(A Classical Revel, after the Press accounts of last week's Italian ball).
Ancient history became luminous at Covent Garden last week, when the great ghosts of the past, from Romulus to Nero and from Egeria to Agrippina, were seen one-stepping gaily in toga and stola at the great Roman ball. It was the night, not of the Futurists, but the Præteritists, and right royally did they avail themselves of their chance.
Perhaps the most arresting of all the costumes were those worn by Lord Curzon as Tarquinius Superbus and Mr. Lansbury as Spartacus. The former was garbed in a magnificent toga purpurea, elaborately adjusted so as to show the laticlave on his tunica. Over this was a sumptuous lacerna of silver tissue fastened over the right shoulder with a diamond fibula. On his head he wore a petasus of hyacinthine hue, out of which sprang three peacock's feathers. He was shod with curule shoes, or mullei, fastened with four crimson thongs. Mr. Lansbury's costume was simpler but not less striking, consisting of scarlet braccæ or barbarian pantaloons, a jade-green synthesis, buckskin soleæ and an accordion-pleated pileus. Lord Howard de Walden as Mæcenas attracted general attention by the lustre of his amethystine tunica and the crimson heels of his crepidæ, which may not have been archæologically correct, but were certainly a happy thought. Mr. Bernard Shaw, who personated Cato of Utica, wore hygienic sandals, a white toga and a brown felt Jaeger pileus. Mr. Harold Begbie as Marcellus, the best boy of ancient Rome, formed an agreeable contrast to the numerous Messalinas, Poppæas and Cleopatras who lent a regrettably Pagan element to the assembly. But Lady Astor as Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, was an austere and dignified figure in her panniered Botticelli stola, with pearl-embroidered red wings, and a flabellum (or fan) of albatross feathers with gold bells attached. The grandeur that was Rome, again, was revived in Mr. John, who assumed the rôle of his namesake, Augustus, and in Mr. Bottomley, who as Horatius Flaccus imparted a Sabine simplicity to the scene.
It is a pity that a good many of the guests had indolently taken advantage of the fact that ancient Roman dress was not obligatory, and yet it must be admitted that some of them looked the Roman part to perfection. The unadorned rigours of evening dress only threw into greater relief the truly Cæsarian lineaments of Lord Riddell, the stoical independence of Mr. Charles Trevelyan and the aquiline dignity of Mr. Tich (Parvus).
It may be added that the use of Latin was not compulsory, but that one of the guests, who appeared as Phuphluns, the Etrurian Bacchus, and partook freely of the excellent neo-Falernian supplied by the firm of Leones, expressed the pious hope that he would not suffer too much from calida æra on the morrow.
"Mr. Pim Passes By."
Our Mr. A. A. M.'s play is now comfortably settled in its new home (No. 3) at The Playhouse. A correspondent informs Mr. Punch that since the opening night Mr. Dion Boucicault's popular part has been developed to the slight disturbance of the balance of things; not so much by new dialogue as by deliberate iteration and portentous pauses. That on his first entrance he now studies a photograph with his nose close up to the glass, forgetting that, if he is as short-sighted as all that, the protracted gaze which he had previously directed upon the ceiling must have been fruitless. That Miss Irene Vanbrugh has dispensed with whatever serious element there was in her part and relies for her brilliant effects almost completely on its irresponsible frivolity. That Mr. Ben Webster has come on remarkably; and that the part of the flapper is now played according to nature by the right person.
Mr. Punch's advice to any who have hitherto passed by is to go in and see Mr. Pim doing it.