Category Archives: etiquette

The Cashmere Shawl: 1840

 

[From the London Journals.]

THE CASHMERE SHAWL

Everybody knows the vast importance which our Parisian belles formerly attached to the possession of a cashmere shawl; and although their value is considerably decreased since the Empress Josephine gave fifteen thousand francs for one, they are still objects of desire to all female hearts; I mean married ones, of course, for the cashmere is rarely worn by a demoiselle, at least until she begins to despair of ever being called Madame. Indeed, these shawls play a very important part in matrimonial arrangements; many a match has been brought about by the lady’s impatience to possess them, and many a ménage has been rendered unhappy by a husband’s obstinate refusal to buy one. I do not, however, recollect any adventure in which the cashmere has played so singular a part as the one I am about to narrate.

Monsieur de M. began some time ago, notwithstanding his large fortune and very handsome person, to be set down by his acquaintance as a decided old bachelor; this opinion might be thought too hastily formed, as he was only thirty-six, had not his mode of living given color to it—for it was well known that he did not spend half his income; and he would certainly have been set down as a miser, had not circumstances revealed that instead of hoarding his riches, he dispensed them in charity, but it was charity without ostentation. He mixed in the world, enjoyed its pleasures with moderation, was generally liked, and when at last determined upon committing matrimony, his proposal for Mademoiselle de V. was warmly received by her widowed mother, a perfect woman of the world, who had for some time had her eye upon him, and spread her net by a skillful exhibition of those qualities in herself and daughter, which, though they were very far from possessing, she knew he would look for in a wife. The bait took, to her great joy; for she almost began to despair of getting a match for Sophie, whose own fortune was too small to entitle her to a good one, and who being all of twenty-four, was fast verging on what we in France consider an old maidenism.

The young lady had played her part so well that, without it at all transgressing the rules of propriety, De M. had reason to believe his proposal would be perfectly agreeable to her before he made it to her mamma; his explicitness on one point was, however, far from pleasing to either lady; that was his intention of devoting the same amount as usual to charitable purposes, in which he had no doubt he should be assisted by his dear Sophie. A few timid words of acquiescence from the young ladies, and an eloquent harangue from mamma on the pleasure it must give her daughter to participate in his benevolent plants, settled the matter to De M.’s great delight.

The preliminaries of the marriage were arranged—De M.’s family jewels, which were really very handsome, were sent to be new mounted, and he requested his belle fiancée to make choice of a cashmere. No task could be more agreeable to the fair one, who showed that her taste was equally elegant and magnificent, for she selected a superb long shawl, bleu turquoise ground, and a border of matchless beauty. Nothing could be handsomer, but unfortunately, there was one objection that the bridegroom elect could not get over—it was double the price he intended to give.

Now here I find myself in a strait. I wish to please all my readers, and if I mention De M’s price, I have no doubt that some of the gentler sex will say, “Oh, now mean!” while several of those in unmentionables will call him an extravagant fellow. In order then to avoid drawing upon my hero the displeasure of any party, I shall avoid specifying the sum, and shall, merely, in justice to him, declare that the price he intended to give, would be considered by the generality of the people as a handsome one. He requested Sophie to make choice of another, and several were shown to her, but she had some decided objection to each; and in spite of the significant looks, and even hints of her mother, she shewed so much ill temper and ill nature, that she fairly frightened away all the little cupids that were dancing about the heart of her intended; in  short, the cashmere was not chosen that morning, and the evening brought not the devoted lover, but a letter, in which he made his adieu in a very decided manner.

We have no trials in France for breach of promise; but I think even in England the ladies would not, all the circumstances of the case considered, have got damages, unless indeed she was allowed to have a female jury. The matter passed off, and De M., perfectly recovered from his love fit, went on his usual quiet way for some time.

One morning he called on an old woman, to whom he had been a constant benefactor for some years, and as he mounted to her dwelling on the fourth story, a lady passed him on the stairs, plainly dressed, and with a black veil down. As he made way for her respectfully, he observed that her figure, though petite, was elegant, and her features, from the slight glimpse he had of them, agreeable. On entering Manette’s apartment, he found her in tears, and a handsome cashmere shawl lying on a chair.

“What is the matter, my poor Manette?” cried he, in a pitying tone. “What are you crying for?”

“Oh, it is nothing, Sir,” said the old woman, wiping her eyes; “there is nothing amiss, indeed.”

“But what are you in tears for?”

“Why I could not help crying while I was telling poor Jeannette’s story to that dear good lady, Madame de ___.”

My readers will easily believe that De M. insisted upon hearing Jeannette’s story, which we shall tell more briefly than Manette did. She was a friend of the old woman, recently left a widow with several small children, reduced by the death of her husband to the greatest distress, she was in danger of perishing for want, when an offer was made her, if she could raise six hundred francs, of going into a business that would support both her and her children creditably. “But,” continued Manette, “where could she raise six hundred francs? Bah! One might as well have asked her a million; and so I said to Madame de__ who found me crying just as Jeannette left me.”

“Don’t say that, Manette,” cried she, “we shall make up the money somehow. I have very little by me now, but I think you could sell this shawl for that, or at any rate for nearly as much, and I will make up the rest,” and before I could say a word, Monsieur, she had thrown off her beautiful shawl, and telling me to do the best I could with it, and to let her know as soon as it was sold, she hurried away just as you came.”

“What an excellent creature!”

“Excellent indeed! I don’t believe there is her equal in the world. Why, Monsieur, though she is young, aye and very pretty and lively too, she thinks of nothing but doing good. You would not believe how sparingly she lives, and how many things she denies herself, that she may have it in her power to assist the unfortunate.”

My readers will not be surprised that De M. bought the shawl, first swearing Manette to secrecy. His next step was to obtain an introduction to Madame de ___, who was still a young and really very petty widow. He declares that he had no other intention of doing so than to form a friendship with a woman of a congenial mind, but—“Friendship with woman is sister to love.”

And so it proved in this case, for within three months the well-assorted pair were united. When he purchased the shawl, it was with the intention of sending it back to her anonymously, but he delayed doing so for some time, lest through it his share of the affair might be discovered, and he lose the pleasure of her acquaintance. When he sent the usual marriage presents, there was no cashmere among them. Whatever the widow thought of the omission, she said nothing about it, but on the very evening before the ceremony was performed, he asked her to choose one, which she did; and this time he had no fault to find with his fiancée on the score of extravagance. The morning after marriage he said to her, as they were seated at breakfast.

