Mata Hari~

FEW stories of the Great War contain more romance, adventure and tragedy than that of the Dutch-Javanese woman who was shot as a spy on the rifle range at Vincennes at the breaking of dawn on the morning of October 15, 1917.

Marguerite Gertrude Zelle, better known as Mlle. Mata-Hari, lived in an atmosphere of mystery and mysticism. She was born in Java about 1877, the daughter of a Javanese mother and a wealthy Dutch planter. As a child she gave promise of the great beauty which came to her in later life. As a young girl she was tall and dark, with a wonderful skin that was almost bronze in color. She seems to have had natural talents of a high order, and was given opportunities for education not granted to the poorer inhabitants of that Dutch possession.

It is not strange that she should have had an unusually colorful life. One need only try to picture her early surroundings to understand that her existence was to be an uncommon one in every respect. In the locality where she was born and reared there were many men of many races. Besides the Javanese there were Arabs, immigrant Malays, Chinese, Hindus and other Orientals and some Dutch and other Europeans. Among the educated Javanese there was a love of literature, and we are told that they were fond of romances, poems and chronicles of the olden days, and that many of them made translations from the Sanskrit and Arabic. Christianity did not thrive in the Islands, and the religions which predominated then, as now, were Mohammedanism, Brahmanism and Buddhism.

As a child, Mata-Hari roamed among the remarkable Hindu ruins which dotted Java; she visited the beautiful temples of Buddha, and peered over the edge of more than one terrifying volcano. Her father died when she was quite young, and her mother, in order to protect her from the dangers which beset a child in that country of mixed races, took her to Burma and placed her in a Buddhist temple to learn the art of dancing, and at the same time pledged her to the life of a vestal bayadere. It was on this occasion that she was given the name of Mata-Hari. She must have remained there for nearly ten years, but when she was still in her teens she escaped from the temple. The escape occurred on the occasion of a great Buddhist festival where she met a young army officer. She fell in love with the man and the story has it that they were married, and that two children were the result of the union. One report says that the boy, who was the favorite of his mother, died suddenly, and that a post-mortem examination proved that he had been poisoned, and finally that the dancer, taking the law into her own hands, shot a discharged gardener, who was suspected of the crime. She fled from her home and going to Paris began the professional career which gave her a world-wide reputation. The husband, we are informed, died soon after this, and the other child, a daughter, is now supposed to be living in England.

Surely this may be regarded as a sufficiently interesting prelude to the sensational life of a woman whose life was to end before a firing squad on the plains of Vincennes. In Paris she created a stir when she appeared as an exponent of Eastern ritualistic dancing. That city which loves sensations, took the tall, handsome woman to its bosom. She became one of the fads of the day. She was almost instantly deluged with offers to appear elsewhere. Invitations came from London, Berlin, Vienna, and New York. It is interesting to note at this point that Mata-Hari became a special favorite in Berlin and Vienna. She performed frequently before titled men of those two capitals. Among her dances were several sinuous ones that were performed with the aid of wriggling snakes. About this time the war began and she made her way to Spain, and afterwards to Holland. Later she went to England and finally found her way again to Paris.


But she found a different Paris from the city where she had made her first success as a dancer. The gay capital was in gloom. Amusements were tabooed for the time being, and even the gay Parisians thought of nothing but the war. The dancer did not enjoy this sort of thing. She was a child of pleasure, and for a time thought of leaving Paris for other parts. But something happened that caused her to remain there. It was hinted that she was in correspondence with some of her former admirers in Berlin and Vienna. The finger of suspicion was pointed in her direction. Evidently she was unaware of this fact for she moved about freely and made no attempt to conceal her movements. She left Paris and went to one of the English towns where experiments were being made with the famous tanks which proved to be such an important factor in the war. On one occasion she was seen with a young English officer who had fallen under the spell of her charms.

It was currently reported that her arrest and conviction were due to a rejected sweetheart, the brother-inlaw of a former French Minister of Finance and once a noted banker, but, however true that may be, it is certain that the first tangible evidence in the case came to light while she was in England. She did not remain in the English town, but made frequent trips to London, and it is presumed that the information she was able to gather about the tanks was transmitted from the capital. How she was able to communicate with the Germans was long a puzzle. During this period she visited by turns Holland and Spain, and it is not hard to believe that it was in these countries that she was able to obtain a trustworthy messenger to carry the English secrets to Berlin. In the intervals between these trips to the Continent she was seen walking along the Strand and the West End of London. It was difficult for such a person to remain unnoticed. Her reputation had preceded her, and she was described in the English press as a "high-class Indian Princess, who had been a priestess in India, and one who had acquired complete control of enormous snakes."

Indeed, her very prominence served as a cloak under which she was enabled to carry on her dangerous operations. Her repeated presence in the company of the young officer attached to the tank service eventually brought her under suspicion. The tanks, or armored motor tractors, were trump cards in the British war game, and that fact in itself caused the Government to watch over them with unremitting care. Presently came word that the Germans were working furiously on a special gas to combat the tank operations. This meant that in some way or other they had obtained information of what the British were doing in this connection. Where did the information come from? That was the natural question, and after some inquiries in the little town where the tractors were being manufactured, suspicion pointed to Mata-Hari.

For one thing it was discovered that she was always well supplied with money. After giving a famous "veil dance" she had practically ceased her professional work, so that it was evident that the cash was not coming from her public exhibitions. In the midst of the British investigation she suddenly left for Paris. Her arrival in the French capital was the beginning of the end for the famous dancer. The French Secret Police were on her trail from the moment she stepped on French soil. In Paris her name of Mata-Hari was translated to mean " Eye of the Morning." The Secret Service men smiled grimly at this as they followed her from the Cafe de Paris to Maxim's and finally to Armenonville in the Bois. They did not fail to take note of the fact that she was in the company of an English officer who wined and dined her, and seemed proud of the fact that he was permitted to be in her company. The young man wore in the lapel of his coat a little twisted brass dragon, the same being an official insignia denoting service with the tanks.

One of the American correspondents says that it was on June first, exactly a month before Generals Haig and Foch began their drive astride the Somme, that Mata-Hari returned to Paris. He adds: "And the first thing she did was to apply for a vise on her passports permitting her to go to Spain. San Sebastian was the place she mentioned, explaining that she wished to attend the horse races there. Her papers were stamped and sealed, and she left almost immediately for the fashionable winter resort in the south.

