REIGN OF LOUIS XV.
1715 TO 1774.
The Regency—War is declared against paniers—The Oratorian
Duguet—Opinion of the “Journal de Verdun”—Various
publications against paniers—Lines by Voltaire—Whale-fishery
company—Paragraph from the “Journal de Barbier”—Mmes. Jaucourt,
De Seine, Delisle, Clairon, and Hus—Lines in praise of
corsets—New bodices—Coloured prints are forbidden—“Perses”
or “Persiennes”—Bagnolette—Adjuncts of dress: necklaces,
ridicules, and poupottes—Contents of a patch-box—A sermon
by Massillon—“Les mouches de Massillon,” or Massillon’s
patches—“Filles de Mode,” or Fashion-girls—Some passing
fashions—Powder remains in fashion—“Monte-au-ciel”—Simply made
gowns—The first cachemire.
It is impossible to draw any line with regard to fashion between the
Regency of the Duke of Orleans and the reign of Louis XV. Both the regent
and the king appear to have acted on the same motto: “All for pleasure.”
Both yielded the empire of fashion into the hands of women, without
attempting to exercise the almost absolute sway of Louis XIV. over dress,
even when not of an official character, and women ruled with a high hand,
and for no small space of time. The poet Destouches puts the following
lines into the mouth of one of the characters in “L’Homme Singulier:”—
“Je fais mon plus grand soin du soin de me parer,
Rien ne me flatte plus qu’une mode nouvelle.”[43]
Both sexes proved him to have been in the right, by indulging all their
personal fancies and predilections.
During the Regency of the Duke of Orleans, dress was essentially light in
material; gowns were made with basque bodies, pagoda sleeves, and trimmed
with knots of ribbon, or “chicorées,” or even with artificial flowers.
The hair is dressed either “à la culbute” or “à la doguine.”
Enormous paniers were worn in the reign of Louis XV.; they came into
fashion in 1718, and were very cleverly constructed. Few ladies were
found to object to them, although in walking they occupied a space, from
left to right, of quite six feet, their circumference being at least
eighteen.
War was, however, declared against paniers, just as in former times
against vertugadins; the clergy especially attacked them violently.
An Oratorian named Duguet published a “Traité de l’Indécence des
Paniers.” After many phrases wide of the mark, we come to the following,
which seems to be the best argument of all against paniers: “This
fashion is owned, even by those who are most devoted to it, to be very
inconvenient. Paniers are most uncomfortable, both for the wearer and for
every one else.” But ladies heard the Oratorian and heeded not, any more
than they had heeded an edict which, during the madness induced by Law’s
speculations, had forbidden them to wear jewels or diamonds, for fear
they might be exchanged for shares or notes of the Mississippi Bank.
The “Journal de Verdun,” October, 1724, writes in the same spirit as Père
Duguet: “In former times mothers used to take exceeding pains that their
daughters should have slender and supple waists; but at the present day
the vertugadins of Spain and Italy have been introduced into France under
the name of paniers; this is a fashion conducive to false modesty.” But
the ladies in this instance, also, heard and heeded not, and the “Journal
de Verdun” after a time discontinued its attacks.
Many cases of conscience were argued out between Jesuits and Jansenists
on the subject of paniers. One member of the Society of Jesus wrote a
little work called “L’Entretien d’une Femme de Qualité avec son Directeur
sur les Paniers.” It was published in 1737, and is a very scarce and
curious little book.
An anonymous pamphlet had been published in 1727, entitled, “Satire sur
les Cerceaux, Paniers, Criardes, et Manteaux Volants des Femmes, et sur
leurs autres ajustements.” The author expatiates on his hatred of cages,
and of showy dress.
A pamphlet published in Paris in 1735, and entitled, “Indignité et
Extravagance des Paniers pour des Femmes Sensées et Chrétiennes,”
contains the following lines:—
“But I wish to know, ladies, by what evil genius you are possessed,
and what can be your opinion of us, that you endeavour, when in such
deplorable case, to pass yourselves off to us and to the eyes of the
Christian world as spiritual and devout persons, while you are laden
with an immense and superb panier that takes up the room of at least six
persons, and is the miserable cause of the inconvenience you experience
in passing along, having to hold your panier in both hands, and
displaying wooden hoops under an arrogant and splendid skirt....
