“You’ll have fun with your mother, and it will help pass the time.” In June, the Deveraux family would be moving to their estate at Lake Tahoe for the summer, and Charles assured Alex that he would be welcome to join them there as often as he liked, and to stay as long as he wanted. They would be there from June until September, and come back to town to attend to the final details before the wedding.
They stayed in Tahoe every summer, and had thousands of acres on the lake, which Charles’s grandfather had bought when it was worth nothing. They had a private train to take them there, and a beautiful property with a large main house, several guesthouses, and other buildings for the servants. They took a very large staff to the lake with them, to serve them while they were there, in addition to the staff who stayed on the property year-round, among them the boatmen who cared for the fleet of speedboats they kept at the lake. Charles was delighted at the prospect of having a son he could hunt and fish and enjoy masculine pursuits with.
The months ahead seemed extremely enticing to all of them, and Eleanor finally, reluctantly agreed to go to Paris with her mother to order her wedding dress, although she didn’t like leaving Alex for so long. She’d be away for at least six weeks, a week of travel each way by train and boat, and a month in Paris to select the design, and for fittings. Charles booked passage for them on the French Line’s SS Paris for the end of April. More than ever, Eleanor hated to leave Alex when the time came.
“You’ll be back very soon,” he reassured her, touched that she was so upset about leaving him. “You’ll never find a dress you like as much here, and Paris is wonderful at this time of year.”
“I’d rather be here with you,” she pouted the night before they left for New York to board the ship. “Besides, what if the boat sinks?”
“It’s not the Titanic, it’s the Paris,” he said with his arms around her, loving her more each day. She was sweet and loving and easy to get along with, intelligent, and surprisingly mature for her age. He couldn’t think of a better woman to marry. “Besides, the Paris doesn’t sink, it just runs aground,” he teased her. The ship had had two embarrassing incidents in the past month. The SS Paris had run aground in New York Harbor and had been stuck for thirty-six hours. And eleven days later, she had run aground again in Cornwall, and was refloated two hours later. It wasn’t reassuring. She was a fabulously luxurious ship though, as Louise and Eleanor had experienced the year before when they’d gone to Paris for Eleanor’s debut dress. This time, their mission was infinitely more important. Louise wanted to order her the most spectacular wedding dress they could find, and Charles was fully in agreement, whatever the cost. They wanted the marriage to be the wedding of the century, and Alex was touched by all the fuss they were making. It was all even grander than his previous engagement had been.
Alex and Charles saw them off on the train to Chicago, where they would change trains to New York. Wilson was going with them. Louise had told her to take a few days to visit her family in Ireland while they were in Paris, as she had the year before too.
Eleanor’s mood improved slightly once they left the station. They had a mission to accomplish and Alex had promised to write to her while she was away. She treated the trip to Paris more like a punishment than a pleasure, having to be away from Alex for so long. She cheered up considerably once they were in New York and visited her mother’s cousins. When they were on the ship, the excitement of what they were doing finally caught up with her, and she began looking seriously at all the magazine clippings her mother had brought with them.
They were considering several designers this time. Louise felt that Jean-Charles Worth’s designs had become too extreme in the last year, and too modern, which had been fine for her debut, but not a wedding. She wanted to visit other designers when they got to Paris.
Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel was making a sensation, but she was too controversial, also too modern, focused more on sportswear, and didn’t seem appropriate to Louise for a wedding gown. Paul Poiret was a strong possibility, and had become very important on the Paris fashion scene. Also the houses of Doucet and Paquin. Elsa Schiaparelli had also become very noteworthy in the world of haute couture, but from the magazines Louise had brought with her, it seemed like she was more engaged in trend setting, with knitwear, tweeds, ski suits, swimsuits, and chic trompe l’oeil sweaters that were all the rage. But Louise didn’t think her wedding gowns would be traditional enough, and she wanted to meet with Jeanne Lanvin, an important designer in Paris fashion. She had designed a number of exquisite gowns for her daughter, the Comtesse de Polignac, which Louise had seen in Vogue, and she had a feeling that Jeanne Lanvin might be the right designer for Eleanor’s wedding gown. They were going to make an appointment to see her at her new boutique on Faubourg Saint-Honoré. They had serious work to do when they got there, and by the time they docked at Le Havre, Eleanor was ready to join her mother in their quest for the most spectacular wedding gown they could have designed.
