The Patent Mammary Elevator

From a book entitled "The Beautiful Forever Tales", published 1869, by an anonymous author. This is yet another cautionary tale on the tragedy that awaits those who that involve themselves with so mundane and hopeless a pursuit as the pursuit of beauty. Paint, powder and so on were not so much an aesthetic choice in those days as a moral choice and tales such as this were common in reaction to the increased popularity and availability of cosmetics, falsies and the like.  The truly lovely woman concerned herself with devotion to God, husband, children and home, not with vulgar vanity. Some of these moral tales can be quite ponderous and heavy-handed. This one is quite funny, in my opinion.

The title, Beautiful Forever also refers to the name of a booklet published by the infamous Madame Rachel of the time.

"The science, secret, and art of attaining, improving, and preserving personal beauty, graceful development of the body, clear, soft, and lustrous skin, bright and sparkling eyes, luxuriant and glossy hair, profusion of whiskers and moustaches, sound, white, and regular teeth, by rational and hygienic means; likewise of removing or concealing deformities and blemishes of all kinds, including wrinkles, freckles, moles, wens, scars, discolorations, defective limbs, bust, etc., thus rendering the naturally plain person lovely and attractive, and preserving to old age the charms and vivacity of youth. For particulars apply to Madame Cleopatra Pompadour, New Bond Street."

Mrs. Jocund laid down the "Daily Telegraph" in a flutter of delight, while a radiant vision rose up before her—herself restored to youth and beauty once more by the rejuvenating, improving, preserving, and developing process of Madam Cleopatra Pompadour.

She cut the paragraph out, carefully pasted it on a card, called for her boots, put money in her purse, ordered a cab, and in an incredibly short space of time was in New Bond Street.

"What am I to do for you, madam," asked Cleopatra, smiling blandly, and thereby exposing a magnificent set of teeth, the beauty of which spoke volumes in favour of the Pompadour secret, as did also the clear, soft, and lustrous skin, the bright and sparkling eyes, the luxuriant and glossy hair, and the graceful development of body possessed by this remarkable woman.

Mrs. Jocund replied that she had called relative to an advertisement which had appeared in that day's "Telegraph," and tendered the paragraph alluded to.


Cleopatra bowed, motioned her visitor to a couch, and taking a place beside her, said: "To make you beautiful by rational and hygienic means: to give you a graceful development of body, clear, soft, and lustrous skin, bright and sparkling eyes, luxuriant and glossy hair, sound, white, and regular teeth—to endow you with charms which shall all be real—to make you Beautiful Forever, will require time, the change will be gradual, and the process is expensive— very expensive."

The patient's countenance fell, upon which the teeth gleamed again, and the lovely lips continued:

"But in the meantime—while the process is going on—I can make you beautiful by art—supply you with artificial charms of every kind and description: pads, for giving a graceful development to the body; belladonna, for making the eyes bright and sparkling; pearl powder, for rendering the skin clear, soft, and lustrous; rouge, for creating a ravishing blush; dye and interpolating tresses, for causing the hair to seem luxuriant and glossy; the finest ivory masticators, to represent sound, white, and regular teeth, and all these charms are so artfully constructed, and look so natural when on, as to defy detection. I can fill up your wrinkles with enamel, paint out your freckles, and remove or conceal any other deformities or blemishes you may have: moles, wens, scars, discolorations, defective limbs, or bust"

She then conducted the customer through her extensive warehouse, and succeeded in disposing of several articles, boxes of pearl powder, rouge, false tresses, and such like.

1900 cartoon, Jan Duch, Wiki Commons

THE PATENT MAMMARY ELEVATOR

At last they came to a glass case under which reposed a false bosom.

"That," said Cleopatra, "is the newest thing out. We call it the Patent Mammary Elevator, from mamma the Latin for breast. We sell great numbers of them. This one has been purchased by the Duchess of F------- y."

"How beautiful? What a marvel of art! And so natural. What is it made of?"

McClure's Magazine, 1900

"Of a thin skin of caoutouche, or India Rubber, filled with air. It is furnished with a little valve by which the size of the bosom can be regulated to suit individual taste—by blowing into the pipe you can increase the inflation of the bosom, making it larger without destroying its just proportions, and by a reverse process you can make it smaller."

"How ingenious. And, dear me, how light it is—why it is not heavier than a child's balloon. This one, you say, has been purchased by the Duchess of F------ y. Could you have another made for me exactly the same?"

"Egypt Awakening"', Francis Edwin
Elwell, Wiki Commons

THE BOSOM

The answer was favorable, and that evening the bosom was sent home.

