 | The Works of William Mason |  |
THE BIRTH OF FASHION: AN EPISTOLARY TALE.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746, AND SENT TO A LADY WITH HOLLAR'S HABITS OF ENGLISH WOMEN, PUBLISHED IN THE FORMER CENTURY 1650.
Just as you dress for rout, or drum;
If so, while Betty at your back
Or pins your gown, or folds your sacque,
Dear Madam, let me beg you place
These prints between yourself and glass,
To see the change in female dress
Made in a hundred years, or less.
“What vulgar airs the creatures had!
“The awkward things—not half a waist;
“And that all frightfully unlac'd—
“O monstrous! what a shocking taste?”
Just so indeed I did surmise
You would not fail to criticise;
Yet still I cannot help conceiving,
If one of these good dames was living
And saw that five-yard hoop around ye,
Her shrewd reflections might confound ye:
They'd have but little weight with me;
For I opine, 'tis clear as light,
Whatever is in dress is right;
The present is the test of taste,
And awkward ev'ry thing that's past:
Thus we dislike, observe the proof,
Both Anna's flounce, and Besse's ruff;
When hoops shall be like ruffs and flounces.
Each mode a moment takes possession
Of Beauty's throne, and fills the place,
Attended by each charm and grace;
Yet, when depos'd by some new fashion,
The charms and graces keep their station,
And on the next thron'd whimsy wait
With all the self-same form and state.
So, at Culloden's furious fray
Had Charley's broad swords won the day,
Which, Heav'n be thank'd, was not the case,
Some statesmen still had kept their place,
And many wights, I name no names,
Who swore to George, had sworn to James.
That Fashions in their various changes,
Though e'er so odd, and out o' the way,
Should reign with universal sway.
For why—whatever mode takes place
'Tis just the same in point of grace.
A tale like Prior or Fontaine
Will make the thing extremely plain.
The Vauxhall of Antiquity:
Her myrtle groves, and laurel shades
Echo'd with constant serenades,
And Grecian belles, that look'd as pretty,
And mov'd as graceful as Auretti,
With Grecian beaus the live-long day,
Or led the dance, or tun'd the lay.
Blest place! and how could it be other,
Where all were rul'd by Cupid's mother?
Would oft partake of the diversion;
And then incog. for fear of scandal,
And lest her pranks might give a handle
So when she visited the shades,
She wisely laid aside the goddess,
And dress'd in round-ear'd cap and boddice.
Along the margin of the sea,
Where in a creek (convenient spot)
The sea-nymphs had contriv'd a grot.
As here she sat, and humm'd a song,
She saw a boat row smooth along,
Ah! what a lovely freight it bore!
A youth of eighteen years, or more,
Whose polish'd brow, and rosy cheek,
Love-glist'ning eye, and graceful neck,
With locks, that wanton'd in the wind,
Brought all Adonis to her mind!
Yet not like that rough woman-hater;
No, he was half a petit-maitre;
For dress improv'd his native bloom,
Dress fit for any drawing-room,
Well, he arriv'd, and mark the issue—
He bow'd, saluted, prais'd the dame,
Said civil things, confess'd his flame.
She chose to go—He begg'd she'd stay;
But begg'd with such a winning way,
Was all so pressing, and so fervent,
So much her poor expiring servant,
That, need I say, he won the dame.
Here, Muse, to give no cause for blame,
We'll drop the curtain, and agree
To sing a harmless Hymenèe.
Perfumes ambrosial where they lie,
With clouds of fragrance veil the bower,
Thick veil from each intruding eye.
Blow soft, ye Zephyrs
What malice interrupts their joys?
O! heav'ns! the darling youth is fled:
She grasps a meteor in his stead.
A lion pawing o'er the plain,
Now “rampant shakes his brindled mane,”
And now a stream meand'ring laves
The golden sand, now joins the waves.
The youth was Proteus; see him now
Resume his form marine again,
And rise from out the circling main,
Encircled with his scaly train!
