THE ITALIAN WOMAN AT HOME.

Marlborough Express, Volume XLII, Issue 249, 20 October 1908, Page 2

THE ITALIAN WOMAN AT HOME.

(By Louise Mack.)

She begins her day, as most of us do. in bed. But, alas and alack! there are few of us who look quite as pretty as she does sitting v.p among her lace-frilled pillows, with a dainty jacket falling back from her arms and showing her perfectly modelled hands and wrists and dimpled elbows. Out of the shadows of her curtain comes a shining of two flashing black eyes, gleaming teeth, and red lips, that move with an incredible rapidity over the soft words sh6 is throwing out to her audience of sarta, modista, cucitrice di bianca, stiratrice, recamatrice, who fill the room with their neat young presences— they are always young, these little milliners, dressmakers, sewing women, embroideresses—and their innumerable bandboxes, which have been carried there in state by their assistants, small boys in socks, or little, solemn-faced, black-eyed girls of eleven or twelve.

The lady of the house—summer is coming—is getting lots of new things, it seems. In fact, you may imagine she is going in for a most magnificent and extensive wardrobe, but, in truth, she is not doing anything of the kind. All these things reduce themselves to very little when you come to analyse them. There is a little white alpaca suit, for the making of which the dressmaker charges fifteen francs (about twelve shillings!; there is some lovely handworked embroidery for trimming of the same, for which the embroideress charges five francs; there are a couple of hats that the milliner trimmed for one franc each; there is a beautiful white muslin petticoat, smothered in embroideries and laces and ribbons,

that the cucitrice di bianca was quite happy to make for three francs.

LACE STRAIGHT FROM TEEE CONVENT.

And who and what is this, a nun ? Yes, certainly. In her black robes she advances.towards tho bed, affectionately salutes the lady of the house, and displays a wonderful piece of Venetian point, which has been made to order at her convent,, and for which the lady of the house will pay about six times less—or is it sixteen times less?—than you or I would pay if we bought it ourselves in Venice.

The fact is that we are face to face with the supreme accomplishment of the modern Italian woman— shopping!

And that does not necessarily imply going to shops. As you can see by these "delightful scenes in her bedroom, she does the most important part of the business* in her own room and at her own leisure, lying in bed among her pillows and frills and lace. Patterns and prices are brought here to her, and as she lies back languidly she laughs and chatters, and fingers and bargains; she flashes her eyes, she gestures with her dainty little hands, she argues, smiles, cajoles. She never forgetsto be charming arid amiable and winning. And yet she never forgets for a second that she is engaged in the most delicious and important business of an Italian woman's life—bargaining!

THE SECRET OF MAGNIFICENT

HAIR

They have all gone. It is eleven o'clock. She has risen,; bathed, and, seated before her glass, is busy with her hairdressing. This is a most important business, and if yi?u notice you will see that she is having i'.er jocks not brushed but combed. This is , a hint she has .taken from her peasant country women, whose magnificent hair,' always in the pink of condition, is attributable to the fact that they do not brush but only comb their hair vigorously, hereby keeping the head always in a well-massaged state.

-"Fortunata," she says to her maid, "is not my hair a little dry?" "It is true, signora. I think you had better have a little oil rubbed into it."

Fortunata rings, and forthwith appears Torquato, a manservant, who is ordered to bring up a bottle of olio dji Lucca—pure Lucca oil. " lastantly,'' says Torquato, but before^ he goes his mistress detains him to ask if he has found out who those English people are that have taken the adjoining villa. "Si, signora," says Torquato. The hairdressirig is suspended. The signora turns round, animated and curious.

And Torquato tells all he knows. It is a signor^t—a great lady—lnglese—but what luxury! She has brought carpets for all the rooms from England,'and had fires burning for two days before she came into tie villa. She is molt© elegante,' with all her hats,in the latest style from Paris, turned up on one side, and she and her daughters wear decollete every night at dinner. They say the Inglese" do; so in England. Is that true, signora? ("Si, si, Torquato.' ) She knows the Princess C. and the Duchess X. They wrote to her on her arrival. She is a member of the aristocracy; that is certain.

"Decollete every night! But, oh, these English!" cries the eager listener, who never in her life went decollete, except, to a ball.

EATING ALL DAY LONG

" And hpw they eat, these English!" continues Torquato. "Yes? Tell me, Torquato." "They eat all the day long. They are never finished. They take a cup of tea in bed, then they come down and eaf a ■ coliazione 'of fish, eggs, proscuitto fritto, and fruit, at halfpast, eight. Then at. one they tat again!"

"But what do they eat then, Madonna mia!"

" Everything," with a wide sweep of the arm.

" How is it possible ?" "Then at five o'clock they catagain, tea, rosbif cold, cakes, bread-and-butter, everything, and at eight o'clock1 they eat again, a great dinner, and then they take coffee or tea, and then before they go to bed they eat a biscuit or a sandwich, or a weesky seltz, Ecco!" The mistress, the manservant ai?d the maid all utter lively expressions of .astonishment at the meals of the English, wondering how they -• an manage to eat so much and so often, for most Italians take only two meals a day, at twelve and.at seven. The lower classes drink a cup of black coffee in the morning without anything to eat, and other people cat only a little bread for breakfast,, with or without butter, with their coffee. And now the oil arrives, and is rubbed in by the maid's finger, the hair is then most carefully and elaborately dressed, puffed out in front and at the sides, but not coiled high, and generally allowed to lie along the forehead, fringewise. Then it is brushed with a little brilliantine till it shines all over, combs are put in, scent is dropped on it lightly, and the operation is finished, resulting in a very hard-and-fast structure that will have to remain in that condition all day, for it is rarely that an Italian lady dresses her hair again in the evening. One hears a good deal nowadays of the progressive movement among Italian women, but the truth is that the progression lies within a small circle in Rome, a smaller circle in Florence. The Italian woman is, as she always was, a butterfly, a pretty, dainty creature, devoted to her dress, her hair, her general appearance, fcr the sake of the man she loves. Dress and love are the main factors of }. er life. Her standard of a woman is clothes. A woman who is not elegante covmts for nothing with her. And Italian men, it must be said, have a similar standard for the fair sex. A badly dressed woman can never attract men in Italy, no matter what her charms.—Daily Mail.