REIGN OF HENRI III.
1574 TO 1589.
Opposition to the laws of King Henri III. on dress—The wife
of President N——.—How both sexes evaded the edicts—Gowns
from Milan—Mixture of masculine and feminine fashions—Rage
for perfumes—Recognition of rank is demanded—Costumes
worn at Cognac by Marguerite de Valois in presence of the
Polish ambassadors, and her costume at Blois—Brantôme’s
opinion—Pointed bodices, puffed-out sleeves, and
“bourrelets”—Remarks on hair—Ridiculous dress of men—Poucet,
the preacher—Satirical lines on Joyeuse—Witty remark of Pierre
de l’Estoile—Starch used by Henri III.—Cushions.
Simplicity seems to have been the motto of Charles IX., as we have seen
by the sumptuary laws he issued.
The ideal of his successor Henri III. was, on the contrary, splendour
of every kind. His courtiers indulged in the wildest extravagances,
in imitation of their sovereign, whose life was passed in continual
diversions and magnificent fêtes, and who set the example of extravagance
in dress, and yet constantly issued fresh edicts against luxury.
Henri de Valois cannot be said to have preached by example, for his
conduct was in flagrant contradiction of his precepts. A strong
opposition sprang at once into existence when he issued a sumptuary law
forbidding his great nobles to wear garments of gold or silver cloth.
It is told of the queen, that she was, on one occasion, in a
linendraper’s shop, and seeing a lady dressed with great elegance, she
asked, “And who are you?”
The lady, without looking at the speaker, replied that she was the wife
of President N——.
“In good truth, Madame la Presidente,” observed the queen, “you are very
smart for a woman of your rank.”
“At any rate, I am not smart at your expense,” returned the lady; and
then suddenly recognizing the queen, she threw herself at her feet.
Louise de Lorraine gently remonstrated with her upon her extravagance;
she herself having little taste for dress or display.
Those subjects of the king who felt offended by his edicts did not think
proper to visit the city in garments of serge, like Louise de Lorraine;
they had recourse to another expedient, and evaded the royal commands by
arraying their valets in the splendid clothes forbidden to themselves.
The lacqueys of the great nobles were thus attired in heavily embroidered
liveries of silk. Every one, on seeing a servant with all the seams
of his coat embroidered in gold, conceived a high idea of the noble
personage his master, and of that master’s wealth. Liveries served as an
advertisement of nobility and a demonstration of pride.
Women, however, acted on a different plan. Far from dressing up their
maids in pearls and diamonds, a proceeding by which they might have
created rivals to their own beauty, they discovered another way of
evading the law. They had recourse to subterfuge.
Since brocades were forbidden, they sent to Milan for gowns which,
without a thread of gold or silver in them, cost, generally speaking, 500
crowns each; and the Italian manufacturers gained by all that our own
lost.
Five hundred crowns for the material of a dress! This was a round sum.
Five hundred more were spent by French ladies on adjuncts and ornaments,
on fringes, braidings, twists, and “cannetilles;” and they were delighted
with the splendour they had attained without the help of either gold or
silver. Their love for the beautiful was satisfied; the Milan gowns were
quite equal to brocade!
What right had Henri de Valois, asked the belles of the period, what
right had he who “starched his wife’s collars and curled her hair,”
according to malicious reports, to show such severity concerning other
women’s dress?
Did not he himself wear a velvet hat, with a plume and an aigrette of
diamonds? Surely this head-dress had not a martial air? Had he not an
invincible propensity for effeminacy in everything? Had he not deeply
studied the contents of the queen’s wardrobe? and was he not more learned
than all her women on every matter of feminine attire?
And worse than this! Immediately on his return from Poland he eagerly
adopted the fashion of paint and violet powder, that women had initiated
at the end of the reign of Charles IX. A sort of rivalry sprang up under
his auspices between the great nobles, who made him their model, and the
ladies of the court. Not satisfied with his plumed cap, identical with
the feminine coif or “escoffion,” he was perfumed with amber from head to
foot. Never had such a thing been known in France.
