force, the use of red. Merely rouging leaves three parts of the face,
and the whole of the neck and arms, to their natural hues. Hence, the
language of the heart, expressed by the general complexion, is not yet
entirely obstructed. Besides, while _all_ white paints are ruinous to
health, (occasioning paralytic affections, and premature death,) there
are some red paints which may be used with perfect safety.
A little vegetable rouge tinging the cheek of a delicate woman, who,
from ill health or an anxious mind, loses her roses, may be excusable;
and so transparent is the texture of such rouge, (when unadulterated
with lead,) that when the blood does mount to the face, it speaks
through the slight covering, and enhances the fading bloom. But, though
the occasional use of rouge may be tolerated, yet my fair friends must
understand that it is only _tolerated_. Good sense must so preside over
its application, that its tint on the cheek may always be fainter than
that nature’s pallet would have painted. A violent rouged woman is one
of the most disgusting objects to the eye. The excessive red on the
face gives a coarseness to every feature, and a general fierceness to
the countenance, which transforms the elegant lady of fashion into a
vulgar harridan.
While I recommend that the rouge we sparingly permit, should be laid on
with delicacy, my readers must not suppose that I intend such advice
as a means of making the art a deception. It seems to me so slight
and so innocent an apparel of the face, (a kind of decent veil thrown
over the cheek, rendered too eloquent of grief by the pallidness of
secret sorrow,) that I cannot see any shame in the most ingenuous
female acknowledging that she occasionally rouges. It is often, like a
cheerful smile on the face of an invalid, put on to give comfort to an
anxious friend.
That our applications to this restorer of our usual looks should not
feed, like a worm, on the bud it affects to brighten, no rouge must
ever be admitted that is impregnated with even the smallest particle
of ceruse. It is the lead which is the poison of white paint; and its
mixture with the red would render that equally noxious.
There are various ways of putting on rouge. Frenchwomen in general, and
those who imitate them, daub it on from the bottom of the side of the
face up to the very eye, even till it meets the lower eye-lash, and
creeps all over the temples. This is a hideous practice. It is obvious
that it must produce deformity instead of beauty, and, as I said
before, would metamorphose the gentlest-looking fair Hebe into a fierce
Medusa.
For brunettes, a slight touch of simple carmine on the cheek, in its
dry powder state, is amply sufficient. Taste will teach the hand to
soften the color by due degrees, till it almost imperceptibly blends
with the natural hue of the skin. For fairer complexions, letting down
the vivid red of the carmine with a mixture of fine hair powder, till
it suits the general appearance of the skin, will have the desired
effect.
The article of rouge, on the grounds I have mentioned, is the only
species of positive art a woman of integrity or of delicacy can permit
herself to use with her face. Her motives for imitating the bloom of
health, may be of the most honorable nature, and she can with candor
avow them. On the reverse, nothing but selfish vanity, and falsehood of
mind, could prevail on a woman to enamel her skin with white paints, to
lacker her lips with vermilion, to draw the meandering vein through the
fictitious alabaster with as fictitious a dye.
Penciling eye-brows, staining them, &c., are too clumsy tricks of
attempted deception, for any other emotion to be excited in the mind
of the beholder, than contempt for the bad taste and wilful blindness
which could ever deem them passable for a moment. There is a lovely
harmony in nature’s tints, which we seldom attain by our added
chromatics. The exquisitely fair complexion is generally accompanied
with blue eyes, light hair, and light eye-brows and lashes. So far
all is right. The delicacy of one feature is preserved in effect and
beauty by the corresponding softness of the other. A young creature,
so formed, appears to the eye of taste like the azure heavens, seen
through the fleecy clouds on which the brightness of day delights to
dwell. But take this fair image of the celestial regions, draw a black
line over her softly-tinctured eyes, stain their beamy fringes with a
sombre hue, and what do you produce? Certainly a fair face with _dark_
eye-brows! But that feature, which is an embellishment to a brunette,
when seen on the forehead of the fair beauty, becomes, if not an
absolute deformity, so great a drawback from her perfections, that the
harmony is gone; and, as a proof, a painter would immediately turn from
the change with disgust.
