"CHIFFONS."
"Chiffons!" "_talking chiffons!_" "_writing chiffons!_"--will any one
have the goodness to furnish us with a literal yet lucid interpretation
of this enigmatical form of speech so incessantly employed in the
Parisian _beau monde_? Among the translatable words of the French
language,--among the expressive terms which cannot be rendered by
equally significant expressions in our own more copious tongue,--among
the phraseology invented to convey ideas which the phrases themselves
certainly do not suggest,--the common application of this curt little
word "_chiffons_" holds a distinguished place. Look for "_chiffons_" in
the dictionary, and you will see it simply defined as "_rags_;" yet
"_chiffons_" represent the very opposite of rags feminine, and conjure
up a multitudinous army of feminine fashions, fripperies, fancies,
follies, indispensable aids and adjuncts of the feminine toilet.
We have headed this chapter "_chiffons_," and given an imperfect
definition of the term, as a sign-post of warning to masculine
readers,--a hint that this is a chapter to be lightly skimmed, or
altogether skipped, for it unavoidably treats of "_chiffons_," which the
necessities of the narrative will not allow us to suppress.
The Marquis de Fleury had been appointed ambassador from the court of
Napoleon the Third to the United States of America.
Madame de Fleury's state of mind, in spite of the consolation afforded
by a number of strikingly original costumes, which she innocently
flattered herself would prove very effective during a sea-voyage, was
deplorable. Terror inspired by the perils of the deep was only surpassed
by intense grief excited by her compulsory banishment to a land where,
she imagined, the invading feet of modiste and mantua-maker had not
trodden out all resemblance to the original Eden; a land where the women
probably attired themselves with a leaning to antediluvian simplicity,
or in accordance with strong-minded proclivities, and the men were,
doubtless, too much engrossed by politics and business to be capable of
appreciating the most elaborate toilet that could be fashioned to
captivate their eyes; a land, in short, where taste was yet unborn, and
where it was ignorantly believed that the chief object of apparel was to
perform, on a more extensive scale, the use of primitive fig-leaves and
furs.
To prevent her from falling into the clutches of American barbarians,
Madame de Fleury secured two French maids as a _bodyguard_. Into the
hands of one, skilled in the intricate mysteries of hair-dressing, her
head was unreservedly consigned; the other, versed in more varied arts,
had entire charge of the rest of her person. But these _aides-de-camp_
of the toilet were deemed insufficient for the guardianship of her
charms. The moment her sentence of exile was pronounced, she had
summoned the incomparable Vignon to her presence, and piteously painted
the difficulties which must beset her path when she was remorselessly
torn from within reach of the creative fingers of the artist
_couturière_. Vignon had unanticipated comfort in store: the most
accomplished of her assistants,--one who had exhibited a skill in design
and execution positively marvellous,--had several times expressed a
strong inclination to establish herself in America, and would gladly
make her _debut_ in the New World under the patronage of the
marchioness. This information threw Madame de Fleury into such
ecstasies that all the waves of the Atlantic, which had been ruthlessly
tossing their wrecks about her brain, were suddenly stilled, and she
declared that Mademoiselle Melanie must make her preparations to sail in
the same steamer; for the knowledge that she was on board would render
the voyage endurable. The marchioness complacently added that she felt
so much strengthened by these tidings, that she could now look forward
to meeting, with becoming fortitude, the trials incident upon her
residence among a semi-civilized nation.
We need hardly relate how soon, after reaching Washington, the fair
Parisian discovered that civilization had made astounding progress if it
might be estimated by the deference paid to "_chiffons_;" nor need we
portray her astonishment at finding that American women "_of fashion_"
were not merely close copyists of extreme French modes, but that they
exaggerated even the most extravagant, and hunted after the newest
styles with the national energy which their countrywomen of a nobler
class expended upon nobler objects; and were more ready to deform or
ignore nature, and swear allegiance to the despotic rule of the
Crinoline Sovereign, than any Parisian belle under the sun.
Madame de Fleury's royal sway over the empire of "_chiffons_" was soon
as thoroughly established in Washington as it had been in Paris. Dress,
or head-dress, bodice, bonnet, mantle, gaiter, glove, worn by her,
multiplied itself in important imitations, and every feminine chrysalis
sent forth its ballroom butterfly in a livery to match. Whatever style,
shape, color, she adopted, however extraordinary, became the rage for
that season, and disappeared from sight, totally banished by her regal
command, at the inauguration of the next.
At one period no skirt could sweep the pavement, or lie in rich folds at
the bottom of a carriage, unadorned by an imposing flounce that almost
covered the robe; a little later, the one sober flounce was driven into
obscurity by twenty coquettish small ones; and these were displaced by
primly puffed bands; which gave way to fanciful "keys" running up the
sides of the dress (where they seemed to have no possible right); and
those vanished when double skirts commenced their brief reign; to be
dethroned by a severe-looking quilted ruffle marching around the hem of
the dress and up the centre to the throat; and this grave adornment
suddenly found its place usurped by an inundation of fantastic
trimmings, jet, bugles, _passementerie_, velvet or lace. So much for
skirts!
