THE MASQUERADE
I commenced my duties in the music gallery on one of the nights devoted
to the amusement called the Masquerade. It was an amusement new to me
and to all except those who can afford to spend five guineas, besides
the purchase of a dress, on the pleasure of a single night. I understand
the Masquerade has taken a great hold upon the fashionable world and
upon those who have money to spend and are eager for the excitement of a
new pleasure. 'Give--give' is the cry of those who live, day by day, for
the pleasure of the moment.
Truly in a Masquerade there is everything; the novelty or the beauty of
the disguise: the music: the dancing: the revelry after supper: the
gambling: the pursuit of beauty in disguise--it is wonderful to reflect,
in the quiet corner of the earth in which I write, that, across the
Atlantic, in London City, there are thousands who are never happy save
when they are crowded together, seeking such excitement as is afforded
by the masquerade, the assembly, the promenade and the pleasure garden.
Here we have no such excitements and we want none: life for us flows in
a tranquil stream: for them it flows away in waterfalls and cataracts,
leaping to the sea.
Madame managed her masquerades as she did everything, with the greatest
care: she arranged everything: the selection of the music: the
decorations: the supper: even the chalking of the floor. The doors were
thrown open at eleven. Long before that hour the Square was filled with
people, some were come to see the fashionable throng arrive--the fine
dresses of the ladies and the masquerading of the men. Some were come to
pick the pockets of the others. There was no confusion: the hackney
coaches and the chairs were directed by Madame's servants, who stood
outside, to arrive by one road and to depart by another. Thus, one after
the other, without quarrelling or fighting, drove to the doors,
deposited their company and departed. The same order was observed in the
departure.
For my own part, as there was nothing to do before eleven, I amused
myself by going round and seeing the rooms all lit up with candles in
sconces or by candelabra and painted with flowers and fruit and Cupids
even to the ceiling, and hung with costly curtains. It is a large and
spacious house, of commanding appearance, built by an Earl of Carlisle.
There is a grand staircase, broad and stately: when a well-dressed
Company are going up and down it looks like the staircase of a Palace:
on the landing I found flowers in pots and bushes in tubs which gave the
place a rural appearance and so might lead the thoughts of the visitor
insensibly into the country. There are a great many rooms in the
original House which has been very handsomely increased by the addition
of two large chambers, one above the other, built out at the back, over
part of the garden. One of these new rooms was the Ball Room which I
have already mentioned. The other room below it, equally large but not
so high, was used as the supper-room. It had its walls painted with
dancing Satyrs and Fauns: gilded pilasters, raised an inch or so,
relieved the flatness of the wall. This was the supper-room: for the
moment it had nothing in it but long narrow tables arranged down the
room in rows: the servants were already beginning to spread upon them
the napery and lay the knives and forks for supper.
On the ground-floor on the right hand of the entrance hall was a large
room used as a card room. Here stood a long table covered with a green
cloth for the players of those games which require a Bank or a large
company. They are Hazard, Lansquenet, Loo, Faro, and I know not how many
more. But, whatever their names, they all mean the same thing and only
one thing, viz., gambling. Along the wall on either side were small
tables for parties of two or four, who came to play Quadrille, Whist,
Piquet, Ecarté, and the like--games more dangerous to the young and the
beginner than the more noisy gambling of the crowd. Candles stood on all
the small tables and down the middle of the great table: there were also
candles in sconces on the wall. As yet none of them were lit.
While I was looking round the empty room, Madame herself came in dressed
in white satin, and carrying her domino in her hand.
'I look into every room,' she said, 'before the doors are open: but into
this room I look two or three times every evening.'
'You come to look at the players?'
'I have a particular reason for coming here. I will tell you some time
or other--perhaps to-night, Will. If so, it will be the greatest
surprise of your life--the very greatest surprise. Yes--I watch the
players. Their faces amuse me. When I see a man losing time after time,
and remaining calm and unmoved, I say to myself, "There is a gentleman."
Play is the finest test of good breeding. When a man curses his luck;
curses his neighbour for bringing him bad luck; bangs the table with his
fist; and calls upon all the Gods to smite him dead, I say to myself,
"That is a city spark."'
'I fear I am a city spark.'