They stayed at the Ritz, as they had the year before. After giving themselves one day to recover from the journey, they walked around Paris enjoying the spring weather, and the next day they embarked on their mission. Before they left the hotel, Eleanor got a telegram from Alex.
“Counting the days, and loving you more every day. Have fun! I love you. Alex.” She left the hotel with a smile on her face, after asking the concierge at the Ritz to send her response. Then she and Louise began making the rounds of Parisian designers.
They started with Paul Poiret on the rue Auber, and looked over a book of his recent bridal designs. The sketches were beautiful but Eleanor wasn’t excited about any of them, which was disappointing.
From there they went to Elsa Schiaparelli because Eleanor wanted to see her trompe l’oeil pullover sweaters. She bought four of them. They were Schiaparelli’s signature pieces and the height of fashion. One was a pierced heart, there was a sailor’s tattoo, a skeleton, and a black pullover with a shocking pink bow, the designer’s favorite color combination. Eleanor was excited about the sweaters, which were a huge hit among fashionable couture clients in Paris, but not about the bridal designs they showed them. She used a lot of visible zippers and modern touches that Eleanor loved for day wear, but the wedding gowns didn’t appeal to her at all.
They went to the Crillon for lunch then, and then to Jeanne Lanvin’s new boutique on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. The design house had been established for forty years, but the boutique was new. As soon as they arrived, both Eleanor and Louise knew they had come to the right place. Lanvin’s designs were not overly modern, they weren’t flashy or showy, but they were everything that haute couture should be. Aside from the exquisite workmanship, where every stitch was done by hand, the designs themselves combined elegance and youth, opulence without vulgarity or pretentiousness. They were incredibly chic, and exquisitely tasteful, and had a regal quality to them. Eleanor could see herself in a dress designed by Madame Lanvin. She knew it would be very special and just right for the most important day of her life.
The directrice of haute couture met them initially, and Madame Lanvin herself joined them halfway through the meeting. She spent some time talking to Eleanor, getting to know her, and listening to her describe how she envisioned herself on her wedding day, what her dream was, and what kind of bride she wanted to be. Then she made a quick sketch on a small pad, her interpretation of what Eleanor had said, with a little twist here and there, and additional suggestions, as Eleanor stared at the drawing in amazement. It was exactly what she wanted, but hadn’t known before. It was as though Madame Lanvin had read her mind.
“That is precisely what I want,” Eleanor said in a hushed voice, in awe of the famous designer.
“Yes…just so…and do we want satin?” The designer muttered to herself, “No…we want lace, with the design embroidered in tiny pearls…yes…yes…ah, voilà…comme ça…non…I think we make the waist very
small,” she glanced at Eleanor’s slim waist and nodded, “very small…and the skirt wider to accentuate it.” She looked at Louise and Eleanor then, “No chemise. Everyone is doing that now. Poiret, Worth…they’re all doing it. I do it too, but not for brides. We make the skirt wider but not too wide, and a very, very, very long train, like for a queen. I did that for my daughter when she became a comtesse…and the veil over the face, to here,” she indicated Eleanor’s fingertips, “but long at the back with the same lace around the edges.” Her pencil flew over the sketchpad, and a vision of a regal-looking bride appeared. Regal, and at the same time delicate and vulnerable, with long sleeves and a high neck, and a bell shaped skirt that would swing as she walked down the aisle and a waist so small you could put two hands around it. The entire gown would be embroidered over the lace and encrusted with tiny pearls. Both Eleanor and her mother could easily envision her in the wedding dress, as Madame Lanvin sat back and smiled at them.
