SOCIETY WEDDINGS

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 1, 6 January 1909, Page 42

SOCIETY WEDDINGS

By

LADY VIOLET GREVILLE

In th* ” London Magazine.”

Fashionable weddings are a* old the heavy wedding breakfast as the hills. They exts: in all HAS BEEN ABANDONED countries and in varying, con- in favour of light refreshment. and th? ditions under all kinds of civi- ceiezhony itself postponed from the early Ji-ationr. morning to th? afternoon. Most fashion* The marriage ceremony in England has able weddings »nke place about two always be?n regarded with especial re- o’ekxk, an arrane» £uent which precludes

spect and__veneration. as a rite sacred to fa mi .y life. One ( in sea rely imagine a ■ ,-elf-respv. tins bride without a veil and ora ii"e -1 Jossom s. Girls love all the paraphernalia of the weddinsr ihe bustie. the gaiety, and the impoiianfc ; while parents, acquiescing in tlic lirsent ncrcssify of the ■ jumpeding. yet crumhlf fervently at the trouble aii-1 expose, ter A WEDDING UPSETS THE'EN'tIRE : ESTABLISHMENT. Ordinarv life is completely suspended, nteah are taken in a hurry, no one has time to sit down, the servants are run g!j' their h gs with the constant arrival of visitors and par.. ■!-. and the interminable stream of di.'ssniakers. millineis ami tradesmen. The father of th? family usually escapes to his club, but when at home becomes greatly in request on account of his cheque book. The drawing- . .room is strewed with presents and costumes. the schoolroom ami nursery, are given up to the bride's lothes and-her innumerable boxes, while the best . bedroom is reserved for the bridal toilet ami the services of the French hairdres.-er. Long engagements were formerly “de rigueur.” Six months was considered quite a reasonable period to elapse between the betrot mil and the wedding. It was supposed that settlements could not "be arranged in less time, and that the careful deliberations of th? respective solicitors must not be unduly Lurried. Now. however, in this, new period of -- feverish activity, long engagements ar-Z voted tiresome: a month is .quite an ordinary period of duration tor the engagement, and til? girl -is engaged and married oil almost before her friends have become cognisant of the fact.' In the same laudable desire to waste no time

a formal luncheon. and enables tiie-bride and bridegroom to start on their wed■dinir iournov ’ an- hour after- Ulf marriane. With "th? >uffr.ilthg of-The Veddin.l f?;.-t has also : come the curtailing

of the. honey ;ric6h- a week is the maximum. two dr.vs the minimum, that the newly wedded pair think it is necessary t<> retire from tije public gaze and their oidiuary avoc.ttion-.

Yet this curtailment does. not include a less expenditure. Probably NEVER DI RING THE LAST CENTURY HAS SO ML TH BEEN SPENT ON WEDDING TROUSSEAUX, AND PRESENTS. Some of the most notable brides have

received enough articles to stock a house, enough plate for a jeweller’s shop, enough diamonds to satisfy a queen, and enough clothes to last a lifetime. Bridegrooms, also, to whom a pin, an umbrella, a walk-ing-stick, and a cigar-case formerly con stituted the meagre offerings ol their friend.-' goodwill, now receive guns, mo-tor-cars, sable coats, valuable plate and pretty furniture. Friends hand together to present the lucky bride with a tiara or a tine pendant oi diamonds; parents naturally are expected to provide something handsome in the matter of jewels, lace and furs; while acquaintances are ashamed to send less than a Louis X\. chair, or a bit of old Sevres china, or at least, delicately engraved glass. Plate and linen are provided by the nearest relations, while rich connections and acquaintance.- furnish the remainder of the sumptuous gifts. Fortunate indeed is th? bride of to-day. especially if she is popular and pretty. All her partners send her souvenns: the tenantry, the neighbours, the servants, her father's colleagues in Parliament or business, his constituents, and even bis clubs think it necessary to shower presents on his charming daughter. Lady Marjorie Gordon. Lady Marjorie Greville. and Miss Astor were the three brides of this season who received the greatest number of presents, their parents owning such a large acquaintance with all classes, and being in touch with many political, social, and philanthropic interests. The trousseau —an adaptation of the French " corbeiile de manage,” which included the bridegroom’s presents, the jewellery, laces and cachemires bestowed by the bride's parents —of course occupies the majority of the girls’ thoughts. Trousseaux vary much in price, from th** humble home-made underclothing of the German girl, who works* for years at her wedding outfit, and the complete set of house linen which every - German bride brings with her into the conjugal dwelling. to the fabulous display of lingerie and dresses provided for the millionaire's daughter. Of late years more money has been spent on lingerie than ever before. “ FRILLS '• AND LACE hay? taken the place of simple embroideries and openwork. The daintiest and flimsiest of confections, veritable works

