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

Tight-lacing!

Tight lacing, or, The cobler's wife in the fashion, 

Tight Lacing In The Pulpit.

[Mr. Haweis  addressing a crowded Congregation at St. James's, Marylebone, spoke very strongly on the Criminal Ignorance and thoughtlessness of Tight Lacing.]

What is it makes a lady's head 

Feel heavy as a lump of lead? 

What makes her nose's tip so red? 

 Tight-lacing!

What makes her cheek burn like a coal, 

Her feet as cold as Arctic pole? 

What cramps her body and her soul? 

Tight-lacing!

What makes her temper short and sharp? 

What causes her to fret and carp, 

And on the smallest ills to harp? 

Tight-lacing

Tight-lacing!

What checks her proper circulation,

And dulls her ordinate sensation?

What blighted babes breeds for the nation?

Tight-lacing!

What makes her waist a wasp-like thing, 

And gives her tongue a waspish sting? 

What baulks her when high notes she'd sing? 

Tight-lacing!

What is it, with its vice-like squeeze,

Destroys its fated victim's ease,

And brings her doctors countless fees?

Tight-lacing!

Fashion before Ease... James Gilray

What is it makes her gasp for breath, 

And—so stern modern science saith— 

Dooms her too oft to early death? 

Tight-lacing!

What brings a "corn upon her heart," 

And makes her—spoil'd by cruel art— 

Unfit to play the mother's part ?— 

Tight-lacing!

What tortures her into a shape 

Which "ruts the liver " past escape, 

And which, at most, makes gommeux gape ?— 

Tight-lacing!

What beauty's lines in her destroys, 

And fashion's powerful aid employs, 

To crush from out her life its joys ?— 

A Little Tighter, Rowlandson

Tight-lacing!

What ages her before her time,

And makes her feeble ere her prime?

What tempts to a self-suffer'd crime ?—

Tight-lacing!

What quite ignoring nature's facts,

Her waist so cruelly contracts,

That each inch saved fresh pain exacts?

Tight-lacing!

And what bad fashion of the day

Is it that ladies now should say

They'll spurn without an hour's delay ?—

Tight-lacing!

text: Parodies of the works of English & American authors, Volume 2, 1885

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.

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