But that is where the Latin spirit of New Orleans comes in, with its pleasing combination of gaiety and restraint.  You could not hold such a carnival in every city.  You could not do it in New York.  For more important even than the pageants and the balls, is the carnival frame of mind.  To hold a carnival such as New Orleans holds, a city must know how to be lively and playful without becoming drunk, without breaking barroom mirrors, upsetting tables, annoying women, thrusting “ticklers” into people’s faces, jostling, fighting, committing the thousand rough vulgar excesses in which New York indulges every New Year’s Eve, and in which it would indulge to an even more disgusting extent under the additional license of the mask.

The carnival—­carne vale, farewell flesh—­which terminates with Mardi Gras—­“Fat Tuesday,” or Shrove Tuesday, the day before the beginning of Lent—­comes down to us from pagan times by way of the Latin countries.  The “Cowbellions,” a secret organization of Mobile, in 1831 elaborated the idea of historical and legendary processions, and as early as 1837 New Orleans held grotesque street parades.  Twenty years later the “Mystic Krewe,” now known as “Comus,” appeared from nowhere and disappeared again.  The success of Comus encouraged the formation of other secret societies, each having its own parade and ball, and in 1872, Rex, King of the Carnival, entered his royal capital of New Orleans in honor of the visit of the Grand Duke Alexis—­who, by the way, is one of countless notables who have feasted at Antoine’s.

The three leading carnival societies, Comus, Momus, and Proteus, are understood to be connected with three of the city’s four leading clubs, all of which stand within easy range of one another on the uptown side of Canal Street:  the Boston Club (taking its name from an old card game); the Pickwick (named for Dickens’ genial gentleman, a statue of whom stands in the lobby); the Louisiana, a young men’s club; and the Chess, Checkers and Whist Club.  The latter association is, I believe, the one that takes no part in the carnival.

Each of the carnival organizations has its own King and Queen, and the connection between certain clubs and certain carnival societies may be guessed from the fact that the Comus Queen and Proteus Queen always appear on the stand in front of the Pickwick Club, to witness their respective parades, and that the Queen of the entire Carnival appears with her maids of honor on the stand before the Boston Club upon the day of Mardi Gras, to witness the triumphal entry and parade of Rex.  As Rex passes the club he sends her a bouquet—­the official indication of her queenship.  That night she appears for the first time in the glory of her royal robes at the Rex Ball, which is held in a large hall; and the great event of the carnival, from a social standpoint, is the official visit, on the same night, of Rex and his Queen, attended by their court, to the King and Queen of Comus, at the Comus Ball, held in the Opera House.