The lady in the evening dress ([Fig. 49]) is from a large woodcut in the same journal representing a ball. This costume, with much pretension to elegance, exhibits most of the faults of the modern style of dress. It combines the indecently low dress, with the pinched waist, and the hoop petticoat. In the figure of the woman of Mitylene, ([Fig. 50],) the true form and width of the shoulders are apparent, and the form of the bust is indicated, but not exposed, through the loosely fitting drapery which covers it. In the figure of the Athenian peasant, ([Fig. 47],). the loose drapery over the bust is confined at the waist by a broad band, while the hips are encircled by the sash-like girdle in which the figure rests her hands. The skirt of the pelisse appears double, and the short sleeve, embroidered at the edge, shows the full sleeve of the under drapery, also richly embroidered. In the second figure from the environs of Athens, ([Fig. 51],) we observe that the skirt of the pelisse, instead of being set on in gathers or plaits, as our dresses are, is “gored,” or sloped away at the top, where it unites almost imperceptibly with the body, giving rise to undulating lines, instead of sudden transitions and curves. In the cut of the Arcadian peasant, ([Fig. 48],) the pelisse is shortened almost to a spencer, or côte hardie, and it wants the graceful flow of the longer skirt, for which the closely fitting embroidered apron is no compensation. This figure is useful in showing that tight bodies may be fitted to the figure without stays. The heavy rolled girdle on the hips is no improvement. The dress of the Algerine woman, ([Fig. 53],) copied from the “Illustrated London News,” bears a strong resemblance to the Greek costume, and is very graceful. It is not deformed either by the pinched waist or the stays. In the tenth century, the French costume ([Fig. 52]) somewhat resembled that of the modern Greeks; the former, however, had not the short pelisse, but, in its place, the ladies wore a long veil, which covered the head, and reached nearly to the feet.
The Greek and Oriental costume has always been a favorite with painters: the “Vernon Gallery” furnishes us with two illustrations; and the excellent engravings of these subjects in the Art Journal enable us to compare the costumes of the two figures while at a distance from the originals. The graceful figure of “The Greek Girl,” (engraved in the Art Journal for 1850,) painted by Sir Charles Eastlake, is not compressed by stays, but is easy and natural. The white under-drapery is confined at the waist, which is short, by a broad girdle, which appears to encircle it more than once, and adds to the apparent length of the waist; the open jacket, without a collar, falls gracefully from the shoulders, and conceals the limits of the waist; every thing is easy, natural, and graceful. M. De Stackelberg's beautiful figure of the “Archon's Wife” ([Fig. 54]) shows the district whence Sir C. Eastlake drew his model. There is the same flowing hair,—from which hang carnations, as in the picture in the “Vernon Gallery,”—the same cap, the same necklace. But in the baron's figure, we find the waist encircled with a broad band, six or seven inches in width, while the lady rests her hand on the sash-like girdle, which falls round the hips.
Turn we now to Pickersgill's “Syrian Maid,” (engraved in the Art Journal for 1850:) here, we see, the artist has taken a painter's license, and represented the fair Oriental in stays, which, we believe, are happily unknown in the East. How stiff and constrained does this figure appear, after looking at Sir C. Eastlake's beautiful “Greek Girl;” how unnatural the form of the chest! The limits of the waist are not visible, it is true, in the “Syrian Maid,” but the shadow is so arranged, that the rounded form, to which we have before alluded, and which fashion deems necessary, is plainly perceptible; and an impression is made that the waist is small and pinched.
We could mention some cases in which the girdle is omitted altogether, without any detriment to the gracefulness of the figure. Such dresses, however, though illustrative of the principle, are not adapted to the costume of real life. In sculpture, however, they frequently occur. We may mention Gibson's statue of her majesty, the female figure in M'Dougall's “Triumph of Love,” and “Penelope,” by Wyatt, which are engraved in the Art Journal, (the first in the year 1846, the others in 1849.) But the drapery of statues can, however, scarcely be taken as a precedent for that of the living subject, and although we mention that the girdle is sometimes dispensed with, we are far from advocating this in practice; nay, we consider the sash or girdle is indispensable; all that we stipulate for is, that it should not be so tight as to compress the figure, or impede circulation.
In concluding our remarks on this subject, we would observe, that the best means of improving the figure are to secure freedom of motion by the use of light and roomy clothing, and to strengthen the muscles by exercise. We may also observe, that singing is not only beneficial to the lungs, but that it strengthens the muscles, and increases the size of the chest, and, consequently, makes the waist appear smaller. Singing, and other suitable exercises in which both arms are used equally, will improve the figure more than all the backboards in the world.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE HEAD.
There is no part of the body which has been more exposed to the vicissitudes of fashion than the head, both as regards its natural covering of hair, and the artificial covering of caps and bonnets. At one time, we read of sprinkling the hair with gold dust; at another time, the bright brown hair, of the color of the horse-chestnut, so common in Italian pictures, was the fashion. This color, as well as that beautiful light golden tint sometimes seen in Italian pictures of the same period, was frequently the result of art, and receipts for producing both tints are still to be found in old books of “secreti.” Both these were in their turn discarded, and after a time the real color of the hair was lost in powder and pomatum. The improving taste of the present generation is, perhaps, nowhere more conspicuous than in permitting us to preserve the natural color of the hair, and to wear our own, whether it be black, brown, or gray. There is also a marked improvement in the more natural way in which the hair has been arranged during the last thirty years. We allude, particularly, to its being suffered to retain the direction intended by nature, instead of being combed upright, and turned over a cushion a foot or two in height.
These head-dresses, emphatically called, from their French origin, têtes, were built or plastered up only once a month: it is easy to imagine what a state they must have been in during the latter part of the time. Madame D'Oberkirch gives, in her Memoirs, an amusing description of a novel head-dress of this kind. We transcribe it for the amusement of our readers.
“This blessed 6th of June she awakened me at the earliest dawn. I was to get my hair dressed, and make a grand toilette, in order to go to Versailles, whither the queen had invited the Countess du Nord, for whose amusement a comedy was to be performed. These Court toilettes are never-ending, and this road from Paris to Versailles very fatiguing, especially where one is in continual fear of rumpling her petticoats and flounces. I tried that day, for the first time, a new fashion—one, too, which was not a little gênante. I wore in my hair little flat bottles, shaped to the curvature of the head; into these a little water was poured, for the purpose of preserving the freshness of the natural flowers worn in the hair, and of which the stems were immersed in the liquid. This did not always succeed, but when it did, the effect was charming. Nothing could be more lovely than the floral wreath crowning the snowy pyramid of powdered hair!” Few of our readers, we reckon, are inclined to participate in the admiration of the baroness, so fancifully expressed, for this singular head-dress.