OUR LONDON LETTER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XV, 15 April 1899, Page 493

OUR LONDON LETTER.

Dear Bee, March 3, 1899. The breath of spring is beginning to entice us out into the open again, and the golden wealth of daffodils in the shops suggests walks in the park and field, but alas, the March of Fashion will, I fear, give its followers a very halting gait. Sleeves are to be tighter than ever, so are skirts— even of the walking gowns. In fact the long narrow skirts are to be so tight above the knees, as to threaten to split whenever the wearer puts her best foot foremost. At the ankles, however, they burst forth into a perfect whirlpool of billowy flounces. These skirts are generally trimmed either with stitched strappings of their own material, or with a similar kind of ornamentation in satin or silk, matching exactly in colour the original fabric. Sometimes these strappings are carried in a straight line from waist to hem, while at others they describe a series of curves and so simulate a double or a triple skirt. I hope that we shall not have to follow fashion blindly, but shall be able to induce a sweet reasonableness on the part of our dressmaker, otherwise I fear that the rational dress league will make a great many converts. DRAWING ROOMS.

The two drawing-rooms that were held this week by Princess Christian have been rendered somewhat sombre by the death of Prince Alfred, which has obliged the Royal Princesses, Ladies and Maids of Honour to be attired in black, and those attending the drawing-rooms to wear half mourning, that is, white, black, the combination of the two, mauve, grey, and' combinations of white or black with mauve or grey. The only gems allowed to be worn are diamonds and pearls. Of course the debutantes will not be affected by the mourning regulations, for their dresses, trains, trimmings and flowers are always white and simple. Pearls, are too, their most appropriate wear, although here and there a. very plain diamond ornament sparkles forth. Those ladies, however, who looked forward to appearing in some of the brilliant gorgeous colours that are to be fashionable this season, must have been sadly disappointed, and if they had ordered their costumes betimes must have been sadly inconvenienced by the necessity of ordering a gown of staid and serious hue. However, the more brilliant costumes will come in for the May drawing-rooms, which the Queen herself is likely to hold. I doubt if many dresses had been ordered for the drawing-rooms before the mourning regulations were promulgated. As a rule, my dears, these matters are left till the last moment. The costumiere and lingere are rushed by their customers all at once, and it is only by supreme patience and perseverance, by working day and night, defying the factory inspectors, who are on the qui vive at this time, that many of the Court trains reach the houses of the wearers, when the carriages are at the door. You can imagine the fearful anxiety of the wearer, who has perhaps had her hair done over night by some fashionable coiffeur, lest she miss her train, and—the drawing-room. And when at last the ordeal is over, and the debutante has ordered her train and backed and curtsied in the most approved fashion, she has still to pose for the photographer and to smile and make herself agreeable to a crowd of admiring friends, who must be invited to christen the costume as it were. No wonder that at the end of the day many a debutante succumbs quite fagged out. Really I don't think the game is worth the candle, and I quite sympathise with those democratic Agents-Genernl —too few, alas ! —who with their wives

and (laughters decline to offer themselves upon the shrine of a fetish fashion. An Agent - General has. of course, being a servant of the frown, to appear in a Court uniform, which in the first place is repugnant to his democratic ideas, and in the second costs him some sixty guineas and will in all probability never be worn again. He cannot, like the United States ambassador, appear in a plain but dignified suit of black. Of course the AgentGeneral’s wife and daughter must also pay pretty heavily if they wish to be presented, but then after all their costumes will be used again and again. Presentation dresses vary in price from forty to seventy guineas, but then the front and skirt make a smart evening or dinner dress, and out of the train comes another dress, and possibly if the train has been with a different material and in a different colour, even a third. Of course the debutante’s dress does not cost so much. Seventeen or eighteen guineas is quite enough to pay. even if the train, some eight or nine yards long, be made of brocade, satin moire, or velvet. Afterwards the dress can be converted into a ball dress or an evening gown. Mauve and white were the chief colours seen both in dresses and flowers. The bouquets indeed were remarkable for their artistic effect and lightness in the hand. The Goodyear bow, in which the blossoms were tied up in loops, each holding a distinctive flower, was very much in evidence. Cattleya and feathery asparagus. lilies of the valley and Neapolitan or dark blue English violets, pale Parma, violets made up with broad blaek velvet ribbon, white roses and white tulips, mauve orchids and white lilies with grey or mauve ribbons seemed the favourite flowers. In fact simplicity and good taste rather than gorgeous brilliancy seemed to mark the costumes and accessories this week. SOCIETY EXTRAVAGANZAS. Have you seen the idiotic things they are doing in New York? The Bellamy Ball seems never to have taken place. It was so called because the guests were all supposed to be ‘Looking Backward.’ In order to accomplish this they were to have their clothes all reversed, so that a man would wear his dress-shirt on his back, and a woman's bodice woidd be so arranged as to display her shoulders in front. A mask was to De worn over the bank of the heart, and of course a wig would cover one’s real features. I daresay the effect would be screamingly funny—to the onlookers—but I can well imagine, can’t you. that ~.e invited guests would draw the line at playing the fool so atrociously, and that in consequence the idea was given up by its originator. St. Valentine’s Day, however, was celebrated by some funny freaks of entertainment. At Mme. Eames’ Eames’ dinner at the Hotel Marie Antoinette, just before dessert a waiter brought in what looked like a chocolate confection, in the shape of a tiny negro baby. Luckily none of the guests attempted to follow Alice’s breach of etiquette in cutting the dish to which they'd been introduced, for the confection turned out to be a real ‘little Alabama coon.’ for whose benefit M. Jean de Reszke sang a French lullaby. The poor little thing was then taken off to bed. Latter on it is to serve Mme. Eames' nusband, Mr Julian Story the sculptor. as a model for Cupid. Ido think it was really too bad to serve a human being so.

