Even wilder than Bridgerton: inside the scandalous world of Georgian masked balls

Even wilder than Bridgerton: inside the scandalous world of Georgian masked balls Meghan Kobza takes us inside the world of the 18th-century masquerade, where sex, wealth and power collided with the urge to make a splash in high society – often with scandalous results Elizabeth Chudleigh adjusted her mask as she approached the entrance to the opera house. The flickering candlelight from chandeliers winked at her from inside the magnificent building, beckoning her to the masquerade. A mischievous Harlequin, flock of giddy shepherdesses and a handful of dominos pushed past her, all eager to join the revelry. As she eyed their costumes, Chudleigh could have been forgiven for questioning her own choice of dress. She had adopted the guise of Iphigenia – a well-known character from Greek antiquity, who was sacrificed to the Gods during the Trojan Wars – and, with the help of the popular actor Susannah Cibber, had been transformed into a truly striking figure. Her masquerade habit (costume) would explode 18th-century London’s expectations of dress and decorum, revealing far more than it concealed. Another few steps brought Chudleigh closer to the door. Doubtless, her nerves were now jangling. She was, she may have thought to herself, beginning to understand how Iphigenia felt during those final, terrible moments before meeting her fate. However, while Iphigenia was the innocent victim of the goddess Artemis’s whims, Chudleigh’s nerves were wholly self-inflicted. She had made this choice herself. But was it the right choice? She could lose her post as maid of honour in the Princess of Wales’ household if her plan went awry. Though she was in disguise, recognition was the ultimate purpose of Chudleigh’s gamble. Upon discovery, her reputation and status would either be ruthlessly slaughtered on the altar of the masquerade or immortalised, cementing her place among high society. If she harboured second thoughts, now was the time to retreat, for once she stepped through the doorway of the King’s Theatre, there was no turning back. Chudleigh presented her ticket and strode boldly into the heaving crowd. It wasn’t long before heads started to turn and spirited conversations faded to whispers. Everyone was asking the same questions: “Who is that?” and “WHAT is she wearing?” Covered by little more than a sheer gauze top and long, flowing skirt, Chudleigh’s breasts were prominently on display for all to see, while her face remained hidden behind the mask. She could feel the gazes of countless eyes consuming and scrutinising her as she moved through the foyer and into the theatre itself. Among the stunned spectators were the social reformer Elizabeth Montagu, and Chudleigh’s childhood friend and masquerade connoisseur Horace Walpole. Both were utterly astounded by the brazen maid of honour who was, observed Walpole, “so naked that you would have taken her for Andromeda”. Montagu recalled that “Miss Chudleigh’s dress or rather undress was remarkable”. A besotted king Not all in attendance were dazzled by the bare-breasted Chudleigh, however. Augusta, Princess of Wales, was so alarmed at the state of her maid of honour that she descended on Chudleigh with a shawl, which Chudleigh quickly shrugged aside. The other maids of honour – though they themselves were not particularly pure or chaste – “were so offended, they would not speak to her” for the entire evening. This disapproval might have proved fatal to Elizabeth’s future in Augusta’s household had she not attracted the attention of an elderly man in “an old-fashioned English habit”. Under the mask was none other than King George II, who was a lifelong patron of the masquerade – and utterly besotted by Chudleigh. Her risqué dress had captured his attention; her sparkling charm and sharp wit secured it. Indeed, George II was so entranced by Chudleigh that she became a favoured mistress and earned a coveted place among his inner circle. - Read more | Bridgerton: the real history explained Not only did Chudleigh gain notoriety within the fashionable elite, she became an overnight sensation. In the days and weeks that followed the masquerade, stories and prints of her scandalous dress flooded newspapers and print shop windows. At least six different depictions of her (and her bare breasts) circulated across London, while teasing lines of verse captured the combination of humour, daring and scandal Chudleigh embodied as Iphigenia. That one extraordinary appearance at the King’s Theatre would bring Elizabeth Chudleigh status, connections and celebrity. She would go on to earn many epithets later in life, including duchess, countess and (after remarrying while her first husband was still alive) bigamist. But few would forget the evening in which she transformed herself into Iphigenia. She took the masquerade for all it was worth and used this elite space to defy social standards and display herself and her sexuality on her own terms. In doing so, Chudleigh earned herself an enduring legacy in wider masquerade culture. Wildly popular By the time Elizabeth Chudleigh was setting hearts a flutter and tongues flapping in 1749, the masquerade had not only become a fashionable fixture in the London season, it had permeated wider British culture – appearing in theatre, literature, art and print. Though it had had a floundering start on the south banks of the Thames in the early 1700s, the masquerade became wildly popular in its new home, the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, under the careful direction of Swiss impresario and opera house manager Johann Jakob Heidegger. Heidegger transformed this European court entertainment into a commercial enterprise, selling tickets and using the profits to help fund his productions. While the tickets to the grand entertainment were available for purchase – and, therefore, technically accessible to everyone – extortionate pricing meant that only those in the highest echelons of London society could afford it. The additional expenses of a masquerade habit and transportation, either by sedan chair or carriage, created a