Then the bodices:--_now_ nothing was to be seen but the "square cut"
which revealed the fine busts of beauties in the days of Charles
II.,--now graceful folds _a coeur_ sentimentally ruled the day,--now
infant waists became a passion, and the most maternal forms aped the
juvenility borrowed from their babies. Then for sleeves: at one time
they were wide and long and cumbrous, forbidding every trace of the most
rounded member beneath; then they took the form of antique drapery,
disclosing the arm almost nude, save for the transparent lace of the
undersleeve,--then the close, tight fit of the Quaker left all but a
distorted outline to the imagination.
And bonnets: at one moment the tiniest bird's-nest of a hat, embowered
in feathers and buried in lace, was perched on the back of the head,
reminding one of Punch's suggestion that it could be more conveniently
carried upon a salver by a domestic walking behind; a little later, the
only bonnet admissible closed around the face like a cap, laces and
feathers had disappeared, a few tastefully disposed knots of ribbon, or
a single flower, were the only adornments: but hardly had Good Sense
nodded approvingly at the graceful simplicity with which heads were
covered, when, lo! the bonnets shot up like bright-hued coal-scuttles,
over which a basket of buds and blossoms had been suddenly upset, and
went through a variety of fantastic transformations wholly
indescribable.
So with other articles of attire. Mantles that had established for
themselves a natural and convenient length suddenly grew down to the hem
of the dress; basques, high in favor, were routed by Zouave jackets;
girdles were at one moment drawn down with tight pressure until they
barely surmounted the hips, the next were allowed to take an almost
natural round (as far as their fitting locality went), and next were put
wholly to flight by pointed Swiss belts, with enormous bows, and long,
flowing ends,--while these, in turn, were chased from the field by
picturesque scarfs.
Then as regards the disposition of that native veil of unsurpassable
beauty which adorns the head of woman: now, all locks were braided low
at the back of the head, almost lying upon the neck; now they surmounted
the crown and rose in stories higher and higher; now they sprang into a
pair of wings from either side of the temples; now they were clustered
in a tuft of disorderly curls above the brow; now smoothed and
bandolined close to the face and knotted with an air of quiet simplicity
behind the ears.
Whichever of these modes the Parisian queen of "_chiffons_" rendered
graceful in her own person, every fair one, with the slightest
aspiration to _style_, strengthened her claims to be thought fashionable
by scrupulously assuming. What wonder that Mademoiselle Melanie, prime
minister to the absolute sovereign, could scarcely receive the crowd of
clients that thronged her doors?
She hired a spacious mansion, near the capitol, and furnished it with
consummate taste. She combined the vocation of mantua-maker with that of
milliner, and supplied all the materials she employed from an assortment
of her own selection. This was one secret of her astonishing success,
for it gave her control over the entire apparel of her customers.
Regarding herself as responsible for the _tout ensemble_ of each toilet
that issued from her hands, and her reputation as at stake if any
defective touch marred the general result of her adorning, she exerted a
thoroughly despotic sway over those whom she undertook to dress, and
refused, in the most positive, yet most courteous manner, to allow them
to follow the dictates of their own faulty fancies. As a skilful artist
examines a picture in the best light, that all its beauties may be
revealed, she placed each one of her subjects in the most favorable
aspect, studied her closely, searched out every fine point which might
be heightened, and pondered over every defect which might be concealed.
She had the rare gift of knowing how to embellish nature, how to bring
forth all the capacities of a face and form, and how to modify the
fashion of the day to the requirements of the wearer, instead of
slavishly following an arbitrary mode, and thereby sacrificing all
individuality of beauty. Dress became high art in her hands. Wondrously
harmonious were the effects produced. Blondes looked softer and purer
than ever before, without becoming insipid; brunettes grew more
_piquante_ and brilliant; nondescripts gained force and character;
pallid faces caught a reflection of rose tints; too ruddy complexions
were toned down by paling colors, and sallow skins found their ochre hue
mysteriously neutralized. Angular shapes were draped so gracefully that
unsymmetrical sharpness disappeared; too ample forms exchanged their air
of uncouth corpulence for a well-defined roundness; low statures seemed
to spring up to a nobler altitude, and women of masculine height sunk
into feminine proportions. In short, Mademoiselle Melanie was not a
mantua-maker, or milliner,--she was the genius of taste, the artful
embodier of poetry in outward adorning.
Her own person was strikingly attractive; but the severest simplicity
characterized her attire. Her manners, though affable, were exceedingly
reserved; without any apparent effort, she repressed the familiarity of
the vulgar, and rebuked the patronizing airs of the assuming, winning
instinctive deference even from the ill-bred.
