OF DOMINOES AND MASKS

Italian in conception, the domino is of ecclesiastical origin, and as such has retained its monkish aspect throughout the many changes rung by fashion. In its primitive form it consisted of a long, loose robe of black material with a cowl attachment which completely covered the head. During the middle ages, and, in fact, as late as the sixteenth century, it constituted the popular travelling costume of those engaged upon secret missions. Disguised in the habit common to the countless hordes of monks and other pious mendicants who infested the country, it was an easy matter to go, unnoticed, from end to end of Europe, the garb protecting its wearer and ensuring him immunity from criticism or inquiry.

Its serviceable shape and virtue of concealment led to the universal adoption of the domino, until it actually became as much an institution as the toga of ancient Rome. Clad in its all-enveloping folds, the hood drawn well forward and the face masked, the domino formed an ideal dress for intrigue, love adventures, conspiracy, ball, rout, procession, and evening wear in general over a gala costume. It owed its first entry into le monde oÙ l'on s'amuse to those Venetian orgies and wild midnight revels encouraged by the Council of Ten as a means whereby the attention and energies of the youth of the capital of the Adriatic might be diverted from politics.

When the gay world made the domino its own, fashion decreed that it should retain its original shape, and this it has continued to do down to the present. The same conservatism did not extend to colour. As a matter of fact it has, at one time and another, appeared in all shades, and in every appropriate variety of texture, lined or unlined; in two or more tones, self-coloured, trimmed, or plain, sumptuous or severe, according to the tastes and inclination of the wearer. A man's domino, as typical of to-day as of five hundred years ago, consists of a long, ample robe of scarlet cashmere gathered into a plain yoke piped with satin. Three small cashmere buttons fasten it snugly from the throat downwards, and satin ribbon ties it across the chest. The peaked hood is lined with satin and weighted with a heavy silk tassel, and over the shoulders falls a short, pleated cape. Of the "angel" order, the wide, pointed sleeves are turned back to allow a narrow glimpse of satin, the fold held in place by a cord loop and a diminutive gold button sewn to the under arm seam immediately above the wrist. That the religious origin of the domino was never lost sight of is illustrated by the anecdote of the dissipated young reveller who, leaving a masked ball in the grey dawn, was met by an indignant father, who proceeded to load him with reproaches on the subject of his dissolute mode of life. After listening for some time in filial silence, the son made the witty answer:

Beati qui moriuntur in Domino.

From Italy the fashion of wearing dominoes spread to France, and thence to England. In Paris the vogue reached its height under Louis XIII. and Louis XIV. During the reigns of both monarchs, and more especially the latter, masquerades and masked balls were the favourite amusements of the Court. Many entertainments were given at which dominoes were compulsory for men, the King alone being exempt from this rule. Louis XIV. generally elected to appear in a white domino of transparent muslin which merely veiled, without in any way concealing, the gala dress beneath. Dominoes at this period were richly trimmed, and contrived from costly materials.

Under the Regency masked balls were instituted at the Opera. At these public functions, safeguarded by the practically impenetrable disguise of a domino, all classes of society mixed indiscriminately. If tales of the time are to be believed, many a gallant has shadowed a domino the entire evening, only to make the humiliating discovery that the coquettish countess of his dreams was a tripe-seller from the market.

With the fall of the French monarchy the domino degenerated into an abuse, and was finally abolished, excepting for such occasions as carnivals and fancy-dress balls.

The dominoes worn by women differ from those worn by men in that they invariably manage to strike a distinguishing feminine note. The textures employed are lighter, being usually soft satin, silk, or mousseline de soie. The hood, instead of partaking of the severity of a cowl, is round in shape and, for most festive occasions, is trimmed with fluffy frills of silk, chiffon, and lace, further elaboration consisting of flowers. A characteristic example is of forget-me-not-hued bengaline lined with pale pink. The yoke sparkles with silver sequins and the round hood and shallow cape display frills powdered with glittering paillettes, and reveal inner frills of frayed pink silk and cobwebby lace the tint of old ivory, a bunch of shaded roses being fastened near the left temple and another at the throat. At the foot is a flounce which, when the wearer walks, shows occasional glimpses of pink silk and cream lace, and the wide sleeves bear sequin-embroidered cuffs and lace ruffles. A quaint domino is of gauze of an opaque whiteness, strewn with black and gold spots of varying sizes, the hood gathered up in the middle beneath a big white poppy, the petals tipped with gold and the centre of black silk.

