Moving back to the frontier, specifically to Carson City, Nevada, this is my absolute favorite of my little collection of leap year ball descriptions. The ball was held on Friday, January 30, 1880, and the description published in the Morning Appeal on Saturday, January 31, 1880. It apparently went to press while the ball was still in progress, but that did not prevent it from being one of the lengthiest writeups of a leap year ball that I've yet found.
The absolute highlight of the article is the following of the same convention as at the 1892 Providence leap year ball: only the "escorted sex" got their outfits described. In this case, that meant the men, the "gentlemanly belles".
But before getting to the funny part, let's look at the background.
Prior to the ball, the organizing ladies apparently had some vigorous disagreements, which the author of the article compared to "the simultaneous reign of three political parties in Maine" and claimed was "enough...talk to have furnished breath for two sittings of the Congress of the United States". Was he intending to insult the ladies by comparing them to (male) politicians? The insult only lands in the context of double standards of behavior.
Among the topics of debate were the size of the event: if too many people had been invited, the event would not have the "selectness" of the balls. But if two few were invited, then some "select and gentle-bred people" who apparently had been left out of the last lear year event would be once again ignored. The topic of loaning dishes for the banquet was likewise a source of strife, since previous loans had resulted in crockery either broken or entirely lost.
As the ball approached, the ladies resolved their disagreements and concentrated on finding a "rig" (carriage) that would "outshine all other modes, as the central sun veils the light of the lesser planets." One wonders what the aesthetic range of carriages in Nevada in 1880 was.
Meanwhile, the gentlemen were waiting impatiently for their invitations, having expected to be "pounced upon" by ladies in want of a partner. The married ladies, perhaps less bashful than unmarried misses, jumped in first and "snapped up the flower of the Carson youth", leaving the young women to "old bald headed men". Malicious men spread rumors that certain others had already been invited, preventing them from actually receiving invitations. Drama ensued:
As the time approached one youth purchased a bottle of laudamum and swore that if he did not receive an “invite” by night he would swallow the drug and the bottle both. An invitation reached him just in time to save a “Coroner’s quest.” Several who had not received invitations up to yesterday noon vowed that if worse came to worse they would climb into a side window and dance anyhow.
The women played little mind games as well:
Some of the sly girls when they knew positively that a man had been invited would shower invitations on him of so pressing a character that he would be almost crazy with the regret that he had not waited longer and taken his pick.
The preparations among people who may not have been accustomed to formalwear were intense:
Those who were invited in time set to work on their toilets a week ahead. Some sent to San Francisco for embroidered shirts. So much anxiety and agony was never passed through in a given time...
...The time elapsing between 6 o’clock and 9 was full of trying anticipations. Men with collars too large, kid gloves too small, badly washed vests, and shirt bosoms which, like the ghost of Banco, would not stay down, were blaspheming, while an equal number of women were stitching on ripped dresses, hunting for embroidered stockings and venting their feminine spleen on their dressing maids.
The ball was held at the Opera House, with music provided by Langer's band, from Virginia City and a "substantial banquet" served at midnight. The ladies collected their partners shortly beforehand:
About half past 8 o’clock the hacks and busses began to ramble about the streets and the men were bundled into the conveyances and whirled away to the scene of the festivities.
About thirty people were said to have been present at 9:15, when sets formed for the first quadrille, though many more arrived later, as around forty-five women and fifty men were specifically listed as attending, and it was noted that the list was not complete.
Happily, the full dance program was once again included:
1. Quadrille, Lancers.
2. Waltz.
3. Quadrille, Glide.
4. Schottische.
5. Quadrille, Horse Guards.
6. Waltz
7. Quadrille, Social.
8. Redowa.
9. Parisienne.
10. Waltz.
11. Quadrille, Lancers.
12. Mazourka.
13. Quadrille, Glide.
14. Schottische.
15. Quadrille, Horse Guards.
16. Waltz.
17. Medley.
Au Revoir.
