The Woman Beautiful Part 1

The Woman Beautiful.

by Helen Follett Stevans.

PREFACE

The Woman Beautiful is not a radiant creature of gorgeous plumage and artificial beauty, but a woman of wholesome health, good hard sense, sparkling vivacity and sweet lovableness. Her beauty-creed hangs not from rouge pots and bleaches, but suspends like a banner of truth from the laws of wise, hygienic living. Her cheeks are tinted with the glow that comes from good, well-circulated blood, her eyes are bright and lovely because her mind is so, and her complexion is transparent and soft and velvety for the reason that the true art is known to her. The Woman Beautiful is all sincerity. She doesn't like to sail under false colors and so insult old Dame Nature, whose kindnesses and benefits are so well meant and freely offered.

The Woman Beautiful

THE COMPLEXION

The bloom of opening flowers, unsullied beauty, Softness and sweetest innocence she wears, And looks like Nature in the world's first Spring.

--_Rowe._

Bad complexions cause more heartaches than crushed ambitions and cases of sudden poverty. The reason is plain. Ordinary troubles roll away from the mind of a cheery, energetic woman like water from a duck's back, but beauty worries--well! they have the most amazingly insistent way of sticking to one. You may say you won't think of them, but you do just the same.

It was always thus, and thus it always will be.

Diogenes searched untiringly for an honest man--so they say. Woman, bless her dear, ambitious heart, seeks with unabating energy the ways and means of becoming beautiful.

After all, they're not so hard to find when once the secret of it is known. Like the keys and things rattling about in her undiscoverable pocket, they're right with her. If she will but stop her fretting for a moment, sit down and think, then gird on her armor and begin the task--why, that's all that's needed.

There are three great rules for beauty. The first is diet, the second bathing, and the third exercise. All can be combined in the one word health. But, alas! how few of us have come into the understanding of correct living! It is woman's impulse--so I have found--to buy a jar of cream and expect a miracle to be worked on a bad complexion in one brief night. How absurd, when the cause of the worry may be a bad digestion, impure blood or general lack of vitality! One might just as well expect a corn plaster to cure a bad case of pneumonia, or an eye lotion to remedy locomotor ataxia. The cream may struggle bravely and heal the little eruptions for a day or so, but how can it possibly effect a permanent cure when the cause flourishes like a blizzard at Medicine Hat or a steam radiator in the first warm days of April?

Cold cream, pure powders and certain harmless face washes are G.o.dsends to womankind, but they can't do everything! They have their limitations, just like any other good thing. You may have a perfect paragon of a kitchen lady, whose angel food is more heavenly than frapped snowflakes, but you can't really expect her to build you a four-story house with little dofunnies on the cupolas. Of course not.

Angel cake is her limit! And that's the way with those lovely liquids and things on your pretty spindle-legged dressing table. They can do a good deal in the beautifying line, but they can't do everything. Give them the help of perfect health and scrupulous cleanliness of the skin, and lo! what wonders they will work!

There is but one way--and it's so simple--of making oneself good to look upon. Resolve to live hygienically. There is nothing in the world which works swifter toward a clear, glowing, fine-textured and beautiful complexion than a simple, natural diet of grains and nuts and fruits. But you women--oh! it positively pains me to think of the broiled lobsters, the deviled crabs with tartar sauce, the pickles, and the conglomerate nightmare-lunches that you consume. And yet you're forever fussing over leathery skins, dark-circled eyes and a lack of rosy pink cheeks. Oh, woman! woman! why aren't you wise?

Here are some rules. They're golden, too:

Eat with wisdom and good sense. That means to pension off the pie and its companion workers of physical woe.

Take a tepid sponge bath every day, either upon arising in the morning or just before going to bed.

Limit the hot scrubbings to one a week.

Exercise with regularity, and dress as a rational human being should.

Drink three pints of pure, distilled water every day.