By her workwomen she was almost worshipped. Young herself, she impressed
them with the sense that notwithstanding her lack of advantage over them
in point of years, her superior skill and knowledge entitled her to be
their head. She sympathized with their griefs, inquired into their
needs, sometimes ignored their short-comings, but never their
sufferings, and took care that the thread which helped fashion a lady's
robe should not be drawn with such weary and overworked hands that, in
the language of Hood, it sewed a shroud at the same moment.
She was seldom seen in the streets; and, when her duties called her, she
went forth closely veiled. But her distinguished air, the simple
elegance of her apparel, and the dignified grace of her movements could
not escape admiration.
She soon found a carriage of her own indispensable, and selected an
unostentatious equipage; but allowed herself the indulgence of a pair of
superb horses, because she chanced to be an appreciating judge of those
noble animals: a rather unusual knowledge for a _couturière_.
She seldom walked or drove alone. She was usually accompanied by one of
her assistants, a young Massachusetts girl, with whom she had been
thrown into accidental communication shortly after her arrival in the
United States.
The history of Ruth Thornton is one every day repeated, but not less
touching because so far from rare. Born and bred in affluence which
emanated from the daily exertions of her father, his death left his
widow and three orphan daughters destitute. The eldest early assumed the
burdens of wifehood and maternity. Ruth was the second child. A girl of
high spirit, she quickly laid aside all false pride, and earnestly
sought to earn the bread of those she loved by the labor of her fair
young hands, until then strangers to toil. But where was remunerative
occupation to be found? Needy womanhood so closely crowded the few open
avenues of industry that it seemed as though there was no room for
another foot to gain a hold, another hand to struggle. To become a
teacher, or governess, was Ruth's first, most natural endeavor; but,
month after month, she sought in vain for a situation. She possessed a
remarkable voice and very decided musical talent. The idea of the
concert-room next suggested itself; but her naturally fine organ lacked
the long cultivation that could alone fit her to embark upon the career
of a singer. Her mind then turned to the stage; but, setting aside the
difficulty of obtaining engagements, even to fill some position in the
lowest ranks of the profession, she had no means, no time, to go through
a long course of requisite study, or to procure herself the costly
wardrobe indispensable to such a profession. She pondered upon the
possibility of entering that most noble institution, the New York School
of Design for Women. Here was meet work, hope-fanning, life-saving work
for feminine hands: engraving on wood or steel; coloring plates for
illustrated works; sketching designs for fashions to be used in
magazines, or patterns for carpets, calicoes, paper-hangings, etc. But,
on inquiry, she learned that a year's study would be needful before she
could hope to gain a modest livelihood through the medium of the
simplest of these pursuits. From whence, in the meantime, could her
mother, her sister, and herself derive their support? Next, she resolved
to resort to her needle; yet how small was the likelihood of keeping it
employed! and how poor the pittance it could earn as an humble
seamstress! True, she might learn a trade; but how was she to exist
meantime?
She stood erect in the midst of this desert of difficulties, perplexed
but undismayed, and still believing in, and steadfastly seeking for, the
work allotted to such weak hands as hers.
There is something magnetic in unflagging energy, and untiring hope;
they mysteriously attract to themselves the materials which they most
need. By a seeming accident, Ruth heard that an assistant housekeeper
was required at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York. Her high-born
relatives learned with horror that one of their kin, the daughter of a
gentleman who had held an honorable position in their community,
contemplated filling this menial position. But, in spite of their
disapproval, Ruth presented herself as an applicant for the post, and
though her youth (for she was hardly twenty) was an objection, her
services were accepted; and she entered forthwith upon her lowly duties.
We need not dwell upon the manifold and humiliating trials to which she
was subjected,--trials to which the loveliness of her person largely
contributed. Like a true American maiden, well-disciplined,
self-reliant, and of strong principles, she found protection within
herself, and bade defiance to dangers which might have proved fatal to
one whose early training had been less productive of strength.
It was while Ruth was meekly discharging these humble duties that she
became acquainted with Mademoiselle Melanie.
On arriving in New York, Madame de Fleury had taken up her residence for
a few days at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and, as though she feared to lose
sight of Mademoiselle Melanie, requested her to do the same. A severe
indisposition, which caused the latter to seek feminine aid, threw her
in communication with the housekeeper of the hotel and her young
assistant. Mademoiselle Melanie quickly became interested in the sweet,
pale, patient face hovering about her bed, and did not fail to note the
air of refinement which seemed at variance with her position. In less
than four and twenty hours the young French _couturière_ had learned the
history of the young American housekeeper, and resolved, if she
prospered in America, to remove this lovely girl from her present
perilous position to one less exposed.
Six months later Ruth received a letter from Washington making her an
offer to become one of the assistants of Mademoiselle Melanie, and
gratefully accepted the proposal. Mademoiselle Melanie found her young
_employée's_ health too delicate for an exhausting apprenticeship to the
needle, and employed Ruth in copying and coloring sketches of costumes
which the accomplished _couturière_ herself designed. As she became more
and more conversant with the noble character of her _protegée_ the
spontaneous attachment she had conceived for her grew stronger, and Ruth
Thornton became her constant companion.