A lengthy description of a Grand Fancy Ball in aid of the Public Charities held on Monday, March 25th, 1844 was published in a Supplement to the Liverpool Mercury on March 29th, 1844. When I say lengthy, I mean that it started out with around 1500 words of self-congratulation and description of the charities involved in rather purplish prose along these lines:
Liverpool has for a long period been famed for the multiplicity of its noble public institutions, having for their object the amelioration of the condition of its poorer inhabitants, the relief and cure of their bodily ailments, and the supplying of their temporal wants, without regard to party, creed, or colour. The benevolence which suggested and the generosity which has hitherto supported asylums wherein the sick, the maimed, the blind, the houseless, the stranger, and the starving could find temporary care, succour, and shelter, cannot be too much commended; and we feel persuaded the exertions thus made by those who "have enough and to spare," have been amply repaid, not only in their secret consciousness of having performed a Christian duty, but in the earnest and heartfelt aspirations of those who have, by their kindly aid, been snatched from the jaws of death,--of those whose fevered brows have been gently fanned by the refreshing breath of charity,--of those whose prostrate limbs have found strength and activity in places founded by benevolent hands, and of those who, devoid of the common necessaries of life, have had their most pressing wants supplied.
For those not counting, that paragraph consists of exactly two sentences, the latter of which contains over 140 words. To make an extremely long story short, the ball was in aid of the Liverpool Infirmary, the Northern and Southern Hospitals, the Dispensaries, and the District Provident Society, all very worthy institutions. I'll be quoting and paraphrasing extensively from the Mercury article, but I will be skipping over the rest of the charity descriptions in favor of information about the ball itself.
While the majority of the coverage, as usual, consisted of an enormous list of names of attendees and their costumes, with minimal attention to the dancing (there was only minimal dancing), one interesting thing about this ball is that the venue is famous and is still standing. The article included a detailed description of how it was used, complete with floor plan. The location was the Liverpool Town Hall. The newspaper illustration is quite recognizable as today's building; compare (click to enlarge):
The building and its history are described in detail in Wikipedia, complete with a floor plan of the grand suite of rooms on the second floor very similar to the one published in 1844, though with different letters for each room. I'm going to borrow several more photos from that page; click through to it if you want to see more. But first, here's the floor plan from the Liverpool Mercury article, the letters from which I will use when matching photos.
The interior of the building is relatively unchanged, so one can get some sense of the grandeur of the setting of the ball. The guests entered on the south side, shown in the images of the facade above, which is L (at far left on the floor plan), proceeded through the entrance hall, and passed up a grand staircase at K. The entrance hall is shown at left below (ignore the unfortunate video screens) and a closer view of the central staircase at right. Click the photos to enlarge.
From the staircase the guests would have entered room C on the floor plan, shown at left below, and had rooms B, D, A, and the ballroom available as well. Room A, the small ballroom, with nineteenth-century chandelier (one of three) but unfortunate modern video screens, is shown at right below. Click the photo to enlarge.
And, finally, the main ballroom and the little balcony for the orchestra. Wikipedia explains that is it 89 feet long x 42 feet wide with a 40-foot ceiling and a sprung maple dance floor. The chandeliers, one of which is visible in the photo at left below, are described as
"three of the finest Georgian chandeliers in Europe"; each is 28 feet (9 m) high, contains 20,000 pieces of cut glass crystal, and weighs over one ton. They were made in Staffordshire in 1820.
All of these rooms connected, so people could use the entire space for dancing and/or "promenading", which seems to have been a more popular activity than dancing, though difficult in the crowd. The article noted that at first only A, B, C, D and the ballroom were open; E and F were where refreshments would be provided later in the evening.
The guests were scheduled to arrive at nine o'clock, and a crowd gathered outside the building to watch the arrivals. Members of the ball committee were on hand to welcome people in the entrance hall and a band (Mr. Jolliffe's military band) was stationed at the foot of the staircase to play background music. And -- finally! -- there is an explanation of how the list of names and costumes was obtained!
In a corner of the hall a table was placed for the accommodation of the reporters for the press, to whom were handed the tickets as they were presented, for the purpose of transcribing the names and characters, which, in compliance with suggestions to that effect, were in most instances written on the backs of the tickets.
I don't know whether that was standard practice at earlier balls about which I've wondered, but at least this is a possible approach. Thank you, Liverpool Mercury!
Other bits of practical information:
- Patrons of the ball (separate from the actual committee) included local officials (sheriff, mayor, etc.), half a dozen members of the nobility (an earl, a viscount, and some Right Honorables and Honorables), local Members of Parliament, and a number of baronets and esquires
- there was some hesitancy about buying tickets because the first-floor rooms would not be made available for refreshments and the guests feared (with good reason) that the available rooms would be overcrowded
- guests started dancing at about quarter after nine
- "elegant couches" had been placed around the room on which "groups lounged to gaze at the new arrivals"
- others clustered at the balcony atop the staircase, where they had an "excellent view...of parties as they entered"
- there was a "preponderance" of gentlemen
- there were two dance bands: Mr. Hornbin's quadrille band in the ballroom and another in the small ballroom (A)
- by the time most of the guests had arrived, it was so crowded that it was hard to see the costumes and near-impossible to dance:
- the greatest loss seemed to be the deprivation of the ladies of the pleasure of joining in the quadrille or the waltz. Although dancing may be said to have been continued at intervals throughout the evening, yet it was so much impeded by the crowd that little pleasure could have been derived by those who joined it.