further financial obstacle for anyone in the middling or lower ranks. Of course, such costs were of little concern to the beau monde – comprised of the nobility, gentry and a select group of fashionable actors, artists and merchants – and it wasn’t long before they were flaunting their privilege, wealth and taste on the elite stage provided by the masquerade. While the decision to come as a character, wear a bejewelled dress or drape a domino cloak over existing clothing was left to the discretion of the participant, a mask was mandatory. It was the mask, after all, that gave the masquerade its name, and it was the mask that distinguished the masquerade from other popular forms of assembly such as balls, ridottos and fetes. This thrill of discovery helped turn the masquerade into a cultural phenomenon. In a time of increasing access to consumer goods and leisure spaces, masquerades hit the sweet spot of the Georgian love of spectacle, display and fashionability. The capital’s glitterati used them as a watering hole where they could reinforce their superiority through material displays of wealth. This made recognition – rather than disguise – the prevailing feature of these elite gatherings. And these were gatherings that seized the imaginations of Britons of all social backgrounds. Those who couldn’t afford to attend the masquerade themselves could always join the masses thronging the route to the opera house in the hours before the event, or they could admire proceedings as a paying spectator from the theatre’s gallery. Some even treated themselves to the plentiful memorabilia – ranging from porcelain figures and handkerchiefs to engravings – produced to capitalise on the masquerade phenomenon. How to be a master of disguise 10 do's and don'ts when attending a masquerade 1. Don't be late! The roads to the King’s Theatre can become congested with spectators, political mobs and fellow revellers. So, whether you’re travelling to the masquerade by sedan chair or carriage, leave yourself at least an hour to get there. 2. Don't forget your invite Make sure you have your ticket ready for inspection at the door. You will need to sign your name on it and seal it with wax before your arrival – otherwise the sentries may well turn you away. 3. Dress to impress From the moment you begin your journey to the masquerade, you will be on display for all to see. Whether dazzling, daring or decorous, your costume projects your status, taste and wealth. So use it to your best advantage. 4. Ditch the black domino This characterless cloak is the scourge of the masquerade – spurned by impresarios, fellow maskers and newspapers alike. While it offers a fast disguise for those lacking imagination, the billowing cape, tricorn hat and bauta mask reap gloom rather than glamour. 5. Show some decorum While a mask might protect you from immediate recognition, you are still beholden to the social expectations of the time, namely politeness and civility. If you are caught brawling, using offensive language, or setting a bad example for servants or waiters, you will be removed promptly. 6. Spot the royal The masquerade is a favoured pastime of several monarchs, including George I, George II, and Christian VII (the King of Denmark). The Prince of Wales, future George IV, is perhaps the most passionate royal masquerader – often found sporting fake noses and colourful domino cloaks. 7. Bring your A-game The masquerade is no place to run out of energy – you’ll be expected to feast, dance and gossip the whole night through. The doors to the theatre open around 9 o’clock and the revelry often continues after the clock has struck 4am. 8. Get into character You can find inspiration for your costume all around you – in the theatre, literature, art, history and mythology, not to mention masquerade warehouses. Whatever you select, make sure to bring your character to life, be it a mischievous Harlequin, demure Quaker, or irksome devil. 9. Arrive on an empty stomach The sideboards are laden with the most sumptuous confections – sweetmeats, fruits and ices – while wine, orgeat (a sweet syrup) and bubbles will be flowing all night. 10. Don't forget to wear a mask! But choose wisely. Wax masks can provide deceptive disguises but are pungent and sticky. A silk or papier-mâché mask might be a better choice as the wine flows and the heat of the opera house rises. Den of debauchery Yet not everyone was enamoured of what they saw unfolding at the King’s Theatre. As masquerade grew in popularity, so its critics grew in number. The bishop of London, Edmund Gibson; prominent author and magistrate Henry Fielding; and satirical engraver William Hogarth all raised their voices in opposition to the entertainment. They argued the masquerade was a den of debauchery and that its continued presence in London would lead to social upheaval and an irredeemable state of national immorality. Hogarth, who believed the masquerade represented the corruptive and corrosive power of Italian art and culture, lambasted the entertainment and its patrons in two of his earliest self-commissioned engravings Masquerades and Operas, or, the Bad Taste of the Town and Masquerade Ticket. It was a theme he would return to throughout his career, using masquerade tickets, masks and habits in his later works A Harlot’s Progress and Marriage A-la-Mode to make overt associations between the entertainment and prostitution and vice. But the criticisms did little to stop masquerade from growing into Georgian London’s most expensive and extravagant pastime. Meanwhile, masqueraders drew inspiration for their costumes from an ever more diverse well of sources. The British empire grew rapidly across the 18th century – and, as they encountered the new cultures, peoples, foods and fashions descending on London, masqueraders increasingly dressed in costumes with truly global influences. The King of Denmark’s masquerade in 1768 saw white masqueraders dressed as nabobs (officials in the East India Company), “Chinamen”, enslaved people and a host of other “characters”. Miss Kitty Cambridge and her chaperone, Mrs Agneta Yorke, who both attended in Indian costumes, recalled that