On November 22, 1902, The New York Times announced the discovery, translation, and publication of the travel journal kept by Count Frederick Kielmansegge on his visit to England in 1761-1762 for the coronation of George III. The diary was discovered and translated by his great-granddaughter-in-law Philippa, then-Countess Kielmansegg (the spelling of the family name varied over the years). The opening paragraph of the article may be seen at left; click to enlarge. The complete article may be found online in The New York Times Archives.
Friedrich Graf von Kielmansegge (1728-1800), a lawyer and administrative official, and his brother Karl Rudolf August von Kielmansegge (1731-1810) were part of a prominent Hanoverian family (the Holstein/Hannover Kielmansegges) and second cousins once removed of George III through their grandmother, who was the illegitimate half-sister of George I, the first Hanoverian king of England. Their family name variously spelled as Kielmansegg, Kielmansegge, and Kielmannsegge, but since the diary was published in English using the spelling "Kielmansegge", I'll keep to that version here.
The coronation was the brothers' excuse to travel, but Kielmansegge was an enthusiastic tourist and roamed all over England taking in the sights, which he described at great length. He also socialized extensively and attended balls given by royalty and nobility in London as well as in other towns he visited. The diary is a fascinating document in general, well worth reading, but the major attraction for the dance historian is that it contains useful information about the practice of dance in England in the mid-eighteenth century. I have not read the original, which does not seem to be available to the public; I am dependent upon the English translation. But I see no reason for the Countess to have edited or bowdlerized the dance information and therefore regard it as reasonably reliable.
I'm going to excerpt the dance-relevant bits below, adding my own comments. Despite my love of genealogical research and historical context, I am not going to sort out who most the people mentioned by Kielmansegge were, or I'd still be writing this post next year!
Kielmansegge did not date his entries, but he often mentioned the day of the month, so one can usually work out the specific date on which something happened. I've added dates to each excerpt below for clarity. I've also edited heavily, as indicated by ellipses.
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First, on the use of the term "assembly". Nowadays it is often used to mean a ball, but it's not at all clear to me that it was so used in the mid-eighteenth century. Kielmansegge went to a number of assemblies, but he didn't mention dancing at them:
November 6, 1761
On the 6th of November we dined at my Lord Howe's, and in the evening we went to my Lady Northumberland’s assembly. She had invited at least six hundred people...
December 13, 1761
On the 13th we went to Court, and after dinner to Lady Yarmouth’s, and to the Sunday assembly at my Lady Harrington’s, also to Princess St. Severino’s, who has taken this Sunday for her assemblies, as the parties at Madame Hop's have ceased since the death of her husband.
December 22, 1761
In the evening I went to Lady Sharp’s, where we had been invited, and afterwards to Lady Yarmouth’s, who had also invited us to an assembly.
January 20, 1762
On the 20th Lady Northumberland gave a large assembly...
January 24, 1762
At noon on the 24th we went to Court, and in the evening to the Countess of Yarmouth's, and to the usual assembly at Prince St. Severino’s.
March 9, 1762
On the 9th we began to pay farewell visits, and took leave of the Princess of Wales and Princess Augusta; in the evening we went by invitation to a large assembly at my Lady Yarmouth’s, and supped afterwards with my Lord De La Warr.
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Kielmansegge's description of the events of the Lord Mayor's Day, a celebration of the swearing-in of the new Lord Mayor of London, centered on the ceremonial processions and feasting, but he did briefly mention the concluding ball:
November 9, 1761
After the banquet the royal family had tea in the adjoining room whilst the tables were cleared, and everything was prepared for the ball, which was opened by the Duke of York with the Lord Mayor’s wife, the King not returning to St. James's until after two o’clock.
The Duke of York was Prince Edward, the 22-year-old younger brother of the King. The King and Queen did not dance in public, so the Duke of York was the highest-ranked gentleman and for this particular occasion the Lord Mayor's wife, would have been considered the highest-ranked lady.
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There are also quite a few frustratingly brief mentions of balls or dances with no details at all:
December 14, 1761
[a day of celebrations of the launch of the ship Britannia]
The captain had prepared a grand repast in the shipbuilder’s house for those of both sexes who had been invited, and in the evening he gave a ball in the City, to which he asked us; but we excused ourselves and drove straight home, in order to enable my brother to go after dinner to Privy Councillor von Münchhausen’s, and I remained at home.
