SUBJECT:
“ON THE ADVISABILITY OF MEN’S APPAREL FOR WOMEN.”
HEADINGS: x. The Inconvenience of Women’s Dress Generally.
2. The Superior Comfort Enjoyed by Men.
3. Cheapness, Quality, and Durability of Men’s Clothing.
4. The Advantages of Social Uniformity.
N.B. — The Lecturer will give from time to time Practical Illustrations of her theory.
TO COMMENCE AT 8 P.M. PRECISELY.
FAUTEUIL, 5s. — ADMIT ONE.
Men’s apparel for women! Social uniformity! Practical illustrations of the theory! Ye gods! I gasped for breath, and staggered to an arm-chair, wherein I sank exhausted by the excess of my wonder! The idea of the “practical illustrations” was what worried me. I tried to imagine their nature, but failed in the effort. I could not conceive any “practical illustrations” on such a subject possible — in public! Would she have an assorted pile of men’s garments on a table beside her, and taking them up one by one, point out their various attractions? Would she discourse eloquently on the simplicity of the shirt; the rapid sliding-on of the trousers; the easy charm of the waistcoat, and the graceful gaiety of the “monkey-jacket”? Would she attempt to describe the proper setting of a stiff collar, for instance? No! let her not dare such a task as this! Let her not presume to touch on that supremest point of sublime masculine agony! My own collar became suddenly ill-fitting as I thought of it, and hitched up against my ear. Full of that wild rage which convulses a man when his linen worries him, I flew to the looking-glass and busied myself for some minutes setting it straight, my countenance darkening into an apoplectic red as I strained at the starchy button-hole and refractory button. D — n it! There! it was all right now; and heaving a sigh of relief, I sat down again and fell into a melancholy reverie. I would not go and dine at the Grosvenor with that wonderful wife of mine (everybody said she was wonderful, and I don’t deny it); no, I would not! But should I go and hear her lecture? This was the question that now tormented me. Perhaps it would be wise on my part; perhaps my very presence would arouse in her mind some touch of remorse, some tinge of regret, for days that once had been; ah! days that once had been! That sounded like poetry, and I knew where I had heard it. A sweet maid of about fifty had sung it at Mrs. Maggs’s the other evening in a voice that sounded rather like a penny whistle which had got a drop of water into it by mistake. I hummed it under my breath sentimentally —
“We wandered by the little rill
That sparkled o’er the green,
And oh! we lov’d the mem’ry still
Of days that once, o-once ha-ad been!”
Ah! rills might “sparkle” over any amount of “green,” but Honoria would never wander by them more; never — never! She never had wandered, and she never would wander; the wandering business was reserved for me! Here I recognised that my thoughts were becoming confused, and rising, I thrust my wife’s letter and the five-shilling ticket into my pocket, determining to think no more about it.
As a matter of fact, however, I did think more about it. I thought about it so much that at last I could not get it out of my head. The “subject” of that threatened dissertation “On the Advisability of Men’s Apparel for Women” wrote itself on the air before me. I found myself looking into tailors’ shops with a morbid curiosity, and wondering how such and such a check or striped pattern would suit pretty little Georgie, who in the June of that year was to be made Countess of Richmoor; and then I took to fancying how I, a specimen of despised and wretched man, should figure in one of those lustrous silk brocades and dainty gossamer stuffs that filled the drapers’ plate-glass windows; for if women liked men’s apparel so much as to wear it, why then, if only for the sake of trade, apart from the question of contrast, men would have to go into trains and tight bodices. Everything was going to be turned topsy-turvy, I dismally decided; this planet had surely got an awkward tilt from some mischievous demon of misrule, and we were all going mad or eccentric in consequence. My brain was in a whirl anyway, and that wretched “Bobbie” with the moustaches seemed to know it. I met him one day by chance; he was still “on the river,” though it was wintertime; he was painting and decorating the interior of his “little house-boat” with Wonderall’s Enamel or something of that kind. He looked more like a “penny novelette” hero than ever, and of course he was fully aware of Honoria’s lecturing powers.
“Oh, I should go and hear her if I were you,” he said, with a languid lifting of his eyelids, which was a trick of his, practised in order to display the length of his dark lashes and the feminine softness of his big brown eyes. “She’s awfully clever, you know; regular A One! Her ‘subject’ too will ‘draw’ immensely. If I were not on the river just now I’d go too, I really would! It’s sure to be capital fun!”