"Madrid, Spain, and Nauen, Germany, are in constant wireless communication. There were other radio stations, privately owned in Spain, which could flash messages to Germany", according to Allied officers, and, of course, there were innumerable German agents, spies and propaganda disseminators infesting the land of the Dons. Secret Service reports disclosed the fact that Mata-Hari was seen much at the San Sebastian race course in the company of a man who was looked upon with suspicion by the French Government. He was a frequent caller upon her at the hotel where she stopped, and it was reported that he made many of the big bets which she placed upon horses that did not materialize as winners. Soon Mata-Hari came back to Paris and to the apartment near the Bois Boulogne. And once more the limousine owned by the individual branded a Deputy began rolling up to her door twice a week and sometimes oftener.

The plot was thickening. About this time the French people began to get the first news from the Somme. They learned of the simultaneous FrancoBritish offensive. There the tanks went into action for the first time, and, according to General Haig's report, his "land ships" scored satisfactory results. But at the same time there were some disquieting rumors. It was hinted that several of the tanks were put out of commission in a curious manner. The enemy seemed to be possessed of private information concerning the "land ships." A number of German officers were taken prisoners at the battle, and when they were pressed, admitted that they had received descriptions of the tanks weeks before, and that they had been given special training in the art of combating these new weapons of war.

Mata-Hari was still in Paris at this time, and it is likely that she read the news of the battle with more than ordinary interest. At all events, the cozy apartments which she occupied in the Bois de Boulogne proved to be a magnet for the French police. One evening an officer appeared there, and asked for MataHari. She appeared, radiant in evening toilet. She greeted the caller with regal pride, her bronze-like skin slightly flushed and her head held high in the air.

"How may I serve you, sir?" she demanded.

The man was lost in astonishment at this tall, beautiful woman, but he managed to tell the purport of his errand in a few words.

"You are wanted at headquarters. Come with me."

For a fleeting instant her countenance lost its composure. Evidently she fully realized the meaning of the command. The game was ended and she had lost. Without another word she put on her hat and coat and followed the officer. From that moment she was a prisoner, and was watched day and night until her trial. The story of her trial has not been given to the world, and probably never will be. Indeed, one of the difficulties in telling the story of the spies of the Great War has been found in the reluctance of the authorities to tell any more than has been necessary. But it is not hard to picture this regal beauty facing her judges in the hall of justice. Much of the testimony against her must have been circumstantial, as it is in the case of most spies, but when the evidence had all been pieced together the jurist who presided over the inquiry was satisfied of her guilt. That, too, was the verdict of his associates, and one morning she was commanded to stand up and hear the verdict pronounced by the Judge. It came in the awful words:

"Guilty, and condemned to be shot for the crime of high treason!"

She went back to her prison cell to await the final summons, and it was in the gray dawn of a dull October morning that Mata-Hari heard her last hour had arrived, heard it with an impassive face and not

the least sign of emotion. It was the fifteenth of the month, and when the dancer awakened in her cell in the prison of Saint Lazare she instantly realized that the preparations for her execution were going on. Captain Bourchardon, the representative of the French Military Court that had condemned her to death, was there, so was the warden of the prison and her counsel, M. Clouet.

The Protestant clergyman, who was to offer her spiritual consolation, paced the corridor, while two nuns, connected with the prison, entered her cell to assist her in dressing. Smilingly she thanked them while declining their friendly offices. Quickly, deftly, and with the air of one who is about to go on an ordinary journey she dressed, attiring herself in a dark dress, trimmed with fur, which she had worn at her trial. A felt hat and a long coat completed her outfit. Nervously the little procession lined up and marched through the dark corridor of the prison. The men in the party were visibly affected. Mata-Hari, as has been said, " was mistress of herself and her emotions." There was a pause in the office of the warden. Here the condemned woman was given the optfortunity of writing two letters, which she entrusted to her lawyer. Without further ado, she entered a military automobile, in the company of Captain Bourchardon and the two nuns.

Presently they came in sight of the fortress of Vincennes. If any emotions stirred Mata-Hari she did not betray them. Around about her were some of the most historic buildings in France. The castle which

was used as a royal residence until the time of Louis XV, and which has since served the double purpose of a prison and a fortress, loomed up before her eyes. She probably recalled that the structure had housed Conde, Diderot, Mirabeau and other distinguished prisoners, and, if so, it made her hold her stately head a little higher. Nearby were the woods of Vincennes, where the people of Paris came for their outings. Absent now were the signs of merrymaking. War had changed all of that, and for the moment a grim tragedy was being enacted within sight of the Parisian playgrounds.

Mata-Hari was the first to alight from the automobile, and with a graceful inclination she turned to help one of the nuns to alight. The two nuns accompanied her to the office of the Governor, and after the final official formalities had been concluded they started for the rifle range, this time being accompanied by a squadron of dragoons. During the brief ride from the prison, and in the short time before the execution, there seemed to arise a sort of understanding between the dancer and the nun who stood by her right side. The one a woman of the world, and the other a woman of God. Differing in faith, appearance and mode of thought, they were yet both women. The one pale and spiritual, and the other dark and almost bronzed with an air of haughty defiance. The calm, religious life of the little nun was reflected in the serenity of her countenance. The pride of the tall, beautiful dancer was shown in the stoicism of her face and manner. If the unfortunate woman felt anything, it was the sympathy of the little nun, and in the clasp of the two hands there was a world of meaning.

The Paris correspondent of the New York Sun has given us a dramatic picture of those last moments. Let him tell the rest of the story:

"On the range all preparations for the execution were ready. A detachment of infantrymen in their blue-gray uniforms were drawn up, forming a hollow square — the targets being at the further end. The firing platoon of zouaves was in the center, the men standing at attention. The automobiles stopped at the entrance to the square and Mata-Hari stepped out. She gazed unmoved, almost disdainfully, at the setting prepared for her final appearance, in much the same manner as she had regarded the audiences that had applauded the exotic dances with which she had startled Paris. In the background stood a group of officers from the Vincennes garrison, many of whom had been witnesses of the condemned woman's stage triumphs. With her lawyer on one side and one of the nuns on the other, she passed unshaken in front of the silent, waiting troops.

