AS SEEN THROUGH WOMAN’S EYES

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XIII, 24 September 1904, Page 63

AS SEEN THROUGH WOMAN’S EYES

Queens as Dressmakers. ROYALTIES WHO ARE EXPERTS WITH THE NEEDLE. The Queen of Roumania — better known by her nom-de-plume of “Carmen Sylva”—is not only a clever author and a writer of perfect verses, but she is also one of the most talented workers with her needle of all European Royalties. She excels both in needlework and in embroidery. She has sent to the St. Louis World’s Fair a sample of her work, and hopes to repeat the success which attended her exhibit at the last Paris Exhibition. There her work—sent in not under her own name, but a nom-de-plume, in order that the judges’ minds might not be in any way influenced—gained a gold medal. Competent judges have, indeed, said that Carmen Sylva’s embroidery is absolutely unexcelled even by the finest workers. It is well known that our own Queen Alexandra, in her younger days in Denmark, had but a slender dress allowance — far smaller, indeed, than the daughter of the average English country squire. She, therefore, took lessons in dressmaking, and used to cut out and with her own hands stitch the greater part of her wardrobe. She has never lost her love for needlework, and her sewing is said to be still as delicately fine as ever. Her taste is perfect, and she has the keenest of eyes for careless workmanship in the dress of those around her.

There are a number of other Royal ladies who are artists with the needle. Notable among them is the Czarina, whose taste for so homely an employment has been a constant source of shock to many of the useless great ladies of Russian Court society. But the Czarina cares nothing for their opinions, and is never more happy than when sitting stitching with her little daughters around her. The Czarina is also a great judge of lace and no mean worker herself. There is at the Russian Court a small colony of lace workers from Archangel. These their Royal mistress takes a great interest in, and much of the lace she wears is designed by herself and executed by them. The sewing machine has no place in the Royal palaces of Germany. The German Empress insists upon all her clothes being made by hand. She is the finest type of German housewife, and her knowledge of needlework is as thorough as that she possesses of cooking and all domestic work.

The pet occupation of the Queen of Sweden is making jam, but she is also an accomplished sempstress, and is very fond of knitting. The Queen of Greece is second only to Her Majesty of Roumania in the wielding of the needle. Some dainty children’s pinafores made by herself are usually among her Christmas presents to her relatives at the Russian Court.

The Queen Dowager of Spain is the first woman who has dared to break through the ancient and absurd etiquette of the Spanish Court, which decreed that its Royalties should never stir a finger to help themselves. She does many things well, but few better than sewing.

Society’s Precious Gems

Never in the history of the world has there been such a mania for gems as at the present time. The day is past when valuable gems were only worn on State occasions, and when such a jewel as a tiara or diamond crown was reserved for wear at Court. Nowadays the smart beauty scarcely considers herself dressed unless she be hung with at least hundreds of pounds’ worth of gems, and this even when paying an afternoon call or visiting a picture gallery. Perhaps the two greatest gem collec tions of modern times were those gathered together by Lord Anglesey and the late Maharajah Duleep Singh. On her wedding day Lady Anglesey wore jewels estimated at over £30,000 in value; but the contents of the Anglesey jewel casket pale before those with which Prince Victor Duleep Singh presented his English bride. Among them were large uncut emeralds and rubies, threaded in the Indian fashion, and inherited by him from innumerable Eastern ancestors, pearls of enormous size and perfect shape, and bowlfuls of gems of every kind.

Of course, the greatest collection of jewels and unique gems ever seen gathered together in this country was on the occasion of King Edward's Coronation. Many peeresses had family heirlooms reset for the occasion; and particularly noticeable was the all-round diamond crown of Lady Ludlow (then Lady Howard de Walden), the design being that of large pointed stars alternated with diamond suns. A truly historic parure was that which was worn by the Duchess of Abercorn. It consists of a coronet, a necklace, and a stomacher blazing with large sapphires. Many of the untitled ladies in the Abbey wore even finer jewels than the peeresses. This was particularly true of Mrs Arthur Paget, one of the first Anglo-American women to set the fashion of pearl-wearing in the daytime. Lady Seaton has a unique family jewel, a kind of pendant containing a miniature of Queen Elizabeth, which was actually given to her ancestor, Sir Francis Drake, by the Virgin Queen herself. Pearls are still the millionaire’s pet gems. After pearls come in popularity rubies and emeralds. These two gems are now scarce, and very much more costly than diamonds. Perhaps one reason why the latter are somewhat out of favour just at present is owing to the fact that they are more easily imitated