Thoughtless young brute!— “Capital fun!” for me? Did he actually think so? I suppose he did; he was a perfect idiot on all “subjects” save boating — a mere fish! Scrape his gills and cook him for dinner! That meaningless absurdity of a phrase came ringing back on my ears with all the delirious pertinacity of its first suggestion, and I parted from him abruptly in no very friendly mood. He told me I looked “seedy” as he went on his way, and I fancied I saw a smile of amused compassion under those long moustaches of his — a smile for which I loftily despised him.
Finally, after much painful hesitation, I resolved to be present at my wife’s lecture, and having once made up my mind, felt a little more at ease. I tried to get into that cynical don’t-carish mood that some fellows are able to adopt very quickly when their wives prove disappointing, but I am (unfortunately) rather a soft-hearted booby, and it will take a good while to turn me into a downright hard-as-nails business curmudgeon. I’ve made several efforts in that direction; efforts which my podgy and dimpled son invariably causes to come to naught with one blow of his chubby fist, and one chuckle of his remarkably abstruse language. However, let that pass; I know there are a good many men like me, so I’m not alone in my folly!
The evening — the fated, fatal evening — came at last, and by half-past seven I was so much excited that I found it would be impossible to walk calmly to Prince’s Hall without attracting attention by my erratic behaviour. I felt that I should grin convulsively, gesticulate and talk to myself on the way, in exactly the same fashion that old Bowser of the Stock Exchange does when he’s annoyed, much to the surprise and amusement of staring street passengers. So to avoid unpleasantness I took a hansom. I must not omit to mention that I had told Mrs. Maggs and all her household about it. Mrs. Maggs had wept, Georgie had sighed, and the other members of the family had exchanged comical glances one with the other, but none of them would accompany me to hear Honoria’s eloquence. Her “subject” seemed to them rather more alarming than attractive. I told Richmoor and he shrugged his shoulders, looked amiable as was his wont, and pressed my hand with particular warmth and sympathy, but he made no remark, nor did he volunteer to support me in the trial I had resolved to undergo. For it was a trial — it is a trial to any true man to see his wife made vulgarly notorious. I can pity from my soul the set-aside husbands of “professional” beauties and “society” actresses; I can sympathise with them — I do sympathise with them! And I would advise young fellows who have not yet made up their minds where to choose a wife, to avoid taking one from any public exhibit. Don’t marry a “beauty” out of a prize-show; don’t take a Dulcinea of the bottle and tap; don’t select a smoking, betting, “crack-shot” and sportswoman, as I, in blind ignorance, did; don’t give any preference to a female anatomist and surgeon, who knows the names of every bone and muscle in your body; in fact, don’t take any “celebrity” at all, unless her celebrity be worn with that grand unconscious simplicity which marks a sweet woman’s nature as well as a great genius’s career. But I mustn’t stop to moralize — the married clergymen who run away with young girls will do that much better than I can. My business is to relate the sufferings I underwent at that never-to-be-forgotten discou
rse “On the Advisability of Men’s Apparel for Women.” As I said, I took a hansom, and was driven up to the door of Prince’s Hall in a stylish, plunging manner, that did considerable credit to the guiding Jehu of the course, and found a large number of people filing in, men and women. Among the latter I noticed several of the “fine” bouncing type of girl, such as Honoria had been when I first made her acquaintance. There was a good deal of sniggering and laughing, I thought uncomfortably, especially on the part of some carelessly attired gentlemen with rather rough hair, whom I afterwards discovered to be reporters for the different newspapers. Was — was the Daily Telegraph represented? I really don’t know, but I should say it was. I cannot imagine any corner of the earth, air or ocean where that sublimely sonorous organ of the Press is not represented!
I could not find my fauteuil, and a shabby gentleman in a threadbare dress suit, with a much-worn pair of lavender kid gloves, came to my assistance, took my ticket, and beckoned me in a ghostly manner to follow him, I obeyed, with a deep sense of confusion upon me. Did he guess I was the lecturer’s despised husband, I wondered? and was that the reason why he smiled so spaciously, displaying a set of extremely yellow teeth, as I stumbled with a muttered “Thanks!” into the middle of the very front row of fauteuils, right opposite the platform? It was very warm, I thought; excessively so for March! and furtively wiping my heated brow, I looked about me. The hall was filling fast, and the suppressed sniggering and laughter continued. Two of the gentlemen with the disorderly hair before mentioned were ushered respectively into the seats on each side of me. They were stout and I was thin, so that I -seemed to be thrown in casually between them, like the small piece of meat in a station sandwich. They were old acquaintances evidently, and conversed now and then with each other behind my back; one scattering odours of recent ale from his beard, the other dispensing a warm onion breath down my neck. But I was always a timid man and a patient one. I did not like to move from the seat Honoria had specially chosen for me, and I never was successful in the art of casting indignant glances out of the corner of my eye, so I sat very quiet, fumbling nervously with the printed “Synopsis of Lecture,” which was a mere repetition of what had already been announced on the ticket of admission, and waiting, in really dreadful suspense, for my wife’s appearance.