- the supper rooms were opened towards eleven o'clock, "the rooms being then densely crowded, the heat was almost intolerable, and dancing was scarcely possible"
- refreshments were supplied by Mr. Lyan of the Waterloo Hotel and included "jellies, ices, custards, tarts, pies, and other articles of confectionary, fruit, port and sherry wine, negus, and lemonade, with tea and coffee". Ices were especially popular. One person caused a fuss because there was no champagne; it was pointed out in the Mercury that had champagne been provided for all those guests there would have been no money left over for the charities.
- some people left around one o'clock in the morning, after which dancing was easier, but the majority of the guests stayed until three or four in the morning, at which time there were still crowds in the street (mostly female, hmm) waiting to see them depart
- The printed attendance was "about 1250 persons" and not everyone who purchased a ticket attended. I counted 1288 on the list of names and costumes, which thereby exceeded the list published for the York ball in 1828, though the attendance at the 1828 ball was supposedly twice as high.
- A wish was expressed in the Mercury article that another ball, "on a much more extensive scale" would be held, that more rooms would be made available in the Town Hall, that a little more time would be allowed for preparation, and, delicately, that it would be held "during a season when all parties can cheerfully and conscientiously join the festivity". I believe that was a reference to the fact that it was held during Lent, which presumably caused some difficulty for the religiously observant.
Now, on to the costumes! First, regarding how they were procured.
...the announcement had not long appeared before large quantities of fancy dresses, of all sorts and qualities, and befitting for the representation of all climes, tribes, and nations under the sun were open for the inspection of the public in the leading quarters of the town...
The article noted that some were provided by the Ampitheatre and some ("rich and costly") by the the Victoria Theatre, and that few merchants from other areas came to Liverpool; instead, local tradesmen had made arrangements to borrow their collections
The sheer quantity of costume description is overwhelming, and many of the costumes which particularly caught the reporters' attention were racial or ethnic "characters" of the sort that would not be particularly acceptable today.
Mr. William Kewley, as a North American Wild Indian, just from the bush, was the best supported character in the room. His dress was strictly correct, and he was provided with bows, arrows, and other implements of war. Dressed in skins he was ornamented with strings of cowries round his neck, waist, and wrists, and a large brass ring was suspended from his nose. He imitated the shrill war-cry of the Indian and represented their attacks from the bush upon their enemies with much effect. Light and nimble he bounded up and down the staircase with great agility. His presentation of the Indian alarmed at thunder was highly classical, and his various performances met with the applause of those who witnessed them. In company with the gentleman next named and another, who was also well dressed as an Indian, and who seemed to be familiarly acquainted with the habits of this singular people, he danced a war dance in one of the saloons and was much applauded.
Cringing yet? But, interestingly, the "character" and costume may have been less of a parody than that description makes them sound, since the wearer was in a position to get them right. It may have been as much appreciation as appropriation:
We understand that Mr. Kewley has resided for some time amongst the North American Indians, and by this means has acquired a considerable knowledge of the mode of life of various tribes. His dress was of his own manufacture, the various articles composing it having been brought by him from the bush.
Another racially-problematic costume with an unusual twist: Mr. J. H. Cobbam as a "Chinese Mandarin":
With a magnificent hookah placed to his mouth, and real Chinese umbrella spread above his head, he moved along the apartments attracting universal admiration. To every group he met he made three profound bows, and passed on.
Yellowface? Well...actually, he seems to have been black:
Not withstanding his face was "black as ebony," a good deal of rich humour played upon his countenance, and so well did he sustain his part throughout the evening, that he may be considered the most conspicuous person present.
This is a level of social mixing of races that I wouldn't really have expected in 1844, though I'm sure my American perspective is part of the problem.
Some of the especially praised costumes were less complicatedly funny:
Mr. Hodson Bremner, as a London dustman, was the most facetious character in the room. There was comicality in every look and gesture, and laughter greeted his appearance wherever he went. His dress might have been procured from the neighbourhood of St. Giles.
Mr. L. Y. Coleman, a dandy of 1350, was an excellent satire on the same class in the present day. He made up the character well, and supported it throughout the evening. His appearances elicited much laughter.