"Arriving in front of the targets, Mata-Hari bade these two good-by, embracing the nun as she stretched out her hands to a waiting gendarme who held the cord with which they were to be bound. As he fastened it about her right wrist the spy with the other waved a friendly little farewell to the second nun off in the background. When both were securely fastened she was left alone, standing erect, facing the muzzles of the twelve rifles of the firing squad. The commander of the platoon raised his sword and the volleys rang out, followed a second later by the report of a single shot — one of the squad had not pulled his trigger in unison with his fellows. Mata-Hari fell on her knees. A non-commissioned officer of the dragoons advanced and fired at close range. The dancer fell backward. She had answered her last curtain call. The troops marched past the prostrate body and returned to their barracks to begin the day's garrison duties, while the corpse was taken to a military cemetery and buried in a section set apart for the interring of executed criminals."

Such is the dramatic and thrilling story, so far as it can be gathered from many conflicting sources, of one of the most notable women spies of the world's greatest war.

text: Celebrated Spies and Famous Mysteries of the Great War by George Barton

Lina says "don't"

Beauty don'ts from "My Secrets of Beauty", by Lina Cavalieri, 1914. Lina was an Italian operatic soprano, world renowned for her beauty. Good advice never changes, this is a perfect example~

Don't eat too much.

Don't chew the lips.

Don't bite the nails.

Don't sit on your foot.

Don't eat many sweets.

Don't read in a dim light.

Don't bathe in a cold room.

Don't neglect a daily outing.

Don't read or write facing a light.

Don't sleep in ill-ventilated rooms. 

Don't read when the eyes are tired.

Don't read or write on a moving train.

Don't open the eyes upon a bright light.

Don't stand with the shoulders forward.

Don't stand with the abdomen thrust out.

Don't let your hands or feet remain cold.

Don't make faces when you talk or listen. 

Don't drink much wine. The less the better. 

Don't neglect to bathe your feet every night.

Don't sit on the last three bones of your spine.

Don't be afraid to yawn or stretch when alone. 

Don't thrust the hips far backward as you walk. 

Don't sit with one shoulder higher than the other.

Don't stand with one hip higher than the other.

Don't fail to sleep as many hours as you require.

Don't wear too light weight clothing in winter. 

Don't sleep in a room crowded with draperies and rugs. 

Don't forget to visit your dentist once every three months.

Don't let the chin bury itself in the neck. Keep it high.

Don't wear tight shoes or tight gloves or tight corsets.

Don't brush or comb the hair roughly. The scalp is tender.

Don't go into the outer air directly after washing the face.

Don't be afraid of rain or snow. They are tonics and beautifiers.

Don't be discontented. Discontent engraves ugly lines in the face.

Don't fall asleep with the features drawn in anger, worry or fatigue.

Don't forget that the warm bath is a sedative; the cool bath a stimulant.

Don't use every new cosmetic you see advertised or hear recommended.

Don't wear clothing so heavy that its weight drags upon the vital organs.

Don't dwell upon unpleasant things. Dismiss them if you value your beauty.

Don't allow the skin to grow dry. A dry skin is the parent of many wrinkles.

Don't rest upon large pillows. They cause round shoulders and double chins.

Don't lie down for rest with your nerves and muscles tied in small, hard knots.

Don't forget that the reclining posture is a storehouse of strength and beauty.

Don't let the muscles grow flabby. Firm muscles give the appearance of youth.

Don't lead a too regular life. A varied programme is better than an unvarying one.

Don't keep your rooms either too hot or cold, but at an even, moderate temperature.

Don't be afraid to work, and to work hard. It is only worry mingled with work that kills.

Don't allow yourself to become ill. Every illness subtracts from vitality and adds to apparent age.

Don't think that when you have brushed your hair your duty to your head is done. The scalp must be massaged.

Don't wriggle the feet or fingers or hunch the shoulders. Find other and less ugly outlets for your nervous energy.

Don't moisten the lips with the tongue to make them red. It will only cause them to roughen and chap.

Don't forget that the eye bath, the nasal douche and the mouth bath are part of the daily ceremonial of cleanliness.

Don't forget for one moment that health is the basis of beauty. And build your beauty upon that only sure foundation.

Don't neglect the protection for your skin when you go out or the care for it when you come in from out of doors.

Don't think that to keep the teeth beautiful they must be continually brushed. After the daily brushing remember the mouth bath.

Don't think you are ever too tired for the night toilet. The face must always be washed and cold creamed at night if you value your complexion.

Don't, especially if you are slenderly built, permit the shoulders and chest to sink. If you are too tired to hold them up take a nap, or at least recline for a time.

Wash a la Marie Antoinette~!

~whether this was an actual recipe used by Marie Antoinette or inspired by her delicate complexion, I don't know. I will update if I find out! 

"Marie Antoinette with Rose" ~ Elisabeth Vigee- Lebrun

Take half a dozen lemons and cut them in small slices, a small handful of the leaves of white lilies, and southernwood, and infuse them in two quarts of cow's milk, with an ounce and a half of white sugar, and an ounce of rock-alum. These are directed to be distilled in balneum mariae. The face, at bed-times, is to be rubbed with this water; and it is said that it gives a beautiful lustre to the complexion. It is a safe application, and its effects are certain.                                 

                                   

                           

balneum mariae

recipe source!

Martyrs of Fashion, 1902

Martyrs of Fashion- three ideals of headdresses

source: "The Strand" Magazine, Volume 24, 1902

~Some articles are just too good! This is the entire article, with original illustrations. I am SO curious as to the identity of the actress alluded to in the article, but I can't find anything beyond this article. Also, the methods/practices described here are benign compared to those of today. Much more "false" looking and not without their dangers, but not so invasive.


The last sentence of the article~ "They have committed the fault of passing the boundary at which care of the person ceases to be justifiable, and are after all much less attractive than a healthy milkmaid." -is interesting. Milkmaids were envied for their clear, smooth complexions... and the reason that they had such clear, smooth skin is because they caught a weaker variation of smallpox from cows, thereby escaping the disfiguring effects of smallpox...the resultant pock-marks.


Lots of tid-bits here. Enjoy!

To take care of her person, to correct certain imperfections which disfigure a pretty face, to dress with taste, to obey the exigencies of fashion is, for a woman, not only a permissible coquetry, but almost a conventional duty. At the same time, if to that extent the art of the toilette is quite legitimate, as much cannot be said for the means taken by some women to give themselves the appearance of a beauty denied to them by Nature. To what learned, complicated, and strange recipes they have recourse, to what sufferings they subject themselves light-heartedly, is hardly believable; and beyond question the price paid is a very heavy one for the acquisition of a fictitious beauty—which deceives nobody.