The happy purchaser spent many hours each day admiring it, trying it on, and endeavouring to ascertain the exact dimensions which would be most becoming. Not being able to make up her mind as to what were the true dimensions of beauty, or perfect symmetry, she started off to the Exhibition to examine the works of eminent sculptors. The result was that she became more puzzled than ever, for some of the marble nymphs were quite flat and others remarkable for their mammary elevation. While pondering on the strange diversity of tastes exhibited by the artists, and scrutinizing the countenances of the visitors, to gather their opinion on the relative merits of delicacy of proportion and robustness, she suddenly remembered having left the key of the door in the press in which her mammary elevator was locked up. Imagine her consternation! Picture her horror!

STOLEN

Delineator Magazine, 1905

The maid servant, being of a prying disposition, is certain to open the press, and to be frightened into fits on discovering a severed human member reposing on the topmost shelf. What follows?—believing the remainder of the body to be hidden somewhere—perhaps uuder the bed or up the chimney—confident that a terrible crime has been perpetrated— the girl shrieks "murder"—the alarmed household rush to her assistance—the delicate secret transpires, and the result is that the unfortunate owner of the bosom is driven out of society by ridicule.

Upon reaching home Mrs. Jocund rushed up stairs to her room—her worst anticipations were realised—her bosom—the bosom was gone!

The owner of the stolen property sat down upon the bed and cried. The bosom was to have appeared in public at the morrow's cavalry ball, and now all the pleasing anticipations of triumph were doomed to disappointment—of the brilliant castle which she had constructed on the mammary elevation not a vestige was left. The charm had cost twenty pounds, and another twenty could not be commanded.

Who could have taken it? One of the servants of course. But which of them?

TRIUMPHANT APPEARANCE

The servants being summoned, were told that a certain article, which for reasons of a private nature, would not be named, had been taken out of a certain press, that a sovereign would be left upon the spot from which it had been removed, and that if the person who had taken the article would restore it, they might keep the money as a reward, and no questions asked. It was added that the person who had taken the article was known, and if it was not restored, would be dismissed.

The servants all loudly and indignantly disclaimed the imputed theft, observing that they had nothing to live by but their characters. The lady's maid wanted to know if it was she that was suspected. The housemaid made a similar demand.

Mrs. Jocund replied that she did not mean to impeach the honesty of the person she suspected, the article was doubtless taken as a joke. She hoped to see it back in its place that evening, and then there would be an end of the matter.

That evening the bosom, in some unaccountable way, found its way back to the shelf from which it had been taken, and the owner retired to rest with a light heart, to dream of coming triumphs.

The American Monthly Review of Reviews, 1901

"WHAT A MAGNIFICENT BUST!"

On the following night the bosom made it's appearance at the cavalry ball, and became the cynosure of all eyes, the envy of all the women, and the admiration of all the men. A murmur ran round the room, "What a magnificent bust!" In a moment the card of the bosom was full, and delighted were those who had succeeded in snapping it up.

THE BOSOM SWELLS

At first Mrs. J. felt rather afraid of detection, and trembled as she caught the piercing glances of her rivals scrutinising the graceful orbs as they rose and fell with respiration; but after a little time, finding the aforesaid glances continued to gleam with envy untinged with suspicion, she gathered confidence, and commenced to enjoy herself thoroughly. The rooms had not filled when, upon looking down, she discovered, with some little alarm, that the bosom had grown sensibly since her arrival. Yes—there could be no doubt about the matter—it had grown larger; but its increased robustness only added to its beauty. In the excitement of the dance the circumstance was forgotten. Shortly after she went out to flirt and cool herself upon the stairs, where she remained for upwards of an hour, at the end of which time the bosom had assumed its original dimensions. Upon returning to the dancing room she found the apartment had become crowded during her absence, and insufferably hot, but being an inveterate disciple of Terpsichore, she did not hesitate to elbow her way in, and join in the rapid evolutions of the waltz which was going on. Round, round, round she went in a delirium of pleasure, thinking of nothing but the triumph of the moment, for she had as partner the handsomest man in the room. Observing that everybody stared at her, and even the other couples all stopped to gaze, as if spell bound, and attributing the sensation to her own graceful movements, she felt much gratified, and increased her exertions.

Suddenly her partner stopped too, and addressing her very gravely, said, "Madam, I fear you are very ill. Rest one moment here, while I summon Doctor Hargrove, who is in the next room."

Durston, "Giantomastia"' , Wiki Commons

IT GETS BIGGER AND BIGGER

Following the direction of the speaker's eye, the unhappy woman looked down, and discovered that the bosom was swollen to enormous dimensions, and was still rising—still expanding—still getting bigger and bigger. 


Oh! the agony of that moment! She grew crimson, and tried to reach the door, but the room was crowded, the stairs were jammed, and retreat in time seemed impossible.

LAMENTABLE CATASTROPHE

"I am ill—Oh! I am very ill—let me go home?" she implored.