The hall was now pretty full, a good many stragglers occupying the balcony as well; they were admitted, I afterwards heard, for the modest sum of threepence. Eight o’clock struck, and punctual to the minute there stepped briskly on the platform a young fellow who was greeted with quite a burst of tumultuous shouting and applause. I gazed at him doubtingly. I supposed he had come to say that Mrs. Tribkin was not quite ready, but that she would appear immediately; when he suddenly smiled and gave me a friendly nod of recognition. Good heavens! “the young fellow” was Honoria herself! I turned faint and giddy with surprise — Honoria? Yes! it was Honoria, dressed precisely like a man, in an ordinary lounge suit of rough tweed, the only difference being that the coat was rather more ample in its skirts and was made to come slightly below the knee. I stared and stared and stared, till I thought my eyes would have dropped out of my head on the floor! Shirt-front, high collar, necktie, waistcoat, trousers, everything complete, there she was all ready; ready and willing to — to make a fool of herself! Yes, it was nothing more or less than this; and I realised it with smarting indignation and shame! Had I not occupied such a prominent seat I should then and there have left the hall; indeed I was almost on the point of doing so, when her voice struck through the air with that resonant vibration it always possessed, — the subdued murmur and giggling of the audience ceased, and there was an expectant silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the lecturer, “you are very welcome!” Here she raised her hat and smiled benignly. (I forgot to mention that she wore a regular “deerstalker” when she first came on, for the sole reason, as it now appeared, of “practically illustrating” the careless mode of a man’s salutation.) “You see how I greet you, easily and without affectation! I do not curtsey to you like a milkmaid receiving an unexpected shilling, nor do I perform a back-sweeping smirking reverence like a fashionable prima donna who desires her audience to mentally calculate the cost of her gown before testing the value of her voice. I raise my hat to you; I put it down altogether — a simple action which signifies that I am at home with you for the present, so perfectly at home that I have no intention of taking an abrupt leave!” Another smile, and the “deerstalker” was placed on a chair beside her, and a violent clapping of hands, mingled with some faint “bravoes,” rewarded these first sentences. She ruffled up her short hair, and bringing the lecturing desk more into position turned over the pages of a manuscript thereon with a considering air, thus giving the audience time to study her through their opera-glasses, and the reporters to take notes. —
“Fine woman, isn’t she?” whispered the aleodorous man behind me to his press comrade.
“Can’t tell,” replied this other imperturbably. “Wants her own clothes on to show her off. She may have a shape, or she may not; that coat defies detection.”
They laughed silently, and went to work scribbling in their note-books; while I wondered drearily how long I should be able to endure my horrible martyrdom. I pictured myself as suddenly rising in my fauteuil with hands uplifted in frantic protest at the whole performance; or perhaps, and this seemed more probable in my overwrought condition, I should laugh — laugh so loudly and so long, that I should be taken for a lunatic, and led out of the hall by the gentleman with the yellow teeth and lavender kids, who would straightway confide me to the care of a policeman. If I could only get away from those two reporters! But I could not; I was the sandwich of Fate — the meat between the bread — and bit by bit Misery was devouring me!
