The political economist replies that it is!
One of our old dramatic writers, who witnessed the singular extravagance
of dress among the modellers of fashion, our nobility, condemns their
"superfluous bravery," echoing the popular cry--
"There are a sort of men, whose coining heads
Are mints of all new fashions, that have done
More hurt to the kingdom, by superfluous bravery,
Which the foolish gentry imitate, than a war
Or a long famine. _All the treasure by
This foul excess is got into the merchants',
Embroiderers', silkmen's, jewellers', tailors' hands,
And the third part of the land too!_ the nobility
Engrossing _titles only_."
Our poet might have been startled at the reply of our political
economist. If the nobility, in follies such as these, only preserved
their "titles," while their "lands" were dispersed among the industrious
classes, the people were not sufferers. The silly victims ruining
themselves by their excessive luxury, or their costly dress, as it
appears some did, was an evil which, left to its own course, must check
itself; if the rich did not spend, the poor would starve. Luxury is the
cure of that unavoidable evil in society--great inequality of fortune!
Political economists therefore tell us that any regulations would be
ridiculous which, as Lord Bacon expresses it, should serve for "the
repressing of waste and excess by _sumptuary laws_." Adam Smith is not
only indignant at "sumptuary laws," but asserts, with a democratic
insolence of style, that "it is the highest impertinence and presumption
in kings and ministers to pretend to watch over the economy of private
people, and to restrain their expense by sumptuary laws. They are
themselves always the greatest spendthrifts in the society; let them
look well after their own expense, and they may safely trust private
people with theirs. If their own extravagance does not ruin the state,
that of their subjects never will." We must therefore infer that
governments by extravagance may ruin a state, but that individuals enjoy
the remarkable privilege of ruining themselves without injuring society!
Adam Smith afterwards distinguishes two sorts of luxury: the one
exhausting itself in "durable commodities, as in buildings, furniture,
books, statues, pictures," will increase "the opulence of a nation;" but
of the other, wasting itself in dress and equipages, in frivolous
ornaments, jewels, baubles, trinkets, &c., he acknowledges "no trace or
vestige would remain; and the effects of ten or twenty years' profusion
would be as completely annihilated as if they had never existed." There
is, therefore, a greater and a lesser evil in this important subject of
the opulent, unrestricted by any law, ruining his whole generation.
Where "the wealth of nations" is made the solitary standard of their
prosperity, it becomes a fertile source of errors in the science of
morals; and the happiness of the individual is then too frequently
sacrificed to what is called the prosperity of the state. If an
individual, in the pride of luxury and selfism, annihilates the fortunes
of his whole generation, untouched by the laws as a criminal, he leaves
behind him a race of the discontented and the seditious, who, having
sunk in the scale of society, have to reascend from their degradation by
industry and by humiliation; but for the work of industry their habits
have made them inexpert; and to humiliation their very rank presents a
perpetual obstacle.
Sumptuary laws, so often enacted and so often repealed, and always
eluded, were the perpetual, but ineffectual, attempts of all governments
to restrain what, perhaps, cannot be restrained--criminal folly! And to
punish a man for having ruined himself would usually be to punish a most
contrite penitent.
It is not surprising that before "private vices were considered as
public benefits," the governors of nations instituted sumptuary
laws--for the passion for pageantry and an incredible prodigality in
dress were continually impoverishing great families--more equality of
wealth has now rather subdued the form of private ruin than laid this
evil domestic spirit. The incalculable expenditure and the blaze of
splendour of our ancestors may startle the incredulity of our
_elegantes_. We find men of rank exhausting their wealth and pawning
their castles, and then desperately issuing from them, heroes for a
crusade, or brigands for their neighbourhood!--and this frequently from
the simple circumstance of having for a short time maintained some
gorgeous chivalric festival on their own estates, or from having melted
thousands of acres into cloth of gold; their sons were left to beg their
bread on the estates which they were to have inherited.
It was when chivalry still charmed the world by the remains of its
seductive splendours, towards the close of the fifteenth century, that I
find an instance of this kind occurring in the _Pas de Sandricourt_,
which was held in the neighbourhood of the sieur of that name. It is a
memorable affair, not only for us curious inquirers after manners and
morals, but for the whole family of the Sandricourts; for though the
said sieur is now receiving the immortality we bestow on him, and _la
dame_ who presided in that magnificent piece of chivalry was infinitely
gratified, yet for ever after was the lord of Sandricourt ruined--and
all for a short, romantic three months!