Of this list, I am most excited to see (twice!) the Horse Guards, a.k.a. the Royal Lancers, a Lancers variant for sixteen people (eight couples), which I reconstructed a decade ago. I'm not sure I've ever seen it on a dance card before. The rest of the card is mostly pretty conventional, though distinct from the other frontier balls in not including any contra dances or a Virginia Reel. There is also no mention of a march. Here's the breakdown:
- seven quadrilles: two Lancers, two "glide" (probably waltz), two Horse Guards, and a Social, possibly some variant of the Sociable
- four waltzes, two schottisches, a redowa, and a mazurka
- two mysteries: the medley and the Parisienne
The medley could be almost anything, a mix of couple dances or some form of set dance. The Parisienne is tricky. There were couple dances called the Parisienne, but they were European in origin and don't seem especially likely to have appeared in Nevada in 1880. There was a very generic American quadrille called, simply, "Parisienne", but the earliest source I seem to have for it is F. Leslie Clendenen's Fashionable Quadrille Book and Guide to Etiquette from around 1895. The book is online, and the Parisienne may be seen here. I'm not satisfied with this as the solution, since it seems like if this were the dance intended, it would be listed as "Quadrille, Parisienne". And, of course, there's the problem of the date. But it's my best guess for now.
On the back of the cards were the rules of the ball and two quotes:
Sure the Gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore.—[Winter’s Tale, Act IV.
Albeit as often as leape yeare occurree, the woman holdeth prerogative over the manne in all matters of amusemente, of danssing and the lyke, so that when the ladye inviteth the manne, it shall not be lawful to say here nae, but shall entertain her proposall in all gude courtesie.—[Revised Saxon Code.
The second seems...historically dubious, to say the least.
The rules were typical leap year ones:
1. It is expected that no gentleman will promenade alone, or leave his seat, unless escorted by a lady.
2. Gentlemen will please be kindly considerate, remembering the natural diffidence of their admirers.
3. No gentleman shall invite a lady to dance.
Note that once again we have the rule against unescorted gentlemen on the dance floor. Ladies must have chafed terribly under that rule, to make such a point of applying it when the roles reversed.
And now we get to the fun part: the gentlemen's "toilets", meaning clothes. I'm not going to include every single one of the descriptions, but here are a few hilarious highlights. The tone is very much that in which ladies' costumes were described at traditional balls.
Governor Kinkead, an iron-gray blonde of fifty, wore black pantaloons cut specially for the occasion by Nicoll, the tailor of San Francisco, and his white vest was fastened with mother of pearl buttons.The Executive claw hammer was a perfect fit, showing his systematic shape to the best possible advantage. [This was John Henry Kinkead. A claw hammer is a tailcoat.]
Gen. Clarke wore the frizzed hair which has made him so famous in social circles and a pale lilac necktie which was the envy of all rivals.
T. C. Pinckney, an auburn blond, wore a cut-away coat with black lining, costing at least a dollar a yard, and bias pants. The eye glasses and shirt front, whose snowy surface was unbroken by a single coffee stain, made him an object of universal attention.
Jim Marshall, a blond of the spirituelle brand and considered by some the genuine belle of the ball. His cleanly shaven face and well blacked boots showed to a decided advantage.
Buck Zabriskie, hair banged in front, eye brows painted to match gaiters, and dyed moustache.
Mr. Marr, a bashful blond with pale cadinum necktie and breath scented with fresh eubiba[?]. His movements over the floor combined the easy grace of a startled gazelle with the lithe movements of a Woodward Garden seal, and such murmurs as “Oh, my, ain’t he a daisy?” followed him wherever he went. His dancing bill of fair [sic] was filled at an early hour.
W. S. Byrne, hair à la Frou Frou, and vest cinched at the back; yellow jewelry.
I'm particularly entertained by the objectification-by-hair color ("an iron-gray blonde", "an auburn blond", "a bashful blond") and the comparison of Mr. Marr's movements to a startled gazelle and a seal. And what, I wonder, is hair à la Frou Frou?
The full description of the ball (and the rest of the gentlemen's outfits) is online here.
Happy Leap Day!
Comments