“Is it not the said panier also that makes your carriages groan, and that
bulges through them like the sails of a ship, while you are holding your
noble wooden hoop in both hands, and displaying it beneath a costume that
is a scandal to the Church, and a laughing-stock to the whole world, and
that insults the magnificence of our altars by its audacious splendour?”
Ridicule, argument, and religion were all in vain; neither the women of
Paris, nor those of the provinces, changed their mode of dress in the
slightest degree. They even laughed at Voltaire and his lines:—
“Après dîner, l’indolente Glycère
Sort pour sortir, sans avoir rien à faire.
On a conduit son insipidité
Au fond d’un char où, montant de côté,
Son corps pressé gémit sous les barrières
D’un lourd panier qui flotte aux deux portières.”[44]
History has probably forgotten a considerable number of the appellations
bestowed on paniers; but some have been retained, such as “paniers à
guéridon,” or “extinguisher shape”; and “à coudes,” or “elbow paniers,”
on which the elbows might be supported.
The fashion prevailed so generally, that our trade with Holland
was materially augmented. In June, 1722, the States-General of the
Netherlands authorized a loan of 600,000 florins in support of a “company
established in East Friesland for the whale fishery, the trade in which
increased daily by reason of the demand for whalebone used in the
construction of hoops for women.”
We see here that the result of the polemical discussions described above
was twofold. Paniers became a question of interest to Europe, and a
source of profit to Holland.
The “Journal de Barbier” observes: “It will scarcely be believed that
the Cardinal de Noailles has been much exercised with regard to the
paniers worn by women under their skirts in order to make them stand out.
They are so large, that when the wearer sits down, the whalebones being
pushed fly up in an extraordinary manner, and armchairs have had to be
constructed expressly for them. The largest boxes at the theatre will now
hold only three women. The fashion has been carried to an extreme, and is
consequently quite extravagant; so much so, that when the princesses take
their seats beside the queen, their skirts rise up, and quite conceal
those of her majesty. This appeared like an impertinence, but it was
difficult to find a remedy. At last, by dint of reflection, the cardinal
invented an expedient—there should always be one armchair left empty on
each side of the queen, who would thus be spared any inconvenience.”
Mdlle. Jaucourt played the part of Galatea in “Pygmalion” in 1775, and
wore a polonaise with paniers, satin slippers, and a colossal “pouf”
ornamented with green leaves, and surmounted by three ostrich feathers.
MM. de Beauvau, De Guéménée, De Pompadour, and others, had supplied her
wardrobe. A great number of the court ladies sent her beautiful dresses,
made by themselves, and worn at the Dauphin’s marriage, that she might
appear in them on the stage. Louis XV. presented her with a theatrical
costume.
In November, 1721, he had given Mme. de Seine, an actress of the Comédie
Française, a coat worth 8000 francs. Nine hundred ounces of silver were
woven into the material.
At about the same time the Comte de Charolais presented Mdlle. Delisle
with a costume of pure silver, worth 2000 crowns, in which she danced a
“pas” in the ballet of Pirithoüs.
Mdlles. Clairon and Hus, of the Comédie Française, gave up wearing on
the stage “the awkward machine called a _panier_,” and a little book was
published shortly afterwards, called “Les Paniers supprimés au Théâtre.”
Some ladies of high rank followed the example of the two celebrated
actresses.
Mdlles. Clairon and Hus had exercised more influence than preachers,
pamphleteers, or journalists!
Actuated by a hatred of paniers, a poetaster wrote in praise of corsets,
and women discarded one folly for another.
“Est-il rien plus beau qu’un corset,
Qui naturellement figure,
Et qui montre comme on est fait
Dans le moule de la nature?”[45]
Thereupon women wore the bodice of their gowns tightly drawn in at the
waist, and with busks that bruised the chest of the wearer.
Then again, as in 1694, sleeves were made flat, and trimmed with frills.
A new material was used for gowns, little bouquets printed or brocaded on
a ground of silk, marcelline, or satin. The arms were protected from the
cold by a miniature muff and warm furs.
