"Chiffons!" "talking chiffons!" "writing chiffons!"—will any one have the goodness to furnish us with a literal yet lucid interpretation of this enigmatical form of speech so incessantly employed in the Parisian beau monde? Among the translatable words of the French language,—among the expressive terms which cannot be rendered by equally significant expressions in our own more copious tongue,—among the phraseology invented to convey ideas which the phrases themselves certainly do not suggest,—the common application of this curt little word "chiffons" holds a distinguished place. Look for "chiffons" in the dictionary, and you will see it simply defined as "rags;" yet "chiffons" represent the very opposite of rags feminine, and conjure up a multitudinous army of feminine fashions, fripperies, fancies, follies, indispensable aids and adjuncts of the feminine toilet.

We have headed this chapter "chiffons," and given an imperfect definition of the term, as a sign-post of warning to masculine readers,—a hint that this is a chapter to be lightly skimmed, or altogether skipped, for it unavoidably treats of "chiffons," which the necessities of the narrative will not allow us to suppress.

The Marquis de Fleury had been appointed ambassador from the court of Napoleon the Third to the United States of America.

Madame de Fleury's state of mind, in spite of the consolation afforded by a number of strikingly original costumes, which she innocently flattered herself would prove very effective during a sea-voyage, was deplorable. Terror inspired by the perils of the deep was only surpassed by intense grief excited by her compulsory banishment to a land where, she imagined, the invading feet of modiste and mantua-maker had not trodden out all resemblance to the original Eden; a land where the women probably attired themselves with a leaning to antediluvian simplicity, or in accordance with strong-minded proclivities, and the men were, doubtless, too much engrossed by politics and business to be capable of appreciating the most elaborate toilet that could be fashioned to captivate their eyes; a land, in short, where taste was yet unborn, and where it was ignorantly believed that the chief object of apparel was to perform, on a more extensive scale, the use of primitive fig-leaves and furs.

To prevent her from falling into the clutches of American barbarians, Madame de Fleury secured two French maids as a bodyguard. Into the hands of one, skilled in the intricate mysteries of hair-dressing, her head was unreservedly consigned; the other, versed in more varied arts, had entire charge of the rest of her person. But these aides-de-camp of the toilet were deemed insufficient for the guardianship of her charms. The moment her sentence of exile was pronounced, she had summoned the incomparable Vignon to her presence, and piteously painted the difficulties which must beset her path when she was remorselessly torn from within reach of the creative fingers of the artist couturiÈre. Vignon had unanticipated comfort in store: the most accomplished of her assistants,—one who had exhibited a skill in design and execution positively marvellous,—had several times expressed a strong inclination to establish herself in America, and would gladly make her debut in the New World under the patronage of the marchioness. This information threw Madame de Fleury into such ecstasies that all the waves of the Atlantic, which had been ruthlessly tossing their wrecks about her brain, were suddenly stilled, and she declared that Mademoiselle Melanie must make her preparations to sail in the same steamer; for the knowledge that she was on board would render the voyage endurable. The marchioness complacently added that she felt so much strengthened by these tidings, that she could now look forward to meeting, with becoming fortitude, the trials incident upon her residence among a semi-civilized nation.

We need hardly relate how soon, after reaching Washington, the fair Parisian discovered that civilization had made astounding progress if it might be estimated by the deference paid to "chiffons;" nor need we portray her astonishment at finding that American women "of fashion" were not merely close copyists of extreme French modes, but that they exaggerated even the most extravagant, and hunted after the newest styles with the national energy which their countrywomen of a nobler class expended upon nobler objects; and were more ready to deform or ignore nature, and swear allegiance to the despotic rule of the Crinoline Sovereign, than any Parisian belle under the sun.

Madame de Fleury's royal sway over the empire of "chiffons" was soon as thoroughly established in Washington as it had been in Paris. Dress, or head-dress, bodice, bonnet, mantle, gaiter, glove, worn by her, multiplied itself in important imitations, and every feminine chrysalis sent forth its ballroom butterfly in a livery to match. Whatever style, shape, color, she adopted, however extraordinary, became the rage for that season, and disappeared from sight, totally banished by her regal command, at the inauguration of the next.

At one period no skirt could sweep the pavement, or lie in rich folds at the bottom of a carriage, unadorned by an imposing flounce that almost covered the robe; a little later, the one sober flounce was driven into obscurity by twenty coquettish small ones; and these were displaced by primly puffed bands; which gave way to fanciful "keys" running up the sides of the dress (where they seemed to have no possible right); and those vanished when double skirts commenced their brief reign; to be dethroned by a severe-looking quilted ruffle marching around the hem of the dress and up the centre to the throat; and this grave adornment suddenly found its place usurped by an inundation of fantastic trimmings, jet, bugles, passementerie, velvet or lace. So much for skirts!