“Were you not surprised, chere amie, that you did not sooner receive your cashmere?”

I thought you had forgotten it.”

“No, I delayed out of prudence, that you might not have an opportunity of selling it.”

At these words Amelie’s face became scarlet!

“Dearest! Best beloved!” cried the happy husband, unsealing a packet, and presenting the shawl—“receive again the offering you made to charity; an offering dear and sacred in my eyes, for it has led to a felicity which I despaired of finding—that of a wife whose heart was in perfect unison with my own.”

And so in truth it is, and will I hope remain, notwithstanding that the acquaintance—the female part of it, I mean—of Madame de M. thinks she pays a very bad compliment to her husband’s present; for while his rich cadeau de Noces is seldom seen on her shoulders, she is observed to be excessively fond of a cashmere that she was known to have some time before her second marriage, and which is very inferior to the one De M. presented her with.

The Gloucester [MA] Telegraph 25 December 1841: p. 6

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:  The cashmere shawl, indeed, had the power to transform lives. Mrs Daffodil has written before about the plague carried in a cashmere, and how the Empress Josephine’s life was “saved by a shawl.” We have also seen delectable descriptions of the cadeau de Noces of an aristocratic French bride, in which she tells of her delight that her fiancé was thoughtful enough to give a red-ground cashmere to her dear mamma.

Monsieur de M. is to be congratulated on his good sense in making his adieu so decidedly. Mrs Daffodil shudders to think of what perils would have marked his married life: extravagance, recriminations, forged notes, money-lenders, and, perhaps, scandal, divorce, or even murder. One need only examine the ending chapters of Madame Bovary to see what the harvest might have been, had it not been for a cashmere shawl….

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

The Widow’s Wedding Dress: 1877-1916

A widow’s wedding dress in the dreaded pearl grey, 1879 http://art.famsf.org/widows-wedding-dress-54076

The other bride wore black, being, as Virginie explained to us, a widow carrying the mourning for her defunct husband up to the last possible moment—a touching devotion to his memory, is it not?

The New York Times 26 August 1877: p. 3

AT A WIDOW’S WEDDING

Etiquette Which Governs This Highly momentous Event.

Etiquette governing the wedding of a widow has been recently reorganized and temporarily, at least, is finding high vogue among certain great ladies who are making second matrimonial ventures. The widow’s engagement ring is now a peridot, which in reality is an Indian chrysolite, and a deep leaf-green in color. The peridot ring is set about with diamonds, and when it arrives the lady gives her first engagement ring to her eldest daughter and her wedding ring to her eldest son.

One week before the wedding a stately luncheon is given to the nearest and dearest of the old friends of the bride to be. After the engagement’s announcement, she appears at no public functions. At the altar her dress may be of any subdued shade of satin. To make up for the absence of veil and orange blossoms, profusions of white lace trim the skirt and waist of the bridal gown en secondes noces. Even the bonnet is of white lace and the bouquet is preferably of white orchids. An up the aisle the lady goes, hand in hand with her youngest child, no matter whether it is a boy or girl. The little one wears an elaborate white costume, holds the bride’s bouquet, and precedes the newly married pair to the church door. Where there is a large family of children and a desire on the widow’s part for a trifle more display than is usually accorded on such occasions, all of her daughters, in light gowns and bearing big bouquets, support their mother to the altar.

An informal little breakfast now follows the ceremony. Such a breakfast is scarcely more than a light, simple luncheon, served from the buffet, wound up by a wedding cake, and a toasting posset, but the bride of a second marriage does not distribute cake nor her bouquet among her friends. Her carriage horses do not wear favors, either, though shoes and rice can be freely scattered in her wake, and, to the comfort and economy of her friends, she does not expect anything elaborate in the way of wedding gifts. N.Y. Sun.

Jackson [MI] Citizen Patriot 27 May 1896: p. 5

Subdued colours and muted joy seem to have been the order of the day for most second marriages. Travelling costumes covered a multitude of sins.

SECOND MARRIAGE

What Fashion Prescribes for a Widow’s Bridal Gown.

The Revolution in Etiquette Which Permits White Silk and Orange Blooms to a Widow Who Stands Before the Altar for the Second Time

A change comes o’er the spirit of our dreams. There’s nothing short of a revolution in progress in the etiquette of second marriages.

The color gray, it is against its deadly zinc tones that the arms of the rebels are directed.

Powerful has it been to avenge the spinster on the pretty widow who dared to lead a fresh captive in chains.

I’d wager three yards of pearl gray silk that more than one bridegroom has felt the love glamour fading into common light of every day before the subdued tones, the decorous reminiscent festivities of a second marriage…

I’d wager three yards again the Hamlet’s mother stood up with the wicked uncle in a pearl gray gown frightfully trying to her complexion and that bad as he was he repented the murder when he looked on her. She had no bridesmaids, of course. There were no orange blossoms, and she hid her blushes under no maiden veil. She still wore the ring of her first marriage, and when they came to the proper point in the second ceremony, his fingers touched it, reminding him of ghosts, as he slipped another just like it to be its mate on the same finger. She wore a bonnet probably and thoroughly correct cuffs and collar. It’s possible that she avoided comparisons with the gayeties of her first wedding by eschewing distinctly bridal robes altogether, and gowning herself from head to foot in travelling costume. Unless she had the genius to seek this refuge she was all in half tones, not sorrowful, but as if having emerged from grief, she was yet unable to again taste joy….A traveling dress as a costume for a second marriage saves too many embarrassments as to questions of toilet to fall out of favor these many years. A widow who remarries wears or does not wear, as she chooses, her first wedding ring at the second ceremony. Two or three years ago she usually retained it. Now she oftener takes it off.

[The balance of the article discusses wearing white and bridal flowers in defiance of Mrs Grundy as well as the toilettes of some recent widow-brides.]

Plain Dealer [Cleveland OH] 17 February 1889: p. 12

A widow-bride might also wear half mourning, as in this purple and black gown, c. 1885-89 http://theclothingproject.tumblr.com/

WIDOW’S WEDDING LORE.

It may not be well known, but there is a peculiar etiquette attaching to the ceremony of a woman’s second wedding.

It is possible for her, should circumstances permit, to marry as often as she chooses, but only once in her life is she allowed to carry orange blossoms. This is when she stands at the altar for the first time. On the same principle, it is not correct for a widow to wear white at her second marriage ceremony. Cream, grey, heliotrope—indeed, any color she prefers—is permissible.