'When I see two sitting together at a table quiet and alone I ask myself
which is the sharper and which is the flat. By watching them for a few
minutes I can always find out--one of them always is the sharper, you
see, and the other always the flat. And if you watch them for a few
minutes you can always find out. Beware of this room, Will. Be neither
sharper nor flat.'
She turned and went off to see some other room.
Looking out at the back I saw that the garden had been hung with
coloured lamps, and looked gay and bright. It was a warm fine evening:
there would be many who would choose the garden for a promenade. Other
rooms there were: the Blue Room: the Star Room: the Red Room: the
Chinese Room: I know not what, nor for what they were all used.
But the time approached. I climbed up the steep stairs and took my place
in the music gallery, where already most of the orchestra were
assembled: like them I tuned my violin, and then waited the arrival of
the Company.
They came by tickets which included supper. Each ticket cost five
guineas, and admitted one gentleman or two ladies including supper. It
seems a monstrous price for a single evening; but the cost of the
entertainment was enormous. The ticket itself was a beautiful thing
representing Venus with Cupids. They were gazing with interest upon a
Nymph lying beside a fountain. She had, as yet, nothing upon her, and
she was apparently engaged in thinking what she would wear for the
evening. A pretty thing, prettily drawn. But five guineas for a single
evening!
As soon as the doors were thrown open, a line of footmen received the
company, took their tickets and showed them into the tea-room where that
refreshment was offered before the ball commenced. When this room was
full, the doors leading to the ball-rooms and the other rooms were also
thrown open, and the company streamed along the great gallery which was
lined with flowering shrubs. Here was stationed a small string band
playing soft and pleasing music. Then they crowded up the Grand
staircase. When most of the masqueraders were within the Ball-room, and
before they had done looking about them and crying out for astonishment
at the mirrors and the candelabra and the lights, we struck up the music
in the gallery, and as soon as order was a little restored, the minuets
began.
For my own part I love to look upon dancing. The country-dance expresses
the happiness of youth and the gladness of life. The hey and jig are
rustic joys which cannot keep still, but must needs jump about to show
their pleasure. But the minuet expresses the refinement, the courtesies,
the politeness of life. It is artificial, but the politeness of Fashion
in the Civilized world must be acknowledged to be an improvement on
mere Nature, which is too often barbarous in its expression and coarse
in its treatment. I know not any of our music which could be played to
such a dance of savages as the Guinea Traders report from the West Coast
and the Bight of Benin.
The company flowed in fast. All, except a few who kept about the doors
and did not venture in the crowd, were in masquerade dress, and even
those who were not carried dominoes in their hands. One would have
thought the whole world had sent representatives to the ball. There were
pig-tailed Chinese; Dervishes in turbans; American Indians with
tomahawks; Arabs in long silken robes; negroes and negresses; proud
Castilians; Scots in plaid; Monks and Romish Priests; Nuns and Sisters;
milkmaids in dowlass; ploughboys in smocks; lawyers; soldiers and
sailors: there were gods and goddesses; Venus came clad much like her
figure in the books; Diana carried her bow; the Graces endeavoured to
appear as they are commonly represented: Apollo came with his lyre; Mars
with his shield and spear: Vulcan with his lame leg: Hercules with his
club. There were dozens of Cupids: there were dozens of Queens;
Cleopatra; Dido; Mary, Queen of Scots: and Queen Elizabeth. There were
famous kings as Henry the Fifth; Henry the Eighth: Charles the First;
and Charles the Second. There were potentates, as the Pope, the Sultan,
the Grand Cham, Prester John, and the Emperor of China: there were
famous women, mostly kings' favourites, as the Fair-Haired Editha: Fair
Rosamund: Jane Shore, the most beautiful of London maidens: and merry
Nell Gwynne, once an Orange Girl: there were half a dozen ladies
representing Joan of Arc in armour: there was a bear-ward leading a man
dressed as a bear who made as if he would hug the women (at which they
screamed in pretended affright) and danced to the music of a crowd:
there were gipsies and fortune-tellers: there were two girls--nobody
knew who they were--one of whom danced on a tight-rope, while the other
turned somersaults. There were Harlequin, Columbine, Pantaloon and
clown, as if straight from Drury Lane: there was the showman who put his
show in a corner and loudly proclaimed the wonders that were within:
there was the Cheap Jack in another corner, who pretended to sell
everything: there was the itinerant Quack who bawled his nostrums for
prolonging life and restoring youth and arresting beauty: there was the
orange girl, of Drury Lane, impudent and ready with an answer and a joke
to anything: there were dancing-girls who ran in and out, cleared a
space; danced: then ran to another place and danced again. I learned,
afterwards, that the dancers and tumblers, with many of the masks, were
actors, actresses, and dancing-girls, hired from the Theatre by Madame
herself, in order to ensure vivacity and activity and movement in the
evening. If these things were neglected or left to the masquers
themselves, the assembly would fall quite flat, very few persons having
the least power to play any part or keep up any character. Punchinello,
for instance, trod the floor with a face like a physician for solemnity:
the clown could not dance or laugh or make other people laugh: and so
with the women: they thought their part was played as soon as they were
dressed.
