Tag Archives: Manuel of Portugal

The Hoodooed Princesses: 1913

The "hoodooed" princesses of 1913.

The “hoodooed” princesses of 1913. Above, from left to right: Augustine Victoria, wife of Manual of Portugal, reported estranged within a month of their marriage, but now apparently on excellent terms with her husband again; Princess William, of Sweden, who found her husband, her father-in-law, and the Swedish court too dreadfully dull and ran away to Paris. Below: Princess Isabella, of Austria, who burned her bridal gown on her wedding night, left her husband and has procured an annulment; Princess Ernest August, of Cumberland, the Kaiser’s only daughter, whose happiness was endangered by a question of state and who was finally saved from her brothers by her father; Princess Eitel, wife of a son of the Kaiser. The latter’s reckless career has been ineffectually hushed up.

Hoodoo of 1913 Catches Five Princesses

Beauties of Royalty Find Love Jinx Hard to Escape.

Paris, France, Jan. 3. “So the prince and the princess were married and they lived happily ever afterward.”

That old fairy tale idea is sadly knocked in the head this year of 1913. No less than six royal princesses have gone on the rocks in their voyages toward a happy union. Some of the matrimonial craft have been patched up and are again navigating but, all in all, the proportion of rifted hearts and blighted romances in circles of the purple just at present makes the lot of the throne tenants far from enviable. The modest newlyweds in a cottage, with their baby, their vine-clad porch and their humble pleasures may well look with pity upon the high places of wealth, pomp and splendor.

First, there is the dramatic story of the princess who burned her wedding gown in her bed chamber on the bridal night. A tragic culmination to what was believed to be a pure love match. Little by little the tale of Prince George of Bavaria and Archduchess Isabella Marie, of Austria, has come out. He was a dashing officer, decorated by the Kaiser, the best middle-weight boxer in Germany. She was not only a pretty girl, but a great wit, a jolly good fellow.

And a hag of a gypsy plunged them into woe!

Whether the prince had been a trifle wild, as royal youths often are doesn’t matter. It would have happened just as it did anyway. The archduchess, when the prince, whom she dearly loved, proposed, foolishly put him off for 24 hours instead of falling into his arms with a “yes.”

Consults Family Gypsy.

She consulted the family gypsy.

“Ottilie—Ottilie,” whispered the crone. “I see an Ottilie who will come between you and your husband.”

The next day the archduchess accepted her prince, consulting her heart. She renounced her Austria royal rights to facilitate the marriage. Everywhere the union was admired. The two were supremely happy, it appeared to those around them.

Tells of Vision.

Overwrought on the night of her wedding, a vision appeared to her. Here is the story in her own words to one of her maids:

“When, upon my arrival in Munich, I entered my bedchamber in the evening, I suddenly remembered the words of the gypsy. The room itself looked mysterious. When I undressed myself and went to bed—how can I describe my horror.

“I beheld on the white pillow three drops of fresh, red blood. I jumped out of bed, trembling, and rang the bell. Nobody came. I began to pray. Soon I heard a weird noise and, looking around, I saw distinctly the figure of a pretty young girl in a night gown, staring at my ironically. How she had come in, I do not know. She just walked to the bed and occupied it without a world. I trembled all over.

“Madame,” she whispered, “this is not your bed, it is mine.”

“She was pretty, with dark long lashes and black eyes, just as the gypsy had told me. I asked:

“Are you Otillie?” She nodded and whispered: “Certainly I am. What do you want of me?”

When the princess opened her eyes, the prince was kneeling over her, keeping a towel with cold water on her head. She wildly questioned him. Who was Otillie? He stammered and stumbled, as he well might, perhaps never having heard the name before.

“It’s true,” she cried. A wild scene ensured. A few hours later they had separated forever.

The marriage was annulled. Prince George took his place alongside the three divorced sovereigns of Europe, King Frederick August, of Saxony; Grand Duke Ernest Ludwig, of Hesse, and Prince Albert I, of Monaco.

Solves Problem With Death.

But to proceed with this fateful year’s developments.

The hateful subterfuge of a morganic marriage is a possible resort when a prince falls in love with a “common” girl. But what when a princess prefers a commoner to all the sickly crowned youth put before her for her selection?

The latter was the problem of the beautiful Sophie, of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, and she solved it with—death.