The bride of experience also should never wear a long bridal veil with or without a bonnet. Neither is she allowed to wear a wreath on the short veil which etiquette permits her to don. She may, however, carry a bouquet, but this should not be composed of white flowers. It is considered better taste for her to match the colour of her wedding-gown with the floral decorations.

The “bridesmaid” of a widow also is not called a bridesmaid, but a “maid of honor.” Her duties, however, are exactly similar to those of the former, though her title is different.

Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette 19 March 1913: p. 2

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:

There was a heated controversy over whether widows were ever entitled to wear white en secondes noces. Some said, “yes,” while banning the veil and the orange blossoms (1889); others said only heavy white fabrics such as velvets and brocades were acceptable (1889); while others delicately suggested pale, half-mourning colours (1916).  As we have read above, the “deadly zinc tones” were not universally pleasing. This gown, however, sounds quite lovely:

A widow’s bridal-gown, of palest violet satin trimmed with sable. An infinitesimal toque of silver passementerie and ivory satin is worn on the head. Demorest’s Family Magazine January 1895: p. 186

The most sensitive point of etiquette had been settled by the early 20th century:

Above all [a widow] should not wear the ring of her first husband. That should be taken off and locked away. The second happy man doesn’t want to be reminded of Number One more often than is necessary. Wanganui Chronicle 9 August 1913: p. 4

For more on etiquette for widows, see The Victorian Book of the Dead, which is also available in a Kindle edition.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

Encore: The Indiscreet Trousseau of an American Bride: 1870

A wedding gown from 1870.

[Originally published in 2013]

THE BUTLER-AMES WEDDING.

The Trousseau of an American Bride.

[Mrs Daffodil omits the lengthy description of the importance of the match, the charms of the bride and the accomplishments of the groom.]

THE TROUSSEAU

Nearly all the bridal outfit was ordered abroad, and was selected and made under the supervision of Mrs. Webster, the sister of Mrs. Butler. Everything is very elegant, and neither pains nor expense has been spared to make the trousseau as complete as possible. Among the things that were sent were.

One dozen robes de nuit trimmed with Valenciennes; one dozen [sic] robes de nuit trimmed with French work; one dozen sets under-clothing with Valenciennes bands and edges; one dozen sets under-clothing with French embroidered bands and edges; one dozen embroidered cambric combing jackets; one dozen corset covers trimmed with Valenciennes and French embroidery; one-half dozen embroidered flannel underskirts; one dozen cambric skirts for walking dresses; one dozen cambric skirts for train dresses; one dozen pair silk stockings; one dozen pair Lisle-thread stockings; two dozen pair Balbriggan stockings; three pair slippers; two dozen pair white kid gloves, six buttons; one dozen pair light shade kid gloves, three buttons; one dozen pair dark shade kid gloves, three button; four sets French flowers, six fans, five hats, six white cambric dresses, one white French muslin with train, six embroidered muslin jackets, two point lace handkerchiefs, one dozen Valenciennes handkerchiefs, one dozen French embroidered handkerchiefs, two dozen hem-stitched (with initial) handkerchiefs, point lace overskirt and flounce half yard deep, Duchesse lace overskirt and flounce half yard deep, point lace shawl, two Llama lace jackets, four parasols, six suits.

Everything is in the most perfect taste, and, like all French things, exquisitely and daintily made. There is nothing stiff or set-looking, but it seems almost as though the things were tossed together and held by invisible thread. The laces are of the finest and the embroidery of the most delicate. Assuredly no princess royal could have daintier or more elegant things than this young American bride. There is a coquettish grace about everything that in some way suggests the wearer. The jaunty little jackets, with relief of lavender, blue, or green running through the embroidery, the stylish hats and the coquettish parasols—everything is Parisian in the extreme. The suits are very stylish and pretty.

Among the most markedly striking is the travelling suit of China silk of the new tea rose shade ecru. The lower skirt is trimmed with deep ruffles and puffs, and in length just touches the floor and the back, and reaches to the instep in front, just clearing the foot. The over-skirt is rather long and quite bouffant, trimmed with ruffles of the same and a Cluny lace, an inch and a half in width, exactly the shade of the dress. The jacket is a graceful, half-fitting affair, with loose sleeves, trimmed to correspond with the upper skirt. A fall of Valenciennes lace is fastened into the sleeve, and drops over the hand.

The hat is a jaunty little soft-crowned thing, made of the same material as the dress, of a nondescript shape, utterly unlike anything yet seen in America, and is trimmed with green ribbon, plaited quite full around the crown, and completely covering the very narrow brim. A rosette is placed at the left side, and that constitutes the whole trimming. It is very simple and girlish, and exceedingly becoming to the face of the wearer.

The boots, too, are like the dress, with square, rather broad toes and high heels, nearly in the middle of the foot. The boot is lower than those that have been worn for two or three years past, being only about seven inches in height. They are buttoned with tiny gilt buttons.

The parasol is quite a new idea, and is what young ladies call “perfectly stunning.” The handle, which is quite heavy, and covered with green Russia leather, forms a walking stick. The head is a horse-shoe of French gilt, which surrounds a tiny looking glass. The shade is of ecru China silk, lined with green, and ornamented with heavy ecru cord and tassel. The fan is of sandal-wood and ecru silk, with the monogram B.B. painted on it in green.

There is a lovely black silk suit made with only one skirt, trimmed with three quite broad ruffles pinked on the edges. The jaunty little coat is trimmed with deep fringe, with the finest Valenciennes at wrist and throat. The hat is of black thread lace, with a moss rose and half open bud at the left side. The fan is very elegant; the sticks are gilt, and the upper part of the fan of black satin, beautifully ornamented. A lovely necklace accompanies this suit. It consists of flat pieces of jet about an inch square and fastened together by heavy links of gold. There are three pendants of jet and gold, very unique and elegant.

Another lovely suit has an under-skirt of heavy purple silk, trimmed with one deep ruffle and a puff. The overdress is of a cream shade of Canton crepe. The skirt is quite long, and much looped at back and sides. It has no trimming, but is simply pointed and bound with the same material. The jacket matches, and has loose sleeves. The hat is purple silk, covered entirely with point lace, with a bunch of heliotrope at the extreme left side.

But a blue silk suit in artistic perfection and grace puts all the rest in the shade. The lower skirt is of quite a dark shade, trimmed with a ruffle and double puffs, with a braid of the dark silk lined with three shades lighter.

