truth of the matter.

Did nature not make the two sexes inseparable companions, each playing a fixed and particular part? Man represents strength, and woman radiates charm — tamer and softener of that strength — subduing it whenever her arrow pierces the 'heel of Achilles.' And alas, what a lion-hearted hero man would be were it not for the secret of that weak point which masters him and directs him!

And were it not for nature's decrees in love, for the survival of the species, woman would never have turned toward man, whether free or enslaved. She is in perpetual pursuit, aided by every kind of device; and has the appetite for conquest ever been absent in woman?

We return to where we began. Her care is her beauty. Her seduction. Her captivating of hearts. And fashions stand waiting for her — they are the weapon of the struggle — they are woman's genie.

Ever the Abyss of Extremes

An entire world — we see the whole of it devoted to her support: the tailor draws the designs, the hatmaker exercises his art in lengthening or rounding the face, the hairdresser attains the highest degrees of beautification. The shoe-seller's care is the adornment of the foot. 'Lingerie' speaks of nothing but luxury and extravagance. Jewels move at a rapid pace, and gloves and handbags likewise. And what shall we say of stockings, and of the heights of glory they have reached? As for the manufacture of fabrics, it rises, and no industry rises above it. It is passionate for renewal and eager for invention.

It is told of a silk merchant, one of the great traders of Lyon in the days of the First Empire, that he invented a kind of velvet cloth,

with curled pile, saffron-yellow, and displayed it before the choicest of the elegant, reckoning that his novelty would meet with unequaled success — but only the opposite of his expectation came about. No sooner did the women set eyes on that strange mer-chandise than their faces turned from it, and they left him prey to every sort of despair and loss. Then it occurred to him to search the tower of his horoscope and seek out the leading actress of the theater of Molière, that his cloth might find favor with her. Before long he presented himself at her private dressing room, hoping she would cut herself a gown from the curled yellow velvet.

— 'But, my good man, I shall look canary-yellow in this toilette. It is impossible for me to wear your cloth before the public.'

— 'No, Mademoiselle Mars — not like a canary, but like a gleaming chrysolite and a sparkling emer-ald. Were you not the diamond of the Comédie-Française?'

And no sooner had she donned the yellow velvet, with Paris in her two hands from the boards of the stage, than the crowds surged and stirred, and the unsalable velvet met with all the vogue and demand one could wish.

In sum, Christian Dior's short dress, now passing through a crisis of strife and dissension, will secure for itself a final victory. And among us the first signs of support for the new fashion have already appeared.

Long live fashion!

(Adapted from the French)