It is a sad position which the house of Saxe-Weimar occupies—ancient and royal as the hills, but so impecunious their palace furnishings are threadbare.

The princess had been betrothed to a dissipated, middle-aged cousin, and had broken the engagement only by personal appeal to the Kaiser. A young lieutenant, whom she may have loved, had shot himself dead for her in Athens five years before and the crown princess of Greece, sister to the Kaiser, had wept real tears at his burial. The men of the house had in several cases found happiness outside of the purple. Her uncle, Duke Bernard, found a loving wife, and her brother, Prince Hermann, was also serene in his possession of a life partner not born to the palace. Her own father had fled to America in his youth and had even worked as a waiter in New York for a time. But what of the women of the family? Such exits from court restraint were barred to them. She was a proud girl, past 25, living a life without love.

There appeared the young von Bleichroeder, member of the banking house which is said to have made possible the German victory over France in 1870. The Kaiser, pitying the melancholy royal girl—he had even looked with favor on the young lieutenant—consented, but the grand duke of Saxony, head of the house, would not listen.

Is Made a Prisoner.

Then came an incident in the forest of Fontainebleau, near Paris. A gypsy’s child was killed by a magnificent motor car and in the car, it came out, had been the handsome young banker and Princess Sophie. After that Sophie kept to her room in the ancient, threadbare palace. She was practically under arrest.

She slept late one morning. A maid knocked long and hard and finally dared to push open the door. Across the bed lay a white form, a pistol clutched in her hand and an untied packet of letters half strewn upon the coverlet.

She had been called the most lovely princess in the world, but of this world she was no longer.

The Scandal of Princess William.

Then there is the scandal of the princess William. Lacking perhaps the tragic elements of the stories of Sophie and Isabella, it yet is not without its melancholy features. She had been a grand duchess of Russia, used to the gay and sometimes wanton life of the court of St. Petersburg. She is wedded to a cold Swedish prince. Her money buys him a palace. She is everything and he is nothing. The liveliest dancer, the brightest wit, the most sparkling figure in all Sweden, she is forced to endure the companionship of a stupid husband and the frown of an austere royal father-in-law. Of course she should have borne her trials, for the sake of her children if for no other reason, but modern human nature is prone to break restraints. Patient Griselda’s are rare today. She ran away to Paris. Ugly rumors followed. It was said she had betrayed her husband’s country to her fatherland—had sold Swedish military secrets to Russia. But such tales always rise in such circumstances. Perhaps we had better believe the dashing princess herself—that Stockholm was too deadly dull for endurance.

Honor First, Then Love.

It is hard for Americans to understand the circumstances which caused Prince Ernest Augustus, of Cumberland, to exclaim: “For me and my family honor comes first, then love!” He was and is dead in love with the Kaiser’s only daughter, now his wife, when he said it. We must remember how the iron hand of Bismarck closed upon and crushed the house of Hanover. It was a bitter wrong not forgot.

For a time it looked as though a bit of almost ancient history might defeat one of the few royal love matches. But the Kaiser is not so eager for crushing hearts—he has seen too many saddening incidents. He thought twice before he took a step which might have shattered his pretty daughter’s happiness—have made her a second Sophie, of Saxe-Weimar. His impetuous and imperialistic sons thought differently. They would have bereft the Hanoverian house of its last vestige of claim to its honors. But the Kaiser’s will prevailed. So it ever will be known whether the prince of Cumberland would have carried out his threat of resigning from the German army and retiring with his bride to live a peaceful, secluded life on their estate sin upper Austria, letting thrones go hang. The Kaiser undoubtedly breathed freer. His sons and his daughters and his relatives to the nth degree are not the least of his troubles. He was already worrying over his son, Eitel Frederick. Prince Eitel is a heavy, phlegmatic sort of individual. His wife, Sophie, of Oldenburg, is several years older, many times a millionaire, and a lover of good times, like Princess William, of Sweden.

Mystery in Manuel’s Life.

Lastly we come to the mysterious case of Manuel, late king of Portugal, and his bride, Augustine Victoria. They are not living together apparently in good terms. The absence of Manuel during his bride’s serious illness just after their marriage is unexplained, but the less said of it the better. Let us hope their royal bark is well enough repaired to weather all further storms.