Meantime, the music played on without stopping. After the minuets, we
proceeded to the country dance. But you must not think that at the
Masquerade we conducted our dancing with the same order and form as an
ordinary assembly. I looked down upon a scene which was quite unlike the
ordinary assembly, and yet was the most beautiful, the most animated,
the most entrancing that I had ever witnessed. The room was like a
flower-bed in July filled with flowers of every colour. It was enough,
at first, to look at the whole company, as one might look upon a garden
filled with flowers. Presently I began to detach couples or small
groups. First, I observed the fair domino who lured on the amorous
youth--dressed, perhaps, as a monk--by running away and yet looking
back--a Parthian Amazon of Love. She must be young, he thought, with
such a sprightly air and so easy a step: she must be beautiful, with
such a figure, to match her face: she must be rich, with such a
habit--with those gold chains and bracelets and pearls. Presently the
young fellow caught his goddess: he spoke to her and he led her to a
seat among the plants where they could sit a little retired and apart.
But from the gallery I could see them. He took her hand: he pressed her,
saying I know not what: presently she took off her domino: and disclosed
loveliness: the youth fell into raptures: she held him off: she put on
her domino again: she rose: he begged for a little more discourse--it
was a pretty pantomime--she refused: she went back to the general
company: they remained together all the night: when they went away in
the morning he led her out whispering, and one hopes that this was the
beginning of a happy match. The removal of the domino to let the
gentleman see the masked face was, I observed, very common, yet it was
not always that the little comedy ended, as they say, happily. Sometimes
the lady, after showing her face, would run away and exchange a
kerchief, or a mantle, with a friend so as to mystify and bewilder her
pursuer who could not tell what had become of his lovely partner.
Such were the little comedies performed before the eyes of the
spectators from the music gallery. As for the rest, the mountebanks
pranced, and the dancing-girls and the tumbling-girls capered, and they
all laughed and sang and gave themselves wholly to the mirth and
merriment of the moment.
Some of the men I observed were drunk when they arrived: others
pretended to be drunk in order that they might roll about and catch hold
of the girls. It has always been to me a marvel that women do not mark
their displeasure, at the intrusion upon their pleasures, of men who are
drunk. They mar all the enjoyment of society whether at the theatre, or
at such assemblies as this, or in the drawing-room. Ladies of fashion
have it in their power to put an end to the habit at a stroke of the
pen, so to speak: namely, by forbidding the presence at their assemblies
of gentlemen in liquor: they should be refused admission however great
their position, even if their breast is ablaze with stars.
There were many stars present, and with them ladies whose head-dresses
were covered with diamonds. It was rumoured that Madame retained in her
service for these occasions, a body of stout fellows on the watch for
any attempt upon the jewels. It was also rumoured that there were R--l
P--s present at the Masquerade: the young D-- of Y--k, for instance, it
was said positively, was among the company, but so disguised that none
could recognise him. Some of the ladies wore no dominoes; but these
persons, I observed, did not leave their partners and took no share in
the merriment. Indeed, they seemed, for the most part, not to laugh at
the fun: I suppose they found it somewhat low and vulgar. In our gallery
they were well known. 'That is the Duchess of Q-- with the rubies: the
lady with the diamond spray in her hair is Lady H--: the lady with the
strings of pearls round her neck and arms is the Lady Florence D--,' and
so forth--with scandalous stories and gossip which belonged, I thought,
more to the footmen in the hall than to the music gallery. We had no
such talk at the Dog and Duck. Perhaps, however, the reason for our
reticence in that favourite retreat and rendezvous of the aristocracy
was that there were no women at the Dog and Duck whose lives were not
scandalous. The stories, therefore, would become monotonous.