January 1, 1762
The King gave a private ball again this evening.
March 4, 1762
On the 4th of March we went to Court, and in the evening I myself drove to the Countess of Yarmouth’s; afterwards we both went to my Lady Northumberland’s large party, and wound up the evening by going to the dance at the opera-house.
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Balls were regularly held in Soho:
December 31, 1761
As we had received tickets through Miss Howe from the Duke and Duchess of Richmond for the ball this evening in Soho Square, we went there after the play.
February 11, 1762
On the 11th we dined with a large party at the house of the Dutch ambassador, Borcel; whence we went to Privy Councillor Baron von Münchhausen's for half an hour, and then on to the usual ball at Soho.
February 15-16, 1762
On the 15th we dined with my Lady Yarmouth, and afterwards went to the Opera to see the fine Burletta, ll Philosopho di Campagna, and from there to a special subscription ball at Soho, and on the 16th to a party to which we had been invited by Lady Northumberland.
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Vauxhall Gardens was not illuminated in the wintertime, but Kielmansegge made a day-trip and mentioned the arrangements for dancing in bad weather:
November 14, 1761
In the centre is a large orchestra with an organ, where the band and Singers perform. The boxes round are so arranged that you can hear the music very well. In most of them are said to be paintings by Hayman, which are removed in winter, especially the four large and fine pieces representing scenes from Shakespeare’s plays, which are in the large pavilion...There are also a large saloon and a ballroom with an orchestra, to be used in bad weather.
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All right, enough teasing. This is not one of those sources that consists only of tidbits. There are an incredible nine more-or-less detailed descriptions of balls and dance practices in the diary. Taking them in chronological order:
In late October, Kielmansegge went to Bath, arriving late in the day:
October 28, 1761
Although we might have gone to a concert on the evening of our arrival, which did not begin till seven o’clock, we preferred dining and resting to the trouble of dressing, and deferred our introduction to the Master of the Ceremonies, Collet, until the next morning, the 29th ; this the Dean von Vincke and his travelling companion, Colonel Campbell, kindly arranged. Collet is an old Frenchman, who has lived here many years, and assumed the office of director and arranger of all entertainments, after the death of Richard Nash, who formerly held the office...
Richard Nash was the famous Beau Nash, the unofficial Master of Ceremonies in Bath for most of the first six decades of the eighteenth century who had died earlier in 1761:
His office included the introduction of all new arrivals to those who were already there, the arrangement of the minuet dancers according to their turn, and seeing that proper order was kept and that all the rules were duly observed; in short, he was the director and head of the whole society, and was called the titular King of Bath.
But Collet seems to have been doing his best as successor:
The present director is nearly seventy years old, but still very active and diligent; he dances like the youngest, and is civility itself to every one, but more especially to foreigners; so that we and others could not find praise enough for him as he rushed about with us for hours, showing us everything which was in the slightest degree worth noticing.
Kielmansegge devoted several pages to describing the weekly schedule at Bath:
On Tuesdays and Fridays dances take place. There is also an Assembly every day in one or other of the two rooms, which exist for the purpose, and where the company assemble after seven o’clock, and pass the time until eleven or twelve o’clock playing cards. Games of hazard are entirely prohibited. Large as these rooms are, they would not be sufficiently so if everybody were generally to go to them; as it is, there are plenty who prefer a private game in their own houses to one in the public rooms, but some of these people are to be met in the evenings at dances.
Here we have assemblies as solely card parties, which accords with the lack of mention of any dancing at the ones in London.
Dances were quite large:
I am sure that there were three hundred ladies present at the first dance to which we went, but we were told that a large number had remained at home. This was very likely, as we ourselves knew of several who were not there ; amongst them, for instance, the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk, the Duke and Duchess of Athol, etc., etc. The rooms in both houses are fine and lofty; that in Simpson’s house is 61 feet long, 29 feet wide, and 28 feet high; the one in Wiltshire’s house being 87 by 30 feet ; both have extra rooms, in which card-playing goes on, while dancing is taking place in the large room.
The dances and assemblies took place in two different venues on an organized schedule:
In order that the company should not be divided, by some going to one, and some to the other house, an old custom prevails of keeping only one house open at a time, that is to say, each alternately. For instance, when the Assembly at noon, and in the evening, has been held one day at Simpson’s house, it will take place the following day at the other; the same arrangement applies to the balls, which always take place in the house where the Assembly is held.