El Paso [TX] Herald 3 January 1914: p. 7

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: And a very happy Friday the Thirteenth to all! Mrs Daffodil is always amused by how distorted accounts of European royalty are in the American press. Let us look first at the story of Archduchess Isabella of Austria and Prince Georg of Bavaria. One does not find the story of the gypsy hag in the traditional histories. However, the Duchess’s wedding gown and trousseau were burnt just before the wedding. There were rumours that the Archduchess was in some way implicated. The couple were quite unhappy. They separated before the honeymoon was over; the marriage was annulled for nonconsummation (despite family statements that the couple merely had fundamental incompatabilities of character); and the discarded bridegroom later became a Catholic priest.  Archduchess Isabella became a nurse, serving gallantly in the First World War. She became engaged to a surgeon, but Emperor Franz Joseph refused his permission to marry. She never wed another.

Princess Sophie of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (really, these smaller noble houses are as bad as the Russians or the Spanish with their strings of surnames.) fell in love with Baron Hans von Bleichröder, a wealthy banker of Heidelburg, but because of the difference in their station and religion, she was forbidden to marry him. While on holiday with von Bleichröder, Sophie hit and killed a child in France. Von Bleichröder paid compensation to the family and Sophie’s family tried to hush up the affair, but Sophie’s depression over taking a life and the scandal over her love affair with the banker led her to commit suicide in 1913.

Princess William of Sweden was the unhappy Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia. She and Prince Wilhelm had one child before divorcing. The Prince, who was known to have many artistic and scholarly interests, began a relationship with sculptor Jeanne de Tramcourt immediately after the divorce; they lived happily together for many years until she was killed in an automobile accident. Grand Duchess Maria married a Russian Prince, escaped the Russian Revolution, opened an embroidery atelier, and wrote two books about her eventful life.

Sophie of Oldenburg married Prince Eitel Frederick, the brutal second son of the Kaiser. They divorced amid mutual accusations of adultery.

King Manuel of Portugal and his Dresden-china bride, Princess Augusta Victoria, initially separated during an illness early in their marriage. One speculates about nameless diseases; Manuel had formed a deep attachment to actress and dancer Gaby Deslys in Paris; he only gave her up when she moved to the United States in 1911. He married Princess Augusta Victoria in 1914.

Prince Ernst August ‘s father, Prince Ernest Augustus, 3rd Duke of Cumberland, refused to give up his claim to the throne of Hanover and also styled himself Duke of Brunswick. When Prince Ernst wished to marry Princess Viktoria Luise, only daughter of the Kaiser, the Duke of Cumberland turned over the Brunswick title to his son and became reconciled with the Hohenzollerns. The wedding was the last great gathering of European sovereigns before the Great War brought down so many royal dynasties.

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.

 

Frivolous Gaby and her Jewels: 1920

gaby-deslys-1910

Why Frivolous Gaby Left Her $1,000,000 Gems to the Poor

The Strange Fear That Made Her Recklessly Extravagant, Penurious, Caused Her Untimely Death, and Forced Her to Give Her Most Precious Possessions to the Destitute.

The sale of poor Gaby Deslys’s jewels for the benefit of the poor of Marseilles is one of the strangest, most puzzling freaks of human behavior of our day.

That a woman who was universally noted for her frivolity, her extravagance, her worldliness in short, should perform the utterly unworldly act of selling all her jewels for the unknown poor seems inexplicable. These jewels were the greatest pride, the greatest joy of her life of insensate extravagance, and yet she willed away the magnificent collection to help a lot of wretched, squalid, hopeless paupers. The act is entirely contrary to what one would expect In a person of her spectacular career.

The explanation of Gaby’s strange will has been furnished to your correspondent by one of her intimate friends. Her action can only be understood when one knows the peculiar state of mind, almost a pathological condition, which had dominated her for years.

“Gaby had an almost insane fear of poverty,” said your correspondent’s informant. “Poverty was to her like a personal devil, always watching her and waiting to grasp her in his cruel clutches. Her most extravagant acts were committed as a form of defiance to this demon–poverty. The final act of her life, willing her jewels to the poor, was intended to be her supreme blow at the demon.”

This revelation of the famous dancer’s state of mind also clears up some of the mystery surrounding the last romance of her life, her affair with the young Duke de Crussol, member of France’s most ancient noble family. The Duke, who accompanied the dancer to New York about a year ago, was so profoundly devoted to her that his family came to the conclusion he was planning to marry her and was dreadfully worried at the prospect.