“Robes volantes,” or loose gowns without a belt, came into general use
about 1730. For the most part they were made of white or rose-coloured
silk, especially for young girls, who also often wore gauze or
embroidered muslin frocks over a coloured silk slip.
A few years later, Christophe Philippe Oberkampf introduced “indiennes,”
or coloured prints, into France. On their first appearance, such
jealousy was excited in the various guilds, that not only were those who
manufactured them sent to the galleys, but women who ventured to wear
these prints were liable to a fine on a mere accusation. The examiners
at the custom stations were directed to remove by force the gown of
any delinquent, or even to tear it in pieces while on her back. It is
difficult in our day to understand such severe treatment.
Before Oberkampf’s time, coloured cambrics from India, called “Perses”
or “Persiennes,” because they came by way of Persia, were much worn.
A beautiful persienne was of more value than a silk gown. The most
brilliant woman, perhaps, of the period entreated the French ambassador
in Russia to procure her a set of furs and some “perse.” Yet a while, and
the purchase of a gown would have become an affair of state; or the king
might have declared war in order to obtain a costume desired by the queen.
The hair was dressed “en dorlotte” (or pamper-fashion), “en papillon”
(or butterfly-like), “en vergette” (or whisk-fashion), and “en
désespoir” (despair), “équivoque” (suspicious-wise), and “en tête de
mouton” (sheep’s head). A kind of curtainless hood was worn, called a
“bagnolette.”
In summer, women wore the mantilla, a variety of the scarf, and in
winter, furred pelisses, buttoned from top to bottom. They wore
embroidered stockings and white shoes with high heels, as previously.
The ambition of all was to have the smallest possible shoes; and women
contrived, as it were, to manufacture feet for their shoes, in imitation
of Camargo, the dancer, whose shoemaker amassed a large fortune.
Parasols, or sunshades, were not made to close; umbrellas, on the
contrary, were made to fold and shut.
Among the accessories of dress were necklaces, bags or reticules,
persistently called “ridicules,” “poupottes,” or horsehair pockets which
the “bourgeoises” wore fastened to their gowns, eyeglasses mounted in
gold and enamel, gold needle-cases, tablets set in chased gold, and
crosses of gold filagree. To these we must add powder scattered on the
hair, which was drawn up in a tuft, and kept in its place by a silk
chin-band, patches of black silk sticking-plaister, and the white and red
paint, which many women laid on so thickly that their faces were quite
incrusted with it. A woman of rank would have lost all consideration had
she appeared at the promenades without her patches and her rouge.
Both paint and patches were used in the very last toilet of
princesses—that of the tomb.
Every woman of fashion possessed a patch-box, whose lid was lined with
looking-glass. A very pretty one in pink mother-of-pearl, inlaid with
silver and designs of figures, was to be seen at the Exhibition in 1878.
The “impassioned” patch was fixed at the corner of the eye; the “gallant”
in the middle of the cheek; the “recéleuse” (or receiver of stolen goods)
on a spot or pimple; the “effrontée,” or bold-faced, on the nose; and the
“coquette” on the lips. A round patch was called “the assassin.”
The widespread fashion of patches afforded further opportunities for
criticism. Massillon preached a sermon in which he anathematized patches.
The effect produced by his discourse was rather unexpected; patches
were worn in greater numbers than ever, and were known as “mouches de
Massillon.” Fashion was incapable of reverence, and triumphed over every
kind of opposition.
It was generally held that patches conferred an appearance of youth.
Mme. de Genlis said on one occasion to an author, whom she honoured by
allowing him to see her place two or three patches on her cheek and chin,—
“Well! what do you think of that? Would you not take me for a girl of
twenty?”
Powder, i.e. starch powdered and scented, was in common use under Louis
XV.; and in the reign of Henri IV., as Estoile observed in 1593, nuns had
even been seen walking in Paris, with their hair curled and powdered,
but this, it must be admitted, was an exception. No lady appeared at the
promenades, the theatre, or the court of Versailles, without what was
called an “œil,” or slight sprinkling of powder.
