Ah, sweet October, which I generally devote to discussion of fancy dress and masquerade balls, weird cotillion figures, and similar frivolity!
I have two words to start off the month in the proper spirit:
headless quadrille
Specifically:
The first couple is Anne Boleyn and Louis XVI. They are facing Lady Jane Grey and Marino Faliero (a 14th century Venetian Doge). Marie Antoinette and Charles I make up the first side couple, facing the Earl of Essex, dancing alone.
In case anyone missed the connection, all of these people were beheaded.
Themed quadrilles from history or literature were very common at fancy dress balls in the nineteenth century, but this really has got to be the Best Theme Ever. I just about died laughing when I realized the joke.
Sadly, it wasn't real.
It appeared in an exceedingly weird literary effort titled "A Ballroom of By-Gone Centuries Pictured During a Brain Fever", a vision of a jumble of historical and fictional figures attending a ball together that I stumbled across while searching periodicals for ball descriptions. I found it printed on March 9, 1840, in The Louisville [Kentucky] Daily Journal, but it was cited there as being from The Corsair, a short-lived American "gazette of literature, art, dramatic criticism, fashion and novelty" which was named after Lord Byron's famous verse tale. It was published only from 1839-1840 and, according to its Library of Congress entry, pirated most of its content. Presumably this particular fever dream was taken from some other publication, but I haven't been able to trace it back any further.
The text opens with a quote from Act I, scene iii, of Macbeth:
Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner?
This is Macbeth's friend Banquo's reaction to their first encounter with the three weird sisters (of "Double, double, toil and trouble" fame) and certainly sets a tone for the next several hundred words of description, commencing with the beginning of the vision:
The dim light of Futurity has faded from our vision. The Present is lost to us while Memory with magic courtesy, has descended upon our midnight reverie, seized the wings of our creative faculty, and seated us before a mirror of gigantic dimensions where we can gaze down upon a scene of enchantment worthy of the admiration of the Gods.
Hidden within this rather astonishing prose, there are actually a number of specific dance references beyond the headless quadrille. For the most part, they are appropriate to 1830-1840; there is no effort to match earlier figures with historically appropriate dances. The whole vision is much like a fancy dress or masquerade ball with figures from the Medieval and Renaissance eras dancing nineteenth-century dances together!
The boldface emphasis in each quote below is mine, to make it easier to pick out the key words.
First, a quadrille balance and turn are hidden in this group:
What right hast thou to mingle here, England's proud Confessor, Edward, with thy shaven crown and antique ruff, leading in graceful maze the lion-hearted Duchess of Marlborough? How proud her smile as she balances to Richelieu, and turns the haughty Emperor of Spain, who resigned his golden sceptre for the love of ease, who at this moment is the honored partner of good Queen Bess.
And then we shift to a country dance, with a couple performing the classic figure of leading down the middle:
here is Louis XIV. leading down the middle the gentle Wilhelmina of Prussia, whose long train of silver brocade, trimmed with golden lace, sweeps in shining folds behind her
This one is meant to be a tarantella (an Italian folk dance), not a tarantula, though the latter seems appropriate to the general insanity:
Joanna of Naples, who is teazing Leo X. to dance the Tarantula with her
And here's a "Highland jig", very appropriate for Mary, Queen of Scots, though I'm not sure why she wasn't placed in the headless quadrille:
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Frederick the Great, whose care seems divided betwixt his long, black bridal stockings 'that will wrinkle about his legs,' and the lovely Mary Stuart, who is trying to teach him a Highland jig.
And another quadrille reference, to a dancer's vis-à-vis, or opposite:
Do not sail too near the Gothic window on thy left, fair Queen, for thou wilt interrupt the tender homage of Charles the VII. who at this instant is silencing the jealous pride of Agnes Sorol for daring to fix his ardent gaze upon his lovely vis-a-vis, Diana of Poictiers,
The famous Danse Macabre, the allegorical dance of death:
But who is gliding past them in the danse de mort?--the peerless Marianne, 'the flower from Judah's stem,' with the Iron Mask!
Back in the headless quadrille, the Earl of Essex dances a solo figure, a cavalier seul:
The side couples are Marie Antoinette linked with Charles I., and for want of a fourth partner Essex is doing his best, 'en cavalier seul.'
The implied waltz position here fits the mid-century Spanish dance, an improper waltz-time country dance which featured a waltz poussette figure to progress:
A Spanish dance is near by, waving with beauty and grace, headed by Michael Angelo in a mortier of white velvet turned up with sable, whose arm encircles the waist of Christina of Sweden.
I love the historically impossible vision of Michaelangelo and Queen Christina waltzing together!
The minuet de la cour still survived in the nineteenth century as a school dance and recital piece:
Upon a couch of crimson velvet is reclining Henry VIII. in a robe of ermine, watching with scornful gesture a minuet de la coeur, danced by Francis I. and the majestic Semiramis of the North, Catherine II.