Mrs Stuyvesant Fish’s entertainment on St. Valentine’s night also had some peculiar features. The guests on their way to the ball-room passed through ‘St. Valentine's Postoffice.’ a trellised arbour. Here two Cupids handed each guest a letter on parchment, sealed and .daintily tied up with red ribbon, and containing some sentiment appropriate to the addressee. In the ball-room five professional dancers, dressed tas Dresden china shepherdesses, garlanded with flowers and radiant with electric fairy lights, performed a graceful dance. One surprise was followed by another. ‘The Sorrows of Satan’ was a novel figure, the favours being ‘pitchforks and lettres d’enfer.' Mr George Cavendish Bentinck was responsible for a figure which even the hostess did not expect. Little boys dressed as cats wheeled into the room barrows containing little be-ribboned kittens in boxes and wicker baskets, and white mice

in cages. The kittens were used as the favours, but must have proved somewhat inconvenient.

1 haven't heard of any such original frolics in England. We are far too conventional and afraid to play the fool. Hence, no doubt, we often go to the other extreme, and our society gatherings become quite too stiff and formal. 1 did hear, however, the other day of a dinner at which a tiny satin shoe was produced, the ladies were invited to try it on, and the one whose foot fitted it was awarded as a prize a diamond ring. This looks rather like what Tom would call ‘a put-up job’ in favour of the most petite, but it is more creditable than another rumoured doing in society. A lady, celebrated for her dainty little feet, and the variety and elegance of her foot gear, was staying at a country house, and when she went to dress for dinner she couldn’t find a single shoe of any kind to put on. At last, after she had kicked up her heels on the edge of the bed for some, time, a footman knocked at the door and told her they were all waiting dinner for her. She deseended in her smartest evening dress and her prettiest stockings, only to behold the whole dinner table adorned with her shoes, decked with ribbons and flowers. Don't you think this fantasy taxes one's credulity a little too much?

By the way, talking of society, be careful how you word your invitations, and don’t write as a girl 1 know once did to a friend of mine: — ‘Dear Mr X., —If you have nothing on. we shall be so glad if you will come and dine with us this evening at 7.30. Don’t dress, but come as you are.' CLUBS. Since I last wrote you, I have visited two clubs, the Empress and the Writers'. A friend who has been much in Russia and Paris, and who writeslargely for art journals, kindly asked me to afternoon tea. and as we gossiped in one corner of the bright winter garden to two rather interesting men. the afternoon passed very quickly without my taking- in very many of the details of the club. The room has a glass roof like a conservatory, and is decorated by palms and plants in handsome china jars. All the easy chairs were filled by very smartly dressed members and their friends, busily engaged with tea and ehatter. From the winter garden you go out on to a gallery, from which steps lead into a very cosy little morning room, where you can retire and write your letters or indulge in a dolee far niente without fear of interruption. Between the winter garden and the hall is a little reception room, which is far too small for the large number of members. A very narrowstaircase leads up to the drawing-room on one side and the dining-room on the other. These regions are barred to the mere man except when he is being taken into dinner. The diningroom is very simple but very smart, and looked attractive, but as only between 60 or 70 can sit down at once, you have often to wait half-an-hour before you can get a seat. The predominant colour of the drawing-room was gold, rather typical of the wealth of many of the members. It appeared to me indeed that the fittings and furniture were perhaps just a little too smart and new. The rooms didn't somehow look as if they were lived in. You felt that when you came to the Club you must put on your best frock and he on your best behaviour. A staircase as steep as a ladder takes you up to the bedrooms, which are much too few for the nearly 3,000 members of the Club. In the new premises which are going up next door, members are to have 52 bedrooms. an entire suite of library, dining, drawing and other rooms for members only, besides a reception hall, dining and drawing-rooms and lounge to which guests will be admitted. And what did we talk about. I think I hear you say. Well for once, my dears, the conversation was singularly free of conventionalities. Mr Trevorllattye, the naturalist and explorer in Arctic and Siberian regions, a tall well-groomed man. who from his accent and clothes might have spent all his life in London instead of in the wild regions of the world, and my artistic friend plunged into a discussion on the meaning of colours, the sensations and sounds represented by them and the connection between vio-