The truth was that the pretty dancer had confided to the young Duke her dream of leaving all her wealth to the poor and that with the enthusiasm of youth he was completely carried away by her idealism. That is why he treated her with a reverence not usually paid by young dukes to frivolous dancers. That also explains his profound emotion at her death, why he I broke into tears, wrung his hands in anguish, and could scarcely control himself:

“She had such a beautiful soul.” said the Duke, evidently under the influence of knowledge that was not within the reach of ordinary persons. “She was good, she was noble, she lived for others. Nobody can understand yet how good she was.”

The Duke, it should be recalled, distinguished himself as an aviator during the War, and threw away his chance of the Legion of Honor in order to visit Gaby Deslys when she was ill.

The value of the jewels left by Gaby to the poor is enormous, and is not fully indicated by the sale at auction already held. The market is a bad one at present, and the prices obtained were disappointing in view of the remarkable beauty and rarity of the pieces, and besides that there are many that have not yet been sold. Few stage-favorites have ever accumulated so great an aggregation of wealth.

Her entire collection was conservatively estimated at 5,300,000 francs, which at a normal rate of exchange would be about $1,060,000.

It would require a volume to catalogue all her jewels. Among those sold for the benefit of the poor of Marseilles may be signalled:

The necklace of forty-nine graduated pearls given to Gaby by Manuel II of Portugal, $105,000

Gaby’s famous necklace of fifty-seven pearls, with three great pearls pendant,

the central pearl black, $100,000.

A string of sixty-nine pearls, $47,600.

A string of one hundred and fifty pearls, $56,000.

Two platinum and diamond necklaces, $51,000

A splendid diamond pendant, $11,300.

An emerald pendant, set in diamonds, $19,440.

The gems were of many kinds, but pearls predominated. All the stones were of an extraordinary degree of beauty and purity–there was nothing second rate in the collection. A superb gold and platinum handbag, an antique Chinese ivory bracelet, and a beautiful sapphire and diamond armlet were among the curiosities of the display.

To her dancing partner, Harry Pilcer, she left $50,000, and income of $3,600 a year and many other gifts, while she made other benefactions to the poor besides the one mentioned.

Gaby’s fear and hatred of poverty was a sentiment which had arisen in early youth in an extraordinary ambition, vital and luxury loving temperament, and grew there until it had become a devouring passion, almost a mania. At one time, when she was at the height of her success, her concentration upon this idea became so great that her reason was endangered and she was forced to consult an eminent neurologist—Dr. Henri Mesurier, of the Salpetriere Hospital.

He gave her a long course of treatment with the object of reducing the frantic torrent of her ideas to a normal channel. Fully recognizing that it would be useless and foolish to uproot the deepest sentiment of her nature, the doctor contented himself with directing it toward a goal that would not bring ruin or madness upon her. Thus it came to be agreed between them that she should find a life-long satisfaction of her passion by accumulating treasures and leaving her accumulated wealth after death to strike the hardest possible blow against poverty. In this way she was protected to some extent from the danger of ruining herself by her extravagances in her lifetime.

The existence of Gaby Deslys was one long triumph over the demon Poverty, a fantastic deriding of his powers and terrors, a battle which she always won, but a battle so furious that her reason was often endangered.

Gaby was brought up by parents who suffered the lowest depth of poverty in the famous old city of Marseilles, on the Mediterranean. In no city of the civilized world perhaps is poverty so prevalent and so appalling as in Marseilles. Its slums have been accumulating misery since the days of the ancient Phoenicians, who founded the city and for more than two thousand years they have put their blight upon unnumbered victims.

At thirteen years of age Gaby understood to the full what poverty meant in its worst and most degrading sense. She determined to conquer it and never fall under its power again. This determination became the dominant passion of her life and the cause of her early death.

The rapidity of her success as a public artist was amazing. She chose to be a dancer and quickly became a star performer without any training, but that which she gave herself while dancing to an organ in a Marseilles slum or doing a turn in a third class café.

Her beauty, her vitality, her daring poses, her astonishing way of wearing astonishing clothes captivated the public but her skill as a dancer was even by her own admission not equal to that of many other performers.