And in another minute Honoria began, and I listened like one who hears awful nothings in a bad dream. Against the “inconvenience of women’s dress generally” she poured the most violent denunciations; of heavy skirts, that clog the movements of the nether limbs (she said “legs” openly, but I have too much respect for the scruples of my dead grandmother to transgress so far), of numerous and unnecessary petticoats; of corsets, of “busks” (what are “busks” of “bustles,” of “pads,” of “cushions,” of “steels,” of low necks and short sleeves (here let me put in a word and say frankly that I like these; — I think a pretty neck, when not indecently exposed, and a pretty pair of rounded white arms, are most fascinating studies to the eye of miserable man, who has few pleasures, Heaven knows, and who will have fewer still if the women are all going to be strong-minded); of long hair pinned up in heavy brain-stupefying coils with diamond pins that drag, and tortoise-shell pins that break; of bodices that button in all manner of odd places where fastening them becomes a difficulty — at the side, at the back, under the arm, and on the shoulder; of court trains, their length, their weight, their costliness, and their absurdity (they give splendour to the Queen’s Drawing-room, though, and are a boon and an encouragement to the silk trade); of jewels and other useless adornments; of bouquets made at great expense and carried with infinite trouble; of fans, and the affectation the use of them implies; ay, down to the long glove with its innumerable tiny buttons, which take some people nearly half an hour to fasten (I remembered Richmoor was never so happy as when he was gingerly at work putting all Georgie’s little glove-buttons through their respective holes; he was such a time about it, and he could talk such a lot of nonsense while thus employed) — of all these mystic things, and more than these, Honoria discoursed volubly and dictatorially, showering scorn on the vanity, frivolity, and total want of intelligence displayed by the feminine mind that could continue to countenance such follies in the way of clothing. “Simplicity,” she said, or rather shouted, thumping her manuscript as she spoke— “simplicity and comfort are the two main principles to be observed in the garmenting of human beings. From the earliest ages of history down to our own time the race has shown a barbaric tendency towards
a superabundance of adornment, which is most pernicious, and fatal to true intellectual progress. From the traditional fig-leaf, man came, according to the Bible, to the wearing of coats of skins; then followed in sequence the absurd trinkets such as beads, belts and head-ornaments, which to this day render the appearance of a mere savage ridiculous! It is against these useless parts of costume that women should open their campaign, and so make a wider advance upon that glorious land of freedom of which they have only just crossed the border!”
Here she drew herself up with an air of defiance, and directed a glance of supreme contempt at me! Yes, I’m positive it was meant chiefly for me, though it swept over and encompassed with its withering light the two reporters, who bent over their note-books and went into noiseless spasms of mirth.
“When I come to consider,” she resumed in tragic tones, “the second division of my lecture, namely, the superior comfort enjoyed by men, my whole soul rises up in arms against the odious contrast!” (Voice from the balcony, “Hear, hear! Go it, young feller!”) “Why, in Heaven’s name — why, I ask, should men enjoy superior comfort? They boast of their physical strength! How long, I should like to know, would their physical strength endure if they were weighted down with the heavy skirts worn by women? Could they walk twenty-five miles a day in women’s boots? Could they play cricket or football in women’s corsets? No! Thus it is plainly evident that they enjoy superior physical strength only because they are properly clothed; they have the free use of their limbs; they are not hampered in any movement; they can go out in all weathers and not suffer in consequence. There is no reason either in law or nature why they should possess this advantage. Women, by adopting their style, of dress, will secure to a great extent much of their muscular and powerful physique — a condition of things which is greatly to be desired. It is acknowledged by all impartial and advanced thinkers that men and women are, viewed as human beings merely, absolute equals; therefore it is necessary to equalize everything that seems to set a false dividing distinction between them, and the question of clothing is one of the most important to be considered. Now I will ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look at me,” and she advanced unblushingly to the edge of the platform. “Is there anything incongruous in my appearance?” — (“Rather so,” cried the irrepressible person in the balcony; but, whoever he was, his voice was promptly stifled.) “I am perfectly comfortable; I walk with ease” — here she strode up and down manfully, while I leaned back in my fauteuil and shut my eyes. “Here” — I opened them again—” here are the various convenient pockets which hold so many things without confusion.” (I realised that this was a “practical illustration,” and observed her with melancholy attention.) “And I would remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that women, as a rule, are only provided with one pocket.” (“Oh, oh, Honoria,” shouted a man in some far corner, “what of their husbands’ pockets?”) He — she — my wife — paid no attention to this interruption, and went on composedly. “Only one pocket, which scarcely suffices to contain the purse, handkerchief and card-case. Now, in this,” here she felt in the left-hand slit of her jacket, “I have my cigarettes, for I smoke, of course; in this,” another illustrative gesture, “my cards and handkerchief; in this my keys; in this my purse, and so on. There is a place for everything, and everything is in its place! The waistcoat I wear is soft and yielding to the figure; it is warm without being oppressive, and no woman who has not yet worn them can properly estimate the comfort of trousers!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 916