For obvious reasons, many dominoes, both for men and women, were made reversible. Occasionally, in addition to the hood, a towering erection was worn on the head, causing the wearer to appear of supernatural height, and the more mysterious. And I pause here to observe with emphasis that at a masked ball a domino is invested with special interest when surmounted by a fantastic headgear, and that such an incongruous alliance as that of a white-powdered and curled wig and the black silk domino shaped as a gaberdine, with a full hood and lace-frilled silk mask, creates an effect beneath which an identity may be most easily concealed. Far more desirable, however, in the interests of the beautiful, is it to select the domino and head-dress in sympathy; and I may quote as a successful blend a long cloak of jet-spangled net, with jet-spangled hood falling round the shoulders, and a high-pointed head-dress of the fourteenth century, with a pendent jet veil and a jet mask to cover the face, the chin being held by a few folds of net to match the veil. Dominoes made of net oversewn with petals of flowers, the hoods adorned to match and well drawn over the hair, and the masks of lace in butterfly shape, may also be quoted as decorative; and so too may the domino of accordion-pleated silk, but custom has somewhat staled the charms of this, and I would vote rather for the more sumptuous brocade, and urge the importance of liberality in its folds.

The mask has, at all times, been the essential complement of the domino. In its ordinary form it consists of a stiff shape arranged to fit the face as far as the upper lip. Moulded to the nose, it is provided with slits for the eyes and nostrils, and fastened by means of a button and a narrow elastic band. Now and then it is edged with a frill of lace which conceals the chin and further enhances the disguise. Black satin and velvet are most frequently employed to cover this kind of mask, the latter, by the way, being far more becoming; but the black lace mask is an innovation of modern times, sometimes failing in its purpose of disguise, and the chiffon spangled mask may be accredited with like disadvantage. Coloured masks, or loups, as they are termed in French, are also worn, but have little to commend them, being grotesque and ugly.

Authorities differ concerning the origin of masks. The most generally accepted theory is that they were first employed at the festivals of Bacchus, and recent discoveries have proved them to have been in use in ancient Egypt, numerous specimens having been found at the heads of mummy-cases. These early examples are composed of a substance closely resembling papier-machÉ, and painted in imitation of life.

It was in Greece, however, that the mask reached its apotheosis. There it formed an indispensable factor in classic drama. Its introduction on the stage is attributed to Thespis, who is held to have substituted masks for cosmetics.

There is no confusing the mask peculiar to the Greek theatre with that of any other country or period. The industry rose to the dignity of an art, as the beauty-loving Hellenes would tolerate nothing ugly or ill-made on their actors.

The dramatic masks consisted of an entire head, with hair, beard, and ornaments arranged in exact accordance with the character to be portrayed. All the features were strongly accentuated, vividly coloured, and of supernatural size. The eyes were deeply sunken, the nose exaggerated, and the mouth open. Inside the parted lips was a metal construction designed to make the voice carry a considerable distance—a necessary measure, as all performances took place in colossal open-air buildings. The moment an actor appeared upon the scene a glance at his mask sufficed to determine the rÔle he was about to play; and, whether masculine or feminine, the details were equally exact.

How comprehensive the range of selection was may be gathered from the fact that masks were broadly divided into three great classes, namely, Tragical, Comical, Satirical, each of which was in turn subdivided as follows:—

1. Eight masks of old men, typifying differences of age, rank, humour, etc.

2. A series of eleven masks of young men.

3. Seven varieties of masks of slaves.

4. Eighteen masks of women.

In addition to the above, the masks depicting gods and heroes were placed in a separate category. These never varied, and each displayed the attributes of the deity portrayed. Thus ActÆon appeared with the antlers of a deer, Argus with a hundred eyes, Diana with a crescent; and so on.

The earliest masks were fashioned from wood fibre, which in due time gave place to leather, and finally to wax.

In Rome the art of mask-making was further elaborated. Trades and professions were distinctively personated. Double-faced masks were introduced, one side representing laughter and the other tears, so that by turning his right or left profile to the audience, the actor could change his expression at will.