i- of art. decorated with infinite ta*te and e a variety of baby ribons in pink and blue, y transparent nightdresses, " juppons’’ a ir mass of frothy snow, “ peignoirs ” and tea-gowns in soft, silks, flowing muslins, and crepeswle-Chine fill an important pare in the fashionable woman’s wardrobe. For a month or six weeks before the wedding 1 be life of the bride and her mother becomes a constant wear and tear. The father turns his worries over to his man of business; but the mother and daughter together, like faithfullest allies, scour the shops from morning till night, selecting, ordering, trying on. And let no man imagine that trying on is a light affair. On the contrary, it demands a. patience, a disregard of time and tide, and a physical endurance which is not given to every woman. To POSE FOR HOURS LIKE AN AUTOMATON, to be fitted and pinned, and pulled and pinched, and turned round and about by several women, their satellites standing around and gazing, while every defect is commented on. and every beauty praised, while your complexion, your figure, your skin, is discussed with the stern shrewdness of the judge and the ruthless dissection of the practised critic, is a trial pf nerve from which only the professional beauty can emerge scat hl ess. THE BRIDEGROOM, MEANWHILE, FARES BADLY ALSO. He has little opportunity of seeing his busy bride, save when she flashes up like a meteor in her flighty career. A few Hatched moments in ’.he evening, an hour's walk (during which she talks of nothing but her presents), a hastv kiss, ant caresses, and his cup is full.* Then bv must interview the clergy, obtain the ■j vice* of the bishop, get the marriage licence, buy the ring, ami choose the t presents for the bridesmaids. Some kind of jewellery, generally marked with the initials of the bride and ftridegroom, is d preferred; lockets, broochls, and bracelets are the most usual. lite bridegroom

must he prepared to spend at least £5 on each, and the number of the bridesmaids is generally eight. He also provides the bride's bouquet, a handsome, affair of orchids, or lilies, or roses, costing about £ 10 or £ 15, and less expensive bouquets for the bridesmaids. At some of the most recent weddings sheafs of lilies or branches of roses were used

instead of bouquets, and gave a poetical touch to the appearance of the bride. Some ladies, however, prefer to carry a beautifully t»ound white vellum Prayerbook. and this also is supplied by the bridegroom. An ordinary marriage licence costs £5. a special licence £25 to £5O; and in addition there are the fees to he given to the officials’ of the church, varying according to the edifice. The fee* to the organist is anetuerheavy ’item, for the music is often of a very elaborate and grandiose character. And lastly comes the floral decoration of th? sacred building. Palms and white flowers are usually employed, but at a few fashionable weddings the church resembled a perfect bower of roses. Of course, the expense of this, as well as th? floral decoration of th? bride's house, and the wedding-bell of flowers which American brides affect, and under which they stand to receive the congratulations of the guests, may run into hundreds of pounds. Americans spend untold sums on flowers. English people are more modest, and probably £2OO would satisfy the ambitions of most hostesses at a wedding. THE CHURCH CHOSEN FOR THE CEREMONY varies aceordig to the' predilection of the parties. St. George's. Hanoversquare, a few years ago was the Mecca of fashionable brides; now St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge. St. Peter’s,' Eaton-square. and even less fashionable churches are often chosen. For a. military wedding the Guards Chapel is preferred, and the

effect of the uniforms contrasted with the bridal procewMon is extremely pretty. A few favoured brides, like L»»rd Ro.-e--bery'a daughter, are married in Westminster Abbey, whose vast dim ai»le« and venerable tradition* add a dignity and magnificence to the ceremony; while others are espoused at St. Margaret’s, W’eMminster, under the shadow of the The bride's jewel box constitutes a heavy item in the expenses. EVERY BRIDE EXPECTS AT LEAST ONE TIARA OF DIAMONDS. and a necklace contributed usually by her'parents. another tiara is given her by the bridegroom, or sub-

scribed by a number of intimate friends. The extravagance of jewellery is greatly on the increase. Many great ladies have their jewels constantly reset, others receive new ones annually, and thus a bride who started in life without at. least a modicum of jewellery would feel disgraced. A collar or two strings of pearls likewise form a very necessary ingredient

I in the well-filled jewel-case; while innumerable little brooches, safety-pins, . and . lockets must be included for daily wear. Jewels art worn now in the street, at 1 luncheon, at. tea-parties; tiaras appear » constantly at the opera or smart dinners and parties. It is thus expedient > that the fashionable bride should be , well provided with all these appurtenani ces. Another expense Is that of furs. Sable, ermine, and chinehilla are the only i furs suitable for wedding presents; and ■ a mole stole, or coat is generally included in the parental gifts. Lace is provid- ; ed in th? trousseau; but the earefitl . mother generally manages to bestow an ! extra flounce or a few yards of costly : lace as an additional gift on her daugh- » ter. . To sum up. we may take the expenses I of a fashionable, wedding approximately at the following: — 1 Church expenses, license, etc .... £5O Floral decorations 150 * Refreshments 100 ’ Champagne 120 Presents for bridesmaids 40 Bouquets for bride and bridesmaids 40 Sundries, invitation cards, etc. . . 50 Jewels 500 The trousseau 1000 f Total £2050 It will thus lie seen that to get oneself married fashionably, in the height j of the season, in the presence of numer- ; ous friends, and in a popular church, is ? a somewhat expensive affair.

Sleep and Dreams.

life is twofold: sleep has it* own world.” And a strange world we find it when the dreams come crowding u»*ought to our restless pillows —a realm timeless, lawless, full of indifferent spectators-, and set with unimaginable marvels a* well a* the most ludicrous ommouplae?*. As classed by Hutchison, the six most frequent types of dreams are i 1 » falling, • 2i flying. i 3» inadequate clothing. <4j nightmare. (5> dearest wish gratified, <6> trivial commonplace*. Taking the>e j n order, the first—the failing dream —is practically universal. Whether the fall bp from the roof of a modern city building or a drop from a Himalayan mountain ledge into the clouds, the "fall of m m” b.-comes a terrifying entity in its more literal sense to the majority of mankind when once they have forsaken terra firnia for the insecure pinnacles of sleep. The true "falling” dream is a long drop to a bottomless abyss, associated with th« "sinking” sensation experienced in sudden lift descent: the dreamer starts up into wakefulness before th? end of th? fall is reached. According to the popular superstition, if th? dreamer reaches that end. he dies: naturally th? logical objection has been raised that those ?n titled to give evidence nf this are those precluded by death from speaking. Physiologists ascribe the frequency of dream falls to sensations due to the absence of support for the feet in the reclining position when asleep. This dream of a long, sinking, indefi nite fall must be sharply distinguished from the well known “start” nr “jump” usually experienced at a moment when on? is just falling asleep Here the impression is rather of a drop of a fewfeet on to some solid floor, or upon the bed itself. The phenomenon has been studied by Weir-Mitchell, who gave it the gruesome name of "Psychic Decapitation”—the explosive muscular spasms being completely anaJngous to those witnessed in beheaded animals. We pass from the?? half nightmares, with a swift transition from unpleasant dreams to pleasant, to consider the type next in frequency—the dream of flying, which occurs in the proportion of on? to three. It is unlikely that there is any reader of these lines who has not. at on? time oi- another, experienced its pleasurable sensations. The most peculiar characteristic of the flying dream is th? mental standpoint assumed by th? dreamer. With a justifiable pride in hi> flight is mingled a feeling of contemptuour superiority towards the less gifted dream onlookers—who. with the usual indifference of the people of sleep, seem very little impressed by the marvel. Together with these emotions is linked a strange self-surprise, perhaps a dim effort of the half-reason which follows us into the Land of Nod and endeavours to smooth o\er or explain its absurdities to us. "Why did I_ never think of doing this before?” thinks the dream-flier a-» he skims gracefully along his airy way. Two other remarkable factors in these, aerial efforts have been noticed by those, who have studied them. One is that the imagined flight is rarely high —at most the level of the roofs of buildings or the tops of trees: the other that in a great number of eases it seems to occur not in the free air but in a building. These two established facts have been stumbling blocks to those who seek to explain this type of dream as a faint race recollection of some flying ancestor in a past unimaginably• remote'. To the -opposite school, who would refer the djt’ain cau>“ lb circulatory disturbance or lack of support to the feet, they can quote, however, one peculiar fact in retort: one which, in the case of a dream “fall” they were unable to make use of. A longing for flight—for power to cleave the free air as a bird—is (as Leonardo da "Vinci well knew) deeply ingrained in the human heart; the existence of such desire is indisputable, whatever view may be taken of its ultimate significance. As Professor Stanley Hall, an upholder of the ancestor recollection theory, pertinently inquires: "There are vestigial traces of gill-slits in our bodies; why not vestigial traces of floating and swimming in our souls?” Naturally enough, the other side answered that man had no direct flying ancestor, though some ■were swimmers, while Gowers has obtained evidence to show that, flying and falling sensations in sleep are associated with the sense of changed equilibrium due to spontaneous contraction of the stapedius, a tiny muscle in the ear. Like nio-t of ne problems concerned with the dream state, the question still renfains an open one. - Th? dream of inadequate clothing would translate us to the sphere of the ridiculous, were it not for the shamefaced horror of the dreamer in the dream itself. We are all familiar with its cl»iracteristic manifestations, whether we appear at a Government reception in a night gown, or discover ourselves upon the Block minus the customary nether garments of civilisation. We may attend church in pyjamas, or address a meeting of electors in the simple garb of Adam. Luckily for the dreamer—although his sudden sense of horror usualy precludes his observationof the fact — dream people show little surprise or resentment at the continually startling events among which they move; like Gallio “they care for none of these things.” At most, inadequate clothing rouses in them a species of what may be called “ moonlight reproach.” Really Mr X,” said the late Queen, in th? classic dream of an English Prime Minister, who found himself in bathing trunks endeavouring to. open Parliament (with a bad key)—"really, you should be above this sort of thing.’’ Yet the sudden feeling of horror is nevertheless the usual concomitant of this dream, the cause of