Always she wanted money, but it was not merely for the sake of money but for the purpose of celebrating her triumph over her childhood enemy—poverty. Her skill in business transactions was amazing, and she was able by her audacity and cleverness to obtain $100,000 for a tour where a woman of greater artistic accomplishments would not, perhaps , have received $5,000.

In the course of a few years Gaby was able to accumulate a great fortune in money and other possessions the most valuable collection of jewels, bibelots and art treasures owned by any actress in Paris, a palace in London and an estate in America which has not yet been appraised.

Nobody, perhaps, will ever know the true story of her relations with ex-King Manuel of Portugal. People will always believe that Manuel’s infatuation for her, the gifts which he showered upon her, brought about the revolution that cost him his throne. According to this view the gorgeous pearl necklace which Manuel gave the fair dancer, was the last act of recklessness that goaded his infuriated people to expel him.

Whatever the historical facts may be concerning Gaby’s relations with the King, it is certain that following the revelation of this romance, she enjoyed an unusual increase of wealth and valuable jewels. And on this as on all other occasions she displayed the faculty of turning whatever happened to her Into money. But she did not seek money for the miserly purpose of hoarding, but simply to jest at the monster poverty.

Gaby frankly set out to make all the money she possibly could, and she did not conceal this purpose from anyone—not even from romantic young kings and noblemen who paid then court to her. She made no pretence of following art for art’s sake–she followed art for money’s sake.

There was hardly anything she would not do for money. For several seasons she demanded $500 from everyone who enjoyed the privilege of taking supper with her. She had noticed that many nouveaux riches and would-be sports were eager to be seen supping or dining with her or with any of the popular actresses of the moment.

She knew that such men had no real regard for her. They sought her society mainly for the glory or notoriety which it reflected on them. Why should they not pay for that which they so selfishly sought? Why should they enjoy it merely by paying for a meal? Therefore Gaby took all the money she could obtain from such persons in the most baldly commercial spirit. But with all who were poor, all who had been her true friends in any way she was generous to an extreme degree.

She frankly recognized that her beautiful body was her capital. It was through that alone that she was able to earn her great fortune. Anything that injured her body diminished her capital and her wealth and the mere idea of such a diminution, such a submission to the monster poverty, filled her with horror and she was ready to die rather than yield an inch to the arch enemy. It was indeed this sentiment that eventually brought about Gaby s untimely death.

She had suffered from an attack of influenza and pleurisy. As an after effect they left several abscesses in the respiratory tract which prostrated her after she had struggled valiantly to carry on her work for several weeks.

The surgeons informed her that the abscesses could be emptied safely and quickly through one or more incisions in her neck and that she would make a rapid recovery from her illness. But the incisions would have made a permanent scar on her neck, would have injured that beauty on which her income depended, would, in short, have seriously diminished her capital and wealth. She absolutely refused to permit them to operate.

The surgeons brought their tools and endeavored to overcome her opposition. Even in her weakened condition her will proved absolutely insurmountable. The method of treating the abscesses through the mouth proved ineffective to relieve the system of the poison and she died from the septic poisoning at the height of her fame and beauty.

“I will die laughing at poverty,” she gasped In her last moments as she lay in her luxurious apartment surrounded by every comfort that wealth could procure to lessen her sufferings.

This singular, passionate fear of poverty gives the answer to the great enigma of her life–her mingled sordidness, generosity, charity, avarice and recklessness.

A few months ago, as she sat robed in glorious pearls and costly fabrics, surrounded by the art treasures of the ages, she exclaimed to a group of intimate friends: “Ah! j’ai tellement peur de la misere!” “Ah! I have such fear of poverty!”

She then described her conception of the monster, her early struggles with him, her triumph over him with a dramatic force that far exceeded anything she had ever displayed on the stage and that held her hearers thrilled.

On her beautiful body she then wore jewels that were worth not less than $300,000. In an adjoining room was the exquisite bed that had belonged to the celebrated Duchess de Fontanges—one of several beds of equal historical value which Gaby used in rotation.

In cabinets about her were Limoges enamels that had been the joy of the great King Francis I. On the walls were paintings by Botticelli and other early Italian masters. On the book shelves were priceless volumes printed by Elzevir and Aldus Manutius.

“And I, the little poverty-stricken brat of Marseilles, enjoy all this and more,” shrieked Gaby. “I laugh at poverty! I fear Him no more! I defy him!”