More of the moment is the gallopade, the style of figured galop that turns up frequently in 1820s and 1830s sources:
But who is this, the lovely Queen, beckoning us to join her in a gallopade?
That is the last of the specific dance references; the vision concludes with this surreal moment:
'Wings of spotless beauty' are shooting from our shoulders--slowly, lightly, swimmingly, are we lifted from our recumbent posture--Alas, we rave. The pageant is facing 'like reflected moonbeams on a distant lake,' and we are left alone.
That insane root was some good stuff, eh?
The entire transcribed text follows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Louisville Daily Journal
March 9, 1840
p. 2
FROM THE CORSAIR
A BALLROOM OF BY-GONE CENTURIES
PICTURED DURING A BRAIN FEVER
Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner?
The dim light of Futurity has faded from our vision. The Present is lost to us while Memory with magic courtesy, has descended upon our midnight reverie, seized the wings of our creative faculty, and seated us before a mirror of gigantic dimensions where we can gaze down upon a scene of enchantment worthy of the admiration of the Gods.
An antique dancing-hall is before us--with Gothic windows, and stately roof supported by Parian marble, wreathed with amaranth and myrtle, blazing with the illuminations of a thousand lamps streaming from golden candelabras above the glittering multitude. Music is swelling in triumphant chorus from the harps of minstrels clad in Kendall green, while Kings and Queens, and Cardinals, and Duchesses, Knights, and Maids of Honor, are swimming in the mystic dance, reclining upon gorgeous couches, or flirting desperately in the curtained recess of the ancient windows.
What right hast thou to mingle here, England's proud Confessor, Edward, with thy shaven crown and antique ruff, leading in graceful maze the lion-hearted Duchess of Marlborough? How proud her smile as she balances to Richelieu, and turns the haughty Emperor of Spain, who resigned his golden sceptre for the love of ease, who at this moment is the honored partner of good Queen Bess. Little interest does he inspire in the bosom of the 'fair Vestal,' for Leicester is at her side whispering 'more than timid love dare speak!' But gaze--for here is Louis XIV. leading down the middle the gentle Wilhelmina of Prussia, whose long train of silver brocade, trimmed with golden lace, sweeps in shining folds behind her, rivalling in splendor the dancing hoop and streaming sack of Joanna of Naples, who is teazing Leo X. to dance the Tarantula with her. But here comes one, pushing his way thro' the throng with his rosary in his hand, 'his cap off, his head seemingly rounded tonster[?]-wise; fair-kembed, that, with a sponge daintly dipt in a little capon's grease, was finely smoother, to make it shine like a mallard's wing'--it is Louis XI. with the brilliant Ninon L'Enclos blushing upon his arm. She nods to Richard Coeur de Lion and kisses her jewelled hand to Frederick the Great, whose care seems divided betwixt his long, black bridal stockings 'that will wrinkle about his legs,' and the lovely Mary Stuart, who is trying to teach him a Highland jig. Do not sail too near the Gothic window on thy left, fair Queen, for thou wilt interrupt the tender homage of Charles the VII. who at this instant is silencing the jealous pride of Agnes Sorol for daring to fix his ardent gaze upon his lovely vis-a-vis, Diana of Poictiers, whose golden locks shine
'Like sunny beams on alabaster rocks,'
and who is laughing with Ferdinand of Spain, at the pain, her dazzling beauty has inflicted, upon the dark spirit of the loving mistress.--But who is gliding past them in the danse de mort?--the peerless Marianne, 'the flower from Judah's stem,' with the Iron Mask! while close beside flies Philip I. behind the hoop of Maria Theresa to avoid the lightning glance of his jealous-pated sposa, who in gorget ruff, and streaming hair, has detected him in the act of kissing her lovely Maid of Honor.
But here is a headless quadrille forming directly under our view. The beauteous Anne Boleyn is at the head with Louis XVI. Opposite is Lady Jane Grey in blue stockings, with her head and a Latin treatise in her silver reticule, dancing with Marino Faliero. The side couples are Marie Antoinette linked with Charles I., and for want of a fourth partner Essex is doing his best, 'en cavalier seul.'
A Spanish dance is near by, waving with beauty and grace, headed by Michael Angelo in a mortier of white velvet turned up with sable, whose arm encircles the waist of Christina of Sweden. Jove! her fairy heels are encircled with glittering spurs, and they have caught in the gold chain of Charlemagne, who has just stooped to secure the remaining garter of the blushing Salisbury. Upon a couch of crimson velvet is reclining Henry VIII. in a robe of ermine, watching with scornful gesture a minuet de la coeur, danced by Francis I. and the majestic Semiramis of the North, Catherine II.
But who is this, the lovely Queen, beckoning us to join her in a gallopade? A diadem of sapphires flashes above her brow; she beckons us with her lily finger,--we are coming, sweet one! 'Wings of spotless beauty' are shooting from our shoulders--slowly, lightly, swimmingly, are we lifted from our recumbent posture--Alas, we rave. The pageant is facing 'like reflected moonbeams on a distant lake,' and we are left alone.
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