lets and violins. We all added our quota, generally sarcastic, to the discussion. which drifted into art in general. and then to female suffrage, when Mr Hassett Roe, a well-known actor, one of the ‘Three Musketeers' at the Garrick. joined us. With his arrival the talk became theatrical. The confidence of the tyro on the stage as opposed to the nervousness of the experienced actor, ‘The Ambassador’ and Miss Elizabeth Robins' book 'The Open Question,’ were the chief topics upon which we dealt lightly. Of course you are reading ‘The Open Question’ under the pseudonym of ‘C. E. Raimond.’ It is quite the book of the hour, and deals with the fortunes of a decadent family, just as you might expect from so strong an admirer of Ibsen as Miss Robins, whose Scandinavian servant in her tiny flat is said to have been a present from the mystical dramatist. Ibsen was her doing and her undoing, so our Musketeer told us. On the one hand her wonderful acting of the characters in his plays brought her into prominence and made her many’ friends in the most intellectual of London society. On the other, those who had once seen her in an Ibsen drama, could never imagine her in any other piece. With her it must be ‘Aut Ibsen aut nihil,’ and when the Ibsen tide receded, it left her high and dryon the dramatie shelf. But literature came to her aid, and no doubt C. E. Raimond, the author, will eventually be longer remembered than Elizabeth Robins, the interpreter of Ibsen. Now, my dears, I hope you have some idea of the things they say and the things they’ do at the Empress. A week or so ago Ida Osborne, one of my numerous cousins, took me to a Friday ‘At Home’ at the Writers’ Club. There is no swagger whatever about the Writers’. You descend by some very unpretentious stairs into the basement of Hastings House, where you find a compact little block of rooms self-contained and guarded by a womanly Cerberus. A narrowpassage with writing and smoking rooms on one side and dressing and dining rooms on the other, takes you into the long reception room, a great contrast to the magnificence of the Empress quarters. The furniture is of the plainest ; on the walls, which are covered by a striped salmon-col-oured paper, hang a few engravings

of women writers, and a comfortable cosy corner is the only sign of luxury. On this particular Friday, Mrs Bur-nett-Smith (Annie S. Swan, of the 'Woman at Home’) was the hostess, and a very kind, unromantic, motherly- person she looked. But the real lioness of the afternoon was John Oliver Hobbes (Mrs Craigie),who from the time of her arrival to that of her departure was quite hemmed in by- an admiring throng doing her homage. I just caught a glimpse of her sweeping out of the room. She is a tall, slender, handsome woman of thirtyone, and wore a very’ smart gown of silver grey- and a silver toque with brown and green foliage and flowers, She must have felt very warm in the handsome cape of rich brown sables she wore, as the room was distinctly close. However, she smiled graciously upon her satellites. She is seldom seen at the club, and her visit this time was due to her election as chairman of committee the previous week. ‘The Ambassador’ is now running at St. James’, as well as a new one-act play. ‘The Repentance,’ of which the action takes place in Bilbao during the Carlist rising of 1835, and as Mr Alexander has just accepted from her pen a poetical tragedy, ‘Osbern and Ursyne,’ of the period of the Norman Conquest and the First Crusade, it looks rather as if ‘John Oliver Hobbes' intends for the time being to devote herself to drama instead of fiction.

Lesser stars at the Writers’ were quite put in the shade by this fashionable comet and her train, and even the regular members of the club seemed to be ignorant of the identity of most of tne celebrities, making wild guesses in their attempts to fit a name to a face. However, Beatrice Harraden, of ‘Ships that Pass in the Night,’ was pointed out to me—a queer little bundle in a baggy black dress, with a bandanna handkerchief round her neck and large velvet Tam-o’-Shanter on her long, somewhat unkempt head of hair. She looked for all the world like a female Bunthorne, very intense and very earnest, but seemed a general favourite. One of her sisters, by the way, used to figure largely- as a prominent aesthete in Dp Maurier’s drawings for ‘Punch.’ Beatrice Harraden herself is just about to publish a new book, ‘The

Fowler.’ A few rather piquant looking women of the actress type, a bulky editor with a long beard and a bald head, Miss Millington, of the ‘Daily- Telegraph,’ a number of rather strong-minded and dowdily dressed women, and one or two ‘Johnnies’ pretty- well comprised the tea-sipping throng. You could see with half a glance that most of the women there worked, and worked hard, for their living. ‘She collects photographs of Royalties,’ was a remark I caught amid the clatter of teacups, while on the other side of me a journalist was narrating how a hawk had pounced on a pigeon at the Guildhall, and she had sent an exclusive paragraph to the ‘Chronicle.’ Most of the people, however, seemed too busy searching for celebrities to engage in anything more than a very disjointed conversation. Just as I was leaving I met Miss Swanhilda Bulau, the young New Zealander, who is one of the leaders of the Rational Dress League, but who on this occasion wore the conventional skirt and a rather coquettish little hussar cap with shaving brush.