These were subscription assemblies but were open to all, though presumably arrivals were screened by Collet for suitability:
Everybody who intends to remain any time at Bath, pays, on arrival, if I am not mistaken, ten shillings at each house towards the expenses of the assemblies, for the whole time of his stay, also a moderate sum for the balls, for which he receives three ladies’ tickets...
The conduct of a ball:
At seven o’clock the ball is opened by a couple appointed by the Master of the Ceremonies; then, with his permission, all the others follow in their turn, so that every man dances his two minuets. The ladies who intend to dance a minuet wear large hooped dresses, but the others do not. When they have all had their turn, they begin to dance “English” dances, until about nine o’clock, when tables, chairs, and benches are brought in which fill the whole room ; then some of the gentlemen divide, and each treats his invited guests to tea, bread, and butter...This interval does not last an hour, as people try to get back as soon as possible to the dancing, which continues until after eleven o'clock, when everybody separates.
Here's where I wish I could see the original wording. I'd guess that "English" dances is a translation of Anglaises and referred to country dances, which were known by that term on the Continent.
The refreshments sound surprisingly minimal: just tea, bread, and butter? The balls were also much shorter than London ones, ending "after eleven o'clock" rather than the early hours of the morning.
[October 29-31, 1762?]
The second day we dined with Colonel Schlitz and his wife, and we spent two evenings at the theatre and Assembly, and one at a ball. As I neither play nor dance, I had more opportunity of noticing everything, and of making several acquaintances.
Kielmansegge did dance, just not in Bath, as he was in deep mourning during the early part of his trip.
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Back in London, Kielmansegge did eventually give some useful description of the management of the subscription balls in Soho:
November 26, 1761
On the 26th we went to Court, and in the evening to an assembly at Soho. This consists of a concert and a ball, which take place every fort night in a fine room, which has been much improved this year. Several ladies have a book, in one of which every one signs his name, paying five guineas for twelve nights. In order that only those people may be subscribers who are known to one of the ladies, the subscription books are kept by the ladies only, and the power to admit or to exclude whom they like is confined to them, and is not given to the owner of the rooms, who is an Italian of the name of Cornelia.
The rooms in which they play, as well as the large ballroom, are very fine and beautifully lighted, and exceedingly well furnished. The vocal and instrumental music, by an orchestra at the end of the room, begins at seven o’clock and lasts until nine; dancing afterwards goes on until one or two. Tea, lemonade, and cake are served in two rooms. As at first we did not know how long we should be able to remain in England, and as we did not feel inclined to spend ten guineas perhaps for nothing, and also as my deep mourning did not allow me to dance, we did not subscribe. But as every subscriber who is prevented from attending may give his ticket away, we got tickets from friends and went with my Lady Howe’s youngest son.
This is very much the model of Almack's (which opened in 1765) and other exclusive subscription assemblies. Policies toward guests and strangers varied; it strikes me as a little unusual that one could just give one's tickets away when the ladies in charge of the subscription books were otherwise so strict.
Note also the schedule (vocal music from seven until nine, then dancing until one or two) and the limited menu of tea, lemonade, and cake. At least it was more than just bread and butter! Later descriptions of Almack's harp on its limited refreshments, but it seems to me that this was simply a matter of customs regarding ball refreshments evolving and Almack's not changing with the times.
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Kielmansegge was of high enough rank to attend the birthday ball for Augusta, Princess of Wales, the mother of the King, who was turning forty-two:
November 30, 1761
In the evening we went to look on at the ball from the benches prepared for the foreign ambassadors, placed below and on the right hand of the King. The room is poor, and looks more like the refectory of an old convent than the principal room of the palace of the King of England...
After another paragraph or so about the building, he gets back to the ballroom:
But to return to the ball. The place for dancing is divided from the rest of the room by a railing; inside this space nobody is admitted except the royal family and suite and those who dance minuets. All the rest of the room is occupied by benches, and a gallery runs all round for lockers-on and the band. Only one couple dances the minuet at a time, and as there are usually more ladies than gentlemen, each lady dances only one minuet, and every man two.