than any other precious st-ones. Opals, beautiful as they are, never become really popular owing to the ill-luck which is supposed to attach to their wear: but the cheery turquoise has now had a long reign of favour, and many wellknown women in Society wear them constantly. Among well-known Society beauties noted for their pearls may first be mentioned the Duchess of Marlborough. Certainly no pearls have been more often described than those which were presented to the beautiful young American heiress by her father, Mr Vanderbilt. The Duchess owns literally’ thousands of them, some of which are said to be worth more than £lOOO apiece, and in her collection is an old-world necklace which undoubtedly was often worn byMarie Antoinette. Lady de Grey’s single pearl necklace is said to be the finest of its class and kind in the world; but probably Lady Rothschild’s two - row necklace runs it close, for the Rothschild family purchase only perfectlyshaped pearls.

When They are Poor.

Their ideas are larger than their purses. They do not keep account of their expenditures. They reverse the maxim, “Duty l>efore pleasure.” They have too many and too expensive amusements. They do not think it worth while to save pence and expenses. They have risked a competence in trying to get rich quickly. They allow friends to impose upon their good nature and generosity. They try to do what others expect of them, not what they can afford. The parents are economical, but the children have extravagant ideas. They do not think it worth while to put contracts or agreements in writing. They prefer to incur debt rather than to do work which they consider beneath them. They have endorsed their friends’ notes or guaranteed payment just for accommodation. They risk all their eggs in one basket when they are not in a position to watch or control it. They think it will be time enough to

begin to save for a rainy day when the rainy day comes. The only thing the daughters accomplish is to develop fondness for smart clothes and expensive jewellery. They do not realise that one expensive habit may introduce them to a whole family of extravagant habits. They have not been able to make much in the business they understand best, but have thought they could make a fortune by investing in something they know nothing about.

The Last Evening at Home.

A GIRL’S MINGLED HOPES AND FEARS ON HER WEDDING EVE. Father, mother. Mollie, and Meta are gathered about the school room tire for "the very hist time that it will be quite like this.” This is the unuttered thought which keeps everybody so quiet. Mother is sewing; father consulting a Bradshaw to see whether Jack and Mollie have any time to wait at Stafford, and Meta’s childish hand is writing "Mollie’s new name” on some labels. Mollie sits on the hearthrug, her head against mother's knee, gazing dreamily at the ring or her left hand; for she is thinking of another ring which will very soon be there—a slender gold band with Jacks’ initials inside, and the “posy” rhyme: “In Death and Life His Lovinge Wife.” “Yes, there’ll be no difficulty about the ‘loving.’” she tells herself. “But. oh. dear, what shall 1 be like as a wife? Not a quarter good enough to be his. of course.” She smiles at the thought of Jack’s reception of her various attempts to impress this upon him. “But he doesn’t know- half how silly I am. how selfish and

how bad-tempered”—with a remorseful glance at the little sister, to whom she has often been snappish enough. And has she always shown her best and sweetest side to mother and father?

Too late, now. to be sorry for many things. She can only trust that the selfish, bad-tempered, snappish side of her may never again assert itself. and that Jack may not one day come upon it. to her shame, and to his complete and permanent disillusionment !

A swarm of mingled hopes and fears, of doubts and resolutions, fly in and out of her mind like bees round a hive; shyly happy anticipations strive with regrets for a happy girlhood now at an end.

Her thoughts wander to those of the girl friends who are already married — to pretty, “feckless” Muriel, the most popular girl in her set. No wonder Harry’s conscious pride in his own good fortune was written on his face.