Then the bodices:—now nothing was to be seen but the "square cut" which revealed the fine busts of beauties in the days of Charles II.,—now graceful folds a coeur sentimentally ruled the day,—now infant waists became a passion, and the most maternal forms aped the juvenility borrowed from their babies. Then for sleeves: at one time they were wide and long and cumbrous, forbidding every trace of the most rounded member beneath; then they took the form of antique drapery, disclosing the arm almost nude, save for the transparent lace of the undersleeve,—then the close, tight fit of the Quaker left all but a distorted outline to the imagination.

And bonnets: at one moment the tiniest bird's-nest of a hat, embowered in feathers and buried in lace, was perched on the back of the head, reminding one of Punch's suggestion that it could be more conveniently carried upon a salver by a domestic walking behind; a little later, the only bonnet admissible closed around the face like a cap, laces and feathers had disappeared, a few tastefully disposed knots of ribbon, or a single flower, were the only adornments: but hardly had Good Sense nodded approvingly at the graceful simplicity with which heads were covered, when, lo! the bonnets shot up like bright-hued coal-scuttles, over which a basket of buds and blossoms had been suddenly upset, and went through a variety of fantastic transformations wholly indescribable.

So with other articles of attire. Mantles that had established for themselves a natural and convenient length suddenly grew down to the hem of the dress; basques, high in favor, were routed by Zouave jackets; girdles were at one moment drawn down with tight pressure until they barely surmounted the hips, the next were allowed to take an almost natural round (as far as their fitting locality went), and next were put wholly to flight by pointed Swiss belts, with enormous bows, and long, flowing ends,—while these, in turn, were chased from the field by picturesque scarfs.

Then as regards the disposition of that native veil of unsurpassable beauty which adorns the head of woman: now, all locks were braided low at the back of the head, almost lying upon the neck; now they surmounted the crown and rose in stories higher and higher; now they sprang into a pair of wings from either side of the temples; now they were clustered in a tuft of disorderly curls above the brow; now smoothed and bandolined close to the face and knotted with an air of quiet simplicity behind the ears.

Whichever of these modes the Parisian queen of "chiffons" rendered graceful in her own person, every fair one, with the slightest aspiration to style, strengthened her claims to be thought fashionable by scrupulously assuming. What wonder that Mademoiselle Melanie, prime minister to the absolute sovereign, could scarcely receive the crowd of clients that thronged her doors?

She hired a spacious mansion, near the capitol, and furnished it with consummate taste. She combined the vocation of mantua-maker with that of milliner, and supplied all the materials she employed from an assortment of her own selection. This was one secret of her astonishing success, for it gave her control over the entire apparel of her customers. Regarding herself as responsible for the tout ensemble of each toilet that issued from her hands, and her reputation as at stake if any defective touch marred the general result of her adorning, she exerted a thoroughly despotic sway over those whom she undertook to dress, and refused, in the most positive, yet most courteous manner, to allow them to follow the dictates of their own faulty fancies. As a skilful artist examines a picture in the best light, that all its beauties may be revealed, she placed each one of her subjects in the most favorable aspect, studied her closely, searched out every fine point which might be heightened, and pondered over every defect which might be concealed. She had the rare gift of knowing how to embellish nature, how to bring forth all the capacities of a face and form, and how to modify the fashion of the day to the requirements of the wearer, instead of slavishly following an arbitrary mode, and thereby sacrificing all individuality of beauty. Dress became high art in her hands. Wondrously harmonious were the effects produced. Blondes looked softer and purer than ever before, without becoming insipid; brunettes grew more piquante and brilliant; nondescripts gained force and character; pallid faces caught a reflection of rose tints; too ruddy complexions were toned down by paling colors, and sallow skins found their ochre hue mysteriously neutralized. Angular shapes were draped so gracefully that unsymmetrical sharpness disappeared; too ample forms exchanged their air of uncouth corpulence for a well-defined roundness; low statures seemed to spring up to a nobler altitude, and women of masculine height sunk into feminine proportions. In short, Mademoiselle Melanie was not a mantua-maker, or milliner,—she was the genius of taste, the artful embodier of poetry in outward adorning.

Her own person was strikingly attractive; but the severest simplicity characterized her attire. Her manners, though affable, were exceedingly reserved; without any apparent effort, she repressed the familiarity of the vulgar, and rebuked the patronizing airs of the assuming, winning instinctive deference even from the ill-bred.

By her workwomen she was almost worshipped. Young herself, she impressed them with the sense that notwithstanding her lack of advantage over them in point of years, her superior skill and knowledge entitled her to be their head. She sympathized with their griefs, inquired into their needs, sometimes ignored their short-comings, but never their sufferings, and took care that the thread which helped fashion a lady's robe should not be drawn with such weary and overworked hands that, in the language of Hood, it sewed a shroud at the same moment.

