The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 1, April 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 1, April 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
Ah! Such are the lures of the toilet that none will for long hold aloof
from them. Cosmetics are not going to be a mere prosaic remedy for age
or plainness, but all ladies and all young girls will come to love them.
Does not a certain blithe Marquise, whose _lettres intimes_ from the
Court of Louis Seize are less read than their wit would merit, tell us
how she was scandalised to see "_même les toutes jeunes demoiselles
émaillées comme ma tabatière_?" So it shall be with us. Surely the
common prejudice against painting the lily can but be based on mere
ground of economy. That which is already fair is complete, it may be
urged--urged implausibly, for there are not so many lovely things in
this world that we can afford not to know each one of them by heart.
There is only one white lily, and who that has ever seen--as I have--a
lily really well painted could grudge the artist so fair a ground for
his skill? Scarcely do you believe through how many nice metamorphoses a
lily may be passed by him. In like manner, we all know the young girl,
with her simpleness, her goodness, her wayward ignorance. And a very
charming ideal for England must she have been, and a very natural one,
when a young girl sat even on the throne. But no nation can keep its
ideal for ever and it needed none of Mr. Gilbert's delicate satire in
"Utopia" to remind us that she had passed out of our ken with the rest
of the early Victorian era. What writer of plays, as lately asked some
pressman, who had been told off to attend many first nights and knew
what he was talking about, ever dreams of making the young girl the
centre of his theme? Rather he seeks inspiration from the tried and
tired woman of the world, in all her intricate maturity, whilst, by way
of comic relief, he sends the young girl flitting in and out with a
tennis-racket, the poor eidôlon amauron of her former self. The
season of the unsophisticated is gone by, and the young girl's final
extinction beneath the rising tides of cosmetics will leave no gap in
life and will rob art of nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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