Red rose and white rose, wall-flower, mignonette,
The daisies all—these be her recreation,
Her gaudies these.”
During the rush of the London season many hostesses, much as they love to have their houses made sweet and beautiful with flowers, find it impossible to attend to the work of decoration themselves; they must entrust the task to others. To meet the want of châtelaines such as these, there is the lady decorator, with her train of flower-fairies, ready to fill the breach.
And they will not only bring us flowers; lights, too, they can adjust at will, not fire-flies but electric, which, after all, are most to be depended on.
Arranging flowers is one of those things that every woman in the world thinks nobody can do but herself; she is as much addicted to self-esteem in this direction as a man is over mending the fire; and who does not enjoy the pleasing excitement of setting out the flowers for a ball or dinner-party? The very smell of the wet moss, the cool feel of the stalks, the bunches of pliant fern, the baskets ready to be unpacked, every circumstance is in itself a pleasure, but it is not so nice if you are hurried and interrupted. Better by far is it for very busy people to think out the scheme of decoration with one of the above-named fairies, who will appear exactly at the right moment, while you are resting, and scatter your board with beauty.
One of the most experienced among these lady-workers has told me that, of all colour-schemes, the best for lighting up well at night is pink and silver. Pink Roses in silver bowls are lovely, but invisible receptacles, meandering about a table, are pretty too. Sometimes, at the last moment, the particular flower desired will not be procurable—the market has been cleared—and pink Sweet Peas or Pelargoniums must take the place of Roses, purple Stock do duty for Pansies, or Scarlet Geranium for fallen Poppies. It is anxious work.
The lady decorator is wonderfully quick. She has to be. James the First—all the Jameses, indeed—plushed, powdered, silk-stockinged, and calmly insistent, say, “You cannot have the table till such-and-such an hour.” Very well; then all the flowers must be prepared before they are packed to bring—every single leaf and every blossom, all must be wired. This makes them go much further, besides keeping them in their places, and it does give the effect of lightness; but it is a thing to which I am never able to reconcile myself. You take a Lily-of-the-Valley from its vase, attracted irresistibly by its scent, and find it fast set in a corsetière of steel—each leaf and stalk, almost each separate blossom, wired. This gives you a horrid feeling; you idly untwist the cruel bonds, and then the poor flower droops or falls to pieces.
In the ballroom dreadful things are suffered by the Roses. Fancy a curtain all made of these lovely flowers, wired together in long trails to match the festoons that wave softly overhead!
The lady decorator is pleasant to work with; she will use your own flowers if you like, so that one’s country-houses can send their quota, and one always enjoys the things from home. She is equally ready to fill your window-box or balcony, to furnish your dwelling-rooms with flowers both cut and growing, to smarten up your concert-platforms or theatrical scenes, to dress your bazaar-stalls for you, to make your Court bouquets, or sprays for hair and dress; she will even help you to decorate your churches; and, after once experiencing the delight of skilled assistance, few ladies in the world of fashion take these graceful duties entirely on themselves. A lady flower-decorator is almost as much wanted as a lady type-writer, and has a far pleasanter time of it. But, like all trades, this one has to be learned. I believe an apprenticeship of two years is considered necessary.