Is it not the dream of almost all women to be beautiful and to remain young? And who thinks of reproaching them for it? What moralist would be so severe as to blame them? To take particular care of her toilette, to select what adornments may assist in giving an agreeable expression to her visage, and to correct whatever faults it may have—nothing is less blamable, nothing is more natural; only the question here is one of extent, a matter of degree. By the side of this wholly allowable coquetry there is another, at which we cannot refrain from smiling, unless we are inclined to feel pity for those who are under its influence: it consists in the complete substitution of artifice for Nature in carrying out a labour of vanity and falsehood which, when all is done, misses its end, since the effect it produces is of the most repugnant kind.

To fashion or cultivate her beauty, then, becomes an art in which all the arts are employed, a science to which all the sciences lend their aid—in which chemistry and medicine, surgery and painting, physics, statuary, and mineralogy all have parts to play.

But it is not only time, trouble, and money that have to be paid in such a case; patience, resignation, and endurance are also demanded. Who is there who does not know the sufferings to which some women will condemn themselves, duped by a mirage of beauty? Who does not know to what lengths they will carry the cruelties of self-martyrdom? Let us call up this spectacle, let us look upon this self-inflicted torture of coquetry pushed to mania, and see how much strength of will may be put at the service of frivolity.

The first merit which calls admiring attention to a woman, and has at all times been celebrated by the poets, is freshness of complexion. The women of Corinth took a bath of perfumed olive oil for two hours daily. In Rome the vapour-bath, followed by douches and massage, occupied the mornings of elegant ladies. Nero's wife, the Empress Poppsea, invented baths of asses' milk, in which she indulged twice a day. Flocks of several hundred asses followed the Court wherever it went, to insure the toilette of the Empress.

Under the Directory Madame Tallien tried baths of crushed strawberries and raspberries. But what is the sort of bath that has not been contrived? Baths of grape and olive skins, of Bordeaux wine, and of champagne have been used. A French doctor recommended baths of fresh blood, and in hundreds of towns bathing-places were provided in the public slaughter-houses. Other votaries of fashion were advised to bury themselves inside the bodies of dead animals, and even in manure-heaps. Modern science has replaced these strange prescriptions by baths of glycerine, and by ammomacal, electric, and chemical baths.

But even those revolting expedients for giving a beautiful hue to the skin were, perhaps, less matters of torture than the wearing through the night of masks, sometimes rigid, sometimes repulsive. In Rome the usage of the mask was so general that it was called the domestic, or husband's, mask. It was fabricated by special slaves every evening, with a paste made of bean flour, or with a mucilaginous product found in the nests of certain sea-birds; or, again, with the sweat of lambs.

In France the domestic mask was in use down to the seventeenth century. We owe to Henry III., who wore it, the recipe for a mask made of flour and white of eggs. This composition hardened on the face during the night, and was softened in the morning with a lotion of chervil. Haricot bean flour, fresh cream, honey, and olive oil entered into the preparation of these masks, which moulded themselves to the features. The chroniclers have left many ironical descriptions of these "stone faces," in which the features of these "elegants" were encased at nightfall, to be broken on the return of daylight and give to view—at least for a few hours—a complexion intact and youthful.

Let us not, however, too strongly accuse of fantasies the "elegants" of other days, with their "stone faces." In the dressingroom of some voluntary victim of coquetry in 1902, what are those freshly-cut and carefully-secreted beefsteaks, lividly raw and red, with powder-boxes near them? Presently, with much of mystery, those steaks will be adjusted with minute care by a lady'smaid to the cheeks of her mistress, held in their places with a bandage, and not removed before the next morning. This energetic recipe is said to be a more effective refresher of the complexion than chemical baths or "beauty pills" poisoned with arsenic; at any rate, the application of it demands courage, mystery, and discretion.

But, defiant of masks, fleshly compresses, and arsenical potions, little deformations will show themselves: tiny indiscreet folds of the skin at the corners of the mouth; the epidermis shrinks about the eyes; the surface of the forehead loses its smoothness; the first wrinkle threatens to assert itself. Treatment at once energetic and immediate is called for. Quickly a veritable arsenal is laid under contribution to eradicate this minim of defect. Behold a series of instruments of hardwood and metal, that look like models of garden implements! They are all for use in the processes of " face massage." For one or two hours daily for weeks —it may be for months—a practitioner employs these tools upon the face of his patient with minute care. Each one of the muscles that may act upon the unfortunate pucker in the skin must be massaged in accordance with the importance of the part it plays. Frictions of alcohol and the application of wet bandages terminate each operation. The wrinkle got rid of, partial masks maintain the smoothness of the epidermis so laboriously obtained, until renewed massage becomes requisite a little later on.

"In the Rooms of a 'Parisian Beautifier'"

The electric treatment is more delicate still: it demands the application of a continuous or intermittent current to the extremities of each of the muscles to be fortified. Five or six electrodes may be applied simultaneously to a face that is becoming wrinkled. The intensity of the currents being very weak, innumerable seances are necessary; and, even if not made painful, the operation is, at least, a very tedious one. Add to this that it has to be accompanied by interior medication—that the patient must be fattened or made thinner, according to the state of the epidermis. The suppression of a wrinkle, therefore, may represent three months of assiduous care, of two hours a day, by mechanical or electrical treatment.
So far, only the preservation intact of Nature's work has been dealt with ; now we come upon something more difficult—the remedying of some of its errors, their curtailment or total elimination. Numerous stories have been told to us of savages scalping their prisoners, of their putting them to death at slow fires; it is to similar tortures a woman will unhesitatingly submit herself who has made the distressing discovery that her upper lip is developing a moustache, or is shadowed by a too positive growth of down, or that her cheeks are being invaded by a hairy excrescence. Depilatory operations are always painful—often dangerous.

The Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans had for this disagreeable growth on the visage the same aversion as ourselves: they tore out both down and hair by very energetic means, extirpating them either with tweezers or by placing on the spot a plaster composed of pitch and quicklime. All the so-called "depilatory" preparations have a caustic base, like the rusma of the Orientals, and burn and injure the skin to a certain depth.

