Vanity Fair.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1884, 2 August 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

Vanity Fair.

Paris is full of foieigners. The King of Dress holds a levee daily from two until five p.m., No. 7 Hue de la Paix, first story above the entresol. He is the only absolute monarch left ia Europe, and his court is the most cosmopolitan. There is no need of minister, or master of ceremonies to present you, howover ; you push open a double swinging glassdoor at the head of the staircase, through which, for once, you see yourself as others see you in a long looking glass facing the entrance, which burprises you, on your first visit, with the vision of a familiar stranger about to go out as you come in, and you find yourself in a long, light corridor, lined with settees. At the end, to the right, are rooms for fitting dresses, inspecting colors by gaslight, private consultations, afternoon tea, very likely ; at the opposite end, to the left, are the show-rooms, the sovereign's audience, and ante-chambers. There are four in open communication, well lighted by long windows on the Eve de la Paix, not large, and blocked in various directions by counters covered with goods, wall cupboards with doora ajar, and goods, ranged on shelves, cheats of drawers half-open, revealing more goods. On a doorpost is pinned a bunch of scraps of every color and stuff, like a secret signal : above is a card covered with figures and letters intelligible only to the initiated. There aie very few chairs, as people who go to Mr. Worth'rf are not expected to sit down ; but there is not much standing room either. If you had been there about the middle of the afternoon, one bright day in the oaily autumn, 1883, this ia what you saw and heard : Mr. Worth himself is the centre of constantly changing groups of men and women American, English, Fieneh, llussian, Spanish and unclassified. They are not speaking or listening to him, only those who understand English or can guess at his French do that ; the others are waited upon by underlings, who address them in their native language. But the majority cluster round Mr. Worth. He is dressed in a blue flannel sack-coat, buttoned acros3 his burly person, brown trousers, a turn- down collar and crimson Bcarf, all shabby. The immediate object of his attention is a single lady of great wealth, from New York ; gray-haired, quiet in dress and demeanor, but with something about her which marits her as being somebody, as distinguished from anybody. The interview is drawing to an end. " Then you'll be sure to let me have it to-ruorrow ?" she asks. "Yes, yes. I don't like to see you going about in that thing. You look like an undertaker. They laugh, and she departs. A pretty Frenchwoman, who has been waiting her turn, advances for inspection in a dress which has just been tried on. Mr. Worth steps aside to an inner-room, in full sight of the rest, where there aro a few feet of polished floor clear, seats himself on the only chair, and motions her to turn round. She obeys ; turns right, left, advances, retreats, crosses her arms, throws back her head, walks off a few paces, then leturns. Mr. Worth makes a criticism to thefifcler—aslender damsel, dressed in green silk and brocade, with a deep, square linen collar edged with point-lace, like the pictures of Queen Henrietta Maria of England — and dismisses Madame la Baronne. The next in order is an English family. The father is rubicund, clever-looking, well-dressed, and alert ; he has the air of a new rich M. P. The mother is gentle and staid ; the daughter so pretty and elegant that she might pass for an American but for the silver dogcollar she wears outside her jacket. Worth summons a shopman, and they begin discussing the merits of the various black silks. But you find it impossible to fix your attention on one group ; it is distracted at this moment by a charming French gill, who is exhibiting herself to her mother in a bewitching little mantle. An imposing shopwoman of fifty or upward, with a poarlpowdered face, and hair dyed blonde, in an amber and gold Medicis costume (the fashions are of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, at present), is abetting the young lady in over-riding her mamma's objections to the extravagancs in buying a garment which will be out of season in three weeks. The daughter tosses her pretty head, aud looks appealingly at her mother over her pretty shoulders, with a movement and expression instinct with natural coquetry and desire to please. Before the question is decided, a loud, inarticulate sound, between a 'yawn, a groan, and a grumble, issues from the breast of a sharp, good-looking American, in a rough coat and felt hat, who is walking to and fro as if he had been doing it for a long time : looking out of the window, into the boxes of dry goods, and at the slim shop-girls in their fine clothes with the same wide-awake, uninterested glance. "My dear," he says, stoping short by a knot of beautifully dressed women, who are in close council over heaps of shiny stuffs, creamy eatins with bouquets of tea-roses, silvery brocade with velvety bunches of begonia loaves, and other blooming fabrics as lovely as flower-paintings, '• Julia, my dear, I can't hold on any longer. You don't want me. Have you got all the money you want ? If you don't know what the figure will be, I'll send a cheque. I guess that's the best plan, any way. Good-bye, girls. I suppose you'll all turn up about dinner-time." Off he goes. The shopwoman who is waiting on his wife and daughters has a pale, faded, handsome, refined face, and is dressed with severe simplicity in black silk, with a white fichu. She has been part of the establishment longer than any one else, except the head of it. She bestows a discreet smile upon the ladies, as if to say that one may well be tolerant of the oddities of such a man as that. " Well, name a figure," Mr. Worth is heard to say. " Will you say two thousand francs ?" " Tliat you won't," interposes the English husband. " Let us see something reasonable." "a thousand franos, if you like," returns Worth ; " one must fix a sum to begin." The pale, sympathetic shopwoman tells the American ladies ihat she knows exactly what will suit them. Mademoiselle is to marry Prince Badziwill next week, and they shall see some of her dresses ; and she gives an order to a man in livery. " That would. mak.e a good gown, I should, say," ob-

