No more brilliant spectacle than this masked ball could be
imagined. Among other _salons_ and galleries, thrown open, was
the enormous perspective of the "Grande Galerie des Glaces,"
lighted up on that occasion with no less than four thousand wax
candles, reflected and repeated by all the mirrors, so that the
effect was almost dazzling. The grand suite of _salons_ was
thronged with masques, in every conceivable costume. There was
not a single room deserted. Every place was animated with music,
voices, brilliant colours, flashing jewels, the hilarity of
extemporized comedy, and all the spirited incidents of a cleverly
sustained masquerade. I had never seen before anything, in the
least, comparable to this magnificent _fête_. I moved along,
indolently, in my domino and mask, loitering, now and then, to
enjoy a clever dialogue, a farcical song, or an amusing
monologue, but, at the same time, keeping my eyes about me, lest
my friend in the black domino, with the little white cross on his
breast, should pass me by.
I had delayed and looked about me, specially, at every door I
passed, as the Marquis and I had agreed; but he had not yet
appeared.
While I was thus employed, in the very luxury of lazy amusement,
I saw a gilded sedan chair, or, rather, a Chinese palanquin,
exhibiting the fantastic exuberance of "Celestial" decoration,
borne forward on gilded poles by four richly-dressed Chinese; one
with a wand in his hand marched in front, and another behind; and
a slight and solemn man, with a long black beard, a tall fez,
such as a dervish is represented as wearing, walked close to its
side. A strangely-embroidered robe fell over his shoulders,
covered with hieroglyphic symbols; the embroidery was in black
and gold, upon a variegated ground of brilliant colours. The robe
was bound about his waist with a broad belt of gold, with
cabalistic devices traced on it, in dark red and black; red
stockings, and shoes embroidered with gold, and pointed and
curved upward at the toes, in Oriental fashion, appeared below
the skirt of the robe. The man's face was dark, fixed, and
solemn, and his eyebrows black, and enormously heavy--he carried
a singular-looking book under his arm, a wand of polished black
wood in his other hand, and walked with his chin sunk on his
breast, and his eyes fixed upon the floor. The man in front waved
his wand right and left to clear the way for the advancing
palanquin, the curtains of which were closed; and there was
something so singular, strange, and solemn about the whole thing,
that I felt at once interested.
I was very well pleased when I saw the bearers set down their
burthen within a few yards of the spot on which I stood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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