The overskirt is of the lighter shade trimmed with a heavy fringe of the same shade, which, instead of being made and sewed in, is knotted into the silk. The jacket is a still lighter shade, and is trimmed with the braid of the two other shades of silk. The hat is of white chip bound with black velvet, and trimmed with bands of white uncut velvet and a long ostrich plume, passing over the top of the hat and falling over the hair. The fan is of carved ivory and white ilk, with delicate rosebuds painted on it. The parasol is very lovely; the handle is white carved coral, the shade of white heavy silk, lined with a brighter silk, with a fringe of marabou feathers. The laces are exquisite, the point overdress and flounce being of the finest texture and most delicate pattern. The handkerchiefs are gossamer, and airy enough for the queen of the fairies.

THE BRIDAL DRESS

This is one of the most elegant dresses that could be worn on such an occasion, and is of white relours silk. It was made with a court train, a puffing of tulle passed around the bottom of the skirt, and on this is placed the flounce of Duchesse lace. The overdress of Duchesse was worn with it.

The long tulle veil is fastened on with the most delicate orange blossoms that formed a sort of coronet in front and fell drooping over the lace in sprays of buds and leaves. The fan is of pearl and point lace, with the bride’s monogram beautifully wrought in the lace. No bride has ever had a more beautiful or complete trousseau than Miss Butler, and it must be a very unreasonable one who would ask for anything more lovely.

Evening Post [New York, NY] 23 July 1870: p. 4

EXTREME SNOBBERY.— The description of the wedding outfit of Miss Butler, married to General Ames, comes under this head. It is the first time that we have ever seen any allusion to the undergarments of a young lady about to be married, and who furnished the list. Imagine the reporter— no doubt, standing by, with pencil and paper in hand— superintending the counting of the stockings, nightgowns, underclothing, corsets, corset covers, combing jackets, and skirts! There must have been some articles coming under the head of etceteras, for we do not see any mention of bifurcated garments. And how particular about the gloves! The anxiety there must have been that he got the proper number of buttons on each glove correct. We approve of the Balbriggan stockings, for we know they are a good article. But don’t let us lose sight of the gloves: Two dozen pairs of white kid gloves, six buttons; one dozen pair of light shade kid gloves, three buttons; one dozen pair of dark shade kid gloves, three buttons. Two buttons and one button must be vulgar; so, in future, we shall none of them. One dozen nightgowns trimmed with Valenciennes, and one dozen trimmed with French work, is a pretty fair allowance. One dozen combing jackets is about right, but two dozen corset covers is, we think, too liberal. We cannot devote more space to this nonsense. We can only regret that a Senator and Representative of Congress would consent to such an exposure. We must not neglect to state that the articles were all made in Paris. There was not talent enough in this country to make a trousseau for an American lady. How different is the description of the marriage of the Earl of Derby. Perfectly modest, inasmuch as no mention is made of a trousseau, let alone stockings, combing jackets, and corset covers; and it may be a piece of information to snobs in general to state that the earl and his groomsman wore frock coats at the marriage. In republican America such a garment would have been frowned upon. Godey’s Lady’s Book October, 1870

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: 2,500 guests were invited to the wedding, including General and Mrs. Grant, who sent their regrets. Delightful as the white carved coral parasol handle sounds, reading such vulgarities as “neither pains nor expense has been spared,” Mrs Daffodil is inclined to agree with the satirical author of the second item. It is one thing to describe items such as fans or parasols or even walking suits. At a time when ladies were ideally mentioned in the papers only at birth, marriage, and death, this public inventory of intimate garments seems in dubious taste.  It caused much comment and censure in the press.  To be fair, it is the ostentation one would expect from a bride whose mother was an actress prior to her marriage.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

The Bridegroom’s Trousseau: 1909

A stylish Edwardian wedding couple. Note how the bridegroom forms a sober background to the bride’s ensemble.

THE BRIDEGROOM’S TROUSSEAU,

A fashion column for men is now a feature of several of the London papers of high standing, London editors having at long last come to understand that men are just as much concerned about their personal appearance and the minutest sartorial detail as women—a fact which has never been any secret to the latter, by the way.

Edwardian gentleman’s travelling case, 1909 http://www.bonhams.com/auctions/22132/lot/144/

Now with regard to the wedding outfit of a fashionable man. In this respect we learn the modern bridegroom is first and foremost an epicure in those little niceties of the toilet generally regarded as of interest to women only. Take for instance his dressing case, many scores of which we are credibly informed are now being sold in the Bond Street shops. They have solid gold fittings, and, some are valued at £2,000, while the cheapest are sold at about £150. A description of the contents of one of these articles de luxe, as given by a writer in the “Daily Mail” is somewhat instructive, especially to those people who imagine that the days of the dandies are over. The case was valued at £1000, and the pure white morroco lining gave to it a distinctly bridal appearance. Every fitting was of gold, very simple in design, and tiny monograms in diamonds were to be set on each of the fittings before being sent to the owner. Among the etceteras of the case are mentioned bottles of cut glass with gold tops, and some of these are for scent and some for cunning liquid to be applied to the bridegroom’s hair and add to its natural glossiness. There are razors that will make his face as smooth as a girl’s, shaving brushes mounted in gold, and a shaving pot with, spirit lamp of gold. There is—speak it softly—a tiny golden case containing another spirit lamp, and (it seems almost treachery to give these secrets away) gold-mounted curling tongs.

These, are for curling the bridegroom’s moustache, or, perhaps, to impart just a little waviness to his locks.

And the instruments of manicure—there are dozens of them! Little golden files to give the smooth roundness to his nails; little gold-mounted polishing pads and little gold boxes to contain pink powder which will make his nails glisten like jewels; little gold scissors, and little gold forceps (even in a path of roses, there are thorns), and. glistening in the centre, the veritable “golden spoon” that we were just going to say these bridegrooms must be born with. This one is merely designed as a measure for medicines. It is but the old-fashioned “doctor’s spoon” of our youth, made of gold to match the other fittings.

After detailing fitted “suit cases” and other little luxuries which the fashionable bridegroom of to-day indulges in, the “Daily Mail” writer adds:—But these things are merely the minor accessories to the modern bridegroom’s toilet. To know what clothes he will consider necessary for his trousseau we must visit one of the fashionable tailors of London, where the name of nearly every well-known man in England is known. Here we can arrive at a fair estimate of the outfit a bridegroom of fashion will obtain.

First come the black coat and fine linen in which he.will be married. No smart bridegroom would be married in a “frock” to-day; the “morning” coat is the only ’possible wear.