The Italians at the court of Catherine de Médicis had introduced a
refined taste in perfumes. Nicolas de Montau, in his “Miroir des
François,” reproved ladies for “making use of every perfume—cordial,
civet, musk, ambergris, and other precious aromatic substances—for
perfuming their dresses and linen, nay, their whole bodies.” The fashion
spread, even among the bourgeois class. Everything was perfumed,
garments, hair, gloves, and shoes; cavities were contrived in rings,
bracelets, and necklaces to contain scent. Fans, which were used by
young dandies in ruffs and ringlets, as well as by ladies, exhaled an
unmistakable odour as they were gently fluttered in the breeze. The sexes
vied with each other in the use of perfumes. Every lady at the court wore
silk knitted gloves and scented gloves; and it has been asserted that the
good Jeanne d’Albret, mother of Henri IV., was poisoned by gloves sent
from Italy.
The dress of women consisted of a whalebone bodice, very tight to
the waist, with large leg-of-mutton sleeves. “When the princesses or
duchesses,” says Montaigne, “had not whaleboned bodices, they tightened
their waists with wooden splints; for, above all, it was necessary to
astonish the world by a slender waist.” They usually wore two gowns, one
over the other, either of the same colour with variegated trimmings, or
of different colours.
Flowered garters were worn. The mask or _loup_, worn when walking, as
in the reign of Charles IX., was not attached by strings, but held by a
glass button between the teeth. A round mirror, with a handle, hung at
the waist, and afforded means of ascertaining the state of the toilet at
any moment. This fashion had existed under Charles IX.
The head-tire most usually worn was a toque with or without an aigrette,
a “bourrelet,” or a small high-crowned hat, of which the material was, as
it were, crumpled up.
Many women still wore the old-fashioned hoods; for young unmarried ladies
they were made of velvet with long falling lappet at the back, with a
high “touret” and ear-pieces, sometimes ornamented with gold, and called
“coquilles” (shells). The hoods worn by bourgeoises were made of cloth,
and with a square “tournette.” Difference of rank was still indicated
by difference of dress, and was destined so to continue for several
centuries to come.
The heart-shaped head-dress of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries
again made its appearance, but the heart was now constructed of the hair
itself, instead of a piece of stuff as formerly.
Complaints began to be made by great ladies that certain bourgeoises were
so bold as to wear velvet and gold ornaments. Petitions from the nobles
at the États de Blois, 1588, set forth “that the wives of advocates,
procureurs and treasurers, bourgeoises, and other _ignoble_ women should
not be allowed to wear velvet hoods.”
What would be the feelings of women of the present day, if any one
ventured to forbid them any sort of head-dress! Can we picture to
ourselves the wives of lawyers or merchants prevented from dressing as
they please!
The ideal costume of the reign of Henri III. was realized in the dress
worn by Marguerite de Valois at Cognac, on the occasion of her visit
to that town at the commencement of her journey through France, and
before her marriage with the King of Navarre. She “put on her handsomest
and most superb apparel, that she wore at court on occasions of the
greatest magnificence.” She desired to dazzle the inhabitants of Cognac.
“Besides,” said she, “extravagance is with me a family failing.”
Marguerite was continually promoting fêtes and tournaments, where
splendid dress was combined with sparkling wit.
Let us hear what Pierre de Bourdeilles, Abbot and Lord of Brantôme, says
on the subject:—
“Marguerite appeared, superbly attired in a gown of cloth of silver and
colombine colour ‘à la Boulonnaise,’ with hanging sleeves; a magnificent
head-dress and a white veil, neither too large nor too small. All this
was accompanied by so sweet and gracious a majesty, that she seemed more
like a goddess from heaven than a queen of the earth.
“The queen said to her:—
“‘My child, you look very well!’
“And she answered:—
“‘Madame, here I wear out the gowns I brought with me from court, because
when I return thither, I shall not take them with me. I shall take only
scissors, and materials, in order to set myself up again in whatever may
be the reigning fashion.’