among the most entertaining and curious characters that evening were “Miss Pelham [who] was a blackymoor” and the actor Mr Mendez, dressed as “a black slave”. He “had black’d his skin and put on the wool with great propriety, he had a diamond necklace about his neck which had a very good effect”. According to the The Gentleman’s Magazine, Mendez was dressed in the character of Mungo, an enslaved worker, from the new comic opera The Padlock. Costumes like these were a feature of masquerades across the century and often appeared the next day in correspondence and newspaper reports. Yet such racial transgression went exclusively in one direction. While white masqueraders might choose to portray figures from across the world – ranging from Pacific Islanders to Native Americans – people of colour were expected to dress as other people of colour, or in the neutral domino character. Julius Soubise, a formerly enslaved Afro-Caribbean servant, often attended masquerades as Mungo. This, combined with his penchant for flamboyant dress, resulted in him being known as the ‘Mungo Macaroni’ in popular culture. In the semi-fictional, semi-factual novel Nocturnal Revels, Soubise purportedly plans to whiten his face and dress in a sultan masquerade habit. The idea is immediately rebuffed by his acquaintance, who suggests selecting a costume better suited to Soubise’s complexion. In most instances, then, masquerade reinforced rather than challenged negative stereotypes and wider colonial power structures. Gender boundaries Yet it wasn’t just racial boundaries that were placed under the spotlight when Britain’s elite congregated at the King’s Theatre. Following their promenade across the stage of the opera house, Mrs Yorke and her charge reported that “the cleverest masks were two old women”. One of those women was, in fact, a man: Henry Seymour Conway. Known to play characters in the most convincing manner, Conway often took to dressing across gender – both engaging with conceptions of effeminacy, and styling himself in imitation of fashionable ladies or cantankerous elders. Years earlier, Conway had gone to great lengths to impersonate the Duchess of Manchester, seeking her out at the theatre and other public spaces to learn her mannerisms and speech. Though unable to find her, Conway managed to present a convincing female figure donning “a loose sack and black silk mask” and peacock plumes taken “out of my sister Jenny’s wardrobe which I ransacked without reserve”. If men could dress as women, so women could dress as men, taking on the guise of marquis and pageboys, or donning the masculine black domino and tricorn hat. In 1771 the “celebrated belles” of the fashionable elite, Mrs Crewe and her friend Mrs Bouverie, “were dressed as men, having borrowed the fierce smart hats of their friends and superiors, they looked full as well, and as masculine as they do!” This backhanded compliment flattered the ladies, while poking fun at the men in their political coterie, namely Charles James Fox – who would go on to serve as Britain’s foreign secretary – and his Whig colleagues. Prodigious feathers Gender play was also expressed in symbolic costume, most notably in 1775 when a man and lady appeared at the King’s Theatre dressed as components of each other’s wardrobe. The woman wore “a very large pair of breeches that reached from her feet to the top of her head, where the waistband was fastened, and crowned with a prodigious bunch of ostrich feathers”. Her male partner sported “a petticoat that covered his whole figure with a ducal coronet, ornamented with jewels on his head”. The pair would have made for a strange sight, but there was method to their unconventional costume. Their outfits were intended as a satire on the Duke and Duchess of Gordon, a Scottish power couple whose marriage, it seems, did not conform to societal norms. In a patriarchal world, the duchess was known in society circles to be rather overbearing. It was she who, as the costumes so stingingly observed, wore the breeches in the relationship. By the time the ersatz Duke and Duchess of Gordon made their unforgettable appearance at the King’s Theatre, the opera house was losing its monopoly status in the world of masquerade. In the early 1770s, Carlisle House in Soho Square and the Pantheon on Oxford Street emerged as serious rivals, both venues drawing masqueraders’ attention and spending power away from the Haymarket. In an effort to retain the patronage of the elite – and attract new business from the aspiring middling sorts – the King’s Theatre needed to be creative and competitive. Lowering ticket prices, hosting Venetian-themed masquerades and offering private supper boxes for the upper ranks helped keep the masquerade afloat for a while. But, by the end of the century, the elite’s tastes had begun to change. Visual displays of status slowly lost their allure, as the shine of the nobility and gentry was, in the eyes of some, tarnished by the infiltration of their social ‘inferiors’. Across the Victorian period, masquerades retreated into townhouses, evolved into fancy dress balls and became a chiefly middle-class pursuit as the aristocracy lost interest and began to seek entertainment elsewhere. The once glamorous and outrageous Georgian masquerade soon faded to the periphery, but its legacy has not. Recognition, fashion and display remain prominent components of fancy dress and celebrity culture, while the masquerade itself continues to captivate imaginations in novels, movies and period dramas. Masquerade’s ability to reflect, enable and challenge wider tensions and power structures – mixed with its reputation for extravagance and intrigue – make it as relevant in the 21st century as the evening Elizabeth Chudleigh walked through the entrance of the King’s Theatre and caused a sensation. Meghan Kobza is a historian of leisure, culture, costume and commercialisation in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her latest book, The Masquerade: A History of Extravagance and Intrigue, was published by Yale in May This article was first published in the June 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine