"But I must wash?"
"Certainly, but not like that. Take a leaf out of my book; never wash you face just before going out into the fresh air, or just after coming in. Nothing is more injurious to the skin. Come to the glass. Do you notice a drawn look about your eyes and a general streakiness in the cheeks? That is the result of your violent assault upon your complexion just now. You look at this moment ten years older than you did twenty minutes ago in the park."
"Well, I really do. I look old enough to be your mother; but then, you are wonderful. You always look so young and fresh!"
"Because I never treat my poor face so badly as you do yours. I use rain-water, and if I cannot get that, I have the water filtered. When I dress for dinner I always wash my face with milk, adding just enough hot water to make it pleasant to use. A very soft sponge and very fine towel take the place of your terrible huckaback arrangement."
Two or three years ago a lady of Oriental parentage on her father's side spent a season in London society. Her complexion was brown, relieved by yellow, her features large and irregular, but redeemed by a pair of lovely and expressive eyes. So perfect was her taste in dress that she always attracted admiration wherever she went. Dressed in rich dark brown or dullest crimsons or russets, so that no one ever noticed much what she wore, she so managed that suggestions and hints—no more—of brilliant amber or pomegranate scarlet should appear just where they imparted brilliancy to her deep coloring, and abstract the yellow from her skin. A knot of old gold satin under the rim of her bonnet, another at her throat, and others in among the lace at her wrists, brightened up the otherwise subdued tinting of her costume, so that it always looked as though it had been designed expressly for her by some great colorist. Here rouge was unnecessary. The surroundings were arranged to suit the complexion, instead of the complexion to suit the surroundings. There can be no doubt as to which is the method which best becomes the gentlewoman.
In addition to the disagreeable sensation of making-up, it must be remembered that the use of some of the white powders eventually destroys the texture of the skin, rendering it rough and coarse. Rimmel, the celebrated perfumer, in his "Book of Perfumes," says that rouge, being composed of cochineal and saffron, is harmless, but that white cosmetics consist occasionally of deleterious substances which may injure the health. He advises actors and actresses to choose cosmetics, especially the white, with the greatest care, and women of the world, who wish to preserve the freshness of their complexion, to observe the following recipe: Open air, rest, exercise and cold water.
In another part of this pleasant book the author says that schonada, a cosmetic used among the Arabs, is quite innocuous and at the same time effectual. "This cream, which consists of sublimated benzoin, acts upon the skin as a slight stimulant, and imparts perfectly natural colors during some hours without occasioning the inconveniences with which European cosmetics may justly be reproached." It is a well-known fact that bismuth, a white powder containing sugar of lead, injures the nerve-centers when constantly employed, and occasionally causes paralysis itself.
In getting up the eyes, nothing is injurious that is not dropped into them. The use of kohl or kohol is quite harmless, and, it must be confessed, very effective when applied—as the famous recipe for salad dressing enjoins with regard to the vinegar—by the hand of a miser. Modern Egyptian ladies make their kohol of the smoke produced by burning almonds. A small bag holding the bottle of kuhol, and a pin, with a rounded point with which to apply it, form part of the toilet paraphernalia of all the beauties of Cairo, who make the immense mistake of getting up their eyes in an exactly similar manner, thus trying to reduce the endless variety of nature to one common pattern, a mistake that may be accounted for by the fact that the Arabs believe kohol to be a sovereign specific against ophthalmia. Their English sisters often make the same mistake without the same excuse. A hairpin steeped in lampblack is the usual method of darkening the eyes in England, retribution following sooner or later in the shape of a total loss of the eyelashes. Eau de Cologne is occasionally dropped into the eyes, with the effect of making them brighter. The operation is painful, and it is said that half a dozen drops of whisky and the same quantity of Eau de Cologne, eaten on a lump of sugar, is quite as effective.