That was a year ago. Harry looks curiously grave, even gloomy, these days; it is whispered that he is “in difficulties.” Muriel has never realised that she is a poor man's wife; her ideas on domestic economy are those of the lilies of the field, and she is as gaily extravagant regarding frocks and hats as if they grew on blackberry-bushes.

“Oh. but I must be housewifely and thrifty!” thinks Mollie. “More like Claire.”

Claire’s little house outshines the proverbial new pin, her housekeeping would satisfy the most exacting technical educationalist, and she makes all her own clothes. et, in attaining this pinnacle of domestic perfection, something of her eompanionableness has been lost. Her husband would dispense with some of the spick-and-spanness of his house if Claire would talk less of “how much there was to be done about it;” he would gladly pay a dressmaker’s bill now and again if his wife were not “too busy sewing” to sing to him of an evening.

Jack’s wife mustn’t get too wrapped up in housekeeping to amuse Jack, either; and Mollie’s fancy shapes the character of “Jack’s wife” into all that it ought to be. Tactful, affectionate, domesticated (it is strangely reminiscent of an advertisement in the “Morning Post”), sympathetic. resourceful, and of an unfailing sweetness of temper —all this she must strive daily to become.

There will be many failures, she knows. There will be dark days in that year which she has heard is the most difficult and trying in a woman’s life—the first year of her marriage. For a moment Mollie’s heart sinks: but her hand steals to the locket which holds Jack’s photo, and at the same time she sees her mother smile across at father. Ah. that the long years to come may leave in the eyes of her Jack that tenderness, that familiar yet reverent regard which she notices

in the eyes of her father as they rest upon her mother. Upstairs the little white room which has been Mollie’s for so long is striplied of its girlish ornaments, and blocked up by brand-new trunks, each bearing a brand-new name. Mollie reads it with a little shock of pleasurable surprise. She turns to a drawer of “things left to be thrown away”—old finery, letters. dance-programmes. Here is one scrawled from top to bottom with two letters. The initials are not Jack’s; the date is a month before she met hin>. She blushes at the thought of that evening’s flirtation; she is ashamed as she remembers other times when she has—well, played at love as though it were a game for a summer’s afternoon. "Don’t flirt!” she would cry to all her girl friends if they could hear her. "Have your friendships, frank and unselfconscious. with men, for these broaden a girl’s mind, giving her wider and more interesting points of view. But don’t make a pastime of what should be a vocation! Don’t change the golden coin of love for the little copper moneys of flattery, amusement, admiration. Don’t cheapen a Royal gift, don’t pluek one petal from the magic rose which, by and by. the prince himself must gather. Keep the whole treasure of your heart for him who is to be master there, for. oh. believe me! it’s worth while to wait.” A tap at the door; it is mother who comes to say good-night. “For the last time, my darling!”

“Oh, mother, mother!” The fair head is hidden against her breast. "Oh, mother—l am so sorry—and so very, very happy!” "Mollie—my own little girl, who is going to be a woman —a queen of the kingdom in a good man’s heart! It’s the one great happiness I’ve wished for you, child—my baby-girl, good-night!”

Good Form

At a dinner-party, the place on the right of the hostess is considered the place of honour. A widow retains her deceased husband’s name on her visiting-card, thus, Mrs James Collins. The lady enters a carriage first, but the gentleman gets out first in order that he may assist the lady. A professional man’s title is used in an introduction as “Dr. Blank.” “Professor Thompson,” etc. The engagement-ring may have the initials of both engraved within the band. “From L. N. to R. S.” being the usual form. The day at home is engraved in the lower left-hand corner of the card, the right-hand corner being reserved for the address. A note or letter should be left unsealed when sending it by a friend. A sealed note would imply doubt of the friend’s sense of honour. Ruled paper is no longer used; plain, moderately heavy eream or pearl white paper that folds once is always in good taste; also use only black ink. At a dinner the host leads the way with the guest of honour, who will be placed at his right; the other guests fol-

low, the hostess coming last with the guest who wiH sit at her right. Well-bred people are careful not to make themselves conspicuous in the street or in public places either in dress or manner. This is one of the surest tests of good breeding and good manners. The promiscuous giving or exchanging of photographs between young girls and men is not in good taste, and should not be encouraged. The only gentleman entitled to such a gift is the girl’s fiancee. Do not begin a note or letter “Dear Friend,” or “Kind Friend.” These terms are not used. “My Dear Mrs Brown” to acquaintances, and “My Dear Mary,” or “Dear Mary,” is much better form.

