...or, at least, a story about an incident. I don't have any way to prove that it actually occurred. But true or not, the story illustrates something I've been noticing about fancy dress balls over the course of the last month. The story was published in issue #40 (March, 1885) of The Nassau Literary Magazine, which was and is associated with Princeton University and is fully indexed online. The author was John Cass (J. C.) Mathis, Princeton class of 1886, the author of twenty-eight pieces for the magazine from 1884 to 1886. These appear to have included fiction, non-fiction, and poetry, so it's hard to say from his publication record whether this story was memoir or fiction. I lean toward thinking it was the latter, but even as fiction, it's an interesting example of what was seen to be realistic at the time.
The story was supposedly related to Mathis by a friend who had just returned from a tour of Europe. While there, this nameless friend and become close to Victor, son of a prominent family. It was ball season in Paris, between New Year's and Lent, and Mathis' friend was invited to a fancy dress ball at the home of Victor's mother, Madam de Brissac. Apparently masks were worn as well as costumes. Details are given only of one: a lady in Spanish costume with whom Mathis' friend was quite taken:
There was one face and form that was especially attractive from amongst them all. She was of a southern type of beauty, dark, tall and graceful. She wore a Spanish costume of rich black good, cut low in front, and sleeveless, with diamond ornaments. I approached her. We strolled into the conservatory, we promenaded, we danced. I was struck with her beauty and many charms; but, in the whirl of excitement, soon found myself at the side of another. Throughout the evening, however, I kept my eyes upon this lady in black. She was always prominent, always surrounded by admirers, always smiling, always pleasing those around her. I was deeply interested, and that night I dreamt of sunny Spain.
Mathis' friend left out a few pertinent details here, presumably for storytelling effect.
Unfortunately, an Italian gentleman by the name of De Amicis was also attracted to the lady, and when, after the ball, he confessed this attraction to Mathis' friend, the friend laughed uncontrollably, offending De Amicis and causing him to challenge the friend to a duel. The matter was only resolved when the friend took him along to visit the "lady" and revealed that she was, in fact, none other than young M. Victor, who offered the mask, hair, dress, and jewels he had worn to the ball as proof, along with his face. De Amicis never lived down his mistake and was basically laughed out of Paris. The friend said he had been fooled at first but discovered the deception because he and Victor were such good friends.
Mathis was not the most scintillating writer, but it's a cute little tale. I don't actually care much whether it is true. I am more fascinated by the fact that Mathis and his friend don't seem to be particularly scandalized by the idea of young Brissac cross-dressing for a ball or bothered by the friend having mistaken him for a woman and flirted with him. The friend just thought it was an excellent joke on De Amicis. Take a moment to imagine a similar intrigue nowadays. It could end very badly. I don't know quite whether to admire the characters' innocence or sophistication here, or whether both or either could have extended as far as an acceptance of similar antics in America or elsewhere. It could have been that it was acceptable because it was foreign, the sort of thing the French did and therefore not shocking, or something that was expected to be shocking to the reader, but was accepted because it was far away in a different (degenerate?) culture.
Lots to wonder about here.
A full transcription of the story is below.
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An Incident of Parisian Society.
"By Jove! If you want to see an elegant ball, Paris is the place. You know the Frenchman's passion for the dance, but to form any idea of the perfection to which he has carried the art of giving elaborate balls is impossible. They are exquisite, and simply grand."
This was the remark of an intimate friend, who had just returned from an extended European tour, as we were smoking together our after-dinner cigars, and discussing the probably success of the next great social event.
"There is a continuous stream of them from New Years until the beginning of Lent. Throughout that time Parisian blood is at fever heat, the prolonged excitement never abates, and, of a truth, Prince Gayety rules supreme. Every night at twelve, he summons forth his subjects, who rush into the streets, quickly step into carriages and cabriolets, are dashed over the pavements, and assemble in ball-rooms to pay devotion to him, their lord and ruler. Did I ever tell you of the amusing incident connected with a fancy dress ball, given by Madame de Brissac? Well, it was one of the finest of the season last year, and, being a very intimate friend of Madame's son, a handsome, clever fellow, I was lucky enough to be invited. I assure you that it is seldom that an American is so favored. You can say all you want to about the French man's love for the Americans, but it is a mistake. He is affable, there is no doubt about that, but it is a kind of affability that keeps you at a distance. He seems frank, but you can seldom enjoy with him an easy and familiar conversation, and for him to consider you good enough for French society is an extremely rare thing. It was, then, with a great deal of pleasure that I received my invitation, establishing, as it did, the fact that I was in the confidence of my young Parisian friend.