Nature, in almost every case, is our best guide. Hence the native
color of our own hair is, in general, better adapted to our own
complexions than a wig of a contrary hue. A thing may be beautiful in
itself, which, with certain combinations, may be rendered hideous. For
instance, a golden-tressed wig on the head of a brown woman, makes
both ridiculous. By the same rule, all fantastic tricks played with
the mouth or eyes, or motions of the head, are absurd, and ruinous to
beauty. They are solecisms in the works of nature.
In Turkey, it happened to be the taste of one of its great monarchs,
to esteem large and dark-lashed eyes as the most lovely. From that
time, all the fair slaves of that voluptuous region, when nature has
not bestowed “the wild-stag eye in sable ringlets rolling,” supply the
deficiency with circles of antimony; and so, instead of a real charm,
they impart a strange artificial ghastliness to their appearance.
Our countrywomen, in like manner, when a celebrated _belle_ came under
the pencil of Sir Peter Lely, who exhibited to her emulative rivals
the sweet peculiarities of her long and languishing eye, they must
needs all have the same; and not a lady could appear in public, be her
visual orbs large or small, bright or dull, but she must affect the
soft sleepiness, the tender and slowly-moving roll of her subduing
exemplar. But though Sir Peter’s gallant pencil deigned to compliment
his numerous sitters by drowning their strained aspects after the model
of the peerless _belle_, yet, in place of the nature-stamped look of
modest languishment, he could not but often recognize the disgraceful
leer and hideous squint. Let every woman be content to leave her eyes
as she found them, and to make that use of them which was their design.
They were intended to see with, and artlessly express the feelings of
a chaste and benevolent heart. Let them speak this unsophisticated
language, and beauty will beam from the orb which affectation would
have rendered odious.
Analogy of reasoning will bring forward similar remarks with regard to
the movements of the mouth, which many ladies use, not to speak with or
to admit food, but to show dimples and display white teeth. Wherever
a desire for exhibition is discovered, a disposition to disapprove
and ridicule arises in the spectator. The pretensions of the vain are
a sort of assumption over others, which arms the whole world against
them. But, after all, “What are the honors of a painted skin?” I hope
it will be distinctly understood by my fair friends, that I do not, by
any means, give a general license to painting; on the contrary, that
even rouge should only be resorted to in cases of absolute necessity.
GENERAL THOUGHTS ON DRESS AND PERSONAL DECORATION.
“Costly your habit as your purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy,
For the apparel oft proclaims the woman.”
SHAKSPEARE.
Every person of just observation, who looks back on the fashions of our
immediate ancestors, and compares their style of dress with that of the
present times, will not hesitate to acknowledge the evident improvement
in ease and gracefulness. When I say this, I mean to eulogize the taste
which yet prevails with persons of real judgment, to maintain the _ease
and gracefulness_ of our assumed Grecian mode, against a new race of
stay-makers, corset-inventors, &c., who have just armed themselves with
whalebone, steel, and buckram, to the utter destruction of all the
naturally-elegant shapes which fall into their hands.
Just before this attempted counter-revolution in the world of fashion,
we found that our _belles_ had gradually exploded the stiffness and
formality which distinguished the brocaded dame of 1700, from the
lawn-robed fair of the nineteenth century. In former ages it seemed
requisite that every lady should cut out her garments by a certain
erected standard. All seemed in a livery. One mode for gown, cap,
and hat prevailed; and though the materials might be more costly in
one than another, the outline was the same; and thus peculiar taste
and fine form were lost, in the general prescription of one reigning
costume.
But in our days, an Englishwoman has the extensive privilege of
arraying herself in whatever garb may best suit her figure or her
fancy. The fashions of every nation and of every era are open to her
choice. One day she may appear as the Egyptian Cleopatra, then a
Grecian Helen; next morning, the Roman Cornelia; or, if these styles be
too august for her taste, there are sylphs, goddesses, nymphs of every
region, in earth or air, ready to lend her their wardrobe. In short, no
land or age is permitted to withhold its costume from the adoption of
an Englishwoman of fashion.
“Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here
The various offsprings of the world appear;
This casket India’s glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.”
With such a variety to choose from, she has no excuse, if she unite
not the excellences of them all. It was so that the sculptor of Paphos
formed the “beauteous statue that enchanted the world.” And in like
manner female taste accomplishes its object. A judicious dresser will
select from each mode that which is most distinguishable for utility
and grace, and, combining, adopt them to advantage. This is the art
which every woman who casts a thought on these subjects, ought to
endeavor to attain.
Elegant dressing is not found in expense; money without judgment may
load, but never can adorn. You may show profusion without grace: You
may cover a neck with pearls, a head with jewels, hands and arms with
rings, bracelets, and trinkets, and yet produce no effect, but having
emptied some merchant’s counter upon your person. The best chosen dress
is that which so harmonizes with the figure as to make the raiment
pass unobserved. The result of the finest toilet should be an _elegant
woman_, not an elegantly dressed woman. Where a perfect whole is
intended, it is a sign of defect in the execution, when the details
first present themselves to observation.
In short, the secret of dressing lies in simplicity, and a certain
adaptation to your figure, your rank, your circumstances. To dress
well on these principles--and they are the only just ones--does not
require that extravagant attention to so trivial an object, as is
usually exhibited by persons who make the toilet a study. When ladies
place the spell of their attraction in their clothes, we generally
see them arrayed in robes of a thousand makes and dyes, and curiously
constructed of materials brought from, Heaven knows where. Thus, much
time, thought, and wealth, are wasted on a comparatively worthless
object. To lavish many of the precious hours of life in the invention
and arrangement of dress, is as criminal an offence as to exhaust the
finances of your husband or parents by a thriftless expenditure on its
component parts.
The taste I wish to inculcate, is that nicely-poised estimation of
things, which shows it “worth our while to do _well_, what it is ever
worth our while _to do_.” This disposition originates in a correct and
delicate mind, and forms a judgment which makes elegance inseparable
from propriety; and extending itself from great objects to small,
reaches the most apparently insignificant; and thus, even in the change
of the morning and evening attire, displays to the considerate observer
a very intelligible index of the wearer’s well-regulated mind.
“Show me a lady’s dressing-room,” says a certain writer, “and I will
tell you what manner of woman she is.” Chesterfield, also, is of
opinion, that a sympathy goes through every action of our lives: he
declares, that he could not help conceiving some idea of people’s sense
and character from the dress in which they appeared when introduced
to him. He was so great an advocate for pleasing externals, that he
often said, he would rather see a young person too much than too
little dressed, excess, on the fopish side, wearing off with time and
reflection; but if a youth be negligent at twenty, it is probable he
will be a sloven at forty, and disgustingly dirty at fifty. However
this may be with the other sex, I beg leave to observe, that I never
yet met with a woman whose general style of dress was chaste, elegant,
and appropriate, that I did not find, on further acquaintance, to be,
in disposition and mind, an object to admire and love.
This correspondence between the thoughts and the raiment being
established, what was before insignificant becomes of consequence;
and, being rightly understood, good sense will be as careful not to
disparage her discretion, by extravagant dress, as she would to evince
a sordid mind, by dirt and rags.
I think I see you, my friends, smile, incredulous, at the last
sentence. What gentlewoman, you exclaim, who is above the most abject
pecuniary embarrassments, can ever have chance of being so apparelled?
A desire of singularity is a sufficient answer. There is a race of
women, who, priding themselves on their superior rank, or wealth, or
talents, affect to despise what they deem the adventitious aids of
dress. Their appearance, in consequence, is frequently as ridiculous
as disgusting. When this folly is seen in female authors, or what
is much the same thing, ladies professing a particularly literary
taste, we can at once trace its motives,--a conceited negligence of
outward attractions, and a determination to raise themselves in the
opinions of men, by displaying a contempt for what they deem the vain
occupations of meaner souls. Wishing to be thought superior to founding
any regard on external ornament, they forget external decency; and by
slatternliness and affectation, render what is called a learned woman,
a kind of scare-crow to her own sex, and a laughing-stock to the other.
