Dear Sir, - I was a little surprised and a great deal flattered when my lengthy epistle appeared in a recent issue of "London Life". Had I, at the time when I composed it, seen "Violetta's" two charming letters communicated by miss Roper to the January Double number, covering so much of the same ground so adequately, I might not, indeed, have ventured to send it in!
It seems rather late in the day to comment on anything more than two months old, but I feel I must say a little in criticism of the drawing - in itself beautiful - that accompanied "Violetta's" letters. I'm quite sure that she did not do it herself or that it was copied from a photograph of her or any other monopede. The young lady depicted is not one-legged at all; if she were, her pose would be absolutely impossible!
"Violetta" tells us that she has lost her left leg, but the girl in the illustration, from the set of her body, is resting practically her whole weight on her left leg, concealed on her ample shirt. AS the toe of her right shoe is visible, she has not lost that leg either, so the crutch, prominently displayed though it is actually supporting nothing but the arm resting on it, must be necessitated by some other disability, say, partial paralysis of the right leg.
Nor could the bride carry the bouquet shown; she would require her free hand to manipulate her voluminous drapery, that would otherwise make the single crutch mode of locomotion quite impracticable, and anyhow, she would be debarred from the support of a male arm going along the aisle.
One final point of criticism - please forgive me! "Violetta" distinctly says that she was married in wreath and veil. In the drawing no wreath is shown - only a strange horned headdress remarkably suggestive of a gentleman whose presence at a wedding would hardly be welcome.
As for the monopede bride who was the pretext of my letter, I enclose three very rough sketches of the rig-outs I suggested, in so far as I can visualise them. Should you find anything in them of any value for publication, they might be re-drawn by your staff artist and the costumes corrected in detail (I'm not a fashion expert!) and brought into line with the modes of the moment. I have given the bridal dress as long a skirt as, under the circumstances, would be either safe or convenient, thought it might be a good deal fuller, if so wished, as might the veil, so long as the bridesmaids were handy to keep it under control. The hint of a fleur-de-lis pattern embroidered on the corsage is by way of a symbolical substitute for a bouquet.
In the second figure the coat is in the "edge-to-edge" variety I have seen prominently displayed in shop windows lately. Its length is more for the purpose of protection of the wearer's leg from cold than for anything else. The fastening buckle, the ornament on the hat and the shoe buckle should all be similar in material (diamond, silver or marcasite), and technique, though not necessarily so in actual design. The earrings, too, should match them more or less.
The third costume, with summer hat and veil, requires no comment.
I have given all three figures gloves, even though these would have been removed for the actual ceremony, as gloves would seem essential for public wear when crutches are used; they would would always be of the same colour as the latter, unless direct contrast - e.g., black and whiter black and red, red and white be the keynote of the ensemble. Similarly, the fur shown as worn with the coat should either be of silver fox or chinchilla to match, or else of black fox to match hat, crutches and shoe; and the veil, if worn at all, of corresponding pearl grey or black net.
The reason for my suggestion that the bride should prefer "very short step-ins" as part of her underwear is admirably illustrated by the episode that "Violetta" so movingly describes, of her mother's tears at the sight of her empty knicker leg.
When likely to remove upper garments in other people's presence, the monopede should never wear knickers appreciably longer than her stump, as a long knicker leg flapping empty emphasises her one-leggedness and so evokes the unwelcome sympathy of the sentimental.
The second part of Mr. Stort's article in the March double number brings up all manner of points of interest to those possessed of the "monopede complex." I fully endorse his views as to the danger and injuriousness of the single-crutch method of progression, as putting and unnatural strain on the shoulder girdle and spinal column and tending also to impose excessive work on the remaining leg. Even indoors a pair of crutches should be used for support when long standing is necessary - e.g., for such a job as ironing. I am not so sure, either, about the aesthetic appeal of a girl on one crutch. Surely the charm of a monopede lies largely in the contrast of asymmetry and symmetry the asymmetrical body (the human body appears asymmetrical from most points of view) heightened in its asymmetry by the missing leg, balanced by the ultra-asymmetrical effect of progression on a pair of crutches.
The one-crutch method exaggerated the effect of one-leggedness, and so of asymmetry, to the brink of distortion, and a preference for it shows descent from an intellectual eccentricity to sheer freakishness of taste. I suspect the young men who prefer their monopede girl friends to adopt the single crutch do so mainly because it leaves an arm free to hold on to theirs by, and so the double support is restored.
(You will notice I've given the bride of my sketches a pair of crutches each time, though she would almost certainly replace the off-crutch by the bridegroom's arm coming down the aisle, even if she had not done so by her father's when advancing to the altar or registrar's desk.)
As for the origin of the "monopede's complex" in individuals; with me it began in my late 'teens with the chance meeting with a one-legged girl (she was one of a party I conducted round an anatomical museum), with whom I afterwards struck up a friendship.
Short-sighted as a schoolboy, and unable to wear glasses through the frequent rough-and-tumbles incidental to school life in those days, I thus found an acquaintance I could recognise infallibly at any distance in any costume! She was rather a wonderful person, heavily built and muscular. I remember her once walking seven miles at a stretch on the spring-topped crutches she affected, and that I still think the best make (as well as the smartest looking!) for a heavyweight monopede.
In later years I have met with several of my sex with a similar interest in the fair one-legged - notably the husband and adoring younger brother, respectively, of the most beautiful monopede I know; a Cambridge Undergraduate of recent vintage in whom the complex appears to have arisen quite spontaneously; and, most sensational of all, a young house surgeon in a London hospital, who became engaged to a beautiful girl whom he saw for the first time on the operating table when he administered the anesthetic for the amputation!
Finally, as regards the limbless beauty so vividly described in the last part of Mr. Stort's article, I remember hearing as long ago as 1915 of a Parisian stage star - I've forgotten her identity, though it was made no secret of at the time - who was forced to leave the theatre by the onset of a mysterious necrosis of all her limb-bones that was expected to cause her death in a few months at most, but who, with typically French patriotic fervour, expressed her intention of keeping alive, if only by sheer will-power, till the enemy were driven from the soil of France! I never heard if she achieved her desire, but it looks as if she did and, by submitting to timely amputation, lived to become the idolised wife who aroused such interest in Mr. Stort's circle.
As for "Missed the Boat," he has my full sympathy. He should have been quicker on the uptake. I, too, had a not dissimilar, though not quite so extraordinary, experience myself, of which I still occasionally think with regret. Some day, perhaps, I may write about it!
I'm afraid, sir, I've been even more prolix this time than last; But, anyhow, you haven't been forced to read my rigmarole.
Yours truly,
C. D. B..