"MASQUERADE AT THE OPERA HOUSE.
"On Thursday night, for the first time this season, there was a grand masquerade at this House, which was very numerously attended, as every room was crowded, and the numbers computed at about 1600. A party of Bon-vivans, unmasked, came into the rooms about two o'clock, who had evidently made too free use of the juice of the grape. The primitive dress of one of them, who appeared to be a Quaker, did not quite accord with his manners, which were more prone to the flesh than the spirit. Although the new regulations in price is in favour of Masquerades, yet the freedom of conversation which is allowed in these motley meetings, became, on this occasion, indecent ribaldry, and licentiousness. The lowness of the price of admission was in a great measure the cause of introducing many low visitors, who made themselves obnoxious to delicacy, and good manners, by the coarsest language."—(Times, Feb. 17, 1798.)
Madame Cornelys.
There is a paragraph in the Times of August 23, 1797, whereby "hangs a tale"—
"The miserable death of Mrs. Cornelys, in the Fleet Prison, adds another melancholy instance to the catalogue of vicissitudes in what is generally termed fashionable life. She was formerly the law-giver of the circles of dissipation, and gaiety, yet closed her existence in the hospital room of the prison, in which she had obtained permission to reside, by the kindness of the Warden."
The history of Teresa Cornelys is very singular, showing how a nobody—for no one knows even from what part of Germany she came—could come here, and, by her business qualities, and tact, become a person absolutely indispensable to Society. All we know of her is that she was supposed to be a German, who had been a public singer, both in France, and Germany, and that she came over here about 1756 or 1757. Whether there was a Herr Cornelys alive, we have no knowledge—but she had a son, and daughter. That she was not bad looking, is evidenced by her portrait, which must have been taken in her declining years: that she must have been shrewd, business-like, and possessed of much savoir faire, is undeniable—for she held "Society" in her grasp, and, for a time, made it do just what she wanted.
What she did for the first five, or six years, after her coming to England is not known, but she must have been possessed of some Capital, or she could not have taken, as she did, Carlisle House—a mansion in Soho Square. Here she started a sort of fashionable Social Club, called "The Society," either in 1762, or 1763, and this was its programme. "The subscription is seven guineas for twelve nights, one ticket each, which introduces only one person, whether gentleman, or lady; but there are frequent subscriptions in the year, and two ladies may be admitted six nights on one subscription. No person can be admitted a Subscriber to this Society, but through the recommendation of a subscriber. Four ladies of quality, having each of them a book, have the joint management, direction, and choice, of the subscribers; every one's name must be entered in one of those ladies' books.
"A non-subscriber can only be admitted by a subscriber's ticket, writing his, or her name on the back; in consequence of which rule, and to avoid the possibility of improper company, their names are, immediately after the night is over, printed, and hung up in the outer room.
"The doors are opened, at 9 o'clock, of the lower rooms, which consist of six, each superior to the other; few people, however, assemble before 10, and those who profess themselves of the genteelest order, not till eleven, when they walk about, and amuse themselves with accosting their acquaintance, and forming themselves into select parties for the evening; then regaling with jellies, syllabubs, cakes, orgeat, lemonade, fruits, &c., prepared in a kind of arched shelving all round the hangings of the tea room.