Discourage, Don’t Oppose, Poor Matches.

Time was when a stern parent or cruel guardian held the matrimonial future of young people in his hand, when there was no appeal from his fiat. Edwin might be sent to sea, or elsewhere, will he, nil he, far away from his dear and devoted Angelina; Angelina, under duress of duenna, and dieted on bread and water, might be coerced into a loveless marriage with old Munneybagz, while Edwin raved and tore his hyacinthine locks in sorrow, and in vain.

That time is long past; this is the day and hour of the rising generation. Young men and women, too young, indeed, are free, sometimes too free. Each and any one of them is at liberty to hew his or her ends, rough or smooth, as, mayhap, without fear or favour of wiser and more experienced axemen. True, in most States of the Union, the law fixes an age limit under which no one can marry without the consent of parent or guar dian: nor can a minor execute any legal contract. But this age limit is by no means always synonymous with years of ■discretion, and. moreover, the law may. in anv case, be easily evaded by the simple expedient of having the marriage ceremonv performed in some other State, whose statutes impose no such restrictions ; where boys and girls, still in their earlv teens, may become husbands and wives if the fancy takes them. Under these conditions, opposition to anv marriage, however deplorable it may be. however unsuitable and disastrous it is certain to prove, is useless —nay. even foolish—since it may hasten the wedding it seeks to prevent. “Stolen waters are sweet; bread eaten in secret is pleasant.’ saith King Solomon. Since the days of Adam and Eve forbidden fruit has been possessed of peculiar and oftentimes irresistible attractions for their descendants, and when a man perceives that there are great and serious obstacles in the way of his getting a thing, whether it be apple or woman, he straightway covets that one thing and no other. For all these cogent reasons, when a match appears to be imminent, and for valid cause such match is objectionable, it is by far the more politic to gently and firmly discourage it than strenuously and violently to oppose it. One may safely treat it as a matter of small importance: may ridicule it; may refuse to believe in it: but to inveigh against it is sure to help rather than hinder it. It is easier to coax a brook into other channels than to build a dam across it, with the rising waters fretting against the barrier: easier to “ring’’ a tree, after the method of our pioneer forefathers, leaving it to die from lack of nourishment, than to cut it down: nor is the ringed tree so likely to put up thrifty and vigorous shoots from the root. When Angelina’s friends and relatives with one accord belittle and abuse Edwin, her whole romantic soul is enlisted in his behalf, her whole sympathetic nature goes out to him in tender love and indignant championship. “Envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness” are arrayed against him. Shall she forsake

him* Never! As for Edwin, is it not his bounden duty as Angelina's true and loyal knight to defend the lady of his love against all aspersions and attacks* Say what one may, some vestiges of chivalry yet linger amongst us; the modern man feels occasional stirrings of the spirit which led his ancestors of long ago to maintain at point of spear and at risk of life that some woman, in whom other men saw neither beauty nor comeliness, was the loveliest of her sex. Nowadays we understand that the mild power is often the strongest; that everlastingly keeping at it rather than violent outbursts of activity, win the day. It is rarely prudent to go'a-hunt-ing with a brass band. Medicine which would never be accepted in all its crudity is eagerly swallowed when disguised as an attractive sweetmeat. The tiny needle of the Borgias slew its victims silently, but more surely than bludgeon or rapier. To “damn with faint praise” is more injurious, as well as more polite, than open and unsparing vilification: neither is it actionable for damages. It is much easier to come between two people gently and insinuatingly than roughly to force them apart, and the “little rift within the lute” may commence with so small a matter as a pin prick.