“I will send you more finished sketches at the hotel in two days, and then we will talk about anything you wish to change. After that, we take your measurements and we get to work. Three fittings, one a week. We will put your dress ahead in the atelier so you can go home in a month or so. We will have the embroiderers begin to work on the lace as soon as you approve the sketches. The first fitting will be in muslin, until we are sure the pattern is right.” She was speaking as much to herself as to them, and giving instructions to her assistant in French. “We have the perfect lace. I have been saving it for something very special.” She smiled at them and stood up, and they all shook hands. Eleanor and Louise left the boutique two hours after they’d arrived feeling as though they had found the Holy Grail, and so easily and quickly. The decision to meet with Jeanne Lanvin had been inspired. They were both silent as they got in their hired car to take them back to the Ritz. It was almost five minutes before Eleanor spoke to her mother.
“That was fantastic. I can see the dress perfectly, Mama.”
“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” Louise said as tears filled her eyes and she leaned over and kissed her daughter.
“Will it cost a fortune?” Eleanor asked with a suddenly guilty look, all the embroidery Madame Lanvin had talked about, and the pearls, the lace she had been saving, and the “very, very, very long train.”
“Probably,” Louise answered with a grin. “Your father will be disappointed if it doesn’t. He wants you to have the best wedding dress we can have made here. I think we just found it. The rest is up to us, and Madame Lanvin.” Eleanor nodded, feeling dazed.
They had room service for dinner at the hotel that night, and went to bed early. Eleanor had another telegram from Alex telling her how much he loved her and missed her, and she went to bed, dreaming of bridal gowns and the incredibly talented Madame Lanvin.
* * *
—
They went to the Louvre the next day, and wandered in the Tuileries Garden. And they went to Sylvia Beach’s bookstore and the Librairie Galignani on the rue de Rivoli, to find some first editions to give Charles when they got home. And after their bookstore foray, they went to Angelina’s tearoom, with its elegant interior, for a cup of hot chocolate and their famous Mont Blanc pastry, made of chestnuts, meringue, and whipped cream.
Two days after their meeting, the promised sketches arrived at the hotel. The drawings were beautiful, and the wedding gown was magnificent, with every detail they had discussed part of the drawing. Eleanor wanted to frame it. It was like seeing a dream come to life. She could already imagine herself in it, and Alex looking bowled over when he saw her on their wedding day.
They called the boutique and made an appointment for the next morning. They arrived on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré at ten and the work began in earnest. One of Madame Lanvin’s premieres of the atelier, a highly respected position, presented the lace to them, as though showing them a jewel. It was the most beautiful lace Louise had ever seen. Then every inch of Eleanor’s body was measured, in centimeters, the size of her wrists, her neck, her waist, the distance between collarbone and the point of her breast, the center measure from her neck to her waist, both front and back, shoulder to elbow, upper hip to lower hip, her chest above her breasts, then below her breasts, from her neck to the floor, in both front and back. The measurements took time, and would be vital for making the pattern, first for the muslin, and later, much later, for the lace. They could not make mistakes with the lace, so the early fittings would be in muslin until they got it absolutely right. There was no margin for error, and there would be none. The beauty of haute couture was that it would be flawless when it was done. Perfection.
They had a week to spend exploring after that. They visited the Orangerie and the Jeu de Paume. The next day, they toured Versailles, which they had seen before, but it was still fascinating. And they visited Marie Antoinette’s private chambers.
The week flew by with daily exchanges of telegrams with Alex, constantly expressing his love for her, and how excited he was about the life they would share. He asked her questions about the dress, which she didn’t answer. She wanted everything about it to be a surprise for him.
On their second week in Paris, they ran into friends from San Francisco who were staying at the Crillon, and they met them for lunch at La Tour d’Argent before they left for the South of France. It was a nice distraction to help pass the time between fittings. Eleanor had started taking long walks every day, while her mother spent hours making notes about plans for the wedding.