Her house on Kensington Gore, London, near the old palace where Queen Victoria was born, was described by Englishmen as so stately, so luxurious that it was fit only for royalty. Her lingerie and her silk-stockings which were the most costly that the manufacturers of the world could produce, were discarded after she had worn them two or three times at the most.

Her motor cars were the most luxurious and costly obtainable, and she abandoned them after using them for a few months. One of her recent purchases was an eighty-horsepower touring car, containing an exquisite boudoir where she could dress and make up in comfort. This she sold after three months use, because she did not like the exact tone of the upholstery.

All these extravagances, these insensate luxuries, were a gratification of her peculiar mental bias and a way of hurling defiance at old poverty. She wanted to feel that she could command every luxury that misery denied to its slaves. She wanted to feel that she had such command of these luxuries that she could throw them away if she pleased—could flaunt them or flout them as she saw fit.

But such was her passion for luxuries that she Instinctively sought those that were rarest and so, unconsciously perhaps, she accumulated things that had great intrinsic value. Very often they increased in value and so she grow richer and richer. When she bought absolutely flawless pearls, the largest and finest in the market, she picked the only kind that would sell again for as much or more than their purchase price.

All the time that she was hilariously and triumphantly defying poverty she was hugging to herself and a very few intimates the secret of the supreme blow she meant to aim at the monster. She thought with deep joy of her great plan of leaving her choicest treasures to fight poverty in that squalid old city where he held his most hopeless victims. This was the course in which she had been encouraged by the great neurologist in order to maintain her mental balance and keep her from ruining herself by her extravagances.

The Pittsburgh [PA] Press 18 July 1920: p. 77

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: Gaby was, by all accounts, a fascinating personality, captivating, as mentioned above, aristocrats and a King. While one cannot fault a person born into poverty for wishing to make as much money as possible, this article suggests that the entertainer was a trifle unbalanced on the subject. The overwrought tone of the article implies to Mrs Daffodil’s mind that the author is  not altogether impartial in his assessment of Mlle Deslys.

It was widely remarked at the time that the fabled jewel collection “under-performed,” as auction aficionados say:

It is said that a certain gloom pervaded the atmosphere when the jewels of Gaby Deslys were sold by auction in a public gallery in Paris. Perhaps it was only the fancy of an impressionable correspondent, but the Parisians are a sentimental people, and the gulf between anything so personal as jewelry and a public auction room is wide and obvious. Every glittering trinket there must have had its history in emotion, in the joy of purchase or gift, in the ecstasy of possession. Every one must have been fragrant with romance and with a voiceless eloquence of boudoir and footlights. If only they could tell their stories, but perhaps it is as well that they can not. There is hardly an antique jewel in the world, without its record of blood and crime as well as of love, hardly one without its guilt of greed and murder.

But what an astonishing mass of jewelry was owned by Gaby Deslys. One wonders where it all came from, but that is one of the things that we are never likely to be told. No matter how large her earnings as a dancer she could hardly have bought a half of it. The most wonderful thing there was a platinum collar carrying an enormous diamond and four splendid pearls. In the centre was a great black pearl weighing 140 grammes flanked by two white pearls nearly as large. It had been valued at 500,000 francs, but the auctioneer was unable to raise the bids above 402,000 francs, and it went to some unknown person who was supposed to be acting for a wealthy client. Doubtless we shall hear more about this resplendent collar, and it is fairly safe to assume that the news will come from somewhere in America.

Gaby Deslys was a lover of pearls and there was much curiosity to see her collection. A chain of 154 pearls was sold for 280,000 francs, and three pearl necklaces brought a total of 1,054,000 francs. A platinum net bag studded with diamonds and pearls were sold for 39,000 francs, which was said to be much less than its value. But the most curious of all the articles offered for sale was a belt made of American gold coins, including seventeen twenty-dollar pieces. This brought 4100 francs, a curiously low price, seeing that the coins alone were worth more than that amount. Presumably the belt was the gift of some American admirer, and it may be that the donors themselves were in some cases among the bidders. It would be strange if it were not so, for who would wish to see his gift to a lady fall into strange hands and amid the prosaic associations of an auction room?

The Argonaut 10 July 1920: p. 28

Here is a link to some images of the lovely Mlle Deslys, accompanied by a recording of her singing several songs, c. 1910.

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.