"Take my arm, madam," said an elderly gentleman, who proved to be Doctor Hargrove, "Lean on me—make way, gentlemen —make way, ladies—don't you see the lady is very ill!"

They did see it, they thought she was dying, and, regardless of their delicate ball dresses, tried to make a passage. Some fainted, some went into hysterics, while others came close to examine the preternatural phenomenon.

"Oh, quick, quick, please, quick, quick," prayed the unhappy possessor, seeing the bosom was now swollen nigh to bursting, and was still increasing in size, so that a catastrophe seemed inevitable; and, wild with despair, she battled with those who opposed her progress.

COLLAPSE OF THE BOSOM

Alas, it was too late! Before she had got half way across the room, the patent mammary elevator exploded—the bosom blew up with a loud report, and then, collapsing, shriveled up to nothing!!!

The wretched owner, terrified by the anticipations of exposure, fainted. And well, perhaps, for her was it that she did so before the true nature of the catastrophe was made evident by the withered fiction popping up, like a liberated jack in the box, from the ruins of the lately blooming fiction. The universal and unextinguishable burst of laughter which then arose would have killed her.

The secret of the explosion was this: the artificial bosom had been abstracted, not by any of the servants, but by those two incorrigible practical jokers, Hal Higgins and Sam Spoon. These malicious humourists had introduced into each of the mammary orbs a small quantity of a fluid which has the property of vapourising at a very low temperature. When the ball-room grew crowded, the temperature became sufficiently elevated to cause the ether to commence changing its state to a gaseous fluid, thereby expanding the bosom until the thin India Rubber sides, being no longer able to sustain the tension caused by the liberated gas, were rent asunder with great violence.

"Phyrne", anonymous, Wiki Commons

An Idea of the Arts of Beautifying, Perfuming, Alchymy and Chiromancie

How can one resist a sales pitch like this?

By our directions you may attain such a rosid colour, and such a lively cheerfulness, as shall not only make you look like natures workmanship, but also put admiration into the beholders, and fix them in a belief, that you are the first-fruits of the resurrection. Thus we teach you lippid mortalls to retrace the steps of youthfulness, and to transform the wrinkled hide of Hecuba into the tender skin of the greatest of beauties, which then you will dull by the advance of your Features, and make all conceited shadows of glory, to vanish in your presence. When once your artificial heat shall appear, others shall seem pale with envy for your perfections; and their natural ruddiness shall only serve them to blush, to see their features clouded by your splendor, who will seem like brown bread compared with Manchet,or rather like wooden dishes upon a shelf of China ware,or as another once said, like blubber'd jugs in a cupboard of Venice glasses, or as earthen piss pots in a Goldsmiths shop. By this means your sparkling Glories shall fire Platonick Lovers, so that none though as cold as Saturn, shall be able to resist your actuating flames, but shall force the stoutest heart, to be a Sacrifice to Love. 

by William Salmon, Professor of Physick, 1685. The treatise, "Polygraphice: Or the Arts of Drawing, Engraving, Etching, Limming, Painting ..." will teach you to draw, paint, engrave, sculpt AND prepare cosmetics that will make you astoundingly youthful and beautiful! Never mind that some of the recipes contain mercury and other nefarious ingredients... proceed at your own risk:)

a link to the book: polygraphice

Learn to LOVE and to pray...

"Picture her to yourself, and 

ere you be old, learn to LOVE and to PRAY!"

~William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

an excellent cautionary tale that beauty is fleeting ~ published 1755

Dorinda at her Glass

by Mrs. Leapor

DORINDA, once the fairest of the train, 
 Toast of the town, and triumph of the plain; 
Whose shining eyes a thousand hearts alarm'd, 
Whose wit inspired, and whose follies charm'd: 
Who, with invention, rack'd her careful breast 
To find new graces to insult the rest, 
Now sees her temples take a swarthy hue, And the dark veins resign their beauteous blue; 

While on her cheeks the fading roses die, 

And the last sparkles tremble in her eye. 

Bright Sol had drove the fable clouds away, 

And chear'd the heavens with a stream of day, 

The woodland choir their little throats prepare,

To chant new carols to the morning air:

In silence wrapp'd, and curtain'd from the day,

On her fad pillow lost Dorinda lay;

To mirth a stranger, and the like to ease,

No pleasures charm her, nor no slumbers 

please.

For if to close her weary lids she tries,

Detested wrinkles swim before her eyes;At length the mourner rais'd her aking head,

And discontented left her hated bed.

But sighing shun'd the relicks of her pride,

And left the toilet for the chimney side:

Her careless locks upon her shoulders lay

Uncurl'd, alas! because they half were gray;

No magick baths employ her skilful hand,

But useless phials on her table stand:

She flights her form, no more by youth inspir'd,

And loaths that idol which she once admir'd.