"What a ball-room that was! Fancy dress! That means in Paris something more elaborate than it does here. It means every one who attends shall make a careful study of his costume, that it be both gorgeous and unique, and that the minutest details shall be perfect. The whole scene was Elysian. The music swelled and died away in strains of faultless measure. The lights gleamed with dazzling lustre, only to be reflected back by jewels, which gave he rays a thousand different hues, and in their cushions of gold, encircling wrist or pearl-white neck, or blazing from the hair or bosom of a dancer, seemed to mock Phoebus himself at the zenith of his glory. The richest of perfumes filled the air. Flowers, too, lent their fragrance. Looking yonder, where tall palms o'er spread with clustering leaves, and orange trees and laurel almost hide from view the dancers walking to and fro, or seated on elaborate couches, you might believe that you were in Florence or Naples. But, no; it was Paris! And, circling round and round, weaving in and out, ever changing, ever moving, laughed and danced the merry crowd.
"There was one face and form that was especially attractive from amongst them all. She was of a southern type of beauty, dark, tall and graceful. She wore a Spanish costume of rich black good, cut low in front, and sleeveless, with diamond ornaments. I approached her. We strolled into the conservatory, we promenaded, we danced. I was struck with her beauty and many charms; but, in the whirl of excitement, soon found myself at the side of another. Throughout the evening, however, I kept my eyes upon this lady in black. She was always prominent, always surrounded by admirers, always smiling, always pleasing those around her. I was deeply interested, and that night I dreamt of sunny Spain.
"The next evening after the ball I was supping my coffee at the Grand Cafe' and chatting to an acquaintance by the name of De Amicis, a member of an Italian legation at Paris. He was a European gentleman, and delightfully free in his conversation. We were discussing the merits of the many splendid 'turn-outs' as they rolled by the window, gay with their glistening varnish, gaudily liveried footmen and prancing horses, until the carriage of Madam de Brissac passed, and this, naturally enough, turned the conversation to the ball. De Amicis had been delighted with it, and with the greatest of seriousness began to tell me about a certain dancer that had captivated him. He said, 'Ah, my friend, she was charming, ideal. I never saw a face so expressive, so beautiful, nor a form so perfect; and she was so accomplished, so brilliant. Ah, Monsieur, she was grand. Perhaps you, too, noticed her; the tall Spanish lady in black, with such brilliant diamonds. Really, most fascinating. She gave me her address, and to-morrow I shall call on her.' I had been listening with the greatest of interest, but when he came to this, I burst out laughing. He asked me what was the matter, but I only laughed the louder. He grew indignant, and asked me what I meant, but I could not control my jubilation. At last, full of rage, he rose up and walked out of the cafe'.
"The next afternoon I was writing some letters in my room at the hotel, when the servant announced two strangers. They were admitted, but what they wanted I couldn't imagine. One of them very politely addressed me, and said that they had come as representatives of M. De Amicis, to demand satisfaction for an insult I had given him relating to a certain well-known lady, and formally offered me a challenge. At this I was again so much amused that I almost shrieked with laughter, and from the savage fire that shone in the eyes of the Frenchmen, it looked as if I was going to have two more duels on hand. At last I recovered enough to explain. I told them that the lady whom the Italian claimed I had insulted was no lady at all, but Madam de Brissac's son, M. Victor, who had, aided by his handsome features, dark, rich complexion and feminine form, so completely and effectually masked himself at the ball. I told them how I was at first fooled myself, and only found out the deception by being such an intimate friend of M. Victor.
"With this answer, my visitors took their departure, but soon returned, and with them De Amicis himself. He pronounced the explanation to be false, and demanded proof or satisfaction. The proof was not hard to five. Together we called on young Brissac, whose face alone was proof enough, and when the mask, hair, dress, jewels and all were shown him, De Amicis was satisfied.
"It was impossible to keep the joke dark. All Paris soon knew it, and the Italian laughed at everywhere, was compelled to leave the city."
J. C. Mathis.
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The original may be found at the Papers of Princeton website.
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