Mr. James Boardman gave an excellent impersonation of Mr. Birch, an illiterate pedagogue. With night cap on his head, spectacles on nose, and birch in hand, he wandered about, in every look a schoolmaster of the olden time...He assiduously distributed his cards among the company, and, for the amusement of our readers, we lay a copy of it before them:
"Mr Birch F M LD & ASS and member of an Hatheneum Teecher Cheepside Liverpool. Inglish grammar riting ackounds spelling and Reeding and other valuable noiledge taut on verry low terms Lattin french Welsh and Manks and such huseful languages and Larning taut by aproved masters Dansing charged exckstra Borders are exckspected to bring a nife and spoon and a pare of sheets or one large one that can be dubbled No charge for sulfer and treecle or other purifiers of the blud. Religions taut and boys alloud to Fast at any time. Mr B has 50 vacanceys."
One character that I had to look up was Rowland Hill, an English postal reformer and the inventor of the postage stamp.
Mr. Birch, of Grove-street, attracted considerable notice in the character he assumed of Rowland Hill. He was dressed in a sort of tight Roman dress; the front of it, from the neck to the waist, being covered with penny and twopenny stamps, placed alternately, with, underneath, embroidered on the belt, the words "My heart was in it." The endorsement of this part of the dress was as follows:--
"Letters for the Million;
From Temple Bar to Picadilly, 1d;
From London Bridge to Londonderry, 1d;
From Land's End to John o'Groat's, 1d.
Done by me,
Rowland Hill."
Underneath, worked on the belt, were the words "Pro Bono Publico." On his head he wore a wreath of honour, composed of postage stamps, pointed with alurel leaves, and in his hand he held a scroll, entitled "List of Contributions to the Rowland Testimonial."
As the first stamp had just been introduced in 1840, this was a very up-to-the-minute costume!
The Mercury was complimentary about the overall level of effort, especially among the gentlemen:
...so large a proportion of the company were in dresses of real definite character--historical or poetical: never did we see so few instances of contrivances just to escape the appearance of being in ordinary attire...The gentlemen seemed to excel in this, on the present occasion, as if they had felt that the ladies who have hitherto taken the lead should not longer hae to accuse them of indifference.
and noted one element of the ladies' costumes with distinct approval:
...the crowning gratification of the evening arose from the discovery that ladies have feet, and pretty ones too--a fact long lost to the world, and for the renewed recognition of which we are indebted to the seemly dresses worn on the occasion permitting of these additional charms being once more added to the list of the beauties of the beautiful.
In other words, the ladies' dresses were shortened to well above he ankle, which was common for fancy dress.
There were literally too many other costumes listed in the article to even make a dent in the list, but I'll pick out just a few other characters that caught my eye:
- C. Ashton, in his great grandfather's dress of George II time. How amazing that this family outfit had survived!
- Miss Chapman as Dolly Varden from Dickens' Barnaby Rudge. The reporter particularly noted that, like Dolly, she had tiny feet. It's not uncommon for a little editorial commentary to sneak in to these lists, but that seems a little much.
- Joseph Gibson as the "Dougal creature", whatever that means.
- T C J as a Russian coachman, "a striking characteristic costume, minus the whip". The whip? What whip?
- W H Langley in "Scotch dress, which was complete in every point--all the ornaments were of silver, with mull, dirk, &c., splendidly set with real "Cairn-Gorums." The eagle's feather proclaimed the rank to be that of chieftain."
- E J Lowe as Prince Rupert (of the Rhine) "amongst the best supported and most correctly dressed characters in the room. He was completely disguised by his flowing black ringlets and pointed beard of the seventeenth century, that he was not recognized by his most intimate friends." Apparently quite a few men wore wigs and/or false facial hair and thereby made themselves unrecognizable.
- Mr. Nathan, from Mr. Nathan's costume establishment, in London and Liverpool, in "a most elegant costume of the fourteenth century, one of the richest and most becoming in the room." Well, yes, if you have the pick of your own collection...
- Robert Oakes as "the Dragon of Wantley Green, was a very pleasant monster". Oh, for photographs!
- John Smith, of the Liverpool Mercury, "in taking an editorial view of the gay proceedings, assumed his accustomed character of the Roman senator". Was he there as a reporter or solely as a guest
- the missing character: I didn't notice a single example of a gentleman cross-dressing in one of the typical roles of an "Old Maid" or "Old Woman" or any other role. Were they getting more uptight about cross-dressing? Were Liverpool gentlemen less adventurous? Was it just random chance? Or did I miss it somewhere in the eye-glazing list of names?
and, most exciting for me as a reader of science fiction:
- George Jackson as the Monster in "Frankenstein". Note that unlike many people today, he understood that Frankenstein was the scientist, not the name of the monster. This is the earliest reference I've seen to this costume and I wish I knew what it had looked like! One possibility: Jackson could have been inspired by a stage adaptation of Frankenstein, such as the one in which T. P. Cooke starred in as the monster in 1823. So perhaps his costume looked something like this?
(Wikimedia version of a lithograph in the collection of the New York Public Library)
Rarely have I wished so much for a photograph!
Oh, and the take from the ball was about £1000 for the charities.
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