See that the bedroom is well ventilated, and don't heap up the pillows until you have a mountain range upon which to rest your poor, tired head. A flat bed and a low pillow help toward a fine, straight figure and a good carriage.

Keep your feet warm. Give those pretty round yellow silk garters to the girl you hate, and invest in sensible hose supporters. If your circulation is defective, wear wool stockings.

Don't fret. Bear in mind what Sheridan said:

"A night of fretful pa.s.sion may consume All that thou hast of beauty's gentle bloom; And one distempered hour of sordid fear Prints on thy brow the wrinkles of a year."

Then rest. Don't, I beg of you, live on the ragged edge of your nerve force. You need quiet, and all you can get of it. We victims of civilization go through life at a breakneck gallop, and it's an immense mistake. Anyhow, those who know say so. And it sounds reasonable.

But, after all, the complexion is only a small part toward the making of a beautiful woman. The hair must be kept sweet and clean and healthy, and the teeth should be white and lovely. It was Rousseau, you know, who said that no woman with good teeth could be ugly. Then the hands and nails must have proper attention. Deep breathing should be practiced daily and the body properly exercised. The carriage must be graceful, the walk easy and without effort, the eyes bright, the expression of the face cheerful and animated, the shoulders and head well poised--but all these are different stories. There's a chapter in each one of them.

Above all, remember this one rule: Don't fret. Don't wear a look of trouble and worry. Above everything else, remember those delicious lines of the immortal bard:

"You have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, of cloudiness."

And after remembering, refrain.

EXPRESSION.

One of the first things to remember in the cultivation of beauty is expression. Who doesn't enjoy looking upon the young girl, with a bright, cheerful face, laughing eyes and all that? Everybody! And when the grumpy lady or the whiney lady or the lady of woes trots in and sullies your near landscape, how do you feel? Just about as cheery as if she'd come to ask you to attend a funeral!

My dear girls, it doesn't matter if you have got a freckle or two, or if your nose does tilt up just a little too much, if you have a jolly, bright face people will call you pretty. You can count on that every time. Good nature is a splendid beautifier. It brightens the eyes, discourages approaching wrinkles, and brings the apple blossom tints into your cheeks.

Another thing to remember is this: Keep the mind active. There's nothing that will make a stolid, bovine face like a brain that isn't made to get up and hustle. Don't sit around and read lovey-dovey novels or spend your time chatting with that stupid woman next door. Don't forget that life is short and there's not a moment to waste. When hubby discusses the question of expansion just pipe up and show him what you know about it. Don't get into an argument with him, but let him see that you read the papers and that you know a thing or two about pa.s.sing events.

Then don't stay cooped up in the house. Go out every day, if it's only to the corner market, and if you have to wade through snowdrifts. In short, be up and doing. Don't dwell on past griefs or griefs that have not yet arrived. Study is mental development, and mental development usually means a bright, pleasing expression.

USELESS BEAUTY.

As a general rule, the man of brains and good sense--and he's the only man worth considering seriously--heartily despises the useless beauty.

By this I mean the woman who is always togged up and crimped and curled and looks as if she were not worth a row of pins except as a means of livelihood to the modistes and the milliners and the hairdressers! The kind of beauty that I like is the sort that is active, doing, achieving, and working for some good. I believe, and fully too, that we can all appear at our best and yet not look as if we were made of cut gla.s.s and Dresden that would crack or break or peel off if the lake winds happened to take a fancy to blow our way. It may sound at a frightful variance from the general preaching of the beauty teacher, but--between you and me and the ice cream soda that we do not drink because it upsets our stomachs and ruins our complexions--I have simply no use whatever for the little girl who puts in the entire day (and half the night) fussing over her complexion, kinking her hair into seventeen little twists and curlycues, and dabbling lotions and things on her nose till you can't rest. A certain amount of all this is necessary, but don't give your life over to it. The waste of time is enough to make one want to be a Patagonian lady whose sole adornments in the beautifying line consist of a necklace of elephant's teeth and a few Patagonian babies. When beautifying gets to the stage where one has no time for mental refurbis.h.i.+ng it ceases to be beauty culture, and is simply nonsense and loss of time.

