From the French of M. AUGUSTIN CHALLAMEL.
When we speak of past fashions, we must always mention sumptuary
laws at the same time; that is to say, remedial measures against the
excesses of caprice and luxury. As if wisdom could be decreed by law!
We know their unsuccessful results. But even at the present day, when
difference of rank is no longer marked by difference of dress, we
sometimes meet with persons who are indignant with a working woman if
she ventures to wear a silk gown or a velvet cape on Sunday.
“No, I can not understand the government not interfering!” exclaimed a
charming “great lady” the other day. “Only a week ago I was elbowed by
a girl with a gown identically like my own! It is really disgraceful!
The rest of the costume did not harmonize with the gown, and the effect
was wretched; besides, extravagance and equality in dress are the ruin
of scores of working girls. There ought to be a law against it.”
The laws regulating the quality and cost of dress have been tried
extensively in the past, and had the lady known the history of past
fashions, she would hardly have wished as she did. Far back in the
twelfth century sovereigns began to issue sumptuary laws in order to
restore respect for the inequality of rank, and to prevent one woman
from wearing garments exclusively reserved for another. Philip Augustus
raised his voice against fur. Philip the Fair issued prohibitions the
wording of which enlightens us considerably in regard to the manners
and customs of those times. “No citizen may possess a chariot, nor
wear grey fur, nor ermine, nor gold, nor jewels, nor belts, nor
pearls. Dukes, counts, and barons, with six thousand livres a year,
may have four pair of gowns a year, and no more, and their wives
may have as many. No citizen, nor esquire, nor clerk shall burn wax
lights.” Baron’s wives, howsoever great, could not wear a gown that
cost more than twenty-five cents by the Paris yard; the wives of a lord
were restricted to eighteen cents, and of a citizen to sixteen cents
and a half. These regulations proceeded probably from the following
circumstance: On the occasion of the solemn entrance of the queen into
Bruges in 1301, she saw so many women of the middle ranks so gorgeously
appareled that she exclaimed, “I thought I was queen, but I see there
are hundreds.” Philip evidently thought it time to restrain the license
that allowed women of any rank to equal his queen.
Notwithstanding legislative prohibitions, the desire of attracting
attention led all women to dress alike. From this resulted a
confusion of ranks absolutely incompatible with mediæval ideas. Saint
Louis forbade that certain women should wear mantles or gowns with
turned-down collars, or with trains or gold belts. But fashion bid
defiance to law. The great ladies were not yet protected. More than an
hundred years later, in the reign of Francis I., we find the fashion of
wearing three gowns, one over the other, resorted to to preserve the
distinction in dress. Says a writer of the times: “For one coat that
the wife of a citizen wears, the great lady puts on three, one over the
other; and letting them all be seen equally, she makes herself known
for more than a bourgeoise.”
Even the quality and color of stuffs have been restricted. Henry
II. allowed no woman, not a princess, to wear a costume entirely of
crimson. The wives of gentlemen might have one part only of their
under dress of that color. Maids of honor might wear velvet of any
color except crimson. The wealthy classes longed to wear the forbidden
material, but the law only allowed them velvet when made into petticoat
and sleeves. Working-women were forbidden to wear silk. The complaints
became so loud that at last the law-giver was moved with compassion,
and allowed bands of gold to be worn on the head, gave permission to
the working-women to trim their gowns with borders or linings of silk,
and allowed them to wear sleeves of silk—a whole dress of such material
was denied. These restrictions were rigorously enforced, and Rousard
the poet exclaims:
“Velvet grown too common in France
Resumes, beneath your sway, its former honor;
So that your remonstrance
Has made us see the difference
Between the servant and his lord,
And the coxcomb, silk-bedecked,
Who equalled your princes,
And rich in cloth of silk went glittering
On his way showing off the bravery of his attire.
I have far more indulgence for our fair women,
Who in dresses far too precious
Usurp the rank of the nobles,
But now the long-despised wool
Resumes its former station.”
It did not hold its station, however. Before the century was out
Charles IX. resumed the war against fashion and extravagance. He
sent out this edict: “We forbid our subjects, whether men, women, or
children, to use on their clothes, whether silken or not, any bands of
embroidery, stitching, or pipings of silk, gimp, etc., excepting only a
border of velvet or silk of the width of a finger, or at the uttermost
two borderings, chain-stitchings or back stitchings at the edge of
their garments. Nor shall women of any rank wear gold on their heads,
except during the first year of her marriage,” etc.
Such a king would find much cause for prohibitory edicts at the present
day. And it was not long before kings and courtiers realized that
fashion was the most absolute of all sovereigns. In 1680 some one
laments that “No longer are our ladies to be distinguished from the
women of the people.” Sumptuary laws never filled the demand, nor are
they the proper weapons by which to overcome extravagance and folly in
dress.
Montaigne writes in 1603 of these attempts to regulate expenses: “The
way seems to be quite contrary to the end designed. The true way would
be to beget in men a contempt of silks and gold, as vain and frivolous,
and useless; whereas, we augment to them the value, and enhance the
honors of such things, which is a very absurd mode of creating a
disgust. For to enact that none but princes shall eat turbot, shall
wear velvet or gold lace, and to interdict these things to the people,
what is it but to bring them into greater esteem, and to set every
man more agog to eat and wear them? Let kings leave off these ensigns
of grandeur, they have enough others besides; these excesses are more
excusable in any other than a prince. ’Tis strange how suddenly and
with how much ease custom in these different things establishes itself
and becomes authority. We had scarce worn cloth a year at court for
the mourning of Henry II., but that silks were already grown into such
contempt that a man so clad was despised. Let kings but take the lead
and begin to leave off this expense, and in a month the business will
be done throughout the kingdom without edict or ordinance. We shall all
follow.”