This story of the chivalric period may amuse. A _pas d'armes_, though
consisting of military exercises and deeds of gallantry, was a sort of
festival distinct from a tournament. It signified a _pas_ or passage to
be contested by one or more knights against all comers. It was necessary
that the road should be such that it could not be passed without
encountering some guardian knight. The _chevaliers_ who disputed the
_pas_ hung their blazoned shields on trees, pales, or posts raised for
this purpose. The aspirants after chivalric honours would strike with
their lance one of these shields, and when it rung, it instantly
summoned the owner to the challenge. A bridge or a road would sometimes
serve for this military sport, for such it was intended to be, whenever
the heat of the rivals proved not too earnest. The sieur of Sandricourt
was a fine dreamer of feats of chivalry, and in the neighbourhood of his
castle he fancied that he saw a very spot adapted for every game; there
was one admirably fitted for the barrier of a tilting-match; another
embellished by a solitary pine-tree; another which was called the meadow
of the Thorn; there was a _carrefour_, where, in four roads, four
knights might meet; and, above all, there was a forest called
_devoyable_, having no path, so favourable for errant knights who might
there enter for strange adventures, and, as chance directed, encounter
others as bewildered as themselves. Our chivalric Sandricourt found nine
young _seigneurs_ of the court of Charles the Eighth of France, who
answered all his wishes. To sanction this glorious feat it was necessary
to obtain leave from the king, and a herald of the Duke of Orleans to
distribute the _cartel_ or challenge all over France, announcing that
from such a day ten young lords would stand ready to combat, in those
different places, in the neighbourhood of Sandricourt's _chateau_. The
names of this flower of chivalry have been faithfully registered, and
they were such as instantly to throw a spark into the heart of every
lover of arms! The world of fashion, that is, the chivalric world, were
set in motion. Four bodies of assailants soon collected, each consisting
of ten combatants. The herald of Orleans having examined the arms of
these gentlemen, and satisfied himself of their ancient lineage and
their military renown, admitted their claims to the proffered honour.
Sandricourt now saw with rapture the numerous shields of the assailants
placed on the sides of his portals, and corresponding with those of the
challengers which hung above them. Ancient lords were elected judges of
the feats of the knights, accompanied by the ladies, for whose honour
only the combatants declared they engaged.
The herald of Orleans tells the history in no very intelligible verse;
but the burthen of his stanza is still
_Du pas d'armes du chasteau Sandricourt._
He sings, or says,
Oncques, depuis le tempts du roi Artus,
Ne furent tant les armes exaulcees--
Maint chevaliers et preux entreprenans--
Princes plusieurs ont terres deplacees
Pour y venir donner coups et poussees
Qui out ete la tenus si de court
Que par force n'ont prises et passees
Les barriers, entrees, et passees
Du pas des armes du chasteau Sandricourt.
Doubtless there many a Roland met with his Oliver, and could not pass
the barriers. Cased as they were in steel, _de pied en cap_, we presume
that they could not materially injure themselves; yet, when on foot, the
ancient judges discovered such symptoms of peril, that on the following
day they advised our knights to satisfy themselves by fighting on
horseback. Against this prudential counsel for some time they protested,
as an inferior sort of glory. However, on the next day, the horse combat
was appointed in the _carrefour_, by the pine-tree. On the following day
they tried their lances in the meadow of the Thorn; but, though on
horseback, the judges deemed their attacks were so fierce that this
assault was likewise not without peril; for some horses were killed, and
some knights were thrown, and lay bruised by their own mail; but the
barbed horses, wearing only _des chamfreins_, head-pieces magnificently
caparisoned, found no protection in their ornaments. The last days were
passed in combats of two to two, or in a single encounter, a-foot, in
the _foret devoyable_. These jousts passed without any accident, and the
prizes were awarded in a manner equally gratifying to the claimants. The
last day of the festival was concluded with a most sumptuous banquet.