The Duke of Devonshire, as the King’s Chamberlain, calls up every one in turn, and, in order that he may know how many people wish to dance, each person must send in his name on the previous day to be put down on the list. Rank in England is decided exclusively according to class, and not according to service; consequently, the duchesses dance first, then marchionesses, then dukes' daughters, then countesses. Foreigners have no rank at all in England, so they may not dance before the lords and barons; after them, all the rest who have no rank and happen to be near, are called up by the Chamberlain. For this reason, foreigners seldom dance at Court ; exceptions to this are Herr von Edelsheim, amongst the gentlemen, and amongst the ladies, Privy Councillor von Münchhausen's daughter and granddaughter, who have received permission from their mother; much to the astonishment, however, of foreigners and natives, as it frequently happens that they only dance quite at the last, and after people who rank much below them.
There was no hired dancing master acting as Master of Ceremonies for royal balls; the King's Chamberlain took the role.
Roughly the same procedure for minuets was still being used a generation later. Kielmansegge seems disgruntled about the ranking of dancers for the minuets, and his family connections were apparently not enough to get him a chance to dance one.
Towards twelve o’clock, as soon as the second English dance has taken place, the King and Queen retire, as English etiquette does not allow them to dance at public parties. We also followed their example, and went home.
If the ball started around nine, as was fairly typical, it consisted of two hours or more of minuets followed by two country dances. This provides some perspective on why country dances were considered highly participatory dances, even though by modern standards they were relatively low-activity (starting from the top of the set and taking time to involve all the couples, lots of standing around for all but the active couples, etc.) Everything is relative! By comparison with two hours of watching one couple at a time dance, even a not-very-busy country dance would feel like a lively experience.
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Happily, Kielmansegge also attended a non-royal birthday ball given for Lady Catherine Stanhope by her husband, which sounds like it was a much better party, perhaps explained by the fact that Lady Stanhope was herself an enthusiastic dancer:
December 29, 1761
On the 29th we were invited to a ball at Lady Catherine Stanhope’s, whom I have previously mentioned, to which we went at seven o’clock. The company consisted of about fourteen to fifteen couples, in addition to the few who did not dance. As I was now in quite slight mourning, I thought there could be no objection to my dancing, for some people dance here even when they are in deep mourning. I danced the first and second dance with Lady Harriet Bentinck, to whom I had been introduced for this purpose by the host, and afterwards with several others. She is an unmarried daughter of the Duke of Portland, and sister to my Lady Weymouth, one of the Queen’s ladies of the bedchamber. Before one o’clock the company sat down to supper, and afterwards dancing went on again till four o’clock, when the ball was wound up with several minuets. Amongst the company was a certain Miss Pitt, a very pleasant young lady, who possesses at least £100,000, and dances remarkably well into the bargain, not only English dances, but more particularly minuets; she has also a very fine voice, combined with much talent and musical feeling. To please the company, she sang without accompaniment some airs from the Italian operas, which were not at all easy. The hostess, Lady Catherine Stanhope, likes dancing herself very much, and it was, in fact, her birthday, which her husband celebrated by this well-arranged entertainment.
This was a marathon ball, starting at seven and ending at four in the morning. Even allowing for the one o'clock supper and some vocal entertainment, that's still probably seven or eight hours of dancing.
Free of strict royal protocol, the formal order of dance was turned upside down. Kielmansegge danced the first two dances with the daughter of a duke. This suggests to me that they were probably country dances, which were often danced two at a time with a single partner. Then the ball wound up with minuets, which sounds very practical, since most of the company was probably exhausted by that time and content to sit and watch the last few indefatigable couples perform.
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In a stroke of calendrical luck, Kielmansegge was able to attend another royal birthday ball, this time in honor of Queen Charlotte herself, which sounds even duller than the previous one:
January 18, 1762
On the 18th the Queen’s birthday was celebrated. It is really in the summer, but as the King’s birthday also falls at that time of year, the celebration of the Queen’s has been fixed for the winter; other wise everybody would have to get two new summer costumes, besides having to get one for winter. As matters are arranged, you can now do with one new suit for each season. The crush on this day was very great, especially in the evening, when it took us a long time to get into the ballroom. I am certain it would not be possible to find so many beauties together in one place as here. Amongst the sixty-two who danced the minuet there were very few who could be called plain, and most of them deserved to be called good-looking, if not real beauties. The King and Queen left towards twelve o’clock, and we followed soon after, immediately we could get through the crowd.