This error is not so common now with bookish ladies as it was in the
beginning of the last century. Then our sex did, indeed, show that “a
little learning is a dangerous thing.” They did not imbibe sufficient
to imbue them with a sense of its real properties, to show them causes
and effects, to make them understand themselves, and close the book in
humility. They, poor short-sighted creatures! exchanged the innocent
ignorance of Eve for the empoisoned apple, which, under the cheat of
displaying knowledge, fills the eater with a vain self-conceit, while
it more openly exposes her mental nakedness to every eye.
The absurdity of their deductions is so obvious, that one wonders how
any woman could fall into such an error. Who among them but would think
it the height of folly to place over the door of a museum, to which
the proprietor wished to attract visitors, the effigy of a monster, so
disgusting as to deter men from entering to see what might otherwise
have afforded them much pleasure? Such effigies might the slip-shod
muses of the days of Anne have given of themselves; but most of the
modern female votaries of Minerva, aware of the advantages of a
prepossessing appearance, mingle with their incense to the Goddess a
few flowers to the Paphian Graces; and, that they gain by the devotion,
none who have been admitted to the acquaintance of our British Sapphos
and Corinnas, can deny.
There is another class of persons, who neglect their exterior on
account of the consequence they derive from their rank; but instances
on such a plea are few, in comparison with the insolent slovenliness of
the opposite sex, when, springing from the lower degrees in society,
they amass or acquire large fortunes. They aim at notoriety; and common
means, such as expense and show, not raising them into an _eclat_
beyond their equally rich contemporaries, ambition leads them to seek
notice by the assumption of a garb of almost pauper negligence. I
remember, some years since, when on a visit at a large seaport town
in the north of England, to have been attracted by seeing at the door
of a handsome house in one of the principal streets an elegant modern
chariot. I stopped, and, to my surprise, saw step into it an old man
of the meanest and most dirty appearance. A few days afterwards, while
viewing the docks with a gentleman who was an inhabitant of the place,
I observed the same wretched-looking person conversing familiarly
with a man of the first consequence in the town. I inquired of my
friend the name and business of the shabby old fellow, and received
the following brief answer. He had been taken, when a boy, from very
indigent parents residing in a northern village; and, being a smart
lad, was employed in the drudgery of a banking-house belonging to his
benefactors. By assiduous application, and a deep cunning, aided by
what is vulgarly called _good luck_, he gradually advanced himself to
be one of the firm. Of course, his fortune then rose with the house,
and his wealth, at the time I saw him, was computed at upwards of a
hundred thousand pounds. Yet I am sure that an old-clothesman would not
have given half-a-crown for the whole of the apparel (or rather rags)
upon his back.
Now, as it is too often the custom with people, in forming an opinion,
seldom to go beyond the surface, this modern AVARO was, by many, termed
_a man without pride_! Few gave a guess at the real motive of all this
studied negligence; but those who investigate the human character,
and trace actions to the secret springs of the heart, saw, in this
inattention to personal decency, the very acmé of personal pride. I
shall prove my position by repeating the usual reply of this old man,
when any of his acquaintance ventured to inquire why he wore such
tattered garments. “Why,” he would answer, “were I to dress as smart as
other people, no one would know T. W. from another man.”
Men may fall into this mistaken road to distinction, but women who have
suddenly become wealthy seldom do. A passion for dress is so common
with the sex, that it ought not to be very surprising, when opulence,
vanity, and bad taste meet, that we should find extravagance and tawdry
profusion the fruits of the union. And it would be well if a humor for
expensive dress were always confined to the fortunate daughters of
Plutus; but we too often find this ruinous spirit in women of slender
means, and then, what ought to be one of the embellishments of life
is turned into a splendid mischief. Alas! my friends, it must come
under your own observations, that often does the foolish virgin, or
infatuated matron, sell her peace or honor for a ring or a scarf!