Modern operators practise extraction also. An extremely fine point of hard wood is dipped in crystallizable acetic acid, then applied to the skin beside the hair to be destroyed, which is gently drawn by tweezers. Several applications are made, at intervals of a few minutes; the skin softens, and the point penetrates. The skin then gives way to the least strain put upon it. Whatever the skill of the artist may be, however, the operation is a most painful one —so painful that the extraction of five or six hairs at a sitting is as much as a patient can endure.

modeling brows with electric needle

Electricity may here be introduced. Into the hair itself is inserted a needle of nickelled platinum, through which a conductor causes a current of 4,000 or 5,000 amperes to circulate for a variable period.
Scars often result from this energetic mode of treatment. Besides which, the caprice of electricity, which has its irony, has to be counted with; it may happen that, though it destroys the hair itself, it strengthens the root from which it has sprung and causes a growth of new down, finer and more abundant than ever. The red-hot iron is always the supreme resource—and the supreme torture. This light down was a mere suspicion—a mere shadow; but imagine that a pimple may appear on this epidermis, or perhaps a wart, or streaks and patches of red spread over it! And remember that it is the finest skins that are most exposed to misadventures of that sort' Let surgery come to our assistance; let it cut, slash, tear, and uproot. With a silken thread it strangles excrescences —burns them with acids, or tears away by fragments stains of the skin. This very delicate operation goes on for weeks. Josephine Beauharnais had the patience to allow sixty freckles to be removed from her face with the aid of the knife.

But all these operations appear pale and com monplace by the side of the heroism displayed two years ago by a celebrated actress, to whom truly belongs the martyr's crown. Driven to desperation by seeing her beauty compromised by a series of superficial alterations in her complexion, she decided to have the skin of her face completely changed! She found doctors who undertook the performance of this strange operation, which extended over seven weeks — seven weeks of uninterrupted suffering. All the skin of her face was chemically burned, then detached bit by bit. At the end of two months of suffering the old epidermis had entirely disappeared and been replaced by a skin as rosy, thin, and tender as that of a new-born child! So disconcerting was the aspect of this babylike complexion to a woman of thirty that the desperate actress found herself more ill-looking after the operation than she had thought herself to be before undergoing it, and had to seclude herself for a month to allow her new skin to age a little. At the end of four months, however, the result was perfect; the best friends of the heroic actress all declaring that she was " unrecognisable," so completely was she rejuvenated and transformed!

Seventeenth Century Face Patches

We have suppressed undesirable hairs, blotches, and warts: let us now add to them! We have been at much pains to do all this; and we will now do as much in an opposite direction. It was in the seventeenth century that the use of "patches " was inaugurated. They were cut out of thin black silk or sarcenet, gummed on the back, in the forms of crescents, suns, stars, and comets. They resembled on a face the signs of the Zodiac. They were an indispensable accessory to the play of the features. The placing of them on the temples, near the eyes, and at the corners of the mouth was a special art. A woman of quality always wore from eight to ten, and never went out without her box of patches for the replacing of those that fell off, or for the addition of fresh ones, as occasion might require.

Each one of these patches had a characteristic name: at the corner of the eye, "the impassioned"; in the middle of the cheek, "the gallant"; near the lips, "the coquette"; on a pimple, "the concealer." When she had these all properly placed, a fashionable lady looked as if she had met with some accident to her skin. Even to-day we see ladies who have had little pieces of brown india-rubber inserted under their skin to imitate moles or " beauty-spots."

That is only the beginning. We are now going to witness the whole work of ornamenting a face, of which there is not a feature that cannot be learnedly modified. First, the eye. In antiquity the art of enlarging and darkening the pupil was already known. Ovid says: "The surroundings of the eyes should be slightly darkened, a fine powder blown under the lids to make them appear brilliant and larger, the eyelashes tinted with sepia, the arc of the eyebrows lengthened."

To-day the transformation is not merely superficial. By the absorption of certain poisonous substances—atropine and belladonna, amongst others — a dilation of the pupil is obtained, making it look more expressive and luminous. Around the eye so enlarged some skilful touches with a pencil, prolonging the external opening of the lids; and the application of a flesh-paint, the basis of which is lamp-black, to the lashes, will give a look of brightness to the eyes. Besides all this there needs, for enframing these perfected eyes, well-designed eyebrows and thick lashes. Partial extraction of the hair of the brows and repeated massages may serve to modify their curve.

At the Court of Peter the Great the Russian women of fashion adopted a radical means, that of having their eyebrows entirely extracted, substituting for them a thick layer of black-lead, perfectly designed. Sometimes artificial eyelashes, slightly moistened with collodion, are placed under the natural lashes, which they enlarge. Of course, this work of art must be minutely renewed every day; the effect of belladonna is only momentary; paints become dimmed, and the false eyelids are never of a solidity to be altogether trustworthy.

The face is now to become a veritable palette, on which are all the tones of white, of blue, and of red, to simulate a young and brilliant complexion.

White, called silver or pearl-white, furnishes the first coat and groundwork of the picture. Is it generally known that the elementary essential of all whites is alabaster, pounded and pulverized in special mills mostly installed at Paris? Our "elegants" exhaust every year a quarry of fine marble for the making-up of their faces. The white is spread with a pad of cotton-wool or soft brush, more thickly on the parts where there are wrinkles, or where they may be threatening to appear. The red, chosen from among seventeen shades between rose and vermilion, is laid on lightly in layers and graduated from the top of the cheeks to the beginning of the neck. Finally, with pastels made of powdered talc and indigo, the artist traces in simple lines the course of the veins. One may suppose that the picture is then finished. But what varieties and subtleties enter into this making-up! A visage intended to shine under the rays of powerful lights cannot be treated in the same way as one intended to be seen in the light ot day: there is a red for the evening, a red for the theatre, and another for the town, for the country, for the sea! There is one make-up for fetes and another for simple entertainments!

Even painting has for some years given place to a process highly mysterious and jealously secreted by its practisers: that of enamelling. It substitutes for the outfit of paints a small solid envelope, transparent
and coloured, which covers the face with a coat of enamel. While the most successful make-up of paint cannot long resist exposure to heat, and must be renewed at least once a day, enamel lends the face a brightness that may endure for several weeks. Its inconvenience is the ceramic stiffness, the immobility in which it holds all the features while giving them a brilliant appearance. Its application, moreover, is a long and painful operation. To fix, cold, upon the skin the colouring powers, recourse must be had to acids of a dangerous character. Part of the enamelling must be done in darkness, and two or three days of interrupted treatment are indispensable for rendering the application definitive.

