease. Other peculiarities of his were his fondness for
exquisitely fine linen and his habit of invariably dressing in brown.
No mode ever invented has appealed so strongly to the imagination, or
given rise to such tragedies and comedies, as that of the mask, and no
other has led its followers to such flights of folly. Nevertheless, I
find myself sighing for the days when it invested the neutral-tinted
world with the glamour of romance, twin sister of mystery, which was the
prevailing atmosphere when fashion decreed that men and women should
assume a common disguise and flit, shadow-like, among other nameless
shadows through the complicated mazes of their social highways and
byways.