Two noble knights had undertaken the humble office of _maitres-d'hotel_;
and while the knights were parading in the _foret devoyable_ seeking
adventures, a hundred servants were seen at all points, carrying white
and red hypocras, and juleps, and _sirop de violars_, sweetmeats, and
other spiceries, to comfort these wanderers, who, on returning to the
_chasteau_, found a grand and plenteous banquet. The tables were crowded
in the court apartment, where some held one hundred and twelve
gentlemen, not including the _dames_ and the _demoiselles_. In the
halls, and outside of the _chasteau_, were other tables. At that
festival more than two thousand persons were magnificently entertained
free of every expense; their attendants, their armourers, their
_plumassiers_, and others, were also present. _La Dame de Sandricourt_,
"fut moult aise d'avoir donne dans son chasteau si belle, si magnifique,
et gorgiasse fete." Historians are apt to describe their personages as
they appear, not as they are: if the lady of the Sieur Sandricourt
really was "moult aise" during these gorgeous days, one cannot but
sympathise with the lady, when her loyal knight and spouse confessed to
her, after the departure of the mob of two thousand visitors,
neighbours, soldiers, and courtiers,--the knights challengers, and the
knights assailants, and the fine scenes at the pine-tree; the barrier in
the meadow of the Thorn; and the horse-combat at the _carrefour_; and
the jousts in the _foret devoyable_; the carousals in the castle halls;
the jollity of the banquet tables; the morescoes danced till they were
reminded "how the waning night grew old!"--in a word, when the costly
dream had vanished,--that he was a ruined man for ever, by immortalising
his name in one grand chivalric festival! The Sieur de Sandricourt, like
a great torch, had consumed himself in his own brightness; and the very
land on which the famous _Pas de Sandricourt_ was held--had passed away
with it! Thus one man sinks generations by that wastefulness, which a
political economist would assure us was committing no injury to society!
The moral evil goes for nothing in financial statements.
Similar instances of ruinous luxury we may find in the prodigal
costliness of dress through the reigns of Elizabeth, James the First,
and Charles the First. Not only in their massy grandeur they outweighed
us, but the accumulation and variety of their wardrobe displayed such a
gaiety of fancy in their colours and their ornaments, that the
drawing-room in those days must have blazed at their presence, and
changed colours as the crowd moved. But if we may trust to royal
proclamations, the ruin was general among some classes. Elizabeth issued
more than one proclamation against "the excess of apparel!" and among
other evils which the government imagined this passion for dress
occasioned, it notices "the wasting and undoing of a great number of
young gentlemen, otherwise serviceable; and that others, seeking by show
of apparel to be esteemed as gentlemen, and allured by the vain show of
these things, not only consume their goods and lands, but also run into
such debts and shifts, as they cannot live out of danger of laws without
attempting of unlawful acts." The queen bids her own household "to look
unto it for good example to the realm; and all noblemen, archbishops and
bishops, all mayors, justices of peace, &c., should see them executed in
their private households." The greatest difficulty which occurred to
regulate the wear of apparel was ascertaining the incomes of persons, or
in the words of the proclamation, "finding that it is very hard for any
man's state of living and value to be truly understood by other
persons." They were to be regulated as they appear "sessed in the
subsidy books." But if persons chose to be more magnificent in their
dress, they were allowed to justify their means: in that case, if
allowed, her majesty would not be the loser; for they were to be rated
in the subsidy books according to such values as they themselves offered
as a qualification for the splendour of their dress!