I love the practicality of celebrating the Queen's birthday (actually May 19th) in midwinter so that people wouldn't have to buy two court outfits.
These descriptions really hammer home the degree to which royal birthday balls were formal occasions for social display rather than participatory dances in the sense that we now understand balls. With sixty-two ladies dancing minuets, even if each minuet only took three minutes (which really is not a lot of time to get set up on the floor, dance, and leave the floor) that's over three hours of minuets. Did they get any country dances in at all?
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Descending down the social scale, Kielmansegge attended a private ball given by someone outside the nobility:
February 1, 1762
In the evening we drove with Lady Diana Clavering, her unmarried sister Lady Cecilia West, my Lord De La Warr’s daughters, Miss Speed and the gentleman she was engaged to, Baron de la Perriére, a son of the Scandinavian minister, Count de Very, to a ball given by a certain old bachelor called Räper in his house close to Gray's Inn...
...We found only a small party, about forty ladies and as many men, all of whom, with few exceptions, consisted of City people. We danced until twelve, then had supper and dancing again afterwards, and drove home together at half-past two...I danced, amongst others, with a very pleasant and rich merchant’s wife, named Nesbit, who at once asked our entire party to dinner on the 18th, and to go with her afterwards to the great subscription ball in the City, to which guests are invited.
This is an interesting degree of social flexibility; I would speculate that Mr. Räper was fairly wealthy, to attract members of the nobility and visiting foreigners to a ball which primarily consisted of "City people", meaning merchants and businessmen and their families.
A week later they paid a polite social call on Mr. Räper:
February 8, 1762
On the morning of the 8th we drove into the City in order to pay visits; to Mr. Räper, at whose house we had danced, and to our host and hostess with whom we are to dine on the 18th.
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Kielmansegge continued to socialize with City people, who apparently threw good parties:
February 18, 1762
We had a very good dinner with a small but select company. After seven o’clock we all drove to the subscription ball, which took place in the Haberdashers’ Hall in the City, where we found a very large party of 250 ladies and a larger number of men. Besides the subscribers, all of whom must be City men, as nobody from the Westminster side is admitted, foreigners were the only people in this instance, according to the usual custom, who were honoured with an invitation. The Genoese minister, D’Ageno, opened the ball before our arrival. As soon as we entered, we were asked to dance the minuet, and one of the stewards of the ball immediately proceeded to find us partners for the English dances. As usual, cards were being played in the other rooms, and tea, hot wine, bread and butter, were served round. As we and several others intended to go on that same night to the dance in the opera house at the Haymarket, which does not open until eleven, we tried to get to our carriage before the end of the ball. We arrived after midnight at our second ball, where we found them still busy dancing minuets, so that we also began again, and went on dancing till four o’clock. The opera-house was arranged as a ballroom by means of tapestry, red damask, etc., and well lit. As everybody at both these balls was in mourning, with black buckles and no jewels, for the late Empress of Russia (here in England every one goes into Court mourning for a week), the sight was not so brilliant as it would have been ordinarily when everybody appears either in colours or in slight mourning, and with jewels, which are worn in profusion on such occasions. We did not reach home until half-past four.
Another marathon night of dancing. This ball was both welcoming to foreigners and served hot wine!
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Kielmansegge then traveled to Portsmouth to attend celebrations of the embarkation of a fleet and troops to the West Indies. He made the mistake of traveling to Portsmouth a little behind Prince Charles of Mecklenberg and a little ahead of the Duke of York, which created logistical difficulties: all the horses on the way had either been snapped up by the Prince's entourage or were being reserved for the Duke. He and his brother were forced to travel, separately, by post, which the easygoing Kielmansegge seems to have found a convenient opportunity for social networking:
February 25th, 1762
The passengers whom I found in the coach, and with whom I made the whole journey to Portsmouth, thirty-eight miles, consisted of a captain in the service of the East India Company, called Campbell, with his young and handsome wife (they were going to the East Indies), whom he had married only four months previously in Scotland, and who was related to the Duke of Argyll’s family through her mother; also a young man whom they take with them; a skipper’s wife, and another very pleasant man.
Remember that handsome young wife; she'll reappear.