The “filles de mode,” as fashionable milliners were called in the
eighteenth century, had no light duties to perform. It was a serious task
to dress a lady of quality from head to foot. They had to carry out the
ideas that originated with the queens of society. According to Mme. de
Lespinasse, the prim Mme. du Deffant “was the best milliner of her day,”
that is, her taste in composing an irreproachable costume was superior to
all others, and the greatest coquettes copied the fashions seen in her
drawing-room.
In “La Mode,” a comedy in three acts by Mme. de Staal, a marquis is made
to say,—
“You need only hear an account of our day! In the morning, discussions
with workpeople and tradespeople over the choice of our dress! And what
trouble do we not take to secure the last novelty, to choose all that is
in the best taste, and to avoid any prejudice concerning a particular
fashion!... Next comes the excessive labour of making our toilet, with
all the attention necessary to ensure being well dressed....”
The Comtesse de Mailly retired to rest every night with her hair dressed,
and wearing all her diamonds. She used to call her tradespeople “her
little cats.”
High head-dresses came into fashion again for a short time, during the
reign of gigantic paniers, and were worn with powder. It took a whole
day to complete one of those monuments of the capillary art, which were
of such enormous size, that according to “Le Mercure de France” of 1730,
ladies could not sit in their coaches, but were obliged to kneel.
“Their woolly white hair,” says Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who visited
Paris at the time, “and fiery faces, make them look more like skinned
sheep than human beings.”
Mme. de Graffigny, the author of “Lettres Péruviennes,” protested against
the high head-dress. She wore her hair powdered, but close to her head
and covered with a little cap. This “little cap” was adopted by many
women of rank, and for several years was worn by all Frenchwomen. Women
of the people still wear round caps with two plaited wings coming
forward on the temples, and called “le bat en l’œil.” “The bourgeoises
have retained,” says “Le Livre de la Coiffure,” “the full-crowned cap,
surrounded with ribbon twists or bows, with two lappets falling over the
chignon, and frills of lace curving round the temples.”
Some ephemeral fashions were introduced into France by the Polish
princess Maria Leczinska, the wife of Louis XV.
“Hongrelines” were worn, and polonaises, or “hongroises,” trimmed with
“brandebourgs;” and, in 1729, embroidered mantillas of velvet and satin
lined with ermine or other fur, the two ends finished with handsome
tassels, that were tied behind the waist.
The “palatine” was thus no longer a solitary German fashion on the banks
of the Seine.
Powder remained in vogue for more than half a century. No doubt the
softness it conferred on the features, and the brilliancy it lent to the
eyes, made it pleasing to everybody. It was still worn in 1760, and again
in 1780, and after the Revolution it reappeared under the Directory in
1795.
There is no occasion, therefore, to speak of powder more particularly. In
1760, a lady wore powder, but her hair was drawn back “à la Chinoise,”
and on the summit was a small knot of coloured silk. She wore stays,
despite all that might be said against them by the doctors and the
critics; and a fichu or kerchief straight across the shoulders, and
called a “monte-au-ciel.” She had a “casaquin” or a “caraco.” She wore as
her only garment a “peignoir,” a loose robe not confined at the waist,
and fastened down the front with bows of ribbon. Round the throat was
a ruche of the same material as the dress; the sleeves extended to the
wrist, where they became considerably wider, and could either be hooked
up like those of French advocates at the present day, or were finished
off with turned-back cuffs.
The first Indian shawl, or “cachemire,” seen in our country was imported
towards the end of the reign of Louis XV. It was long the talk of both
court and town, but no attempt was made to manufacture similar shawls in
France.
At the period we have now reached, the simplicity of women’s attire
contrasts with previous styles; and is in harmony with the serious tone
of society under Louis XVI.
A transformation in dress is at hand. We are about to see extraordinary
and brilliant fashions adopted by ladies of rank, and by those of
the “haute bourgeoisie,” but not followed by the middle classes, on
account of their great cost. The guests at Versailles and Trianon could
afford to dress “à la mode,” because their wealth was immense and their
extravagance boundless.
The reign of lace ended with the eighteenth century, for Louis XVI. cared
little for embroidery and finery.
The drive to Longchamps in Holy Week afforded to the rich an opportunity
of displaying the splendour both of their equipages and their dress, and
it has continued to exist to the present day.
[Illustration]