In my researches among manuscript letters of the times, I have had
frequent occasion to discover how persons of considerable rank appear to
have carried their acres on their backs, and with their ruinous and
fantastical luxuries sadly pinched their hospitality. It was this which
so frequently cast them into the nets of the "goldsmiths," and other
trading usurers. At the coronation of James the First, I find a simple
knight whose cloak cost him five hundred pounds; but this was not
uncommon.[260] At the marriage of Elizabeth, the daughter of James the
First, "Lady Wotton had a gown of which the embroidery cost fifty pounds
a yard. The Lady Arabella made four gowns, one of which cost 1500_l._
The Lord Montacute (Montague) bestowed 1500_l._ in apparel for his two
daughters. One lady, under the rank of baroness, was furnished with
jewels exceeding one hundred thousand pounds; "and the Lady Arabella
goes beyond her," says the letter-writer. "All this extreme costs and
riches makes us all poor," as he imagined![261] I have been amused in
observing grave writers of state-dispatches jocular on any mischance or
mortification to which persons are liable whose happiness entirely
depends on their dress. Sir Dudley Carleton, our minister at Venice,
communicates, as an article worth transmitting, the great disappointment
incurred by Sir Thomas Glover, "who was just come hither, and had
appeared one day like a comet, all in crimson velvet and beaten gold,
but had all his expectations marred on a sudden by the news of Prince
Henry's death." A similar mischance, from a different cause, was the lot
of Lord Hay, who made great preparations for his embassy to France,
which, however, were chiefly confined to his dress. He was to remain
there twenty days; and the letter-writer maliciously observes, that "He
goes with twenty special suits of apparel for so many days' abode,
besides his travelling robes; but news is very lately come that the
French have lately altered their fashion, whereby he must needs be out
of countenance, if he be not set out after the last edition!" To find
himself out of fashion, with twenty suits for twenty days, was a
mischance his lordship had no right to count on!
"The glass of fashion" was unquestionably held up by two very eminent
characters, Rawleigh and Buckingham; and the authentic facts recorded of
their dress will sufficiently account for the frequent "Proclamations"
to control that servile herd of imitators--the smaller gentry!
There is a remarkable picture of Sir Walter, which will at least serve
to convey an idea of the gaiety and splendour of his dress. It is a
white satin pinked vest, close sleeved to the wrist; over the body a
brown doublet, finely flowered and embroidered with pearl. In the
feather of his hat a large ruby and pearl drop at the bottom of the
sprig, in place of a button; his trunk or breeches, with his stockings
and riband garters, fringed at the end, all white, and buff shoes with
white riband. Oldys, who saw this picture, has thus described the dress
of Rawleigh. But I have some important additions; for I find that
Rawleigh's shoes on great court days were so gorgeously covered with
precious stones, as to have exceeded the value of six thousand six
hundred pounds: and that he had a suit of armour of solid silver, with
sword and belt blazing with diamonds, rubies, and pearls, whose value
was not so easily calculated. Rawleigh had no patrimonial inheritance;
at this moment he had on his back a good portion of a Spanish galleon,
and the profits of a monopoly of trade he was carrying on with the newly
discovered Virginia. Probably he placed all his hopes in his dress! The
virgin queen, when she issued proclamations against "the excess of
apparel," pardoned, by her looks, that promise of a mine which blazed in
Rawleigh's; and, parsimonious as she was, forgot the three thousand
changes of dresses which she herself left in the royal wardrobe.
Buckingham could afford to have his diamonds tacked so loosely on, that
when he chose to shake a few off on the ground, he obtained all the fame
he desired from the pickers-up, who were generally _les dames de la
cour_; for our duke never condescended to accept what he himself had
dropped. His cloaks were trimmed with great diamond buttons, and diamond
hatbands, cockades, and ear-rings yoked with great ropes and knots of
pearls. This was, however, but for ordinary dances. "He had twenty-seven
suits of clothes made, the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet,
silver, gold, and gems could contribute; one of which was a white uncut
velvet, set all over, both suit and cloak, with diamonds valued at
fourscore thousand pounds, besides a great feather stuck all over with
diamonds, as were also his sword, girdle, hat, and spurs."[262] In the
masques and banquets with which Buckingham entertained the court, he
usually expended, for the evening, from one to five thousand pounds. To
others I leave to calculate the value of money: the sums of this
gorgeous wastefulness, it must be recollected, occurred before this
million age of ours.
If, to provide the means for such enormous expenditure, Buckingham
multiplied the grievances of monopolies; if he pillaged the treasury for
his eighty thousand pounds' coat; if Rawleigh was at length driven to
his last desperate enterprise to relieve himself of his creditors for a
pair of six thousand pounds' shoes--in both these cases, as in that of
the chivalric Sandricourt, the political economist may perhaps
acknowledge that _there is a sort of luxury highly criminal_. All the
arguments he may urge, all the statistical accounts he may calculate,
and the healthful state of his circulating medium among "the merchants,
embroiderers, silkmen, and jewellers"--will not alter such a moral evil,
which leaves an eternal taint on "the wealth of nations!" It is the
principle that "private vices are public benefits," and that men may be
allowed to ruin their generations without committing any injury to
society.