At one, a procession was formed for supper. There was no order or rank
observed because there were plenty of persons who masqueraded as
noblemen, and it would take too long to examine into their claims. The
small band of stringed instruments, of which I have spoken, headed the
procession, played the company into the supper-room, and played while
they were taking supper. There was not room for more than half in the
supper-room: the rest waited their turn.
'It is a rest for us,' said the First violin, 'we shall get some supper
downstairs. Eat and drink plenty, for what we have done already is a
flea-bite compared with what we have to do.'
It was, indeed. They came back, their cheeks flushed, their eyes bright
with wine. Some of them too tipsy to stand, rolled upon the rout seats,
and so fell fast asleep.
I observed that the great ladies and the gentlemen with them did not
return after supper: their absence removed some restraint: and the
gentlemen who had arrived without a masquerade dress did not come back
after supper. The company was thinner, but it was much louder: there was
no longer any pretence of keeping up a character: the Quack left off
bawling his wares: the showman deserted his show: the fortune-tellers
left their tents: the Hermit left his cell: the dancing and tumbling
girls joined in the general throng: there were many sets formed but
little regular dancing: all were broken up by rushes of young men more
than half drunk: they caught the girls and kissed them--nothing loth,
though they shrieked: it was a proof that the gentlewomen had all gone,
that no one resented this rudeness--either a partner or the girl
herself: the scene became an orgy: all together were romping, touzling,
laughing, shrieking, and quarrelling.
Still the music kept up: still we played with unflinching arm and all
the spirit which can be put into them, the most stirring dance tunes. At
last they left off trying to dance: some of the women lay back on the
rout seats partly with liquor overcome and partly with fatigue: men were
sprawling unable to get up: bottles of wine were brought up from the
supper-room and handed round. The men grew every minute noisier: the
women shrieked louder and more shrilly--perhaps with cause. And every
minute some slipped away and the crowd grew thinner, till there were
left little more than a heap of drunken men and weary women.
At last word came up that it was five o'clock, the time for closing.
The conductor laid down his violin: the night's work was over: we would
go.
The people below clamoured for more music, but in vain. Then they, too,
began to stream out noisily.
As I passed the supper-room I saw that half a dozen young fellows had
got in and were noisily clamouring for champagne. The waiters who were
clearing the supper took no notice. Then one of them with a bludgeon set
to work and began to smash plates, glasses, dishes, bottles, windows, in
a kind of a frenzy of madness or mischief. Half a dozen stout fellows
rushed at him: carried him out of the supper-room and so into the Square
outside. It was a fitting end for the Masquerade.
While I was looking on, I was touched on the arm by a mask. I knew her
by her white satin dress for Madame.
I had seen her from time to time flitting about the room, sometimes with
a partner, sometimes alone. She was conversing one moment with a
gentleman whose star betokened his rank, and the next with one of her
paid actors or actresses, directing the sports. I had seen her dancing
two minuets in succession each with a grace and dignity which no other
woman in the room could equal.
'A noisy end, Will, is it not? We always finish this way. The young
fellow who smashed the glass is Lord St. Osyth. To-morrow morning he
will have to pay the bill. 'Tis a good-natured fool. See: they are
carrying out the last of the drunken hogs. Faugh! How drunk they are!'
'I have watched you all the evening, Madame. Believe me, there were none
of the ladies who approached you in the minuet.'
'Naturally, Will. For I have danced it on the stage, where we can at
least surpass the minuet of the Assembly. What do they understand of
action and carriage, and how to bear the body and how to use the arms
and how to handle the fan? But it was not to talk about my
dancing--Will--I said that perhaps I should be able to show you
something or to tell you something--that might astonish you. Come with
me: but first--I would not have you recognised, put on this
domino'--there were a good many lying about--'So--Now follow me and
prepare for the greatest surprise of your whole life.'