“The queen replied:—
“‘Why do you talk thus? since you know that it is yourself who invents
all the pretty fashions we follow; and wherever you may go, the court
will copy you, and not you the court.’”
Catherine de Médicis, who always feared that the sceptre of government
might be wrested from her, endeavoured by these words to make her
daughter desirous only of the sceptre of Fashion.
And in truth whatever Marguerite de Valois wore became at once the rage
among her sex.
The charm of her beauty and her still greater charm of manner invested
her with supreme rule over all the finery of the great court ladies. On
one occasion she would appear in a white satin gown, adorned with tinsel,
with a touch of crimson here and there, and a salmon-coloured crape or
Roman gauze veil thrown carelessly over her head; on another, her orange
and black gown and large veil would elicit general admiration; or she
would excite the most ecstatic delight by inventing a perfectly original
costume.
On the arrival of the Polish ambassadors who brought the news of the
election of the Duke d’Alençon (afterwards Henri III.) to the throne of
Poland, and were delegated by the nation to receive the oath of their
new king, Marguerite de Valois wore a gown of Spanish crimson velvet
richly trimmed with gold, and a toque of the same material adorned
with jewels and bright feathers. Thus attired, she looked so divinely
beautiful that she had her portrait painted in that costume. Marguerite
had resolved not to be outdone by the Polish envoys, who were attired in
the semi-Oriental, semi-fantastic style, with great plumes and widespread
eagles’ wings.
Her abundant hair required no artificial aid. On Easter Day at Blois,
at the procession, she wore large pearl stars in her hair, and a gown
of cloth of gold of Eastern manufacture, which had been given by the
Grand Turk to the French ambassador, who in his turn had presented it to
Marguerite. It was so heavily weighted with jewels, that only so strong a
woman as she was could have carried the weight of it.
But notwithstanding Brantôme’s approbation, Marguerite de Valois is
justly accused, by an eminent archæologist, of having degraded rather
than improved the fashions of her time. He asserts that her taste was not
good.
Marguerite de Valois was certainly mistaken in lengthening the waists of
dresses to a preposterous degree; in inventing sleeves puffed out at the
top and tight at the wrist; and, finally, in replacing vertugadins by
masses of padding on the hips, which made the skirt look like a big drum,
and took away all lightness and elegance from the figure.
Marguerite de Valois had magnificent black hair, but, setting little
value on this gift of nature, she usually covered it with false hair of a
light shade. She is said to have selected fair-haired pages, whose long
locks were occasionally shorn for her benefit.
Much the same custom prevails at the present day, the hair-market being
supplied by peasant girls.
According to the Gaignières collection in the National Library, which
consists of thousands of drawings and engravings, the ladies at the
court of Henri III. wore sleeves of enormous size, the whole dress,
bodice, and skirt being of the same material.
Servants of the period wore bodices with busks, and carried keys in the
right hand and a basket over the left arm. The costume was grave, and yet
not without elegance.
But however full of absurdities were feminine fashions under Henri III.,
those for men far exceeded them; their whims and eccentricities were
unbounded.
The enormous starched collars that rose from a fine lady’s shoulders,
and made a sort of hollow niche behind her head, could not long retain
their freshness, however carefully worn, and the padded “busts,” somewhat
like a piece of armour, must have greatly impeded all natural movement;
while the goffered ruff, separating the head from the shoulders, was far
from graceful, notwithstanding the “bichons,” or rolls of hair, on the
temples. All these constituted an affected and ungraceful costume, and
the wearers were called “poupins” by the ill-natured wits of the time.
The courtiers and favourites of Henri III. imitated the court ladies, not
only by wearing pearl necklaces, earrings, and rings of gold, silver,
precious stones, enamel, &c., but also wore their “bourets” of velvet,
and their “bichons” or rolled hair. They were “fraisés et frisés,” that
is, they wore both ruffs and curls. Their pourpoints were open, so as to
display the point lace, at that time recently imported from Venice. The
fans of these “curled darlings” were also ornamented with lace; and at
night they wore masks and gloves saturated with various cosmetics and
unguents to preserve the whiteness of their skin.