“'Tis not,” he cried, and archly smil'd,
“The first good time you've been beguil'd,
“So, lovely Goddess, wipe your eye,
“And listen to my prophecy:
“Know, 'tis decreed, you soon shall bear
“A daughter, pre-ordain'd to share
“The various powers we have between us,
“And change like Proteus, please like Venus:
“With Gods she'll have some hard Greek name,
“But Fashion men will call the dame.”
The Goddess prudently thought good
To hush the matter up, and hie
To private lodgings in the sky;
To Mount Olympus to her drum,
Yet she refus'd; would ne'er be seen,
But had the head-ach, nerves, and spleen.
How many months a goddess goes;
But 'tis enough, the reck'ning ended,
The babe was born, the mother mended:
Nor shall I spend much vain description
To show she hit her Sire's prediction;
For to a lady learn'd as you
All history will prove it true:
Yet if you had but less discerning,
The Muse might here show monstrous learning;
Describe in Greece what tricks she play'd,
And how she taught each Spartan maid
To show her legs (ingenious thought)
By well-chose slits in petticoat,
Which, did she run, or dance, or stoop,
Reveal'd as much as any hoop.
Of Stola and of Palla sing;
With critic nicety explore
What kind of hoods their matrons wore;
How broad Lucretia's tucker spread;
How Ovid's Julia dress'd her head,
And better ascertain these matters,
Than all the herd of commentators.
Next might she by due steps advance
To modern scenes; and first to France:
France is her citadel, and there
The Goddess keeps her arms and car.
And thence she sends her vice-roy apes
To form our uncouth English shapes.
Here Pegasus might run his race
O'er Mecklin, and o'er Brussels lace:
Here might he take Pindaric bounces
O'er floods of furbelows and flounces;
Gallop on lutestring plains, invade
The thick-wove groves of rich brocade,
And leap o'er whale-bone's stiff barrier.
—But here I bridle his career,
And sagely think it more expedient
To sign myself your most obedient.
The phrase at the time was pinning a lady's tail; but the young Author was then too delicate to use it: and happy it was he did not; for the present nicer age would have thought him as indelicate as Lord Monboddo. However an excellent anecdote related of Mrs. Russel, bedchamber-woman to the late Princess Amelia, which is by many remembered (though not here related) will vindicate the authenticity of what was then the usual phrase to express the adjustment of a most material part of a lady's dress.
What a strange objection is here put into the lady's mouth! she finds fault with the women in Charles the First's time for having only half a waist; when every body knows, that to have no waist at all is the true criterion of female elegance. As to lacing, who now could imitate the Venus de Medicis, or any other fine antique, that admitted so gothic a ligament.
Part of the prophecy seems to have been fulfilled, so far at least as starched ruffs go, though the male (I rather call them so than the masculine) followers of Fashion have found a mode of adding to the size of their own necks not quite so picturesque; and the ladies have, occasionally in their morning dishabilles, condescended to imitate them. As to flounces, they have extended their dominion even to bed curtains and hangings of rooms: this, I suppose, out of charity to the insect tribe, for whom they afford a general and most convenient nidus.
This bold assertion, I take for granted, was made merely on hear-say evidence. Readers at the present time will be best able to judge whether that evidence was founded on truth.
I suspect that the young Author now, and before in this epistle, took his idea of female shape and beauty from Fielding's Description of Fanny in his Adventures of Joseph Andrews; an idea, which, compared with what it is now, was in that author as absurd, as in himself.
Though I do not find it on the margin of the original MS. the Author had an eye to Virgil in the peculiar changes the mock lover employs:
Omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum,
Ignemque horribilem feram, fluviumque liquentem.
Georg. Lib. IV. ver. 440.
This is the second time we meet with this obsolete word, yet it will serve with many others in the Poem to ascertain its exact chronology.
Spleen—another obsolete word. Nerves however obtains still most vehemently, though, perhaps, it may in time give place to spasms, whatever the author of Zoonomia may say of their non-existence.
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