Powdering the Hair

Grave accidents, chronic affections of the skin, often result from enamelling that has been too energetically performed. But the very risk seems to add temptation to this mysterious operation; and who would not brave it to obtain the pearly splendour which turns the visage into a piece of art pottery? Scraped, massaged, polished, electrified, a halo of blue about the large and flashing eyes, the whole face brilliant, this work of art has now to be crowned with a harmoniously-adapted head of hair.

At times when fashion requires that its followers shall have hair of a dark blonde or mahogany colour, what is to be done with black hair but dye it? And what can be done with a thin or failing crop of hair but strengthen it by useful additions, enrich and thicken it?

Dyeing the Hair Venetian Blonde

The Orientals and Egyptians, preferring black hair, obtain it by the use of a lotion composed of Indian ink and rose-water. The young Jewesses used gold-dust to brighten their hair, and it is from them came the fashion of powdered hair. In Rome the "elegants" used dyes of gold colour, greens, and blues. Some of their recipes were very strange. There was one in which the juice of hellebore was mixed with honey and pounded rats' heads. In old France simple powder was at first sufficient; under Charles IX. it was violet, red under Louis XIII. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries white only was used. Mercier, in 1783, protested against the frightful quantity of starch which this fashion caused to be consumed, affirming that cities like London and Paris swallowed up as much meal daily as would have sufficed for the nourishment of ten thousand hungry people.

Modern chemistry lends itself to the most fantastic variations. Who knows what part chance may play in scientific discoveries? It is not less so in regard to capillary art. A doctor visiting a potash manufactory noticed the admirable golden hues of the hair of all the workwomen. A dye with a potash base was immediately combined, producing the Venetian blonde so greatly in vogue of late years. The same effect was formerly attained by exposing the hair to the sun, as shown in the following illustration from an old print. By accident also was the discovery made that the first greying of chestnut hair may be stayed by a lotion of tea. All grades of colour, from black to blonde, are obtained from preparations more or less dangerous, the least peril incurred being the weakening of the growth of hair and the provocation of premature baldness.

The most beautiful heads of natural hair do not equal certain marvellous wigs. In all times women have occasionally worn wigs. "Let us picture to ourselves," wrote M. de Saporta, "Mary Stuart on the scaffold: the executioner raises his axe, decapitates the poor Queen, and, seizing by its long hair the head dripping with blood, cries with all his might: 'God save Queen Elizabeth!' But the distresses of all kinds endured by Mary had stripped her of the blonde tresses of which she had once been so proud: the executioner grasped nothing but a wig, while the head, denuded of its covering, fell noisily on to the floor of the scaffold. For the rest, the Queen of England's head was no better furnished than that of her victim, and her red wig is not less famous."

The eighteenth century must be reached to find that the art of wig-making has attained the highest pitch of perfection—and ridiculousness. Then appeared the headdresses called "opera - boxes," which increased the height of a woman's face to 72m. from the bottom of her chin to the top of her piled-up hair; or those, more extravagant still, called puffs, in which the hair was raised stage above stage, stretched upon frames. In 1774 the Duchesse de Chartres appeared at the opera, her head dressed with a pyramidal puff on which were seen the Due de Beaujolais, her eldest son, in the arms of his nurse, a parrot pecking at a cherry, a little negro, and ciphers made of hairs, even of the Due de Chartres and of Princes.

Though less exacting, our present fashions demand an abundance of hair which has been discreetly augmented by fictitious additions. France alone consumes yearly more than 400,0001b. weight of hair in the making of some 30,000,000 wigs. It is the most costly of artificial beauties, for it has first to be purchased, then kept in order by being die sed daily by the aid of a multitude of products and numerous auxiliaries. The outlay on certain elegant heads of hair would serve to maintain fifteen persons— bald or not.

Now we come to the mouth. On the lips is placed a freshening pigment; on the gums a special rose. The tongue is scraped and rubbed with soft velvet. The teeth are ornamented and fabricated at will. The Annamite women carefully cover their teeth with a salve composed of bone-charcoal, sawdust, and honey; this is an elegance among savages. How much more civilized appears to us the recent fashion of rich American ladies, who, in cavities cut or filed in the hollows of their teeth, set rubies, pearls, diamonds, so that a sparkle underlines every smile of their opened lips?

It is now the turn of the earmodeller. The practice of moulding the ears, which has again become fashionable, is a very old one: the improved shape is effected by training the outer shell of the ear by binding it over pieces of wood of different forms; a cunning ointment is laid over all, and even the least aesthetic ears do not resist this treatment.

And now we come to the nose - maker. Nothing is rarer than a well made, nose; and need it be said of what importance the nose is? To - day noses are remade, refashioned, augmented, the curve of them changed at pleasure. Electric massage, the introduction of cylindrical and expanding sponges into the nostrils, are powerless to effect this prodigy; to achieve it, the skin must be moulded from beneath. The form of the nose chosen, Greek or aquiline, straight or upturned, is carefully moulded in plaster of Paris, with exact dimensions; of this a plaster mould is applied to the nose to be transformed, at the base of which, beneath the skin, a fine syringe charged with pure vaseline is introduced. The process of injection is then carried out, the vaseline penetrates under the skin, which it raises and presses closely against the mould; the pressure on the syringe is maintained until the vaseline injected becomes firm. The mould is then removed, and the nose, recently depressed and ill shapen, exactly resembles the model, only a little discoloured. A trifling daub of red, with some blue veins pencilled, completes this veritable creation, this triumph of modern cosmetics.

 Perhaps you may now declare yourself satisfied with your face. It has cost you quite enough. But, no! Beauty is a matter of proportions. All is lost if you are too big or too little, if you have feet too long, hands too short, a neck too long, a figure too heavy or too thin. What then? You are too tall; your height must be lessened. Your limbs are too long; very well, they must be shortened; too short, they must be lengthened. Let us resign ourselves again heroically to the torture, therefore: an inch has to be taken from the length of our neck, or as much added to it.

To accomplish this there are infallible means. How many processes are there for reducing fat, from the endless band in which women of middle age are swathed to the modern electric corset furnished with invisible batteries! Your limbs are too short? Swedish gymnastics will lengthen and stretch them, by means of apparatus very much resembling some ancient instruments of punishment. The size of a hand cannot be much diminished, but by repeated massages its heavy form may be modified, its fingers better arranged, and their nails freed from flesh. These are objects of great care and energetic treatment. When an ill-formed or ill-placed nail resists the action of polishers and artificial enamel, some "elegants "do not hesitate to submit to have it wholly removed by the burning of its base with acid; the new nail is then, from its birth, treated with infinite care. An actress in London with rare courage is reported to have had the nails on both hands replaced in this way. In Paris alone more than 3,000 specialists are engaged in the fabrication and preservation of beautiful hands.