I can spot this cla.s.s of women a block away. In my mind's eye I can see them fussing and primping for hours before they are ready to don their street clothes and get down into the shopping district for the day's work of pricing real lace and buying hairpins. And I always look around me and think of what a vast deal of work there is in this great, big, sorrowful old world, and what direful need there is of every one pitching in and helping. To me, the useless woman is not a pretty woman. She is an ornament, like the shepherdess on the mantelpiece or the Spanish lady in the picture frame that hangs in the hallway. But the other woman--the pretty and the useful woman--oh, but she is a sight to make old eyes grow young. Her gown is spotless, her hair all fluffy and lovely, her hat just at the correct angle. She steps along quickly, and you know by the very air about her that she is a worker, be she of the smart set or of the humdrum life that toils and spins from morn till eve. Her eyebrows are not penciled, there is not a trace of rouge on her cheeks, but she is a healthy, well-built, active woman, whose very appearance of neatness, sweetness and buoyancy tells all who see her that she is a devotee of the daily bath, the dumb-bells, the correct and hygienic life.

In half an hour any woman should be able to take her plunge, coddle her complexion, dress her hair, manicure her nails, and attend to her teeth. If more time be needed, then the work is hardly worth the while, for life is mighty short, my dears, and things that must be done pile up as the years go by. At night in fifteen minutes the face and hands can be well washed, the hair brushed and combed and plaited, the teeth well cleaned, and the complexion ma.s.saged with a little pure home-made cream. Of course, when the hair is shampooed or the nails manicured with particular care, or the complexion subjected to a thorough cleansing by steam or ma.s.sage, then more time is necessary.

But the gist of it all is this: Let us not spend so much time on the exterior effect that we will forget that which is most necessary to a beautiful woman--the bright, interesting mind, the love of learning things, the desire to be keeping apace with just a little bit of the world's progress, and, best of all, teaching oneself how to live wisely and well. There never was--to my way of thinking--a brainless, silly woman who was beautiful. It takes the light of intellect, the splendor of sweet womanliness, the glory of kindness, unselfishness and goodness to complete a perfect picture of "the woman beautiful."

WAs.h.i.+NG THE FACE.

A good old stand-by query is about the simple matter of keeping one's face clean. There is no manner of doubt but that the hard water which we have in the cities is responsible for many complexion ills, and that we must not use it too generously upon our complexions if we long for the colors of the rose and the lily in our cheeks. There is nothing in the world so excellent as rain-water for the skin, but it's a great bulging problem as to how those of us who live in yardless flats and apartments can manage to catch the elusive rain-drops. We might as well hope to la.s.so an electric car and hitch it onto our back porches for the babies to play in, I think. When city people persist in telling others to wash their faces in rain-water and thus secure beauty everlasting and glorious, I always have a mental picture of a frantic lady with golden locks a-streaming and her eyes brimful of wildness, rus.h.i.+ng madly down the street with basins and things in her outstretched hands. It's all right if one has rain-barrels or cisterns, but, after years of perspiring and nerve-sizzling flat hunting, I have failed to find apartments provided with either of these luxuries. With folding beds built in the sleeping apartments and steam radiators with real steam in them, the landlords feel that their duties are done.

But to return to our muttons. Those who cannot have real rain-water should use the harder brand sparingly on their faces. A thorough scrubbing at night before going to bed is an absolute necessity, lest the pores of the skin become clogged with the smoke and dust of our murky atmosphere. A little castile soap and a camel's-hair face brush will a.s.sist the cleansing operation. To soften the water, I would advise the following delightful lotion:

Four ounces of alcohol.

One ounce ammonia.