serves the Englishman. "Of course it would. There's nothing here that wouldn't make a good gown," Mr. Worth responds ; " but for my part, I don't like to put fine wine in dirty glasses." The mother and daughter giggle; the father observes : " I don't quite understand." " Why, I like to sse a line buat in a handsome dress, and I shouldn't like to put that young lady's form in a sscond-rato silk." A louder buzz; of voices drowns the rejoinder ; then thero is a momentary hush, and a line oi porters in livery make their way into the room, each holding a magnificent dress- skirt, followed by a frowzy little girl bearing the train. It looks as if the Princess Eadziwill's clothes were going to court without her. Everybody draws back with involuntaiy respect as the splendid array sweeps by. The American ladies burst into rapturous exclamations, and at once order similar dresses. Meanwhile people have been coming and going, but the rooms are now full. There is not room enough ; there i 3 not air enough ; there are not hands enough to wait upon the customers. There are loud calls for Miss Mary, Mi^s Ella, Madame Bouillon, Madame Eniile, Mademoiselle Helene. There is an incessant subdued slamming of the swingdoors. Untidy minxes of twelve or thirteen, with pert London faces, dressed in threadbare stuff gowns, run in and out on errands among the elegantly dressed shop-women and purchasers. The clerks dash about, running against the women of the house, in their costumes of Charles ll. 's time, catch them in their ann 3, dodge, laugh, and rush onward. Incessant questions assail the forewoman: "Where shall Mrs. S. try ou her dresß?" " When ia the Dachesse de B. to call again ? " " Who is to tit the Queen of Bohemia tomorrow ? " " Which are Mis 3 L.'s patterns ?" " How much will you make my costume for ?;i? ;i " Why has niy coat not been sent home ? " The answers come a3 clear and prompt as if read from a book : " Mrs S. to the second dresaing-closet. The Duchesse can call the day after to-morrow, at eleven o'clock. Madame Emile is to fit the queen to-day at five o'clock. Miss L.'s patterns went this morning by post. The lowest we can make you that dinner-dress for, madame, is fifteen hundred francs ; if you use your own lace, it will ba fourteen hundred and seventy five. Your coat is only waiting for the buttons, miss. Those you desired had to be made to order." The speaker is an Englishwoman, tall and thin, but well made and graceful with a small head, sharp, little features, and a bold, intelligent, irritable face ; in all the hubbub and confusion she keeps her head, her temper, and her civility. There is not a pretense of order, quiet, decorum — what the French call teime. Mr. Worth sets the example. " Here, Ella 1" he shouts from the inner room to a girl who isiu the act of showing goods to a lady. The slender Ella drops the silk, leaves the customer, and flies ; in a minute more she is to be seen gliding about in a flame-colored satin mantle, which Mr. Worth is recommending to an immensely stout, swarthy, elderly woman, whom ho addresses aa " Altesse " (your highness). The clerks laugh and talk with each other, leaning against the counter, in the brief breathing spaces of their attendance on purchasers. " How, Alfonso 1 You a Spaniard, and not gone to pay your respects to the king to-day ? " "Well, Danieheff, has your grand duchess sent for you yet ? She must need some new clothes, as the nihilists blew up her old ones." The principal male personages are an ugly, common-looking, shabby little man of fifty or thereabout, with a clover, cynical face, and a great gift for remembering people whom he has once seen, and a supple, sinuous young fellow, with a delicately cut Jewish profile, a>id extremely long, dark eye 3 and slender eyebrows marking an almond-shaped outline on his ivory-tinted complexion, hair and beard worn very cloae in the yenetian fashion of the sixteenth century ; he is extremely civil and capable, but the chief direction evidently lies with the women.