Is that the end? Not yet. The idea of leaving motion, gesture, attitude, to chance! One must learn to walk, to smile, to execute the least gesture according to a harmonious rhythm. The commonest gesture is taught and repeated that is calculated to increase the effect of the least acquired grace. In fine, when nothing of Nature has been left, the pupil has acquhed the full mastery; the work is complete.

And that work is, veritably, the creation of a new being, artificial and elegant, in whom nothing remains, or at least is visible, of the imperfections imposed by Nature. But are these artificial chefs d'ceuvre worth as much as the sincere and imperfect work of Nature? Painted and enamelled, tinted and moulded to admiration, the heroines of coquetry may at least reproach themselves with having been too successful. They have committed the fault of passing the boundary at which care of the person ceases to be justifiable, and are after all much less attractive than a healthy milkmaid.

removing wrinkles with electric needle

electricity as cure for baldness

Sarah Bernhardt's secrets of beauty

the holy trinity~ diet, exercise and bathing... That, and an unwavering interest in life!

"Life in all its phases has an untiring charm for her." That sentence, we are told by Charles Henry Meltzer, contains the secret of Sarah Bernhardt's power and of her youthfulness still, although sixty-one years have passed over her head, and most of them have been years of storm and strenuosity...

..."In private life the most adulated actress of her day is very simple and very interesting. She has faults (which of us has not?), but she has virtues and great qualities. Her nerves may, to outsiders, make her appear 'sensational.' But in her own home she is a rare comrade, a kind mother, a staunch friend. She is happiest, as she herself would tell you, when, after a hard season at her Paris house or 'on the road,' she retires to her plain little house—an abandoned fort—on the island of- Belle-Isle, in Brittany. There, amid solitude and savagery, and there only, she rests and lives naturally. Her companions are the peasants, the rude fisher folk and the cure of the village in which at times she attends mass. For, though by race a Jewess, she is — or she believes she is — a devout Catholic. Echoes of Paris are brought down to her, even in this retreat, by the artists whom she admits to her intimacy. But at Belle-Isle she shakes off the wearing tyranny, the enthralling spell, the relentless influence of the stage, and reveals herself as a mere woman. Witty to a fault, insatiably curious, an excellent listener and a delightful talker, she makes an ideal hostess. She is interested not only in her own art, but in the affairs of others. Life in all its phases has an untiring charm for her. That is, perhaps, the secret, if there be a secret, of the strange power and youth which, at an age when most are ready to retire, she still enjoys."

source: "Sarah Bernhardt at 61",  Current Literature, Volume 40, 1906

BERNHARDT’S SECRETS of BEAUTY 

“ I want to help you to grow as beautiful as God meant you to be when he thought of you first. Nowhere else in the world,” Dr. Caissarato said, “has the giant of material progress worn such huge seven-league boots as in that young republic of yours; but with all your progress and success you have been culpably blind concerning certain fundamental principles which underlie every fair structure that is being built for all time. You have squandered health as recklessly as a child tosses sands upon the seashore.”

And health means beauty. Health is the pilot that guides us into the port of perfection, and without health all the artificial aids to beauty are as valueless as if we poured a bucket of fresh water into the sea to wash out the salt. Madame Bernhardt has been such a conspicuous figure, both for her wonderful histrionic powers and her marvelous youth, that a few words in regard to this amazing patient of Dr. Caissarato will, I feel sure, prove of interest to the many women who have followed her career with eagerness.

It was while I was in Paris a few years ago that I became acquainted with Dr. Caissarato, a man as famous as physician and beauty culturist as she is as actress. Through him I had the pleasure of having tea with the tragedienne, and enjoyed a half-hour’s chat in homelike familiarity over the tea table. She was well over sixty, and was as supple and active as a woman of forty. I think it was her wonderful activity which first impressed me, her extreme gracefulness and easy, lithe movements that have fascinated so many across the footlights. Not only does she possess youth of body and face, but a youthfulness of thought and expression. Perhaps she divined what was passing in my mind, for she laughingly turned to Dr. Caissarato, a small, serious-faced man with keen eyes and wonderful acumen in judging character.

“Tiens,” she laughed, as she pointed to him dramatically, “I owe it all to him, n’est ce pas? But he makes you work, nothing but work .”

Caissarato smiled.

“To accomplish anything one must work. To build a house, it is work; to train a fine thoroughbred horse, it is work; to cultivate rare roses, it is work.”

Perhaps the doctor’s simile was not very clear, but I understood what he meant. The perfecting of the human body, the culture of beauty, like the culture of rare roses, takes time, and one must work; but, ah, the result! Is it not worth while to keep the perfection of youth and the charm of girlhood intact?

The actress shrugged meaningly.

“What has he made you do, madame?” I asked, eagerly.

“What has he not made me do!” she exclaimed.

“Ah, but I have trained, I have exercised, and bathed—the trinity of beauty, mademoiselle, the three handmaidens that we women who wish to be charming must obey faithfully. Is it not so, Doctor?”

Dr. Caissarato had been with Sarah Bernhardt fourteen years, and during that time he had labored firmly and loyally, implanting his system, and attending to the physical needs of the greatest actress the world has seen.

A few days later I was in the doctor’s office undergoing one of his famous “blueray” treatments for impaired circulation, and once more I approached the subject of Sarah Bernhardt’s youthfulness and undying charm.

“She told you the truth when she said I made her work,” he said. “What happens to a house if you go away and leave it uncared for? It becomes filled with dust and dirt, and in time it falls into ruin and decay. It is so with the human house, the body; if it is not polished and dusted and nourished it falls into ruin. In other words, old age sets in and youth flees.”

“What do you advise the average woman to do to keep herself in condition?” I asked.

“What I make Madame Bemhardt do,” he answered, quickly. “Diet, exercise, bathe.”

“Madame was right, it is the trinity of beauty; without those three no woman can keep her youth or her good looks. The careful woman who prides herself upon her appearance and charm will not find it difficult to comply with a few simple rules. It is not tedious work to become supple and lovely; there is no complex system to follow out; but interest and persistency are needed. The indifferent woman soon grows to look careless and shows the unfailing marks of neglect and the ravages of time. I have no patience with the careless woman,” Caissarato went on, with a touch of contempt; “what is more unattractive than an untidy, badly groomed woman? Health, good looks, charm, youth, are the blessed inheritance of every woman, but through neglect and lack of persistency and cultivation the rose plant bears no roses.”

