Elegance

Some women
— indeed most of them —
do not touch the essence
of elegance, nor grasp
of its meaning more

than this: that one of them should race her companions on the track of the latest fashion, triumph over her peers by embracing the brand-new, untouched dress, and display it for the first time in society gatherings and clubs — and then imagine that she has won the crown of elegance.

No! Precedence, Madam, is not among the causes of elegance.

Nor that a woman should stand apart and single herself out among her peers by wearing curious, rare gowns, so that when she appears among the daughters of her sex the difference between them is vast — so vast that she counts them all beneath fellowship or comparison — and thereby imagines that she has won the crown of elegance.

No, eccentricity, Madam, is not among the causes of elegance.

Nor that a woman should gather from every quarter all that she fancied the latest fashion had prescribed for her — or forgot to prescribe — and appear in society in this attire of hers, as though, it seems to me, she had turned into a garish rainbow embracing every color and ornament, and bearing such settings of diamonds, gold, and silver that people imagine them reflected from behind the jeweler's glass.

No, excess in things is not among the causes of elegance.

Nor that you should appear, Madam, having borrowed for your cheek, your lip, and your nail the red of the rose, the apple, and the jujube, and called upon the magic of "oxygen" — only for the false gold and brilliants in your tresses to be soon exposed, when your black lashes gave away their secret.

No! Affectation, Madam, is not among the requisites of elegance.

But, your patience worn out, you ask: what then is elegance? And in what is it embodied?

And I answer you — my patience worn out too — that true elegance, before any other consideration, is the harmonizing or the balancing of circumstances and occasions, or the visible result of this harmonizing or balancing.

After this brief definition, it behooves us to add that elegance is embodied in the particular, fitting conduct that issues from the person of the woman, whose effect shows at length in the slight gestures and the strong manners which together compose the woman's shadows, reflected from her personality — (her particular stamp).

However abundant a woman's share of beauty, however brightly the flash of sexual attraction gleams in her eyes, and whatever high culture or surpassing gifts she may carry in her head, all these merits will never drape over her the hard-won sash of elegance unless all or some of them are joined with tact of conduct and skill in harmonizing the different occasions with what they may require in the refinements of dress, adornment, and conversation.

It is very rare indeed that we find the unity of this elegance in a woman who is truly ignorant of her own stamp, or who tries to ignore it. How often has the dignified lady of superior gravity and measured speech failed when she tried to play the young girl in dress, adornment, conduct, and talk; and so too it befalls the playful girl if she tries to ripen her womanhood and hurry it before the harvest by deliberately assuming gravity and dignity in her clothes, her adornment, and her conversation. For each of them has her own unique stamp. And when she is able to bring this personal stamp into harmony with the occasions that surround it and the atmosphere that envelops it, her share of elegance will be to win the laurel crown.

But does each daughter of the fair sex, one wonders, know her own particular stamp?

Has she examined it? Or studied its qualities?

How many a lady or girl strains every effort to appear before people with no difference between herself and "Hedy Lamarr," for example, while her stamp is in truth closer to "Carmen Miranda."

This lady or girl has committed the most heinous crime named in the law of elegance by this failed attempt of hers. And failure in such a position robs a woman of her elegance, if it does not sweep it away altogether.

And there is she who is not content with the dark beauty of her eye and so draws out the kohl until it reaches the ear; and there is she who sees extravagance in the breadth of her lips and so economizes in painting them with rouge; and there is she who sees all injustice in the shortness of her stature and so calls the height of her shoe's heel to the rescue.

It is futile, Madam, to measure elegance by the measure of eyes, mouths, and statures, for elegance is the final "retouch" of beauty. And I do not know who it was that told you that beauty cannot shine in a small eye, that repellent ugliness is embodied in the wide, ample mouth, and that beauty embraces only the tall and slender figure. Whoever taught you that understands no more of beauty than he understands of the beauty of the inhabitants of Mars.

Hear what "Rodin" says of beauty:

"Beauty is eternal; therefore everything is beautiful, and if you see ugliness, the fault is not beauty's fault, but the fault of your squinting eye." And if elegance is the final "retouch" of beauty, then for God's sake, Madam, do not overdo the retouches, lest your face become as quaint as caricature drawings, far-fetched in their jibes or within easy reach.

And we would do well not to close the talk of

elegance before encompassing as much of it as can be encompassed. So we add further that elegance, like all things, divides into kinds. One kind is inborn: it is born with the woman and penetrates every atom of her being, and from this kind comes the highest ideal of woman, and the highest ideals of the beloved, the wife, the mother, and the sister in the eye of complete manhood.

This kind of inborn elegance is very rare, and you can distinguish it quickly, for it needs no veils of "retouches." It is the frank elegance that says to us: Pardon — this is how I am, and how I shall remain; so it is better not to misunderstand and not to guess overmuch. Take me as I am; let this suffice you of me, and enough.

The woman whom God has singled out with this kind of elegance is the pearl of society gatherings and clubs, and perhaps it was she whom Solomon the Wise meant in the Song of Songs:
The virtuous woman — where shall you find her? If you find her, she is more precious than silver and gold.

The second kind is acquired elegance. This, contrary to the first, is not born with the woman but grows as she grows and takes root in her soul through repetition; it forms a part of the social refinement whose principles a woman is taught at home, at school, in society, and in the street, and long practice and constant alertness are employed to obtain it.

Yet each of these two kinds has its magic and its charm, and each has its followers and its devotees. And if nature, Madam, has favored you above all people with the magic of inborn elegance, then happy the gathering that brings you in, and happy the man you love, or dance with, or converse with.

But beware of despair if nature has been sparing with you in that, for there is always the second kind — acquired elegance — and it awaits everyone who will take it by the hand.

Or do you not see, after all, that acquired elegance has a delight all its own — the delight of the striver who conquers?
So strive in the cause of elegance as much as you will, and enjoy, Madam, the laurel crown.