Naturally, there were several balls to celebrate the occasion:
February 26, 1762
In the evening everybody went to the Assembly Room at the Town Hall, where society had assembled for a ball which lasted until one o’clock at night, and was only interrupted for half an hour to drink tea and eat bread and butter. On the previous evening dancing had also been going on, in the presence of the Duke of York, but none of the princes took part in it.
No hot wine in Portsmouth! But things definitely looked up at the next evening's ball:
February 27, 1762
The Duke, with the rest of the party, again went to the Assembly Room, where dancing took place as on the previous day. I danced with the young lady whom I had met on the journey, and as she had the honour both of starting the minuets and the English dances, she opened the ball with me.
The young woman must have been a very close relation of the Duke of Argyll indeed to have had the honor of opening the ball, and to have opened it with Kielmansegge was quite an honor for him. One wonders why she did not open it with the Duke of York!
It's interesting that spending several hours together in a public coach apparently constituted sufficient introduction for them to interact socially to that degree.
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Displaying his admirable priorities (and probably his ample supply of servants), Kielmansegge did not spend his last night in England frantically packing his bags. Instead, he attended a ball held by the Duke of Ancaster in honor of the Prince of Mecklenberg:
March 16, 1762
On the 16th of March we lunched with my Lady Diana Clavering, and ‘went afterwards with her and her sister, Lady Cecilia West, to the house of the singer Matthei, where a rehearsal of a new opera, called La Défaite de Daria, was held. We dined at home. In the evening we went first by invitation to Mrs. Oliver’s party, and from there, towards nine o’clock, to the house of the Duke of Ancaster, who gave a splendid ball in honour of the Prince of Mecklenburg. The company consisted of a large number of London’s best and most distinguished society, amongst them the Dukes of York and Cumberland. The latter again played a game of quinze for just as high stakes as he had played sometime before at my Lord Waldegrave’s ; but what he won or lost this time I cannot say. On a previous occasion he had lost 1000 guineas by twelve o’clock.
The Duke of Cumberland was the uncle of the young King, fifth in the line of succession for the throne.
This ball was much more welcoming to foreigners than the royal balls with their formal protocol of rank:
Minuets were danced, and, contrary to the usual custom in England, I was paid marked distinction by our host. A foreigner has no rank at all in England, therefore at Court and other festive occasions, where they dance according to rank, those gentlemen who are not lords or baronets, and who wish to dance, are not called up until after all the lords, and just as the leader of the dance pleases. But the Duke of Ancaster paid me the compliment of asking me to dance with two daughters of earls, Lady Caroline Stanhope, daughter of Lord Harrington, and Lady Warwick, Lord Cardigan’s daughter, immediately after the peers, and before their eldest sons, who are also lords by courtesy, although not peers.
Lady Caroline Stanhope was the enthusiastic dancer whose birthday ball Kielmansegge had attended a few months earlier.
This ball also had substantial refreshments; no bread and butter rations here! And the dancing went quite late:
At one o’clock a very sumptuous supper was served at three tables, two of which were provided with splendid dessert, and were lit up with a quantity of small glass-lamps and candles. At one of these tables sat the Duke of Cumberland, and at the other the Prince of Mecklenburg, but the rest of the company sat down wherever they pleased. The third table was in the shape of a large horseshoe, and all three were so large that the whole company had room. Two hot courses were served, and the third consisted of fruit and dessert. Afterwards dancing went on again until half-past four, when the company began to disperse.
As soon as we got home we changed our clothes in the greatest haste, got into our post-chaise, and left London on the morning of the 17th of March at half-past five.
All that rush was for naught: the wind was contrary and they were forced to wait in port for four tedious days before finally setting sail for home.
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The entire diary may be found online here. I highly recommend it not only for the dance material I've extracted but for the lengthy descriptions of England's sights and customs in the mid-eighteenth century which provide fabulous background material for the writer or reenactor.
Thanks for such an interesting blog here and
especially for digging out all the dance
references -- we amateur dance buffs owe
you so much--Aurettis will never be the same.
Posted by: charlie r | January 30, 2020 at 04:59 PM
charlie -
Glad you enjoyed it. Memoirs are very valuable sources, but often quite tedious to read. But this one was a lot of fun.
Posted by: Susan de Guardiola | February 09, 2020 at 02:05 AM