“Most women are too busy to devote several hours a day to exercises and bathing,” I protested.

“Several hours a day are not necessary. With Madame Bernhardt it is another matter. Her vitality, after each performance, is lowered, and through the emotional parts she plays her nerves are exhausted; therefore she needs extra attention, and the repair work must be done at once. For the average woman half an hour a day will work wonders.”

“And the diet?” I asked.

Dr. Caissarato looked at me, turned off the battery, and motioned to the nurse to remove the glass globe.

“What do you want to know?”

“ I want a concise statement of what you deem necessary for the average woman to do to keep youthful.”

“ H’m.” Caissarato looked thoughtful.

“ Is it very expensive?”

" No,  any woman can afford to diet properly, exercise a certain amount, and bathe.”

“But your system of baths is expensive.”

“ Not at all. There are some baths (beauty baths) that are very costly; but the simple-stimulating baths can easily be afforded by the woman of small means.

Take dieting, for instance; you Americans eat too many sweets and drink too much tea and coffee. They are bad for the nerves, and anything that affects the nervous system is disastrous to beauty. Drink plenty of pure water, cooled—not iced. Eat simple, nourishing foods, and exercise every day, and take either a tub or a regular bath of some stimulating herbs.”

Caissarato took up a handful of dried leaves from a cabinet and held them out to me.

“Dried rosemary, costing a few pennies, is far better for the skin than impure soap. I disapprove utterly of the hot, soapy baths American women indulge in daily.

“These cleansing baths are bound to make the flesh flabby, and flabby flesh is the forerunner of wrinkles. The outer layer of skin begins to shrink, and then old age shows its touch. Get up half an hour earlier in the morning, take a few brisk exercises, bend the body backward and forward, twist slowly from the waist."

“Madame Bernhardt does these faithfully for a half-hour every morning. Then take a warm bath with either salt or, if preferred, a milky bath of herbs."

“Spray the body afterward with cold water, or dilute a good toilet vinegar with water and dash it over the body. Dry with a rough towel, and brush the body thoroughly with a stiff flesh-brush. This will bring up the circulation, which is the great secret of youth—-the blood must flow freely, thus rousing a sluggish liver and throwing off the germs of old age. Eat a light breakfast, and I guarantee you will feel like a different woman.”

According to Dr. Caissarato, the essential thing is to open the pores of the skin by the bath, which is to be followed by abundant friction. Its influence upon body and mind is purifying and invigorating, preparing one for any duty or perplexity that the day may have in store; especially when sleep has not been restful. He says that the warm salt tub will often restore the vitality as much as three or four hours of sleep.

“It is only by experimenting that a woman can determine the frequency and the temperature of baths which best agree with her,” he continued. “No arbitrary rules can be laid down.

“No one should remain in the bath, be it hot, warm, or cold, longer than half an hour, and in most cases ten minutes is long enough. A good substitute for the celebrated beauty bath of milk—the one Sarah Bernhardt has used successfully for years—is the following: Marshmallow flowers, half a pound; hyssop herb, onequarter of a pound; bran flour, four pounds.

“This can be put into an ordinary bath.”

A French device for a calming bath of which Caissarato speaks highly is in the spring and summer to toss three handfuls of wild cowslips into the warm water. An old French beauty bath which has been used by Bernhardt for years is printed herewith. This is unequaled for softening, whitening, and preserving the flesh, and the ingredients are inexpensive and can be procured without difficulty. Caissarato puts great faith in the continued use of this,.and claims that it has preserved the firmness of the tragedienne’s skin, rendering it soft and supple.

After this bath one should take a cup of warm milk, or a raw egg beaten to a froth, or some cooked fruit and a biscuit. Having taken this light meal, Madame Bernhardt shuts herself in her boudoir and studies a new part, or reads. She is then ready for a simple luncheon.

“Long fasts,” Caissarato said, “are extremely bad for the woman who wishes to preserve her youth.
Eat less and oftener, and above all take some easily digested food just before retiring; it induces sleep and calms the nerves. Madame has a light supper on leaving the theater, and after a half-hour’s rest is rubbed down with a mixture of alcohol, camphor, and salt."

“This is the rule for making the rubdown compound":

“ Take a quart bottle, half fill it with pure alcohol, dissolve one ounce of gum camphor in the alcohol, then put in two tablespoonfuls of salt; fill the bottle with water and it is ready to use.

“It is the continued use of one thing that suits you,” says Caissarato, “that brings the desired result. Following this system for a week, then leaving it off for two, will have no effect. Persistency in following out these simple rules has been the magic that Madame Sarah Bernhardt has used to retain her wonderful youth."

The following formulas for toilet vinegars are two that are highly recommended by Caissarato, and can easily be put up, costing but a trifle.

LAIT VIRGINAL

Tincture of benzoin, 1/2 ounce. 

Tincture of vanilla, 2 drachms. 

Triple rose-water, 1 1/2 pints. 

This can be used either plain or diluted, and is very whitening. The following is more elaborate, and should be diluted.

TONIC VINEGAR

Oil of bergamot, 12 grammes.

Oil of citron, 10 grammes. 

Tincture of benzoin, 12 grammes. 

Extract of lavender, 30 grammes. 

Pure white vinegar, 1 3/4 pints. 

Let infuse for ten days, then bottle for use. This, as well as the other, can be used with great effect on the face and neck.

BERNHARDT’S WRINKLE-ERADICATOR

Alum, 6o grains.

Almond milk, 1 1/2 ounces.

Rose-water, 6 ounces.

Dissolve the alum in the rose-water, then pour slowly into the almond milk, stirring constantly. Bottle and use when needed.

BERNHARDT’S BEAUTY BATH

Barley, 2 pounds.

Rice, 1 pound.

Pulverized lupin seed, 3 pounds.

Bran, 6 pounds.

Oatmeal, 2 pounds.

Lavender, 1/2 pound.

Boil, in two quarts of water for an hour. Strain and add two quarts of the decoction to the bathing water, in which there should previously have been dissolved an ounce each of borax and bicarbonate of soda.

source: How to be Beautiful, by Marie Montaigne, 1913

The Divine Sarah

 Dr. Caissarato is also referenced in this post:

Modern Fountains of Youth~ 1913