At length all trembling, of herself afraid,

To her lov'd glass repair'd the weeping maid,

And with a sigh address'd the alter'd shade.

Say, what art thou, that wear'st a gloomy form,

 With low'ring forehead, like a northern storm;

 Cheeks pale and hollow, as the face of woe, 

And lips that with no gay vermilion glow?

 Where is that form which this false mirror told

 Bloom'd like the morn, and shou'd for ages hold; 

But now a spectre in its room appears,

 All scar'd with furrows, and defac'd with tears;

 Say, com'st thou from the regions of despair,

 T0 shake my senses with a meagre stare 

 Some straggling horror may thy phantom be, 

But surely not the mimick shape of me. 

Ah! yes~~~ the shade its mourning visage rears,

Pants when I sigh, and answers to my tears: 

Now who shall bow before this wither'd shrine, 

This mortal image that was late divine? 

What victim now will praise these faded eyes, 

          Once the gay basis for a thousand lyes? 

Deceitful beauty~~~ false as thou art gay,

And is it thus thy vot'ries find their pay; This the reward of many careful years, 

Of morning labours, and of noon-day sears, 

The gloves anointed, and the bathing hour, 

And soft cosmetick's more prevailing pow'r? 

Yet to thy worship still the fair-ones run, 

And hail thy temples with the rising sun; 

Still the brown damsels to thy altars pay 

Sweet-scented unguents, and the dews of May; 

Sempronia smooths her wrinkled brows with care, 

And Isabella curls her gristed hair: 

See poor Augusta of her glass afraid, 

Who even trembles at the name of maid, 

Spreads the fine Mechlin on her shaking head, 

While her thin cheeks disown the mimick red. 

Soft Sylvia, who no lover's breast alarms, 

Yet simpers out the ev'ning of her charms, 

And though her cheek can boast no rosy dye, 

Her gay brocades allure the gazing eye. 

But hear, my sisters, hear an ancient maid,

Too long by folly, and her arts betray'd;

 From these light trifles turn your partial eyes, 

 'Tis fad Dorinda prays you to be wise; 

And thou, Celinda,'thou must shortly feel 

The sad effect of time's revolving wheel; 

Thy spring is past, thy summer fun declin'd, 

See autumn next, and winter stalks behind: 

But let not reason with thy beauties fly, 

Nor place thy merit in a brilliant eye; 

'Tis thine to charm us by sublimer ways, 

And make thy temper, like thy seatures, please: 

And thou, Sempronia, trudge to morning pray'r, 

Nor trim thy eye-brows with so nice a care; 

Dear nymph, believe 'tis true, as you're alive,

 Those temples stew the marks of fifty-five. 

 Let Isabel unload her aking head 

Of twisted papers, and of binding lead; 

Let sage Augusta now, without a frown, 

 Strip those gay ribbands from her aged crown; 

Changed the lac'd flipper of delicious hue 

For a warm stocking, and an easy shoe; 

Guard her swell'd ancles from rheumatick pain, 

And from her cheek expunge the guilty stain. 

  Wou'd smiling Sylvia lay that hoop aside, 

'Twou'd shew her prudence, not betray her pride: 

She, like the rest, had once her flagrant day, 

But now she twinkles in a fainter ray. Those youthful airs set off their mistress now, 

Just as the patch adorns her autumn brow: 

In vain her feet in sparkling laces glow, 

Since none regard her forehead, nor her toe. 

Who would not burst with laughter, or with spleen, At Pruda, once a beauty, as I ween? 

But now her features wear a dusky hue, 

The little loves have bid her eyes adieu: 

Yet she pursues the pleasures of her prime, 

And vain desires, still unsubdu'd by time; 

Thrusts in among the frolick and the gay, 

But shuts her daughter from the beams of day:  

The child, she says, is indolent and grave, 

And tells the world Ophelia can't behave: 

But while Ophelia is forbid the room, 

Her mother hobbles in a rigadoon; 

Or to the found of melting musick dies, 

And in their sockets rolls her blinking eyes; 

Or stuns the audience with her hideous squall, 

While scorn and satire whisper through the hall. 

image source~ wiki commons

  Hear this, ye fair ones, that survive your charms, 

Nor reach at folly with your aged arms; 

Thus Pope has sung, thus let Dorinda sing; 

"Virtue, brave boys, 'tis virtue makes a king."

Why not a queen ? fair virtue is the fame 

In the rough hero, and the smiling dame: 

Dorinda's soul her beauties shall pursue, 

Though late I see her, and embrace her too: 

Come, ye blest graces, that are sure to please, 

The smile of friendship, and the careless ease; 

The breast of candour, the relenting ear, 

The hand of bounty, and the heart sincere: 

May these the twilight of my days attend, 

And may that ev'ning never want a friend, 

 To smooth my passage to the silent gloom, 

And give a tear to grace the mournful tomb.