Among the Romans the use of the mask was not restricted to the theatre. It was worn in processions, and at certain festivals, notably those dedicated to Pan, where masks of vine leaves were customary. A strange funeral rite consisted of a performance given by a comedian wearing a mask made in the likeness of the defunct. This mummer's mission was to follow the coffin, acting and reciting the salient features of the dead man's career, impartially setting forth both the good and the bad.

In the reign of Augustus, patrician ladies were in the habit, when indoors, of wearing masks delicately perfumed and treated with cosmetics. This fashion was revived by Henry III. of France and his courtiers for the preservation of the complexion.

The fall of the Roman Empire marked the disappearance of the mask from the stage. From then onward it appeared only in pantomime, where the mask of Punchinello is familiar to this day. The nutcracker countenance, with its highly-coloured cheeks and tinkling bells, is a survival of extreme antiquity. I pause to wonder who the old Greek may have been whom the maker of masks thus immortalised? There is a world of cynicism, pathos, and philosophy in his face. I feel that he sorrowed, and that it was not because he knew too little, but because he knew too much.

The practice of wearing masks, by private individuals in everyday life, started, as did the fashion for dominoes, in Venice. There the black satin and velvet masks, still worn at fancy-dress balls and during Carnival time, first obtained, to be enthusiastically adopted in France and England a little later on. In the latter country, however, the use of the mask never degenerated into an abuse as in France, although masks became so fashionable in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that society ladies deemed them an essential accessory to the toilette. They were not always worn: sometimes they were carried in the hand and held up to the face only when necessary. The exclusive elected to appear masked at the theatre and other public places.

But the universal wearing of masks became such a public menace and incentive to crime that in 1535 an edict was issued in France prohibiting the fashion excepting during Carnival time. Under Henry IV. the privilege was restricted to the nobility, and it was made a capital crime for any commoner to don a mask.

With Louis XIII. the mask fell into temporary abeyance, only to be revived with renewed vigour under his successor. The first occasion upon which Louis XIV. appeared in a mask was at the Palais Cardinal in January 1656. From that date until January 1668 he was an enthusiastic supporter of the vogue. The fashion, prevalent in 1650, of ladening masks with superfluous trimming was of but short duration. While the craze lasted a ruching of lace adorned the top, a lace frill the bottom, and the eyes were encrusted with various decorations to such an extent that ladies, descending from their carriages, were obliged to be led, it being impossible for them to see. The preposterous vogue inspired Scarron's ditty:

Like its associate the domino, the mask gradually faded away with the passing of the eighteenth century. In Italy it enjoyed the longest and most undisputed sway. There it was worn by all members of the community, including the clergy. The Council of Ten, the Inquisitors, and the members of the Holy Office generally, both in Italy and Spain, were closely masked when employed upon the exercise of their terrible functions.

Certain unwritten but universal and indisputable laws rule the wearing of masks. Whether worn privately or in public, its disguise has at all times and in all countries been respected as inviolably sacred. To the masked the greatest extravagance of language and gesture is permitted. He is allowed to indulge in acrid personalities and proclaim scathing truths which, even if addressed to the monarch himself, go unrebuked. To strike a mask is a serious offence, while in no class of society, however degraded, would any one dare to unmask a woman. Yet another prerogative entitles the masked to invite any woman present, whether masked or not, to dance with him, etiquette decreeing that the queen of the land may not claim exemption from this rule. Dear to romance is the masked highwayman, who flourished until the advent of railways robbed him of his occupation; and a grim figure is ever the masked headsman.

Of numerous romances, none has equalled in fascination that of the impenetrable mystery of le Masque de Fer. Held by many to have been brother to Louis XIV., this strange prisoner of State guarded his incognito to the end. He was never seen without a pliable steel mask provided with a movable mouthpiece to allow of his eating with comparative ease. Other peculiarities of his were his fondness for exquisitely fine linen and his habit of invariably dressing in brown.

No mode ever invented has appealed so strongly to the imagination, or given rise to such tragedies and comedies, as that of the mask, and no other has led its followers to such flights of folly. Nevertheless, I find myself sighing for the days when it invested the neutral-tinted world with the glamour of romance, twin sister of mystery, which was the prevailing atmosphere when fashion decreed that men and women should assume a common disguise and flit, shadow-like, among other nameless shadows through the complicated mazes of their social highways and byways.