It will be “braided,” and will have either one or two buttons. The will be folded, not rolled, very low. Occasionally the coat is made without any buttons on’ the front.  Instead are two buttonholes, and the coat is hold together by a “link” made of two buttons connected by a strong thread.

A “dove-coloured” morning suit waistcoat http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/1367170.2

The waistcoat will, be light grey, or dove colour, and will be cut a little lower than, recent fashions have dictated, and the trousers will be grey, not too light, nor yet too dark. Very light trousers, such as were worn not long ago, are now quite impossible.

With the dove-coloured waistcoat a narrow tie of grey, rather dark in shade, will be worn, and, of course, the collar will be of the wing pattern with slightly rounded corners. The actual coat, waistcoat, and trousers will not cost more than eleven guineas.

Next, at least two evening suits will be necessary, and two frock suits will also be required, and most men would order a dozen pairs of trousers at the same time, which cost about two pounds five or two pounds ten shillings a pair.

A dozen lounge suits, one is told, ought to be ordered together, as these can be worn on so many occasions, and they ought to be of every thickness from blue serge to heavy “Harris.”

At least four overcoats should be included in a good trousseau, including one lined with fur, which may cost anything between ten guineas and one thousand guineas.

Since fancy waistcoats are popular again most bridegrooms consider a large selection necessary.

One recently gave an order for one hundred, which included nearly every colour and material known to the tailor’s art. The average order would probably be about one dozen, or perhaps rather less. Quiet greys of various patterns are most popular.

The underclothing of the modern bridegroom is almost entirely of silk, and in this luxury he certainly will not stint himself. Clothes never seem to set well over anything but silk, and in his account for underwear will be almost as large as his tailor’s bill.

Upon handkerchiefs at about thirty shillings a dozen, scarves, and white waistcoats for dress wear, he may, of course, spend anything he chooses; but perhaps enough has been said to show that though the bridegroom’s trousseau is not discussed among friends like the bride’s, its cost often mounts to a figure which shows that it is not only the fashionable woman who is occasionally extravagant.

New Zealand Times 20 March 1909: p. 12

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: This piece is unusually candid about the cost to outfit the well-dressed bridegroom.  Such things were not always thought worthy of mention. The gentlemen were merely expected to appear, correctly costumed, on the wedding morning as a sort of backdrop or foil to the bride—a bridal accessory ranked somewhere on the level of gloves or stockings instead of an essential part of the proceedings.

To be fair, there was also controversy about whether or not it was indiscreet to discuss a bride’s trousseau in the newspapers. While Mrs Daffodil regrets that she could not decipher some of the captions, this cartoon from Punch suggested that what is good for the goose is good for the gander:

The Bridegroom’s Trousseau 1908

THE BRIDEGROOM’S TROUSSEAU: OR, THE NEWEST JOURNALISM

A distressing practice has grown up in the last year or so of publishing photographs of the dresses, hats, veils, etc., comprised in the trousseau of a forthcoming bride, and of showing them worn, for the purposes of photography, by miscellaneous strangers—ladies, we presume, in the employ of the tradespeople. Our artist cannot see why men should not retaliate in kind, except, of course, that very few bridegrooms would consent to tolerate an exhibition of this character.

A Dainty Silk Hat.

Fascinating Going away Suit for the Bridegroom

A Perfect Dream of a Cap for Golf and Countrywear.

Absolutely Blinding Patent-leather Boots for the marriage ceremony.

Bewitching Little Tyrolean Toque

Bewilderingly Beautiful Pyjamas

Punch, Or The London Charivari 16 September 1908: p. 213

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

A Crown of Flowers: 1873

1908 Crown and shield funeral arrangement.

1908 Crown and shield funeral arrangement.

A CROWN, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

It was a busy day with the florist. His counters were filled with bouquets, crosses, wreaths, and filling baskets. The florist, Karl Breitman, was at work himself superintending even his wife was pressed into service, and was making a bridal bouquet of fragrant orange blossoms. Presently a carriage stopped, and a tall, elegantly dressed young lady came into the shop. Karl stepped forward to take her order.

“I wish to leave an order for a crown of white flowers for a funeral to-morrow morning,” she said.

“I am so sorry, madam, but as madam sees, we are so busy. A wedding to-night, a funeral to-morrow, half a dozen parties, and so many baskets ordered—it is quite impossible,” answered the little German, politely.

The young lady looked disappointed, but as she turned to go Mrs Breitman stopped her. “I will see to it, miss, that your order is filled. Only leave it with me. He’s so busy,” pointing at her husband. To speak truthfully, Mrs Breitman was a miserly soul, and could not bear the thought of losing the prospective money, for she saw by the carriage at the door and the young lady’s appearance that this was a wealthy customer.

“Thank you,” said the lady. “It is kind of you. I want a crown of pure white flowers.” “That will come very expensive, miss,” observed the florist’s wife, anticipating the ready answer—”never mind expense. I want it just so, and as handsome as you can make it.” “Perhaps a little cross of violets on the top would suit you, we make so many;” suggested Mrs Breitman, her eyes sparkling as the lady assented, for violets were just coming into season and very expensive.

“Yes, that will look well. Here is my card, which you must tie on it, and shall I write my address?” Being supplied with a card for that purpose, she drew off her glove, displaying a shapely white hand, on which glittered diamonds, and wrote the name and address. “The funeral is to-morrow at ten, and I shall expect this to be very handsome. Mind, I shall be there and see it.”

“Yes, miss,” replied Mrs Breitman, glancing at the book. “Oh, in Thirty fifth street! I thought, maybe, it was for Mrs Willis’ funeral; that is to-morrow morning, and we have a large order for that.”

“Yes,” said the lady, drawing on her glove, as she carelessly looked, “I see you are very busy. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, miss. Shall I send you the bill?” inquired Mrs Breitman, following the young lady to the door.

“No I will call and pay you.” Then as she went out and got into the carriage, the florist’s wife heard her order the coachman to drive to No.__ Fifth Avenue and as she went back to her work of arranging the flowers, she picked up the card, saying,”I wonder who she is?” On the pasteboard she read in old English letters the name, “Mary Lester, Fifth Avenue.”

“Ha, Karl,” she called, I have gained a customer—one who does not care for expense.”

“Thou wilt have to arrange the flowers thyself, Katrine,” answered he crossly. “We will be up half the night before.”

Katrine nodded. When the bridal bouquet was disposed of and her husband had gone off to superintend the floral decorations of the church, where the marriage was to be, she began to make the crown. “Life and death.” she muttered, as her deft fingers wove the creamy roses and the snow white ones, arranging the odorous sprays of lilies with dentzia. “Brides and corpses! We florists deck them both, and flowers serve for one as well as for another.”

