Wyoming Weekly Republican

CARVING THE FEMALE FORM

American Beauty Who

Do It To Get The Figure

Last week a paragraph went the rounds of the papers about a journalist, broader than he was long from extraordinary overfleshiness, who underwent the operation of degraissage. On reading about this feat of the scalpel, I did not at first believe it. But I find I was too incredulous, and also that degraissage is nothing new to the princes of science here. It dates from the time when those robes which mould the figure like a glove and fall into a train behind came into vogue.

In the early stages of their evolution inner garments were minimized. It was then discovered that embonpoint must be got rid of. But how do so with advantage? If skin once distended by fat were made to contract through leanness, it would wrinkle up, and it was found to injure the health, to bring on anemia, with its low spirits, hysterical laughter, wan cheeks, and unloveliness. What was to be done?

Some vivisectionists had pared the fat off dogs without killing them. So beauty determined to be vivisected in the same manner.

However, as she did not seem to owe anything to art, she kept secret the suffering she endured to remain beautiful and the surgeons had no opportunity to advertise their skill in paring off adipose tissue, until the journalist went to them to be relieved from his load of fat.

Last evening I had a talk with one prince of science, and then with another, on this matter. On asking the former whether a figure misshapen through embonpoint could really be pared down to conformity with her dressmaker's ideal, he answered:

"Certainly, I can give you (between ourselves, of course) the name of a beautiful woman who owes what passes in ballrooms for her perfect figure to getting her waist, and a good deal else that goes into her corset, pared down."

"No!"

"Yes. I assure you I'm not joking."

"Do I know her?"

"You do."

"Her name—whisper it if you fear that other ears than mine may catch it."

He whispered. A puzzle was explained. The beauty in question is an American, and a member of a great plutocratic family, and, by marriage, of a noble English one. Her name figures constantly in fashionable intelligence columns.

She comes here for her dresses, bonnets, the Salon, and for surgical operations when rounds of lunches and dinners, too tempting not to be eaten, have a little spoiled the waist. You hear of her being ill, and not receiving. In five weeks or so you meet her again at a picture exhibition, flower show, bazaar, or see her enthroned as Queen of Beauty at the opera. Glasses converge on her in the entr'acte. Her form being again divine, and her face charming, she is perfectly happy, and looks so. I used to wonder how there was so much ripeness in the bust and shoulders, and, without squeezing, such girlish slimness in the waist.

I further asked whether it was an American belle who first resorted to this hard mode of keeping statuesque. No; it was a singularly pretty actress, who, not long ago, was young enough for billing and cooing parts spiced with espièglerie. As a stage mother she could not be of much use. But while her face and neck kept shape and fresh— her bust grew fearfully clumsy. Turkish baths and spent

ia

essly in massage.

You can hide your ankles on the stage, but you can't hide superabundant fat. What was she to do? Somebody showed her a scientific feuilleton about the graissage of dogs, and she asked a great surgeon whether such an operation on a human being would not be only possible but safe. Both one and the other he opined. Another great authority was referred to. He thought on a healthy subject that a skilful operator could pare away all the adipose tissue that was de trop. Nor would in such a case the recovery be tedious. The actress made up her mind, and in a few weeks went back to the stage with the same plump and pretty shoulders, and a waist and hips which, in a dress that moulded them, looked almost slim.

A famous Russian beauty was next operated upon, and then a lady who was a few years ago reputed here to supplement Baron de Mohrenheim as an agent of the Czar's Foreign Office. She is a fine, tall woman, with an ample bust, and a waist that might almost fit into her bracelet. If the fashions were reasonable one might think her figure monstrous. But as they are absurd, they suit the artificial outline of her waist. Beauties who are fat, fair, and 40 should wear flowing garments. In tight clothes they look ill at ease, and therefore ungraceful.

I ventured to put another question. How did a degraissé galbe look after recovery? Most unlovely: The skin was puckered and did not lie in its normal state. Growing fat again would only obviate this drawback.

But then all will have to

be

begun

again?

"Without doubt.

But what conquest over nature is not always to be begun again? What does it matter to have a puckered skin when one does not contemplate standing as a model for a Viennese painter or sculptor? All that society asks for is fine bust, fine arms, and small—or at any rate, well-shaped—feet.—London Truth, Paris Letter.