A woman of principle and prudence must be consistent in the style and
quality of her attire; she must be careful that her expenditure does
not exceed the limits of her allowance; she must be aware, that it
is not the girl who lavishes the most money on her apparel that is
the best arrayed. Frequent instances have I known, where young women,
with a little good taste, ingenuity, and economy, have maintained
a much better appearance than ladies of three times their fortune.
No treasury is large enough to supply indiscriminate profusion; and
scarcely any purse is too scanty for the uses of life, when managed
by a careful hand. Few are the situations in which a woman can be
placed, whether she be married or single, where some attention to
thrift is not expected. High rank requires adequate means to support
its consequence--ostentatious wealth, a superabundance to maintain
its domineering pretensions; and the middle class, when virtue is its
companion, looks to economy to allow it to throw its mite into the lap
of charity.
Hence we see, that hardly any woman, however related, can have a right
to independent, uncontrolled expenditure; and that, to do her duty in
every sense of the word, she must learn to understand and exercise the
graces of economy. This quality will be a gem in her husband’s eyes;
for, though most of the money-getting sex like to see their wives well
dressed, yet, trust me, my fair friends, they would rather owe that
pleasure to your taste than to their pockets!
Costliness being, then, no essential principle in real elegance, I
shall proceed to give you a few hints on what are the distinguishing
circumstances of a well-ordered toilet.
As the beauty of form and complexion is different in different women,
and is still more varied, according to the ages of the fair subjects of
investigation; so the styles in dress, while simplicity is the soul of
all, must assume a character corresponding with the wearer.
The seasons of life should be arrayed like those of the year. In
the spring of youth, when all is lovely and gay, then, as the soft
green, sparkling in freshness, bedecks the earth; so, light and
transparent robes, of tender colors, should adorn the limbs of the
young beauty. If she be of the Hebe form, warm weather should find her
veiled in fine muslin, lawn, gauzes, and other lucid materials. To
suit the character of her figure, and to accord with the prevailing
mode and just taste together, her morning robes should be of a length
sufficiently circumscribed as not to impede her walking; but on no
account must they be too short; for, when any design is betrayed of
showing the foot or ankle, the idea of beauty is lost in that of the
wearer’s odious indelicacy. On the reverse, when no show of vanity is
apparent in the dress--when the lightly-flowing drapery, by unsought
accident, discovers the pretty buskined foot or taper ankle, a sense of
virgin timidity, and of exquisite loveliness together, strikes upon the
senses; and Admiration, with a tender sigh, softly whispers, “The most
resistless charm is modesty!”
In Thomson’s exquisite portrait of Lavinia, the prominent feature is
modesty. “She was beauty’s self,” indeed, but-then she was “thoughtless
of beauty;” and though her eyes were sparkling, “bashful modesty”
directed them
“Still on the ground dejected, darting all
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers.”
The morning robe should cover the arms and the bosom, nay even the
neck. And if it be made tight to the shape, every symmetrical line is
discovered with a grace so decent, that vestals, without a blush, might
adopt the chaste apparel. This simple garb leaves to beauty all her
empire; no furbelows, no heavy ornaments, load the figure, warp the
outlines, and distract the attention. All is light, easy, and elegant;
and the lovely wearer, “with her glossy ringlets loosely bound,” moves
with the Zephyrs on the airy wing of youth and innocence.
Her summer evening dress may be of a still more gossamer texture;
but it must still preserve the same simplicity, though its
gracefully-diverging folds may fall like the mantle of Juno, in
clustering drapery about her steps. There they should meet the white
slipper
“--of the fairy foot,
Which shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute.”
In this dress, her arms, and part of her neck and bosom may be
unveiled; but only _part_. The eye of maternal decorum should draw the
virgin zone to the limit where modesty would bid it rest.
Where beauty is, ornaments are unnecessary; and where it is not, they
are unavailing. But as gems and flowers are handsome in themselves, and
when tastefully disposed doubly so, a beautiful young woman, if she
chooses to share her empire with the jeweller and the florist, may,
not inelegantly, decorate her neck, arms, and head, with a string of
pearls, and a band of flowers.