In the hall there were still many waiting for their carriages and
chairs. Outside, there was a crowd now closing in upon the carriages,
and now beaten back by Madame's men who were armed with clubs and kept
the pickpockets and thieves at bay. And there was a good deal of
bawling, cursing, and noise.
Madame led the way into the card-room. Play had apparently been going on
all night: the candles on the table were burning low: the players had
nearly all gone: the servants were taking the shillings from under the
candlesticks: at the long table, two or three were still left: they were
not playing: they were settling up their accounts.
A young fellow got up as we came in. 'What's the good of crying, Harry?'
he said, to his companion. 'I've dropped five hundred. Well--better luck
to-morrow.'
'Poor lad!' said Madame. 'That morrow will never come. 'Tis a pretty
lad: I am sorry for him. He will end in a Debtors' Prison or he will
carry a musket in the ranks.'
They were settling, one by one, with the player who had held the Bank
for the evening. There were no disputes: they had some system by means
of which their loses or gains were represented by counters. The business
of the conclusion was the paying or receiving of money as shown by their
counters which were accepted as money. For instance, if a person took so
many counters he incurred so much liability. But, I do not understand
what were the rules. The man who held the Bank was, I heard afterwards,
one of those who live by keeping the Bank against all comers. He was an
elderly man of fine manners, extremely courtly in his behaviour and his
dress. One by one he received the players, of whom there were a dozen or
so, and examined their liabilities or their claims. There was left but
one of the players, a man whose back was turned to me.
'Sir,' he said politely, 'I am grieved indeed to keep a gentleman
waiting so long. Let me now release you. I hope, Sir, that the balance
will prove in your favour. It pleases me, believe me, that a gentleman
should leave my table the winner. So, Sir, thank you. I perceive, Sir,
that your good fortune has deserted you for this evening. I trust it is
but a temporary cloud. After all it is a trifle--a bagatelle--a mere
matter of one hundred and fifty-five guineas--one hundred and
fifty-five. Your Honour is not, perhaps, good at figures, but, should
you choose to verify----'
The other man whose back and shoulders were still the only part of him
presented to my view, snatched the paper and looked at it and threw it
on the table.
'It is right, Sir?'
'I suppose it is right. The luck was against me, as usual; the luck
never is for me.'
I knew the voice and started.
Madame whispered in my ear softly. 'The greatest surprise of your life.'
'One hundred and fifty-five guineas,' said the gentleman who kept the
Bank. 'If you are not able to discharge the liability to-night, Sir, I
shall be pleased to wait upon you to-morrow.'
'No! No! I can pay my way still--pay my way,' He pulled out a long purse
filled with guineas.
'Your luck will certainly turn, Sir, before long. Why I have seen
instances----'
'Damn it, Sir, leave me and my affairs alone. My luck never will turn.
Don't I know my own affairs?'
The voice could be none other than my cousin Matthew's. I was startled.
My head which had been filled with the noise of the music and the
excitement of the revelry became clear at once and attentive and
serious. My cousin Matthew. Impossible not to know that voice!
He poured out the guineas on the table and began to count them, dividing
them into heaps of ten. Then he counted them over again, very slowly,
and, at last, with greatest reluctance passed them over to the other
player, who in his turn counted them over, taking up the pieces and
biting them in order to see if they were good.
'I thank you, Sir,' he said, gravely. 'I trust that on a future
occasion----'
Matthew waved his hand impatiently. The other turned and walked down
the room. The candles were mostly out by this time; only two or three
were left on the point of expiring: the room was in a kind of twilight.
Matthew turned his head--it _was_ my cousin: he seemed not to see us: he
sank into a chair and laid his head in his hands groaning.
No one was left in the room except Madame, Matthew and myself.
Madame stepped forward: the table was between her and my cousin. As for
me I kept in the background watching and listening. What might this
thing mean? Matthew, the sober, upright, religious London citizen!
Matthew the worthy descendant of the great Puritan preacher! Matthew the
denouncer of wicked musicians! Matthew the scourge of frivolity and
vice! Matthew, my supplanter! Matthew in a gaming room! Matthew playing
all night long and losing a hundred and fifty-five guineas in a single
night! What was one to believe next?