Then she fell to thinking of the lady, Mrs Willis, who was to be buried to-morrow. “Four crosses, six wreaths, a crown and loose flowers,” said she to herself. “He loved her well. It’s not two years since I made her bridal bouquet. Dear heart, I wish tonight’s bride a longer life.” When the cross of violets was made, surmounting the crown Mrs Breitman surveyed her handiwork with true artistic pleasure. It was beautiful indeed. The absence of the stiff japonicas and heavy tuberoses gave it less of a funeral look and more the semblance of a heavenly crown. After tying Miss Lester’s card on, her work was complete, and she had time to assist with the other crosses.

It was with a sigh of relief that Miss Lester threw herself back in the coupe beside a portly matron in black velvet “Oh, mamma,” exclaimed she, “I do hate this unreal, foolish fashion of sending flowers to dead people. They have a large order for a Mrs Willis’ funeral there at the florist’s, and our flowers might just as well go to her as to Cousin Marianne’s. We didn’t know George; we don’t know Mrs Willis.”

“No, love,” replied Mrs Lester, “but it is expected of us in one case and not in the other, and Marianne would be hurt and vexed if we sent no flowers for her husband’s funeral, and although I deprecate the custom as much as you, still it is well to do as all the world does.”

“The world shall never lay down laws for me,” said Mary energetically. “I think for a friend to strew flowers on the person of a loved one who has gone is beautiful; but, oh, this reduction of poetical sentiment to fashion’s edicts,” and she smote her little palms together so violently as to make her mother start.

“Don’t do that, Mary. It’s not lady-like. Tell me did you order the crown made as I desired?” Then they drifted off into a conversation upon the quality, style and flowers. “Making up orders for Mrs Willis’ funeral?” observed Mrs Lester at last, “I wonder if that is Clara Spencer, who married about two years ago to Williard Willis. You have seen them at church, Mary! Their pew is three ahead of ours?”

“Yes, I remember,” answered Mary, thoughtfully. She spoke little on her way home, and was rallied by her mother for her absent air. “I am thinking,” said she briefly. She did not like to say that her thoughts were full of that tall handsome man, with his little blonde wife, who had sat just before them in church. Sunday after Sunday. Mary had seen them together, and she was wondering if he had loved her much; if he grieved sorely for the lost.

How sorely Mary did not know.

Williard Willis was bowed in grief for the loss of his wife, his little Clara. He felt deeply too, now that she was gone, that he had not valued her enough, had treated her too much like a child, had been often impatient with her waywardness. Now that Death has laid his cold seal upon her, all her faults were forgotten and only the winning, loving ways remembered which had won his heart before marriage. It was the morning of the funeral. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers. His sister, Mrs Carr, was arranging the floral devices about the fair marble figure in its last resting place.

“How many beautiful flowers there are!” said she, through her sobs, to some of the other relatives. “Look, Sarah, what a beautiful cross James Hubbell has sent her. You know people said he wanted to marry her. And this crown—l never did see anything so perfectly beautiful! Look! All roses, and none of those horrid japonicas, See these violets in the little cross.”

“It is handsome,” said Helen Willard, turning the card over, “Mary Lester! Who is she, Sarah?”

Sarah Spence, the sister of the departed one, shook her head. “I never heard Clara speak of her.”

“She ought to be either a very intimate friend, or a relative, to send anything so handsome as this. It never cost less than forty dollars.”

“I’ll ask Willard,” said Mrs Carr, starting forward with the crown in her hand.

Helen pulled her dress. “Not now.’ It is almost time for the funeral services to begin, and he feels so bad, and I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Well, I’ll put it aside, and after the service I can ask him. Here comes the Bishop;” and up went Mrs Carr’s handkerchief to her eyes, as she sailed forward in her new mourning to meet the venerable prelate.

When the last sad rites were over, Willard Willis returned mournfully alone. The first thing he saw was the crown standing upon the mantle, where his sister had placed it, All his loss rushed over him at the sight of it, and scalding tears filled his eyes. Who can despise his weakness? None that have known grief such as death brings.

Willard found his once pleasant, cheerful home now so lonely and desolate without its presiding genius that he could no longer bear it, and about six weeks after his wife’s death he left for Europe, seeking oblivion and interest in new scenes of interest. At first he grieved much, but his wife had been really childish, foolish and frivolous. His greater intellect was caught by her extreme beauty and winning ways, but these charms were beginning to lose their power before her death, and he felt now a sort of freedom for which he often reproached himself. After a year of absence he returned to America and re-opened his house. Mrs Carr had kindly consented to take charge of it for him, but the offer had been declined. One day as he entered the long unused and darkened parlors, he saw on the mantle the wire framework of the once fresh and lovely crown with the faded flowers hanging from it. Detaching the card, he rang for the maid to remove it, and he stood by the window, in the flood of sunshine he had just let in, watching her. She was shocked. “To think of dear missus only gone a year, and he ordering that crown, which she was sure he had been keepin’ as a soveney, away to the ash heap!” Willard was trying to analyze his feelings. Were they grief or regret or relief? Which was uppermost he could not tell. Then he glanced at the bit of pasteboard be was toying with, and read, “Mary Lester.” All at once he remembered his sister writing to him of the mystery attached to the crown, which he had just ordered away, how neither his wife’s family nor his knew Miss Lester, and how very singular it was for a young lady to send s widower funeral flowers for his wife! Yes, he was a widower? He smiled, and looked in the long mirror. The title had been associated in his mind with grey hairs and old age, and he saw the reflection of a man still young and handsome,

His reverie was interrupted by Mrs Carr. “Oh, Willard, I am glad you are at home. Now, do be a good brother, and take Helen to Mrs Hubbell’s party this evening, I cannot go, and she has set her heart on it, Don’t disappoint the child. Oh, I know you are in mourning,” seeing him glance at his dress, but Clara has been dead over a year now. Sarah Spencer is going, and she was Clara’s own sister. Don’t disappoint your little Helen.” Willard was just going to say “No”— the word was trembling on his lips, when Helen herself came running into the parlor, and looked up appealingly at her brother, with tears in her eyes. He could not refuse his favorite little sister, and promised he would go, although he feared he would be out of place in a gay assembly. But when, once more clad in evening dress, with his pretty sister on his arm, he entered Mr. Hubbell’s parlors, and met with gentle greetings on every side, he felt as if he were again in his element.