She was seldom seen in the streets; and, when her duties called her, she went forth closely veiled. But her distinguished air, the simple elegance of her apparel, and the dignified grace of her movements could not escape admiration.

She soon found a carriage of her own indispensable, and selected an unostentatious equipage; but allowed herself the indulgence of a pair of superb horses, because she chanced to be an appreciating judge of those noble animals: a rather unusual knowledge for a couturiÈre.

She seldom walked or drove alone. She was usually accompanied by one of her assistants, a young Massachusetts girl, with whom she had been thrown into accidental communication shortly after her arrival in the United States.

The history of Ruth Thornton is one every day repeated, but not less touching because so far from rare. Born and bred in affluence which emanated from the daily exertions of her father, his death left his widow and three orphan daughters destitute. The eldest early assumed the burdens of wifehood and maternity. Ruth was the second child. A girl of high spirit, she quickly laid aside all false pride, and earnestly sought to earn the bread of those she loved by the labor of her fair young hands, until then strangers to toil. But where was remunerative occupation to be found? Needy womanhood so closely crowded the few open avenues of industry that it seemed as though there was no room for another foot to gain a hold, another hand to struggle. To become a teacher, or governess, was Ruth's first, most natural endeavor; but, month after month, she sought in vain for a situation. She possessed a remarkable voice and very decided musical talent. The idea of the concert-room next suggested itself; but her naturally fine organ lacked the long cultivation that could alone fit her to embark upon the career of a singer. Her mind then turned to the stage; but, setting aside the difficulty of obtaining engagements, even to fill some position in the lowest ranks of the profession, she had no means, no time, to go through a long course of requisite study, or to procure herself the costly wardrobe indispensable to such a profession. She pondered upon the possibility of entering that most noble institution, the New York School of Design for Women. Here was meet work, hope-fanning, life-saving work for feminine hands: engraving on wood or steel; coloring plates for illustrated works; sketching designs for fashions to be used in magazines, or patterns for carpets, calicoes, paper-hangings, etc. But, on inquiry, she learned that a year's study would be needful before she could hope to gain a modest livelihood through the medium of the simplest of these pursuits. From whence, in the meantime, could her mother, her sister, and herself derive their support? Next, she resolved to resort to her needle; yet how small was the likelihood of keeping it employed! and how poor the pittance it could earn as an humble seamstress! True, she might learn a trade; but how was she to exist meantime?

She stood erect in the midst of this desert of difficulties, perplexed but undismayed, and still believing in, and steadfastly seeking for, the work allotted to such weak hands as hers.

There is something magnetic in unflagging energy, and untiring hope; they mysteriously attract to themselves the materials which they most need. By a seeming accident, Ruth heard that an assistant housekeeper was required at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York. Her high-born relatives learned with horror that one of their kin, the daughter of a gentleman who had held an honorable position in their community, contemplated filling this menial position. But, in spite of their disapproval, Ruth presented herself as an applicant for the post, and though her youth (for she was hardly twenty) was an objection, her services were accepted; and she entered forthwith upon her lowly duties.

We need not dwell upon the manifold and humiliating trials to which she was subjected,—trials to which the loveliness of her person largely contributed. Like a true American maiden, well-disciplined, self-reliant, and of strong principles, she found protection within herself, and bade defiance to dangers which might have proved fatal to one whose early training had been less productive of strength.

It was while Ruth was meekly discharging these humble duties that she became acquainted with Mademoiselle Melanie.

On arriving in New York, Madame de Fleury had taken up her residence for a few days at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and, as though she feared to lose sight of Mademoiselle Melanie, requested her to do the same. A severe indisposition, which caused the latter to seek feminine aid, threw her in communication with the housekeeper of the hotel and her young assistant. Mademoiselle Melanie quickly became interested in the sweet, pale, patient face hovering about her bed, and did not fail to note the air of refinement which seemed at variance with her position. In less than four and twenty hours the young French couturiÈre had learned the history of the young American housekeeper, and resolved, if she prospered in America, to remove this lovely girl from her present perilous position to one less exposed.

Six months later Ruth received a letter from Washington making her an offer to become one of the assistants of Mademoiselle Melanie, and gratefully accepted the proposal. Mademoiselle Melanie found her young employÉe's health too delicate for an exhausting apprenticeship to the needle, and employed Ruth in copying and coloring sketches of costumes which the accomplished couturiÈre herself designed. As she became more and more conversant with the noble character of her protegÉe the spontaneous attachment she had conceived for her grew stronger, and Ruth Thornton became her constant companion.