Jenny bent over the table: she still kept on her domino.
'Mr. Matthew Halliday,' she said.
He lifted his head, stupidly.
'I congratulate you, Mr. Matthew Halliday,' she went on. 'You have
passed a most pleasant and profitable evening. A hundred and fifty-five
guineas! It is nothing, of course, to a rich merchant like yourself.'
'Who are you?' he asked. 'What concern is it of yours?'
'I am one who knows you. One who knows you already, and too well.'
He stood up. 'I am going, Mistress,' he said--'unless you have something
else to say.'
'Mr. Halliday--you lost two hundred guineas last night, and on Sunday
you lost four hundred.'
'Zounds, Miss or Mistress, how do you know?'
'I know because I am told. You are a very rich man, Mr. Halliday, are
you not? You must be to lose so much every night. You must be very rich
indeed. You have whole fleets of your own, and Quays and Warehouses
filled with goods--and you inherited a great fortune only two years
ago.'
He sank back in a chair and gazed stupidly upon her. 'How speeds your
noble trade? How fares it with your fleets? How much is left of your
great fortune?' He growled, but made no reply. Curiosity and wonder
seized him and held him. Besides, what reply could he make?
'Who are you?' he asked.
'I will tell you, perhaps. How do you stand with Mr. Probus?'
He sprang to his feet again. 'This is too much. How dare you speak of my
private affairs? What do you know about Mr. Probus?'
'How long is it, Mr. Halliday, since you agreed with Mr. Probus that
your cousin should be locked up in a Debtors' Prison there to remain
till he died, or sold his birthright?'
He answered with a kind of roar, as if he had no words left. He stood
before her--the table between--half in terror--half in rage. Who was
this woman? Besides, he was already very nearly beside himself over the
long continuance of his bad luck.
'Who are you?' he asked again. 'What do you know about my cousin?'
'I will tell you, directly, who I am. About your cousin, Matthew, I warn
you solemnly. The next attempt you make upon his life and liberty will
bring upon your head--yours--not to speak of the others--the greatest
disaster that you can imagine, or can dread. The greatest disaster,' she
repeated solemnly, 'that you can imagine or can dread.' She looked like
a Prophetess, standing before him with hand raised and with solemn
voice.
'This is fooling. What do you know? Who are you?'
'I cannot tell what kind of disaster it will be--the greatest--the worst
possible--it will be. Be warned. Keep Mr. Probus at arm's length or he
will ruin you--he will ruin you, unless he has ruined you already.'
'You cannot frighten me with bugaboo stories. If you will not tell me
who you are. I shall go.'
She tore off her glove. 'Does this hand,' she said, 'remind you of
nothing?'
On the third finger of the white hand was a wedding-ring which I had
never seen there before.
He stared at the hand. Perhaps he suspected. I think he did. No one who
had once seen that hand could possibly forget it.
She tore off her domino. 'You have doubtless forgotten, Matthew, by this
time, the face--of your wife.'
He cursed her. He stood up and cursed her in round terms. I don't know
why. He accused her of nothing. But he cursed her. She was the origin
and cause of his bad luck.
I would have interfered. 'Let be--let be,' she said. 'The time will
surely come when the ruin which I have foretold will fall upon him. Let
us wait till then. That will be sufficient punishment for him. I see it
coming--I know not when. I see it coming. Let him curse.'
He desisted. He ran out of the room without another word.
She looked after him with a deep sigh.
'I told you, Will, that I had a surprise for you--the greatest surprise
of your life. I will tell you more to-morrow if you will come in the
afternoon. You shall hear more about Matthew, my husband Matthew. Get
you gone now and home to bed with all the speed you may. Good-night,
cousin Will--cousin Will.'
I left her as I was bidden. I walked home through the deserted streets
of early morning. My brain was burning. Matthew the gambler! Matthew the
husband of Jenny! Matthew the gambler. Why--everything shouted the word
as I passed: the narrow streets of Soho: the water lapping the arches of
Westminster Bridge: the keen air blowing over the Bank; all shouted the
words--'Matthew the gambler! Matthew the husband of Jenny! Matthew the
gambler!' And when I lay down to sleep the words that rang in my ear
were 'Matthew my husband--Cousin Will!--Cousin Will!'