After supper, as he was leaning against the parlor door, watching the waltzes of the German, his hostess captured him, saying, “Mr Willis, I am going to introduce you to a lovely young friend of mine who does not dance,” and leading him to a lady in pink she pronounced the cabalistic words, “Mr Willis allow me to present you Miss ___.” The name was lost in the crash of the band.

Willard gave her his arm and led her to a little reception room on the other side of the hall. “Here at least we can talk without splitting our throats in trying to overtop the band,” said he, and talk they did, until Helen, a most exhaustless dancer, came for her brother to take her home. Willard found the young lady a most delightful conversationalist, witty, piquant, intellectual, and original, and could hardly believe they had been talking two hours until convinced by his own watch.

The next Sunday Willard joined his new acquaintance coming out of church, and accompanying her home, received an invitation to call, which he availed himself of very soon. He discovered her name to be Miss Lester, and soon found himself identifying her with the lady who sent the crown. One evening bearing her mother call her Mary, these suspicions grew stronger, and they were confirmed when he compared the address on the card in his possession with her residence.

He found Miss Lester occupying a large share of his thoughts. If he was pleased with a book, she must read it; no plan was undertaken without her approbation; and as Willard knew all the symptoms, he soon knew he was in love, deeply in love with Mary Lester.

“It is all those flowers!” thought he, “If she had never sent them I would never have thought of her again after our casual meeting, but I wonder—-” Then he asked himself for the thousandth time. “Why did she send me this crown?” Finally he concluded to ask her, which was, after all the wisest plan. To his great disappointment, she denied all knowledge of it; but when convinced by her card, she recollected sending a crown to her cousin Marianne on her husband’s funeral.

“It was some fearful mistake of the florist,” said she at length. “Oh, Mr. Willis, what must you have thought me capable of! Setting my cap at you the moment you were available!” and she buried her face, suffused with blushes, in her hands.

“To speak truly, I did not put that construction on, but it does look like it. Oh, Mary, how could you do it! And I, a poor, helpless innocent man, have walked right into the snare, for you have caught me. Mary, my darling, I love you truly,” taking her hands down. “Don’t hide your pretty face, or, if you must, hide it here,“ drawing her head to his shoulder.

Need the rest be told? Mrs. Willis, No. 2, thinks widowers very bold wooers, but her husband says she encouraged him at first before he ever dreamed of marrying again, and this is the only rock on which the happy couple split. And in their happiness the dead is not forgotten for a pretty rosy-cheeked little girl bears the name of Clara Spencer.

Press, 14 March 1873: p. 6

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: There was a delicate art to the etiquette of funeral flowers. In many communities the floral tributes were listed in the newspapers with the donor’s name so that everyone might see how generous they had been.  A crown–or wreath–was perhaps the most common floral tribute, although they came in all shapes and fancies: crosses, sheaves of wheat, urns, pillows, and shapes representing the deceased’s profession or fraternal affiliations, or perhaps a phrase from a hymn such as “the gates ajar.” These tributes became more and more elaborate until they were ridiculed as vulgar in the very press that had, shortly before, listed them reverentially.

Miss Lester was quite right to be mortified; if she as a single woman had sent a floral crown to a widower, it would have been unspeakably forward, as she rightly observed. But a happy ending, we hope, all round. Mrs Daffodil was struck by the delicate insinuation that Mr Willis was not so much mourning his childish, foolish, and frivolous wife as his own foolishness in his “greater intellect” being “caught” by her beauty and “winning ways.” One hopes that he did not regret being “caught” a second time by a woman to whom, he admits, he would not have given a thought except for that crown of flowers….

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

The Wedding Pest: 1915

Unwelcome Wedding Guests

June—magic month of blossoms, of dreams, fulfilled and yet to be, is upon us and with it comes the ever lovely bride and the negligible bridegroom, the not always lovely wedding and the wholly unlovely “Wedding Fan.” Not your sweet-scented, delicate bit of lace and ivory, dangling from the arm of the bride, or in a moment of fluttering consciousness, serving to shield her blushes from a too-curious world. Oh, dear no! Nothing of the sort!

The “Wedding Fan” is a pest, an unmitigated, unadulterated nuisance, from the standpoint of those on the “inside,” at least, a public peeping-tom, a beast of prey, a vulgar pushing person to whom the sight of a striped awning outside the portals of a city church is the signal for commencement of his machinations.

Aye, more! He needs no striped canvas, no splash of scarlet velvet reaching across the pavement to start him on his journey of impertinence. Two lines in the penny paper of a June morning, and presto! The germ is alive, crying for quick liberation.

“The marriage of Miss Claribel Astor Vanderbilt, only daughter of Townsend DeLancy Vanderbilt, to Mortimer Spuyten Duyvil Tuxedo will be solemnized at the Fifth Avenue Church of the Apostles on Wednesday next at 4 o’clock.”

This is sufficient to awaken the germ in the “Wedding Fan” and cause it to demand to be taken out for a little exercise. Mostly it is a female germ, keen with the heritage of Pandora, for insinuating itself into forbidden places.

Sex curiosity, desire to borrow a thrill form the joyous exaltation of the young bride, a yearning to gaze on the trappings of a world in which she plays no part, to discern wherein lies the difference between her Eighth avenue “steady” and the titled fiancé of the Fifth avenue heiress, are some motives. And the ‘igher the contractin’ parties, the keener the appetite for the ‘umble fan or faness for a “nose-in” at the show.

“Nose-in,” “toes-in,” any-way-to-get-in, is the motto of your chronic wedding “ug,” to whom invitations are never counted among the requisites of sightseeing in High Society. The fashionable church wedding, calling for “cards of admittance,” has a lure all its own to one of these cratures of the polished brass front crew.

Imperturbable, rebuff-proof, case-hardened against mere insults from minions, these determined devotees of Hymen, who by no other means than plain larceny could possibly put their thumb-prints on the precious, engraved (they feel of it to see) pasteboard, yet somehow find their devious way, trusting to miracle or lie for an open-sesame, past of the police, past the ushers, up the aisle and sometimes e’en to the sacrosanct precincts of the “family pew.”

At a Fifth avenue wedding a fortnight since, a handsome, dignified “grand dame” and her pretty “daughter,” both impeccably attired, were halted at the church door on their failure to produce the proper passports.

The “mother’s” first cue was pretense at not understanding and with supercilious eyebrow at the delay, swept on toward the centre aisle. Usher No. 2 tapped her on the arm, meaning, “Come across, or right-about-face.” Did she weep? Oh, none of such!