A wedding for eight hundred people was a major undertaking, and was like planning a war with a happy ending. It was going to be the grandest wedding San Francisco had ever seen, and they would have friends and relatives coming from New York and Boston. She asked Eleanor for a list of the friends she wanted to invite, and she wanted the same from Alex, but most of the guests would be her and Charles’s friends, which was the tradition.
* * *
—
The first fitting of the muslin was very exciting. Two of the premieres were there to make adjustments and copious notes, the directrice of haute couture, and of course Madame Lanvin herself, who arrived frowning, in anticipation of all the things she knew she wouldn’t like. She embraced Eleanor and shook hands with her mother, and then the muslin was fitted to Eleanor’s body. It looked like a finished gown, in a fine cotton. It fit her like a glove, with barely a ripple here and there, which Madame Lanvin pointed to immediately, and the premieres corrected with pins. The premieres and Madame Lanvin stood staring at every inch of the muslin, looking at flaws that would betray them later if not altered on the muslin. It took them an hour. And then they had Eleanor choose the style shoes she wanted. Eleanor chose the style which Madame Lanvin preferred for the gown, with the heel height she felt was right for it. Then they measured Eleanor again for the undergarments that would be made for the dress. Nothing was left to chance. She would be wearing haute couture from the inside out and from head to toe.
They took several road trips that week, to explore some of the chateaux outside Paris, Chateau de Cheverny, where they loved the tulip garden, and Chateau de Villandry, with beautiful formal gardens. At the next fitting, the muslin fit perfectly. There was only one tiny detail Madame Lanvin wanted changed. She felt the waist was a centimeter too high, and wanted it lowered. Other than that, she seemed satisfied and disappeared quickly.
At the next fitting, the panels of lace had been basted into place. It looked like a finished dress to Eleanor, but to Madame Lanvin, it was far from it, and still a work in progress. The fittings with the muslin had paid off. The dress fit Eleanor without a single flaw or ripple. There was nothing to change, and the next week felt like waiting for a baby to be born. Eleanor could hardly wait to see it, and Louise was as excited as she was.
The final fitting, when it came, made every moment they had spent in Paris worthwhile. Eleanor stood before them looking
like a vision in her incredibly beautiful wedding gown. Every detail was flawless, the embroidery was exquisite. All the tiny pearls sewn on the lace were perfectly placed. There were a hundred tiny buttons down the back. The undergarments fit her like a second skin, and when they placed the veil on her head, both Eleanor and her mother cried. Eleanor had never felt so beautiful in her life or looked so spectacular. It was the wedding gown to end all wedding gowns. Madame Lanvin smiled when she saw her.
“Yes…yes…it is very nice. The lace is just the right one for this dress,” and then she looked at Eleanor seriously, and said, “You are a beautiful bride, and a beautiful woman. You will look wonderful on your wedding day.”
“Thanks to you,” Eleanor said in a hushed voice. She stood there staring at her reflection and couldn’t believe it was her in the mirror. She couldn’t wait for Alex to see her in the dress.
“We will have a box made for it. It will be delivered to your hotel before you sail,” Madame Lanvin promised. She kissed Eleanor on both cheeks then, and wished her a happy wedding, and the magician who had created the miraculous gown disappeared. Louise made the final arrangements with them, which Charles was handling from the bank, through a correspondent bank in Paris, and they left a few minutes later. Eleanor felt as though she were walking on air.
“Mama, how can I ever thank you for a dress like that? It’s so beautiful I’m almost afraid to touch it.”
“You will touch it, and wear it, and you’ll be the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen. And you and Alex will live happily ever after.” She smiled at her daughter as they held hands and walked down the street. They had done what they came to Paris to do. And Jeanne Lanvin had created the most magnificent bridal gown in the world.
The Wedding Dress Page 3