The dress worn by the Duc de Joyeuse, the favourite of Henri III., on the
occasion of his marriage with the queen’s sister, is worthy of note. The
event made a great sensation in the high and perfumed circles of the day.
The king gave fêtes, which cost at least 200,000 crowns, and this at a
time when France was impoverished by civil war.
Maurice Poucet, a famous preacher, protested from the pulpit against such
profuse expenditure; and the Duc de Joyeuse, meeting him on one occasion,
exclaimed with indignation, “I have often heard of you, and how you make
the people laugh by your sermons.” “It is right that I should make them
laugh,” the preacher coldly replied; “since you make them weep over the
subsidies and great expenses of your wedding.”
Joyeuse withdrew without daring to strike Poucet, as he had intended to
do.
The king and Joyeuse were dressed precisely alike at the wedding of the
latter. They were covered with embroidery, pearls, and precious stones.
Like the court ladies, they were scented with cordial water, civet,
musk, ambergris, and aromatic substances; their ruffs were starched and
goffered. They carried off the palm from the “poupins.”
Following their example, the dandies of the time not only adopted the
Italian turn-over collars, but attired themselves in such a fashion as to
attract the bitterest satire. The following lines were aimed at Joyeuse
and his imitators:—
“Ce petit popeliret,
Frisé, fraisé, blondelet,
Dont la reluisante face
Fait même honte à la glace,
Et la délicate peau
Au plus beau teint d’un tableau;
Ce muguet dont la parole
Est blèze, mignarde et molle;
Le pied duquel, en marchant,
N’iroit un œuf escachant,
L’autre jour prit fantaisie
De s’épouser à Marie,
Vêtue aussi proprement,
Peu s’en faut, que son (galant).
Et, venant devant le temple,
Le prêtre, qui les contemple,
Demande, facétieux:
‘Quel est l’époux de vous deux?’”[23]
The starched ruffs, or fluted collars, at first so fashionable at
the court of Henri III., and then capriciously discarded, made their
appearance once more, extraordinarily improved, for the king’s own wear.
This was in 1578. The king appeared wearing a ruff made of fifteen
breadths of cambric, and half a yard in depth. “To see his head against
that ruff,” said Pierre de l’Estoile, “put one in the mind of St. John
the Baptist’s head on a charger.”
But the king’s triumph was complete; and his favourites were equal to the
occasion, and expressed rapturous admiration of his good taste.
Being a true amateur in the matter of fluted collars, he had judged that
ordinary starch would not suffice to hold up such a quantity of material
as stiffly as was necessary, and the king of France had deigned to invent
a sublime mixture; his august hands had obtained a satisfactory result
from rice flour, and he had duly experimented upon it!
From the combination of the masculine and feminine styles, dress in
general had assumed an ungraceful stiffness. The attire of Henri III.
was considered monstrous by the serious minds of the time. D’Aubigné
exclaimed:
“Si, qu’au premier abord, chacun estoit en peine
S’il voyoit un roi-femme ou bien un homme-reine.”[24]
The ladies of the court, fortunately, were not such thorough courtiers
as to overpass all the bounds of decorum. They adopted the fashion of
cushions, which remaining fixed behind, while the hoop swayed, gave size
and roundness to the hips, but they did not imitate the king’s gentlemen
in wearing the “panse,” or paunch, an absurd invention, which gave the
male wearer a likeness to Punch, and was the exact opposite of the “buste
ajusté.” The “buste” flattened the figure, while the “panse,” consisting
of a quantity of cotton wool, formed an enormous Pantagruelian stomach,
and imparted a truly grotesque appearance to those who wore it. This
absurd fashion was of short duration; men found it cumbrous, and perhaps
became ashamed of the ridicule it excited.
If my fair readers will look at a painting at the Louvre, by Clouet,
otherwise Janet, _circa_ 1584, they will feel flattered; for they will
perceive that the palm of absurdity and singularity belonged of right at
that time to the sterner sex.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Henry IV 1590
Louis XIII 1614]