The great point in discouraging a marriage is to gain time; the longer it is put off the less likely it is to come off. It is usually possible to delay the wedding. and during the delay who knows what may happen* It is frequently effectual to send the misguided relative away from home to enlarge his or her horizon and thus change the point of view. Also, it is sometimes possible to put things in another aspect; by changing the standard of comparison, to let. them see the beloved as others see them, in a stronger if perhaps cruel light. The story is told of a society leader in an eastern city whose son announced his engagement to an utterly undesirable young woman in quite another dass. She had beauty—that was all—and that was of the milkmaid order. The lady mother showed nothing of her distress and disgust. On the contrary, she was gracious and interested. She at once invited the unacceptable daughter-in-law-elect to visit her. Undeviatingly kind and courteous, she nevertheless contrived to show the girl the total difference between her lover’s people and her own—nay. more—to make her conscious of her “impossibility.” The girl, impatient of the restraints and of what she considered the unreasonable requirements of Society, with a big S, uncomfortable among her strange surroundings. cut short her visit and went home to marry a man in her own set. Her lover let her go with faint protest and with unconfessed but genuine relief, and neither he nor the girl ever suspected that, while apparently caressed and petted. she had been gently and persistently rubbed the wrong way, with a purpose. " Sometimes, it is true, the diplomatic parent makes a mistake. Years ago. in a little town in the Western Reserve, a struggling student wooed the daughter of one of the richest men in town, the “leading citizen.” ambitious for his children and himself. The young man won the girl’s heart, and in manly fashion asked her father for her hand. Being an astute politician, the parent, notwith-

standing his objections to such a match for his pretty daughter, did not bluster, neither did he forbid the unwelcome suitor the house. Instead, he was all that was friendly and fatherly. As a father’s bounden duty under the circumstances. he inquired solicitously as to the young man’s prospects in life and his ability to provide for a wife. Being told, what he knew already, that he had naught to offer but industry, energy, and brains, he appealed to the lover’s love for the girl against himself, pictured the hard struggle with poverty to which he would condemn her, declared his own inability . he ought to have said unwillingness." to help them, and put him upon honour. The young man went away sorrowing because he had not great possessions. but determined to wait and to work. Then the father induced his daughter to believe that her lover had declined to marry her because she was not the heiress he had thought her. and she broke the engagement without appeal. She did not die of a broken heart, but her faith in men was shattered, and she never married. Her millionaire father reaped an unexpectedly rich reward for his duplicity. He lived to see the would-be son-in-law whom he had rejected President of the United States and to know that his lie had kept his daughter from becoming the mistress of the White House.

When Weeping Succeeds.

AN ARTICLE FOR LADY READERS ONLY. Man from time immemorial has had a righteous horror of tears! He has fallen before them as at the point of the sword, and femininity—at least, the en-

terprising portion of the sex—has cultivated the art of weeping to such an extent that in some hands it is po-itive-ly a lucrative profession. The daughter denied an extra fivepound note to gratify some additional craze in fashion or amusement, pursues one of two courses. She either sails majestically out of her father’s presence, feeling a justly aggrieved unit on the face of the globe, or else swiftly produces a morsel of lace-edged cambric, and subsides behind its shelter sniffing audibly. If she take the first course, “nothing further is left to chronicle, for there the episode eloses: if. however, she weeps, the odds are heavily in favour of her getting the coveted five pounds without any further trouble. Later on, when the fetters of matrimony have been securely forged, the woman who doesn’t weep loses a good half of her husband’s pocket-money, and certainly three parts of his leisure; whereas her lachrymose sister subsides into tears upon every and all occasions, which course metaphorically brings her husband to her feet, and extracts from his private pocket-money destined for the coffers of the club and the bookmaker. besides securing the leisure for her own society that would otherwise have been devoted to the said club and turf.

A woman in rears is not a sight for the gods: she is a betrayal of weak helplessness. She cannot pit her will against a man’s because she doubts her own strength, thereupon tears become the one and strongest weapon left to fall back upon. But there is no dignity in gaining a point by weeping: no conquest in a battle where tears have turned the balance. If only woman, lovelv woman, would realise this, and evolve some equally effectual but more dignified weapons for duelling, she would, undoubted Iv rise in man’s estimation.