With our fourth type of dream—the Of nightmare lx>gie-—»hapes. *ize», <»1type-!. The^nain 1 efieri on i-h? dreaoi.-r is the sense of fear combined v ith help*’ th? nameless horror that pursue* while one’.- limbs refuse to move: the dread catastrophe to which one is irre-istibly drawn; the household p?t bloated to incredible proportions, and insane; the dreamer poised on a narr<Tw ledge of a lofty building; the attempt to fasten doors against some horrifying intruder, and a peculiar species of dream whose terrible aspect depends on some sudden alteration in th? relations of >iz?s, distances and perspective—for example, that in which the dreamer finds himself iu a. choking atmosphere in a i".. . room from which th? onh exit is u Inti? opening near th? floor, too small for his body. These are all extremely common types of nightmare, and were it possible to tako other isolated examples might ly? found to follow definite lines. The physical wide of nightmare ha- been studied by Hammond, who fnds that the respiration especially disturbed, thus i>anting for th? oppre-siou in th? ch?st and feeling of stifling so usually experienced. The dr°am which assumes the form of the gratification of nur dearest a i-h is not necessarily an unmixed joy. Foreshadowing th? disillusions of reality tha dream realisation in most < i.-es falls short of the anticipation, if only’ on account of th? shadowy unemotional characters of all except the chief actors in y a dream—rhe imitating "nil admirarlJr of th? shade.-. Even if we compose souro masterpiece in a dream s it is usually/ a very poor effort if it survives to the waking memory—the " devil’s sonata ” and " kuhla khan ” notwithstanding. Our Elysian humour turn- out to b?> soma pitiable pun. and there is th? famous dream of Oliver Wendell Holmes, who floated into realms of supreme understanding and learnt there the sentence which gave an answer to all the problems and mystery to the entire, universe. H? wok?, repeating it :—“ A strong odour of turpentine pervades .throughout I ” Yet not rarely the dream, of complete realisation of all desired things occurs, and th? fact of waking alone is the bitter disillusion. In regard to last class of dream, many authorities have challenged its low position on the list ; and certainly this confusing dilemma of “trivial inconveniences” is one which few voyagers of sleep esc-sypp. How often have we packed that .<ik that would never fill, and nf whicl. tffe key is missing : lost that inevitable train, knocked at strange doors in a feverish haste in search of a vanished railway station, mistaken, the road to the •wharf, or chosen the wrong day for an examination 1 The dream usually presents an image of some definite- object to he obtained, perpetually thwarted by some trivial obstacle, ludicrous, no doubt, could we comprehend "it ralniiy, but to‘the fussy haste in'which the dreamer finds himself profoundly irritating. This is the last class of dream specified by the classification wp have foll'owed. bin among’th 1 ? myriads dreamed each night throughout ths world there must he manv more. Dream memory is faint and easily vanishes ; were it possible to remember every dream each night our dream world would become nearly as vivid as that of the day, for experiments have proved that •we dream continuously through sleep, though the recollection is usually lost. And it is perhaps as well for ourselves that it is so. seeing that in that vague lawless territory beyond the Ivory (fate our sense of inhibition is so much in abeyance that the most law-abiding in waking life is a hardened criminal there. A famous judge has recorded his dreamact of stabbing an inoffensive bystander in the back with a sword, his sole ambition being artistic joy at the protrusion of the blade- at least a foot.” One may safely draw the conclusion that on the score of ethical standards-alone it is as well for dreaming humanity that ' “ sleep has its own world.”