Instead a great indignation inspired her and “daughter” added her pretty protest, not a bit overdone. Finally when the old dear found her progress permanently impeded, she condescended to open her dangling opera bag and search for those “really quite unnecessary cards.” Daughter joined in the quest and both exchanged ostentatious glances of puzzled (sic) dismay when the cards remained “hid out.”

“Why, mother dear, I saw them in the limousine,” said “daughter,” but the ushers had ushered before—“no card, no see.” By this time groups of bidden guests, holding crested credentials, who had been pouring forth from motors, were frothing at the mouth.

“Why, I went to school with her mother,” protested the “grand dame” as the bride’s party went in but a few feet away. “Little Gladys here is such a friend of the groom’s. Surely we can have seats without those stupid cards.”

Surely they couldn’t! The suspicious ushers, who possessed the instincts of headquarters detectives, with quiet but firm pressure on the shoulder, escorted those who had attempted to “horn in” to the vestibule, where the angry views of both became audible and culminated in a tirade of Bowery blasphemy, at the ushers, the bride, her parents and grandparents, the church and all future functions of the “Upper Ten.”

“Can you beat it?” asked the ushers.

From all walks of life come the “Wedding Fans.” With some, insatiable curiosity for all doings of the “beau monde,” seems congenital to all ages, they are on the “qui vive” at the first notice of any function, whether wedding or funeral. These are the morbidly curious, and omnipresent as the innocent bystanders, always to be found, an anticipatory foot across the “dead line.”

Philadelphia [PA] Inquirer 27 June 1915: p. 1

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: The gawking multitudes were always present at the Society Wedding, hence the introduction of “pew cards,” as they are called, to keep out the uninvited. Mrs Daffodil understands that they are now called wedding “crashers,” which suggests an assertive lady in a fascinator carrying a battering ram.  Well-trained ushers usually kept the Wedding Pest at bay, but occasionally an unwelcome guest slipped by:

NO IMPEDIMENT.

An Objection to a Wedding Ceremony That Was Overruled.

A popular politician tells a story about one of his electioneering campaigns. He had arrived about noon at a certain small station. He started out after dinner for a walk about the village, on the outskirts of which he came upon a building thronged with people.

The building was a church, and a wedding was about to take place. He edged his way through the crowd until he reached a spot where he had a good view of the bride and bridegroom and the clergyman who was about to perform the ceremony.

The church was packed, with the exception of a low, dark gallery near the roof. This was apparently deserted.

The minister proceeded with the ceremony until he came to the point where custom required him to pause and inquire if there was any one present who knew any reason why the couple should not be made husband and wife. A hush fell upon the assemblage and every one waited in breathless suspense. Something of a sensation was caused when a voice came from the upper gallery, saying:

“Yes, I do.”

All eyes were turned to the gallery where, seated all alone in the gloom, barely discernible, was a meek-looking little man, with a haggard face and disheveled hair. After the clergyman had recovered from his surprise he said sternly, “State your reason, sir!”

The suspense was turned to merriment by the little man’s reply:

“I want the girl myself,” he said.

Harrisburg [PA] Daily Independent 1 September 1909: p. 4

In this case of a bridal veil imposture, an uninvited guest saved the day.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

A Sensible Wedding Shower: 1914

A 1914 gown perhaps in the style worn by our thrifty bride. https://www.augusta-auction.com/search-past-sales?view=lot&id=17788&auction_file_id=46

Why Not A Society for Promotion of Useful Giving

People are getting more sensible each year in the selection of wedding gifts, still the bride receives many things she has little use for and less room.

Here is the story of how one wise mother used her influence in such a manner that the gifts were of the greatest possible help.

The young woman was employed in a department store. The man received only a moderate salary. They decided to have a plain wedding and no trip and own a home from the start. To this end both saved.

The girls who worked with the young woman went to her mother and asked advice in regard to a present. The mother suggested a gold dollar shower. This was given at the home of one of the girls.

Each girl gave $2.

In the center of the table was a jointed doll dressed in dollar bills. On her arm was a tiny basket filled with gold dollars. At the place of the bride-to-be was a “salad,” consisting of gold dollars on lettuce leaves. She was told there were more of the gold pieces hidden about the room and she must hunt for them. The girls called “hot” or “cold,” as she neared the hiding places or wandered away, just as children play “hide the thimble.”

Two brothers of the groom-to-be had the house provided with screens and awnings and furnished the porch.

One aunt provided table linen, another the bed linen. The groom’s father and mother furnished the living room. The bride’s parents furnished the dining room and kitchen.

An uncle of the groom ordered $25 worth of staple groceries stored in the larder. Other friends gave odd pieces, according to the amount they wished to expend. The bride’s grandparents gave her a jewel case containing five $20 gold pieces.

One old lady who loved the girl, but had little but love to give, made a very satisfactory gift at little cost. There are always uses for old linens and odd pieces in a home, and in the home where everything is new these are scarce. So this old lady made up bundles of linens for various uses. Soft pieces for burns and cuts; large pieces with tapes attached for the ironing board; old pieces of table linen in various sizes, hemmed to use in the kitchen for wrapping things to be put away and for use in bread and cake boxes; soft pieces for dish towels, holders and the many uses which only a housewife will appreciate.

A country relative sent canned fruits and jellies. Another ham and other prepared meats, also two dozen young chickens were housed in a neat new coop.

The wedding was a simple home affair. The bride wore a white dress of embroidered voile, which would be of service after. The only extravagance was veil and wreath, and she thought she could not feel ‘bridey” without these. Simple buffet refreshments were served.

There was no lavish display of wedding gifts—they were all in the new home—but, oh, how much more these things meant to that young couple than tables loaded with silver and cut glass.

Plain Dealer [Cleveland OH] 14 June 1914: p. 68

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Mrs Daffodil was charmed with the idea to give bundles of old linen as a shower gift. Thrifty, useful, and there is no question of duplicates or exchanges. What would be the modern equivalent—an “Amazon” subscription for paper towels?

We can scarcely accuse the young lady of wanton extravagance for wanting a wreath and veil to feel “bridey,” but hope that the groom prized his prudent bride above rubies. One is optimistic that the sensible young couple lived happily ever after and that the young chickens in their neat coop were the foundation of an economically sound future.

A simple, yet “bridey” wreath and veil for the 1914 bride.

For a previous post on this timely subject see Hints for Bridal Showers.

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.